Un-Fulfilled: Epic Fail in my Kitchen

For those of you who know me, you know I am a darn good cook and fairly fearless in the kitchen. I don't fail often. In fact, I've failed precisely three times in my life-- once trying to make meringue cookies (my boyfriend's mother makes the best); my first waffle; and now with Imagawa-yaki.

I found the pan in Little Tokyo on Friday at Anzen Hardware & Supply Co. It's an unusual shop; long, narrow, musty, with strange bits of metal and wood scattered in dusty boxes, large chef's knives in a glass case, and walls stacked with shelves overflowing with interesting bits of clutter. Imagine you shrank to about 2 inches tall and got lost in your kitchen drawer- the one with all the obscure instruments that people would puzzle over if they found them at a garage sale- and that is what this shop is. After asking the owner, and being pointed in the right direction five times ("that there? This one? Where?") I found the elusive cast-iron Imagawa-yaki pan. I felt very proud of myself.
I seasoned it just like Martha Stewart told me to, and this morning made my first and second attempts at this traditional Japanese...ahem..."comfort food."

It started out well...

I decided to go with a sweet one, and used meyer lemon and blueberry waffle mix. The filling was cream cheese mixed with sugar and vanilla, and fresh blueberries.
It started out well. I filled the little cups with batter, gently laid little balls of filling in the middle...













And then they started overflowing, and since flipping them was out of the question, I decided to make scrambled pancakes. Scrambled pancakes are not good.





















My second attempt at least did not end up in the frying pan. I filled the cups about half-way this time, and when I saw the bubbles-of-done-ness coming up, spent many laborious minutes carefully prying them from the sides with my pick, and slowly, gently, laid one half on top of the other with a fork. Still, not pretty.

I think I'll leave this to the pros for now--and I'm going out to breakfast today.

Fulfilled in Beverly Hills

Last night I got to tag along with LA2Day’s “Wayward Foodie”, Sarika Chawla, to Fulfilled in Beverly Hills. Since she was doing research for her next article, I decided out of professional courtesy to restrain myself from asking questions, taking notes, and flirting with the young, good-looking owner, Susumu Tsuchihashi. My journalistic sensibilities said those privileges were her turf for the evening. She’s married and I have a boyfriend, but flirting with interviewees is all part of the job (a fun part of the job) in my opinion. But, I had to settle for making love to the Japanese pastries, called Imagawa-yaki, which I did with gluttonous abandon.
Going out on an interview with a more experienced food writer, I was curious to check out her technique. I was dismayed to find that while I carry a crumpled list of questions dampened by perspiring palms to my interviews, Sarika needed no such crutch. She took few notes and interjected insightful questions seemingly off the top of her head, absorbing the details without having to write them down word-for-word. Ok, enough of my journalistic jealousy.

Imagawa-yaki, which Fulfilled’s owner shortens to “Ima” for the linguistically challenged, is like a biscuit-shaped pancake filled with any sweet or savory things you can think of. They make them right in front of you on hinged pans with round indentations for the batter. The batter is poured into both sides and the filling is added in a ball on top before the whole contraption is quickly slammed shut like book and left to cook for 4 minutes. The real bummer is that these special pans came straight from Japan (after a lengthy process of being tested for use by the U.S. government) and aren’t easy to find here-- though I'm checking out Anzen Hardware in Little Tokyo today, because I can't resist the challenge.

We started with the savory menu and opted for the “Green Ninja” with spinach, feta cheese and sundried tomato, and the “Sumo Italiano” with prosciutto, ham, parmesan and basil. They came out hot, placed in little individual baggies with the ingredients and reheating instructions, and smelled delicious. Now, one of the nice things about being a journalist is that you can stuff every bit of printed paper into your pocket without feeling like a kleptomaniac, so as I sit here writing this, I have both bags in front of me—and let me tell you, they still smell amazing. Like cotton candy and waffles. Yes, I’m sitting here sniffing yesterday’s paper bags. I love my job.
After blissfully noshing on the savories, Sarika and I sagely decided to split a few sweet Imagawa-yakis so our New Years resolutions wouldn’t be completely obliterated only 8 days into 2009.

