Cooking With Kevin’s Mom

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Kevin’s mom has taken to spoiling us with meals in when she comes to visit, and it’s absolutely my favorite way to pass a few days when she’s in town. It’s a lot of fun to hang around the kitchen while she’s cooking, trying to absorb bits of cooking wisdom here and there while she casually whips up whole feasts before our eyes. Beyond just being a funny, self-assured woman, she’s also quick, with a razor-sharp mind and buckets of energy. I think of her almost as a force of nature. I often tell Kevin that the two of us together could not do what one of his mom is able to accomplish in an afternoon. 

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But even though she’s got incredible cooking talent and instincts, she’s not much of a teacher. On one of her visits she made something very special: tang yuan. It’s a filled mochi ball gently boiled in soup, and often served sweet, with red bean paste or sesame paste inside. Except Kevin’s mom made a savory tang yuan filled with pork and greens and mushrooms! Imagine a chewy, glutinous rice cake ball hiding inside a juicy bite of fluffy ground pork, Chinese herbs and mushrooms. 

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As she was making them we tried to get some lessons out of her but it was hopeless. She took a bag of glutinous rice flour and shook it out into a bowl, then boiled up some water. “How hot should the water be?” we asked. ”100 Chinese degrees, not American degrees!” She then poured the scalding water, volume unknown, into the bowl and first with chopsticks and then with her bare hands whipped the flour and water into a chalky paste, which became a smooth ball. The dough is finicky, too much or too little water and the dough becomes too sticky to handle. Too much pounding and it loses its elasticity. “What are you looking for?” I ventured when she was in the middle of a kneading session. “This!” she said, pointing to her handiwork. Then she cut me off because it was time to move on to the next step: filling the mochi and nestling morsels of meat inside the dough before sending them into a pot of boiling water.

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I couldn’t tell you much more about how this goes. But oh my god they’re delicious.

One Year in New York City

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We’ve been living in New York City for a whole year! Rodents scare me less. I now understand the phrase “live-in super,” and get what a perk it is to have access to one. I’ve learned not to make eye contact on the subway, and accept it not as rudeness, but as the way New Yorkers give each other privacy in a super crowded city where you’re afforded little solitude. I’m quicker to anger now, and faster with a retort, especially with rude people on the streets, and I don’t see any of that as a bad thing. I see friends more often here than I did in LA, and think it has something to do with the trains, but I’m not quite sure. 

Gone are the days of the biannual Costco trips to buy the 48-pack of toilet paper (I miss this more than I thought I would). I don’t blink twice when I see $3.50 tacos on a menu anymore. I have NO idea what a gallon of gas costs today. When we first moved from LA, my tender driving feet ached at the end of every day. These days walking a mile a day is whatever. It’s also known as: getting home from the A train. 

The other thing that’s changed in my life is pizza, pizza, and more pizza. If you were to take my weekly taco intake in Los Angeles and swap it out for pizza in New York, you’d have a good sense of its new place in my life. (I should add: I used to eat a lot of tacos when I lived in LA.) K and I don’t discriminate–we love the cheap slices as much as we enjoy the fancypants gourmet pizzas. We’ve liked Lucali, Rubirosa, Sottocasa, Roberta’s. But I don’t have time for any of that Holy Grail of NYC Pizza crap. At a certain point it’s all terrific. 

The slices in this photo are from My Little Pizzeria on Court Street, which has a small plastic bucket of fresh basil leaves on the counter for your own taking. Perfect addition to fresh from the oven reheated pizza.