Good Bye to All That

Dear Ones:

This is my last blog post for some time. I hope some day that I will come back to Thailand and pick up these posts again. AJ and I are going to New York City for at least a year and I will be in touch. For now,

Walk good,

Jo Anne

P.S. Follow our new adventures on http://morethanonemoreday.blogspot.com/ and http://travelswithkoko.blogspot.com

Furballs want treats too

My cousin Anne Marie refers to her dogs as furball babies.  Though I prefer to refer to myself as Pack Leader rather than Mommy, I believe that our dogs deserve to be spoiled with treats now and then. Sammy and Katie (that's Sam on the left) accept pinches of food from the table, and were allowed to sample my strawberry cake. I didn't ask them whether they liked the cake because the human verdict was good enough for me. We were at Robert and Anne's for dinner and we each had two slices of cake.  Then the thought occurred to me, why not make dogs their own treats?

I did some research on the internet and discovered that there are certain foods that are forbidden, such as chocolate, butter, garlic, and onions, because they can cause serious illness. I found this recipe on allrecipes.com and it looked fairly safe, if only because none of the forbidden foods was on the list of ingredients.  Making these treats was also a good way to finish up the baking ingredients in my pantry. The only things I needed to go out and buy were Cheddar cheese and margarine.

Doggie Cookies
1 cup rolled oats
1/3 cup margarine
1 cup boiling water
3/4 cup cornmeal
2 teaspoons white granulated sugar
2 teaspoons beef bouillon (I used 1 cube chicken bouillon because Gigi likes chicken)
1/2 cup milk
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1 egg, beaten
3 cups whole wheat flour, plus more for rolling out the dough

Preheat oven to 325˚F (I preheated the convection oven to 170˚C). Grease 2 baking trays.

In a large bowl, combine the oats, margarine, and boiling water. Stir in cornmeal, sugar, bouillon, milk, cheese, and egg. Mix in flour 1 cup at a time until a stiff dough forms. Knead dough on a lightly floured surface. Roll or pat dough to 1/2 inch thickness. Cut with cookie cutter and smooth edges so there won't be sharp rough edges after baking. Place 1 inch apart on the prepared trays. Bake 35-45 minutes (25-35 minutes in a convection oven) or until golden brown. Remove and cool on wire racks. Store cooled cookies airtight in a covered container.

Well, aren't you going to feed me?

Strawberry Buttermilk Cake

Some time ago, my sister-in-law had expressed a wish for a strawberry cake. Well, why not? Now, baking a cake is an art; it has its rules that must be strictly followed. The amount of flour is better weighed than measured, for instance. Butter cakes have proven to be finicky fussy things that like their eggs and butter at room temperature. They have a positive aversion to over mixing. Wretched optimist that I am, I decided to experiment with the basic buttermilk country cake recipe from The Cake Bible and try for that elusive creation, a strawberry cake.

At room temperature:

4 large egg yolks

2/3 cup buttermilk (substitute: 1 tablespoon vinegar in a measuring cup topped with milk to 1 cup line)

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla

2 cups sifted cake flour (I used 1/2 cup cake flour and 1 1/2 cups special flour)

1 cup sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1 cup fresh strawberries, washed and gently patted dry with paper towels

1 tablespoon granulated sugar or sanding sugar for sprinkling (optional)

Preheat oven to 400˚F. [Cake Baker's Note: It was 350 in the original recipe but the addition of fruit increases the volume.]  Grease a 9x2 inch cake pan and line the bottom with a parchment circle. Grease the parchment then flour the pan and parchment. Set aside. [Cake Baker's Note: Since the edges turned out dry and hard, I conclude the pan was too small and the temperature too high. Next time I would use either a 9 inch square pan or a 10 inch springform pan, reduce the heat to 350 and bake 30-40 minutes.]

Slice the green tops off the strawberries. On a clean dry work surface, place strawberries with the cut tops down and slice each strawberry into 1/8 inch slices. Let strawberries drain on paper towels.  Set aside. Pour off sour milk, if using, to make 2/3 cup. Remove 1/4 cup  from the 2/3 cup buttermilk or sour milk. [Cake Baker's Note: I haven't figured out yet what to do with any left over sour milk or how long it will keep in the fridge.] In a medium bowl, lightly combine the egg yolks, 1/4 cup buttermilk or sour milk, and the vanilla. Set aside.

 








 In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Blend dry ingredients on low speed for 30 seconds. Add the butter and the remaining buttermilk or sour milk. Combine on low speed until the dry ingredients are just moistened. Increase speed to medium and beat until just combined. [Cake Baker's Note: the original recipe said beat 1 1/2 minutes.] Add the egg mixture in 3 batches, beating until just combined. [Cake Baker's Note: the original recipe said beat 20 seconds after each addition.] Scrape down the sides. By hand, gently fold in half the sliced strawberries. 