Even though the “Karaoke Kitty,” with strawberry, cream cheese, and Ghirardelli white chocolate looked like the easy-winner, we had to sample the traditional “Sweet Geisha,” filled with Japanese Azuki bean…and the “Honey Yakuza” with goat cheese, mission fig, honey, walnut and cracked black pepper, and the custard-filled Ima. Yeah, we got all four. The Karaoke Kitty is Paris Hilton’s favorite, and the owner and manager told us that the paparazzi line up outside their store when she comes in. She likes Karaoke Kitty because it’s pink, like the majority of her wardrobe. The paparazzi have taken quite a few pictures of her carrying the signature Fulfilled take-home boxes, and even have some pics of her eating – I didn’t know she was into that. Eating, I mean.

As for Sarika and I, we were surprised to find that our favorite was the traditional Adzuki bean filled Ima. Just as I was halfway into my pastry--my eyes dizzily unfocused as all sense awareness was redirected to my tongue--it occurred to me that this particular Ima was satisfying. Not filling, but like mulled wine on a cold English day, or macaroni and cheese at a summer BBQ—just right. The owner interrupted my beany reverie by explaining that Imagawa-yaki is Japanese comfort food that has been around since the early 1800’s. That’s it. This is comfort food. However, you won’t find chicken-apple-sausage, pepper jack cheese and cilantro filled Imagawa-yaki in Tokyo. Fulfilled has taken the traditional pastry and played with combining European, western, and eastern flavors—and it is play. The owner and manager, old friends, have fun coming up with new ideas for the menu and add something new each month. Fearless experimentation with food is a Japanese tradition that far pre-dates these 200 year old goodies.

I’m sure Sarika’s Wayward Foodie article will cover the owner’s story, and it’s a good one. I will post it here when it’s up on the LA2Day website.

Fulfilled Store hours are 10:30 AM - 8:00 PM Daily.
9405 S. Santa Monica Blvd.
Beverly Hills, CA 90210
310.860.0776

England Withdrawal

I had this dream last night that I was in London with my expat friend and her Fabulous British Boyfriend (FBB), and I was getting lost because I was trying to write everything down in my rose-patterned journal and wasn't noticing where I was going. Fortunately, the FBB was making sure I didn't wander off too far.

I must be craving a bit of England-- I bought bangers yesterday. Yes, bangers. They say "bangers" on the package, and I thought, "well, there's tomorrow night's dinner sorted out! Bangers and Mash!" I felt a bit guilty about forcing my anglophilia on Charles so I bought some
Italian sausages too, which are crammed into our freezer for another night when I forget the existence of fat grams.

Another symptom of England-withdrawal is the recent population explosion of Cafetieres in my cupboard. I asked for one on Amazon, which an aunt was kind enough to send me, and my mother bought me another one, and what a girl is supposed to do with TWO Cafetieres I'll never know. I love them both.
I hate to choose.

London, October 25th Part 1

London, the 25th

I’ve sat down to write this blog three times. The first time, I actually made it halfway and it was glorious. Specks of golden historical detail embellished my first-person narrative and brought it to a vibrant, though short-lived, life. I say short-lived, because my third flashdrive in 6 months corrupted the file, and it was gone. Now, staring at my notes two months after the events, I am intimidated by my inflated memories of the first version. Will this be as good? Can it come close? No, probably not, but damnit, I’m writing it down anyways because I haven’t updated my blog in weeks and it’s my New Years Resolution to record my London trip for posterity (and the mild amusement of friends and family who are bored at work). So here goes, and keep in mind that whatever comes from my fingers now is nowhere near what it could have been… *sniff* *sigh* *single tear* *string of profanities towards that flashdrive*…

