Eggs Benedict

When I was 10 years old, my family and I were living in South Korea, and we (well, my parents) decided to go to Japan for spring break. I don't remember very much about that trip, but here's what I do remember:

• Flying space available on a non-commercial military flight. LOUD.
  
• Going up to Mount Fuji wearing shorts and being shocked to see snow in the spring.
• Cherry blossoms. Probably when my love for them began.
• Crowded, crowded, crowded.
  
• Being in love with our beautiful hotel, so much so that I didn't want to leave it. I still remember that the bedding was a gorgeous shade of yellow that made me feel like I was wrapped up in beams of sunlight.
• Eating Eggs Benedict for breakfast at the hotel.

I've always loved Eggs Benedict ever since. What's not to love? Bread: yum. Canadian bacon: yum. Eggs: yum. Creamy sauce to mop it all up in: yum.

Fast forward 8 billion years to two years ago. Like most of the rest of America, I watched Julie & Julia, and as someone who likes cooking, thought--I ought to try cooking Julia Child recipes. I mean, why not, right? I live in France! So last year, my parents gave me Mastering the Art of French Cooking as a birthday present, and sent me on my way back to France. Living in the hotel, however, intimidated me away from trying out Julia, and I didn't pick up the book until a month ago.

Last month, the Artist arrived in France and was staying with me while waiting for her apartment to become available. One night, we watched Julie & Julia, and we became inspired to inaugurate the cookbook by trying out Hollandaise sauce. Let me reprint what Julia had to say about Hollandaise sauce here:

"Hollandaise sauce is made of warmed egg yolks flavored with lemon juice into which butter is gradually incorporated to make a thick, yellow, creamy sauce. It is probably the most famous of all sauces, and is often the most dreaded, as the egg yolks can curdle and the sauce can turn. It is extremely easy and almost foolproof to make in the electric blender... But we feel it is of great importance that you learn how to make hollandaise by hand, for part of every good cook's general knowledge is a thorough familiarity with the vagaries of egg yolks under all conditions." (Pg. 79)

Well, I misread that paragraph last month. I read the "extremely easy and almost foolproof" and somehow missed the "in the electric blender" part. I, being a rule-follower, felt I needed to make it by hand first, since that what Julia said should be done. I whisked and whisked and whisked, and after probably 30 minutes (instead of less than 5) of whisking, and even following the "if your sauce doesn't thicken" instructions, gave up. The sauce never thickened, and it was evident it never was going to. Oh boy was I ever disappointed, frustrated, and downright mad.

The Artist and I ate one lousy dinner that night. The next night, I made a Rachel Ray recipe that was easy and foolproof and thought to myself, "I guess I am a Rachel Ray cook and not a Julia Child cook." However, I'd like to be both.

So I decided to try again today. Skipping that whole "by hand" nonsense, I went straight for the blender. And guess what? Julia was right. It was "extremely easy and almost foolproof." I did manage, as I always do, to make a disaster of my kitchen, getting butter sprayed everywhere. (Julia said, "You may need to protect yourself with a towel during this operation," and um, she was right.) It's no wonder that when Sue-Wee bought me a Christmas present back in 2007, she didn't buy me one apron, but two.

I got my English muffin ready and cooked up the "bacon." (France does not have yummy bacon like the US, but they have good enough substitutes that don't look like bacon but taste good.) I made the Hollandaise sauce, and had it ready. The last part was also new for me: poaching an egg. I've never poached an egg. And from the scene in the movie, I was a little nervous that I might mess it up. But I followed the instructions exactly, dropping the egg softly into the simmering water, and then immediately and gently pushing the white over the yolk. (You read that in Julia without seeing it done and think, "huh?," but in the process, it makes sense.) The egg whites looked all ghostly in the water, and just like in the movie, I stood over the pot enthralled with watching the eggs poach.

There I am staring at the water wondering if I am ruining my eggs like I had ruined my sauce the first time around last month. I scooped them out of the water after 4 minutes, followed the rest of the recipe, and assembled my Eggs Benedict! Here's the final product.

I was so proud of how it all looked...but would it taste good? It did! I was so happy! I did overcook one of the eggs, but the other one was perfect. 26.5 years after eating Eggs Benedict for the first time, I was able to make them myself. Thank you, Julia.

Call Me the Chef

Sorry for my grumpy mood earlier. I was already on the road to recovery when I posted that, but am all perky and happiness now. Internet is currently working fine. :)

So ever since I wrote my opinion of why should I make applesauce from scratch when I can buy it at the American store, I've had the hankering to--you guessed it! Make applesauce from scratch. Then, I thought, since I'd be cooking to lift my spirits, might as well go all out. So I went to the store with a good list in hand, returned with my groceries, and went at it.

Applesauce from scratch. Let's just say...you learn from mistakes, right? The next batch will be better...

Marie's mexicorn dip for snacking.

Chocolate cookie dough for snacking.

Chicken tikka masala with basmati rice for dinner.

And a Portuguese lemon drink to enjoy the night away with.

Stomach and heart are full. :)

Banana Bread

Yesterday was the Prophet's birthday, so I decided to bake something as a gift for my neighbors.