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Gently shift the pan back and forth on the countertop to eliminate air bubbles. [Cake Baker's Note: I saw this on an America's Test Kitchen DVD.] Gently press the remaining strawberries into the top of the batter. If using, sprinkle the tops of the exposed strawberries with granulated sugar or sanding sugar. Use your fingers for this. Try not to get any sugar on the batter as the sugar leaves pit marks in the cake top on baking. If you are going to put a topping on the cake afterwards, the pit marks do not matter. [Cake Baker's Note:  Save the half-cup strawberries for decorating the cake top later.  I noticed that some of the strawberries in the batter closest to the edges got stuck to the pan. To prevent this another idea is to pour half the batter in the pan and arrange the strawberries on top then pour the remainder of the batter on top of the strawberries.]

Bake for 70 minutes until the top is golden brown and the color of the strawberries deepen to a bright red.  A tester inserted in the center should come out clean. Remove cake from the oven and cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes. Run a small sharp knife around the edges so that the cake doesn't crack as it cools and separates from the sides. Unmold the cake onto a greased wire rack and remove the parchment circle. Then re-invert the cake so the strawberries are on top. Cool completely before adding any toppings.

If desired, sprinkle with powdered sugar or top with crème fraîche and decorate with fresh strawberries or chocolate curls. To make crème fraîche, whip 1 1/2 cups whipping cream, 1/2 cup sour cream, and 2 tablespoons sugar. Beat until soft peaks form when the beaters are raised. This makes a thick cream topping that spreads easily and yet won't melt or separate like whipped cream. It has a delicious tangy taste. Cake Decorating Idea: Spread crème fraîche on top of the cooled cake. If using fresh strawberries, dip one side in a little lime or lemon juice to prevent browning. Place UNDIPPED side down on the the crème fraîche topping and arrange in an attractive pattern.

Postscript:
Since baking this cake on Sunday, I found a recipe for Cornmeal Strawberry Cake on allrecipes.com. But that's for another weekend, another blog posting. 

 

A Prose Poem on My 57th Birthday

On my birthday, we drive down to Fisherman's Village, a little resort in Haad Chao Samran (Happy Kings Beach) on the Gulf of Thailand. The resort is packed with 40 little villas clustered on the beach. We love this little place, not only because it's small, but because it lacks the brassy impersonal feel of the bigger hotels and resorts. The area, too, is relatively undeveloped, since Hua Hin and Cha Am are where the hoi polloi like to unwind. Thus it has escaped the notice, for the time being, of the opportunists, social climbers, and sundry carpet-baggers from Bangkok. We are the only ones there; it is as if we have rented the place just for our private enjoyment.

For now, I have Haad Chao Samran to myself. There is something there, some quality of light, some trick or turn of the light, that makes whatever is commonplace seem strange. And new. Take this bird of paradise flower. They are a common sight by the ditches and canals in busy Bangkok, for they thrive wherever it is wettest. The bloom is ragged and slightly overblown from its exposure to the sun and the sea breeze. It will not last.

The coconut trees sough in the breeze as if lonely for company. I think of a short story by Italo Calvino, "The Enchanted Garden," about a magical garden that has an air of mystery hanging over it. Who owns it? Why is there no one enjoying the garden? The two children who trespass in that garden cannot really enjoy it either because they are afraid someone will find them and tell them to go away. They see a sad little boy inside the villa, obviously the owner of the house and the garden too. The children creep away. Perhaps they don't want to find out more. I, too, am content with what I see: the strip of land between the pool, the sea, and the endless horizon.

Thailand hasn't quite recovered from the recent political riots, still,  I don't recall an off-season this unattended. It's as if we gave a party and knew that half the guests wouldn't show up but went ahead with the party anyway. There is something sad and tentative about, as if an unsaid apology is on everyone's lips. The gentleman caller has failed to call on the lady. But because she is a lady, she retires to nurse her bruised dignity rather than complain about his lack of enthusiasm. 

There is really no one else in the garden to see the fitful blooms and their fading finery. Was anyone there to see them at their apogee? The amethyst blooms whiten with age in the gathering dusk. It is time to go inside. Soon. Mosquitoes whine their impatience to feed.

The little lizard posted his warning on the boardwalk. Then he climbed up the step and scuttled away. He left no editorial for me. No comment.