On the 25th of October, which if memory serves, was a (need to check cubicle calendar…) a Saturday, my boyfriend Charles and I were to meet my very good friends Monique, Athena, and her Fabulous British Boyfriend (FBB) Alex at London Bridge station. Our adventure for the day was Borough Market in Southwark, a place I have seen described as a “foodie paradise,” a giant market where one can forage for whatever wonders the local flora and fauna can produce. I envisioned heaps of brightly colored British vegetation like currants and cucumbers, mountains of caramel-coloured farmhouse cheeses, and the sweet warm waftings of pastries stacked in golden piles.

Nothing is ever quite as you expect. Borough Market was better.

Let me backtrack – first we had to find our friends. Planning a place to meet up from across an ocean and the width of a continent is a triumph of optimism over sense, but that’s exactly what we tried to do, looking at an online map of the tube station. Alex, the FBB, suggested we meet outside the actual market at Oast House in the station: “there we can join forces and strike into the interior with strength in numbers.” Our carefully forged plan was doomed to failure in the labyrinthine tube station and crumbled into confused raspy pay-phone calls and “where ARE you?”s that were cut off mid-sentence by my failure to insert coins into the slot at the appointed times. We found Athena first, and Alex ran off to search for Monique who was wandering around outside probably wondering why our calls kept cutting out. Finally we were on our way.

Alex, Athena’s FBB and our fearless Sherpa of London city streets, guided us through winding narrow lanes to Borough Market, which is a series of paved paths formed by myriad market stalls and tables practically toppling with pumpkins and apples, heads of lettuce, bunches of radishes and yes—boxes of red and black currants. Is there anything more British than currants? I tried to take everything in as quickly as possible as we moved through the crowds of people, not noticing where my friends or my feet went. I veered off several times, always with an arm or a finger wrapped around Charles, who knows how I get at these kinds of places. Furry rabbits and fowls hung overhead, which prompted Monique to sigh with pity for the poor things, and me to dream of roasting and stuffing them. They’re dead already, right? Might as well enjoy. Besides, there’s nothing like seeing strung up game to feel like you’re really in a medieval town, next to nature, glorious mud, and history as old as the pitted cobbled stones under your feet. As if this weren’t sublime enough—through the brisk rain scrubbed air, I smelled spicy steam coming from the mulled wine stand. Ok, there is one thing slightly more British than currants, and that is mulled wine. I’ve tried making it 3 times since I got back, but no cup of mine was better than the one I had at Borough Market. We rounded a few corners and found cheese and a mountain of brownies within a few tables of eachother. My senses were overloaded- but I walked straight past the brownie-Everest to the love of my life: crunchy, caramely Dutch aged Gouda. I nearly wept for joy, barely glancing at the layout of raspberry tarts and baked sweets to my left. My eyes were on the cheese. I came, I tasted, I bought as much as I could eat in a day.

Historic Fact: Borough Market is London’s oldest food market. It was established on the south bank of the Thames when the Romans built the first London Bridge. It has occupied its present site for 250 years.
Still clutching my rapidly cooling mulled wine, which had ceased to steam while I deliberated over how many pounds of cheese my boyfriend and I could conceivably inhale over the course of the day, we ventured forth along the Thames. Past Monmouth Coffee with its lines trailing out the door and around the corner, past a reproduction of Sir Francis Drake’s ship, The Golden Hind, and past the Clink. Apparently, the famous prison is now a site for Birthday parties.

Historic Fact: The Clink was a notorious prison in Southwark, England functioned from the 12th century until 1780. It was originally used for the detention of religious non-conformists (both Protestant and Catholic, as English religious winds changed). The Clink Prison Museum is currently located on the original site in Clink Street, in the basement of a former warehouse.

As we walked, the terrible Tate Modern loomed tall, sterile and ugly, still very much the Bankside Power Station, and looking more like one of Blake’s “dark Satanic mills.” Entry is free, but in my opinion, you get what you pay for. On the other side of the river, the dome of St. Paul’s floated like a Nintendo cloud above the London rooftops.