As I poured the batter for a banana bread into a loaf pan, my thoughts ventured back to six years ago in Portugal. I had been baking my first ever attempt at a carrot cake, and put too much in the pan. As every overseas oven I've ever had takes twice as long to bake anything, I grew concerned when the bread had begun to rise higher than the pan after an hour, and was still not quite finished...

I slammed the oven button into the off position, grabbed my keys, and stomped off to the beach. I sat on a wall next to the beach--pouting too intensely to actually walk onto the sand and enjoy myself--and cried for a good thirty minutes.

It wasn't the failed carrot cake that upset me. It was that nothing seemed to be going right, and my stupid oven didn't work to boot on top of everything going wrong. That's what culture shock does to you--makes you cry over carrot cake.

I went home, turned the oven back on, chopped the inflated top off the cake, cooked it for another 30 minutes or so, and all was resolved.

Why did I think about my failed carrot cake of six years ago last night? Because if that banana bread didn't come out right, I probably would have responded in the same way last night. I like to look back at my two years in Portugal and think it was the perfect overseas cultural experience and nothing ever went wrong. That I never had much culture shock. And that now, with a masters degree in intercultural studies, I will certainly be even more above culture shock.

The only thing that is different now that I am more experienced and educated is that I can RECOGNIZE culture shock when it hits. I can't avoid it. I can't snap out of it. You'd think that I would at least know how to deal with it, but I'm not sure that I do. I just take life one day at a time...same as I did six years ago.

My banana bread took two hours to bake, but it came out fine. Happy Prophet's birthday!

Carrot Soup and a Blender

An eventual day, to say the least! After studying my Turkish for 2.5 hours in a cute little cafe (it's called "Coffee Haus"), I decided to practice a bit while buying the groceries I needed to make dinner--my first attempt at making soup from scratch. After standing in the grocery store forever looking in my dictionary to see if what I'd found was vegetable stock (it wasn't, but it worked), I headed to my friendly vegetable seller around the corner from my house.

The veg man and I have already become fast friends as I go just about every other day to buy 'mandalinas.' (Mandarin oranges--they're SO good here!) I walked up and he said, "Merhaba! 6 mandalinas?" I said, "No!" (All this is in Turkish, mind you. My words will be in ORANGE--war eagle!)

" 3 oranges... 1 kilo carrots... 1 onion."

"Which kind of onion?"

" A small one."

"Haha. Okay. Small one. But what kind?" He points to four kinds of onions...oh. I point to the kind I want.

" Garlic?"

"What?" I point in the dictionary to garlic...blasted silent G that I can't pronounce yet. " Garlic, one."

" 1 kilo apples. 1/2 kilo mandalinas!" He gave me a TRUCKLOAD of mandalinas, and it wasn't until later that I realized that I'd said the word "half" that goes with things that are more than one. There is a different word for half that is for less than one...the word I should have used! So I ended up with 1.5 kilos of mandalinas!

He laughs that I am trying so hard, and announces the price--in English. I say, " Turkish, please!" He says, "oh yeah, Turkish. 4.5 million." Why is interesting that the price was in millions? Because the money in Turkey officially changed on Saturday to the New Turkish Lira (YTL), dropping all the zeroes, so that things won't cost in the millions anymore. The funny thing is...no one is using the money yet! I withdrew cash from the ATM today, and got old Turkish money. Went shopping at four different places for food today, spending and receiving old Turkish lira. I have yet to see the YTL.

Anyway. Back to my story. So I realize I still need bread, which the veg man obviously doesn't sell. I head to the little grocer right across the street from us, and walk in looking around for bread. I finally find it, pull out a loaf from the cabinet, and place it near the register. I point and say, " What this Tukish?" The man smiles and responds, "Ekmek. In English, bread." (In case I didn't know the English word...) I practice my sentences, and say, "This is bread." He smiles and says, "Yes. That is bread." I sing "Good evening!" as I walk out the door to go make my carrot soup.

I'm happy and thrilled to be making soup from scratch, and all is going well. Schroomie comments on what interesting soup...I respond that it'll look different once I puree it. She laughs and says "Just how are you going to puree it?" I respond, "With the blender in the cabinet." (Oh, all that conversation was NOT in Turkish...) She proceeds to tell me that the blender is from Cyprus and has a British plug. Blast the British for doing everything different and complicating my life!

So I decide to be adventuresome, grab the blender, a converter, and head back down to the street. The electric store is closed, so I head back over to the friendly grocer. He sees me (blender in hand), and says (at least I imagine this is what he says), "What's wrong, miss?" I show him the British plug, the converter, and say (in English), "I need to buy a converter." He and three other men walk me across the street to a light bulb store (remember that I live in the light district), and present the blender and converter to the shop owner. Several more men look and see that the plug is indeed British and won't work here. They point to the electric shop down the street. I respond, "It's closed!" (I now have about 6 men helping me with the blender). They say a whole bunch in Turkish that translates (in my non-Turkish head), "No puree'd soup for you."

So I head back up the four flights of stairs and try blending the soup with a hand held blender. Note to the wise--not such a smart idea. I had carrot soup flying every direction of our kitchen.
We ended up eating the soup as was...and it tasted fine. Note to self for tomorrow: buy a converter for the blender.