To Asia, With Love

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Somewhere near the beginning of Hetty McKinnon's To Asia, With Love (#commissionearned), she writes, "I was culturally confused for most of my life. I didn't understand who I was, until I started to cook. In food, I found the connection to my cultural identity that I'd been searching for my entire life." 

I read the words once, twice, and then reached for my notebook and a pen. I would have written in the margins and dog-eared the page, but it was a library book, soon to be returned. Reading cookbooks cover to cover is something I do, rather than just flipping through to find recipes. I adore the notes at the beginning of each recipe, which is a bit odd as I sincerely will not look at a single SEO-driven missive preceding online recipes. (You may notice there is none of that nonsense on my site.)

When I read Hetty's words, I was simultaneously comforted and confused. I knew she was speaking to me. Give me a kitchen, and I can be home. For someone constantly struggling with the concept (and location of home), it's important to note. I can be quite untethered when leaving the kitchen, as often I'm not in the city or country I wish to be. 

But confusion set in as I realised I was about to embark on my Asian era - and that was never my plan. 

Asian food is easy to come by near me, dead easy. A less-than-five-minute walk (downhill at that) will bring me to the front door of my High Thai'd. Across the street is a beloved Vietnamese restaurant. Korean barbecue is only two minutes further. There are at least three Japanese restaurants, and a sprinkling of Chinese establishments. 

I've not felt the need to learn how to cook Asian food because it's easy to procure when I don't feel like cooking (or my husband doesn't feel like cleaning up after me; I am truly a messy cook most of the time). And, let's be honest, no matter how much I thrive on slicing and stirring, sometimes my feet are sore, my eyes are tired, I've already had an extra glass of wine, or I just want a treat. So a walk down the road for the readily available Thai and Vietnamese is a joy. 

The reason I picked up To Asia, With Love stems from my recent failed attempts to recreate something called handbreak bread, a version of a scallion pancake from PRON in Linden. I'd tried a few different ways to get it right: lamination, yeast, butter. At one point, I was going to buy pre-made puff pastry, brush it with sesame oil and stuff it with spring onions, and then coil it in a pan to resemble the restaurant version. 

I went further, asking ChatGPT to translate the Chinese characters written next to the English words on PRON's menu. Perhaps there would be some regional Taiwanese bread that would get me closer to the original. 

The whole project was on hold, however, as I waited for the spring onions outside to grow a bit taller. I had obliterated my supply by running test after test with failed results. And it wasn't even the intention of picking out an Asian cookbook that prompted my library visit. But, as I was there, well, I scanned the shelves for something that was bound to include a scallion pancake recipe. When I grabbed it, I didn't even look inside; I trusted the recipe would be there. And it was. 

Now, I think I've worked out my lamination problem; I wasn't rolling and resting nearly enough. But, of course, I am still waiting for my spring onions to grow. Yes, I know I could go off and buy more, but I have everything else on hand, so it's a matter of remembering to pick them up when I am at a grocery store. (For me, grocery stores are like being in the kitchen - entirely comfortable. My ability to remain focused rather than distracted by pretty produce, once there, is a different story.)

To Asia, With Love has been returned, but not before I copied a few recipes, jotted down notes for others that I plan to bend to my will, ordered a few speciality products from Amazon, placed holds for other Asian cookbooks, and ensured that a Thai cookbook was available for me to pick up. Now the problem with the Thai cookbook is that I can't get through more than a few pages without feeling the urge to walk down to High Thai'd on Coventry - a craving which I am only beating by way of the oppressive heat enveloping us at the moment. 

And perhaps the heat is as good a reason as any to learn more about Asian cuisines and cooking, to drive me towards the kitchen rather than down the street. It's an excuse to read more, learn from established chefs and talented home cooks, to buy more ingredients, to learn new skills, to continually battle my mess in the kitchen. After all, like Hetty, it's where I am most at home.