We browsed through rows of paperback books set up under Waterloo Bridge—though after my forays into Charing Cross bookstores, I couldn’t bring myself to buy—and crossed Embankment Bridge on our way to the National Portrait Gallery. Just outside the opening of Embankment tube station is Gordon’s Wine Bar, a family owned restaurant where guests can enjoy wine and “an excellent cheese plate” by candle-light in an old crypt, so Alex told us. This place is at the top of my list for my next trip to London, but as it was, we needed to get to the gallery in time to scope out the Tudors and depart in time for tea.

End of October 25th, Part 1 (part 2 will be posted shortly)

Aptly put

Holiday Food Around the World Article is up on Peter Greenberg's site

Usually when a new article of mine is published, I discreetly link it on the right-hand side. But I'm excited about this one because not only is it a fun article about Holiday Food Around the World, it has the recipes too! Many many thanks to my traveling friends who helped me research this.

This article inspired me to put a microwave steamer on my Amazon wishlist, so someday soon I'll be making some Mongolian buuz. Merry Kentucki Furaido Kurisumasu everyone!

Emails from the East

Another anecdote from my friend in India:

"Today a couple of house-wives turned up at our badminton club.
Instead of a nice "hello" or "good morning" one of them came up to me and asked me

'do you buy cock?'

My brain stops and I go 'excuse me? ' and now she yells it at me like I can't hear her ' do you purchase the cock?' ( say this in an Apu accent ) so i look at my hands and I'm holding a box of birdies so I go 'umm..yes.'"

New Posts Delayed

My 3rd flashdrive this year is about to be chucked into the drawer with the other two for corrupting my files yet again. Apparently, I cannot use a flashdrive without my word documents turning into gibbrish, and there's nothing that can fix it. So my next blog post is lost and I have to go back and re-write everything.

If ANYONE has any answers as to what is going on with my flashdrives, please comment. I am at my wits end.

London Postscript

Tuesday, November 4th

I’m still working on recording the remaining days of my trip, so stay tuned. But in the meanwhile, here are my thoughts today.

Three days after our return flight I’m still finding little remembrances tucked away in bags and on clothes (no, I haven’t done my laundry yet, and yes, I’m still wearing the same pants I wore in England). Copper pennies bearing the Queen’s profile jingle in my travel-stained bag with feather-light yen from two summers ago in Tokyo, and tiny blue fuzzy balls from my Topshop scarf have infiltrated every piece of fabric I own, and somehow found their way to being unintended bookmarks in my journal.

My body still has not acclimated to California time, weather, food, or activities—though it never was to begin with. I’m falling asleep around 8pm and waking up at 4 and 5am by choice, which would normally make me feel sick for the rest of the day, but now is very pleasant. I have endeavored to bring English food back with me and have taught myself how to make meat pies (and unfortunately discovered their calorie and fat gram count, which I am stubbornly denying) and mulled wine. I’m drinking more tea instead of coffee, and have a craving for “biscuits” that I haven’t found a way to satisfy. American cookies are similar, but not the same thing. I’m even toying with the idea of making risotto, which isn’t English, but try telling them that. The entire country is fixated on Risotto, and you’ll find it in every restaurant, on every table, in every home.

I’ve gained what I call London Superpowers, which means I can now race up the L.A. Metro stairs as fast as the young Mexican men can without even getting winded. Bless those trillion stairs at our London B&B.

It’s Election Day, and forgive me for not waxing political. Rather, think of my reticence to discuss my personal politics as further evidence of my innate Britishness. Those lovely people characteristically refrain from discussing personal matters in public, which is something I came to appreciate immediately upon my return to the office when, in the elevator, I overheard a fat, middle-aged coworker discussing her preference for men with big cocks.

Yes, you read that right.

God Bless the British.