I'm a profoundly bad cook. I mean, it's impressive how terrible my instincts are. I can't season properly or gage when any protein is ready to eat. I'm also truly terrible with vegetables. They either come out raw or soggy. I also can't make side dishes or salads. If the sides don't come out of a microwavable bag from HEB I'm lost. As for salads I am the undisputed champ of picking the worst bunch of lettuce or greens, tasteless tomatoes, and, well what else do you put on them? Bottled dressing I guess. And that was back in Texas when I could buy virtually everything cut up or pre-packaged. Now I am adrift in this country where the cilantro and basil smell different (so I can't find them) and I'm intimidated by the carrots because they are all the size of eggplants. Don't even get me started on the greens. Are they okay to eat raw? Surely they were not treated with the bottled water I'm forced to cook with (learned that the messy way) so can I ever really wash them enough? So yes, we have eaten out many many times during the past two months.
This weekend I tried to do something about this. I don't know how successful this will prove to be, but I put myself out there. I've mentioned our driver, Rody, and his wife Ian before. Yes, she's a she. "Ian" in Indonesian is probably spelled Eyan or something else purely phonetic because that is how this language rolls. Apple is apel, cable is kabel, taxi is taksi, you get the drift.
A few weeks ago Ian asked if I like to cook. I'm very bad, was my answer. When I asked her the same thing she shrugged and said she has three kids so she has to cook everyday. Earlier this week I begged and pleaded with Rody to broker a deal so Ian would come over and help me learn to cook one Indonesian dish. She agreed, I whooped, and was dispatched to buy 1 kilo each of beef and chicken. (buying 1 kilo of anything made me feel edgier, like I could qualify for a neck tattoo now).
This weekend she came over with her BEAUTIFUL daughter Asia, who played for hours with Cassie, and a ton of fresh produce I sort of recognized but had managed to mostly ignore until now. And I mean ignore the past 37 years. I almost deleted that sentence with my age. How am I not 28??
While I'm meandering down this tangent I just want to acknowledge the masterful job Rody and Ian have done naming their children. They have a Johannes, a Fantasasia, who goes by Asia, and a another boy whose name I don't recall but I recall breathing it in when I heard it like my favorite Scentsy flavor, French Kiss. I don't have the balls to give my kids epic names. Growing up my dad used to talk about how your kids' names will look in the headlines after they committed their unforgivable crimes. Apparently this is why my brother is not John H. Mallard, Jr., but he totally could have been because my brother is, and has always been awesome sauce. Still, too big a risk in 1971. My dad was also convinced that I would end up with the married name of "Schlochenbachen". In college I did sort of stalk the only other Mallard in the directory, a David my age. How wonderful not to have to change your name! I'm practically already a hillbilly so I'm totally fine with my family tree not seeming to branch out. During our second senior year I actually met him at a bonfire party--he was from San Marcos and had gone to high school with my Mike, who cheerfully told him about my creepy wish to marry him. He left pretty quickly.
So back to the cooking lesson. Ian took a look around my huge but poorly outfitted kitchen and told me I MUST go buy a blender. She then meticulously washed (in bottled water) and masterfully chopped the garlic, scallions, ginger, thing that looks like ginger but isn't, green onions, the things that look like green onions but aren't, cilantro, and some leaf that looked like a small magnolia leaf but smelled like heaven. I want some to put in my pillowcase. She got everything from a market, not a grocery store, but told me all I have to say is "lanco lanco" and the stall keeping will bag everything up for me, including fresh coconut milk. So you see why I gave up learning all the different vegetables and instead wrote down lanco lanco. She then inspected my beef, basically told me I bought crap meat, which is par for the course with me, then used it anyway, bless her. We made rendang, which was dang good. We could have chopped up chilis to add, but my white-girl-ness scared her from doing so.
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| Yummy Rendang |
Time for the chicken dish: I brought out my packages of skinless boneless chicken breast and poor Ian had to tell me this was such crap she couldn't even cook with it. Apparently you need chicken with skin and bones to stew and help flavor the dish. So I'm supposed to go buy a whole chicken tomorrow morning and she'll come back at lunch to show me that one. Being a chub American worked against me there.
Then we cooked prawns or shrimp. Shrimp sold in Indonesia always comes with not only the shell on, but also the legs and head. This is when I went from liking Ian to loving her: when she pulled out a package of cleaned shrimp. Bless her! She knew her audience. She again thoroughly cleaned some leafy greens, then wilted them in a sauce made of oil, garlic, white pepper, cornmeal (or something super close to cornmeal, she left me the box), chicken salt (not bullion, best way I can describe it is salt) and some kind of umani shrimp sauce she also left me. I felt like a "Chopped" judge on the food network going on and on about the broth she made. If I'd been alone I would have sucked at the spot I dribbled on my shirt.
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| Ian wouldn't look at me for this picture because she wasn't wearing any make-up. A world-wide concern, my dear! |
On Saturday Ian came back with the lovely Asian and immediately sent me out to BUY A BLENDER. I obeyed and this time she blended all the herbs, garlic and onions in water and left it on the stove to simmer. She then pulled out this whole chicken, head and feet included, and chopped that mother up to stew. Lesson learned, the skin and bones add tons of flavor. This dish turned out to be opor ayam, which is a chicken in a coconut milk curry-ish sauce. Delish! Everything she makes is amazing! Whenever Rody has to work really late to take us to a big dinner or goes above and beyond like helping us move we have always sent him home with lots of pastries or donuts. Once Ian sent us a cake in thanks and dear me I wish I had taken pictures. The heavenly thing consisted of all these teeny tiny layers of both chocolate and vanilla. It was perfect and the kids and I had it for breakfast, lunch, dinner and desert for days. I asked where she had bought it. Joke's on me, she made it.
Last Ian took out this container full of what looked like unfried egg rolls. Half were stuffed with chicken sausage and half were full of this perfect and tasty potato-carrot filling. I implored her to bring me more for this week's wife potluck. She won't take my money because she says we do a lot for her family but I hired friends all the time for sweets and cakes. I'm going to figure out to pay her no matter what.
So the weekend was gastro-tastic and I'm positive I will never be able to successfully duplicate what she showed me, but I will gamely try. I admit that I am self-aware enough to recognize that I have never had to learn to cook. Economically speaking, even in our leanest years, there was always Taco Bell. Ian, who is my age, has not had that luxury. No popping out for take out for this mother of three. This is also most like why I probably weigh "two Ians".
And I'm done with this monstrously long post! If you even read this far, you could only be my parents. So hey Mom and Dad! I'm sorry I kept missing FT today, please still work on coming for Christmas. XOXO Embeaux
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