For dinner, in an empty dining room there is a table set for three. We eat a traditional Thai meal. First there is a soup, kaeng chud, a salty broth of napa cabbage, tofu, and bits of ground pork. The Thai like to spice things up, hence the little dish of nam jeem, a magical combination of fish sauce, garlic, lime juice, and chilies. A meal must include a Thai salad such as yum woon sen, salty, sour, sweet, and spicy;  a melange of slippery bean threads, slivered tomatoes, onions, tender Chinese celery leaves, and chopped chilies all served on a bed of lettuce.  Chinese kale (not pictured), crunchy and slightly bitter and served with nam man hoi or oyster sauce. And finally, to round out the meal, a kaeng, tender chicken slices in yellow coconut curry sauce sprinkled with slivers of chili and basil chiffonade. For dessert we cool our mouths with ice cream and fresh fruit. Andy's lime ice cream is a suspicious shade of green.
 

Daybreak. Last night's rain has washed away the heat and detritus of yesterday. It is cool. The mosquitoes have declared a temporary moratorium. Andy walks the beach and takes pictures of the day renewing itself.

Dawn's reflection. The light is muted in the windows. It must be a rule that a copy must be paler, denser, darker than its original. To reflect is to be open to receiving. I must remember that.

The beach. Layers of white tips and liquid mercury, gold sea-strand, and pink sand. It is hot. At breakfast I notice that another table has been set for two. Afterwards, I sit in the pavilion facing the sea. The sun climbs higher. It is hotter. I see a young couple walking on the boardwalk. Fisherman's Village is no longer just ours. In my bag, things to read, things to do. It's time to go. Am I ready to leave this place?

Pork Tenderloin in Puff Pastry and Apple Galette

What's for dinner?

Sometimes I don't bother with a cookbook or a recipe. Instead I like looking inside the freezer at what's available. It can be inspirational. I don't mean the frozen turkey bones draped in icicles left over from Christmas. That just means it's time to clean out the freezer! Ah.  Package of puff pastry. Pork tenderloin. Hmm. There's a jar of jerk seasoning in the fridge. And since the puff pastry would really be too much for one tenderloin,  I'll have enough to make an apple galette as well out of the remaining dough. Done.

Pork Tenderloin in Puff Pastry 

1 pork tenderloin (Remove the silver with a boning knife)
1-2 teaspoons Walker's Wood Jamaican Jerk Seasoning
2/3 package puff pastry
oil

Preheat the oven to 400˚F. Cover a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil for easy clean up. Rub the jerk seasoning all over the tenderloin and let sit for about 1 hour. Pan sear the tenderloin until it is golden brown all over. Roll out the puff pastry to 1/8 inch thickness and place the tenderloin in the middle. Fold up and pinch the ends closed. Put seam side down on the prepared pan. Brush lightly with oil. Bake about 30-40 minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Cool slightly. Slice and serve with a brown gravy.

A galette is really a one-crust apple pie so I adapted Mom's apple pie recipe here. 

Apple Galette

3 Granny Smith apples peeled, cored, and sliced (Tip: use a melon baller to scoop out the core)
juice of 1 small lime
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
3 tablespoons flour
oil
sanding sugar or granulated sugar for sprinkling (optional)
1/3 package puff pastry

Preheat oven to 400˚F.

Peel, cut apples in half from pole to pole, then core and cut the apples into 1/4 inch thick slices. Set aside in a large bowl. In a small bowl, combine lime juice, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and flour. Add to the apple slices and toss to coat. Set aside.  (Lick the spoon afterwards. Yum.) Line a rimmed baking sheet with a sheet of parchment paper. Set aside.

Roll out the pastry dough into a 12 inch (more or less) round that's about 1/8 inch thick. Put the pastry round in the center of the baking sheet. Mound the apple slices in the center, juices and all. Leave about a 2 inch border. Fold up the edges and overlap as needed to make a bowl to hold in the apples. Brush edges lightly with water to seal and sprinkle with sanding or granulated sugar, if using. Bake until the pastry is golden brown about 25-35 minutes in a convection oven. Cool slightly. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream, if desired.

An apple galette is a really easy mid-week dessert to make if you don't have a lot of time or if you're recovering from recent foot surgery! Now if I could only figure out what to do with 2 kg of frozen peas...

The Gimp's Perspective on Emporium

We went shopping at Emporium yesterday. Rather than hobble around on crutches and slow down Andy and AJ, I borrowed a wheelchair from the shopping mall.  It was free, too. AJ and I went into the Gourmet Market on the 5th floor to do some grocery shopping. It gave me a whole new appreciation of one of Bangkok's upscale supermarkets and what it's like to have limited mobility.

