My current cooking repertoire is a folder bustling with modern recipes I've ripped out from popular magazines, cuneiform-like scribbled notes on post it notes, and margins. And, the cookbooks that line the kitchen shelf holds true to words such as "vegetarian" "organic" "whole foods"... Healthy they may be, but the personal history, stories, and associations are lacking. Missing love.
My mother never used a recipe. Never. She made use of what was in her kitchen, and my dad's bustling garden. She made a once-a-week trip grocery store, if necessary. Every three to sixth months we would make a drive to Salt Lake City and into West Valley and buy fine Asian ingredients. A mother who was always slurping broth, a mother crouched on the floor, sitting with legs always crossed; licking, chopping, mincing, dicing, scooping, fine tuning with the spices on the counter.
[Like mother, like daughter: mother's slurping mode.]
My brother and sister can agree there might have been some unusual hygiene practices or lack thereof, but maybe my stomach became stronger by it, and we lived through it.
This is me—going back—and working on collecting those recipes, those memories, and more importantly, writing about it. Hello to the stories ahead; tales of of fermented fish sauce, the taste of pucker-punch green ripe papaya salad, the tripe-laden Pho, sounds of mortar crunching—oh, the stories to come.
Of course, there will be Vegetarian fine tuning and tweaking of the recipes I hope to gather. My mother's cooking exist by ritual. Anything written is non-existant. Getting past the language barrier, and the puzzlement on my mother's face will be problematic. I hope to explain that later. My mother is fluent in Cambodian, and has broken English. I am fluent in English, and speak broken Cambodian. You see.
With this new year, I knew breakfast needed to be better. Given on gym days, I have a tendency to pour yogurt into a jar with granola, hand two baggies to the kids (with store bought cereal), and we wait in front of the gym scarfing, ahem, eating. It needs to better than that.
This morning, I saw inspiration on the counter. No, not a coconut, but a ripened papaya, predominately yellow, no black spots or bruises screaming, "USE ME! USE ME!" I had no clue how to use it. I have never worked with a ripened papaya, or even ate a ripen papaya, until just a week ago. Booker thought it was interesting, being that it is highly used in Asian cuisine. During my childhood, the papaya was eaten raw, in it's greenest from. My mother would make a papaya salad (fish paste, tomatoes, lime, fish sauce), and that's how I always envisioned a papaya.
On to breakfast: I knew I had to make coconut rice soup. A flavour profile of coconut milk, rice, and papaya would be perfect. It's what I had in the pantry.
*EASY COCONUT RICE SOUP w/ PAPAYA
2 cups of cooked jasmine rice (uncooked rice is preferred for a creamy texture, but I had some extra from a previous dish)
1 can of light coconut milk
1/4 cup of sugar
1/4 cup of unsweetened coconut flakes
1 tsp of vanilla extract
pinch of ginger and/or nutmeg (optional, but I love it)
Combine coconut milk and sugar into saucepan. Let sugar dissolve. Add cooked jasmine rice. Let cook for 10+ minutes, or until the rice heats through. Add vanilla extract when done. Add sliced papaya on top or other tropical fruits (we love pineapple).
This can be made with uncooked rice. This will create a creamier texture. Make sure to use two cans of coconut milk. Bring to a gentle boil, reduce the heat and then simmer gently for 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.
*Updated: Some changes I have made on the recipe to make it healthier.
2 cups of brown rice or, for a nuttier texture use wild rice
1 tablespoon of black & white sesame seeds
1/2 cup agave nectar or 1/4 cup raw sugar
1 can (16 oz) of light coconut milk
1/4 cup of unsweetened coconut flakes
1/2 cup of fruit of juice (pineapple, passion fruit, ripe papaya)
1 tsp of vanilla extract
raw cashews, if you want
Use directions from original recipe.