I couldn't push the cart and wheel myself around. AJ helped me. (He stepped out of view at just the moment I pressed the shutter button!)

Some items were clearly out of reach.

The main aisle was broad and inviting for wheeling around. But crowded.

This side aisle was not exactly wheel-chair accessible.

The view from the checkout lane consisted of a mélange of body parts.  I found myself eye to eye with babies in strollers. To its credit, Emporium did have a washroom for handicapped people.  But the garbage bin in there could only be opened by foot. If you were on crutches, you couldn't step on the pedal and maintain your balance on one foot. The hospital handicapped washroom also had a foot pedal trash can. Bangkok still has a long way to go when it comes to being thoughtful to people with limited mobility.

Gimpy Tales from Bangkok

In the past four years I developed a bony bump on my right foot that made it increasingly painful to wear shoes and even to bend my toes in certain Yoga positions. The Thai call it ta pla or fish-eye which is a very descriptive name for the common bunion, medical name, hallux valgus. So I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon to have the surgery on Friday, which is a Buddhist holiday on the calendar. See where x marks the spot!

When I woke up after surgery my right foot had saffron yellow toe nails and was encased in white gauze.  They put me up overnight on the 16th floor.  That night I was restless with itching, vomiting, and some pain. The nurse said the itching was a side effect of one of the anesthetics.  Worst of all, I was often woken up as soon as I managed to fall back to sleep to have my temperature, pulse, and blood pressure monitored.

The surgeon  discharged me from the hospital Saturday with instructions to take antibiotics and pain killers. However, I insisted on driving myself to graduation at school that afternoon, hobbling about on a cane. Andy shook his head and pronounced me "gimpy." Well, if gimpy means stubborn then I haven't missed a graduation since I came back and I wanted to be there at my last one.  That's me with the "Fabulous Survivors"of the senior class.

On Sunday I overdid it. I had breakfast in Starbucks Soi Thong Lo and lunch at Seacon Square, hobbling around with a four-toed cane and refusing to make any concessions to the pain in my foot. By afternoon, the foot began to swell and redden. We went back to the hospital where they called the surgeon. Fortunately he lived nearby so he did not have to fight Sunday traffic as we did.  He took off the bandage covering the wound and said, I have to re-admit you. You might have an infection.

They started me on IV antibiotics and gave pain killers as needed. Though the blood test was negative for infection, the surgeon insisted I stay till Tuesday. Besides the poking, prodding, and pumping, the nurses were sometimes spooky.  For instance, there was the nurse at the other end of the call button, day and night, who always asked me "Can I hell you?" Another one with the light cold fingers  gave me the antibiotics intravenously. I always felt cold afterwards. And the one who never failed to make me laugh, the Nurse of the Body Functions who greeted me  cheerfully, "how many pee-pee and poo-poo today?"

By now I had learned to respect the pain in my foot. I avoided putting any weight on it. I practiced hopping from bed to bathroom and back with a walker the nurses lent me.  But the nicest part of the second hospital stay was Mimi's carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.  It was the best medicine.

On Tuesday morning the surgeon discharged me.  Stay off the foot, he ordered, or you might have to come back. I meekly agreed. Life has now become a calculation of distance times access equals getting from Point A to Point B. At home, the step up from the driveway to the porch I estimated was worth a three-inch "hop." We went to the Club tonight but used the back entrance because it has a ramp.  I'm also beginning to realize how much of Bangkok is not accessible to people with mobility issues.

At home, Andy and AJ are my legs. On Wednesday, I went back to school. It was nice to have a fuss made over me! I borrowed the school wheelchair and my students wheeled me everywhere. They helped me take down all my bulletin boards because I couldn't reach and couldn't climb, of course. The teachers were so helpful and so kind.  I baked a cheesecake on Wednesday night. On Thursday, it was the last day of school, our End of Year Assembly. I managed to hop down four steps so I could be at the foot of the stage to say goodbye to the school. There are four of us teachers leaving and one retiring. We had a pizza and cheesecake party before the students all went home at noon. Before they left, I got them to sign my autograph flag book. Then on Friday, AJ came with me to school to help me finish packing up and clearing out my classroom. He went all over campus getting signatures on my check-out form. He supervised the janitor who packed my car with ten boxes filled with 19 years of teaching. His last stop was at Finance to pick up my check. We turned our backs on RIS/RIST for the last time and drove out of Perfect Place, the moobaan (housing estate) that leads to the main road.

And that's it. There won't be very many more letters from Thailand for a year (I hope). AJ and I are going on to our next adventure: New York City. We will both finish our degrees: his bachelor's at Hunter College and my doctorate at Teachers College.