Stickyrice

More Rural Bird

I keep getting these birds; chickens from the countryside or ga ta.

The last one came from Ha Tay. This latest one got its neck wrung and feathers plucked in Ninh Binh, a province 90 kms from the capital famous for limestone karsts rising up out of the ricefields. Not a bad place for a chook to grow up, I s'pose.

Anyway, said chook made its way to my freezer stuffed in the hatch under the seat of my mate's motorbike. It did look a bit wonky when I got it out and thawed it, as if it had been folded or something. Naughty disfigured chicken wouldn't sit straight on the oven tray. Kept falling over while I was dealing to it with the aromatics.

You see I'd thought I'd do a roast this time. Let me call it risky roast because I wasn't exactly sure how a scawny long legged fowl from the provinces of Vietnam would take to being rubbed with olive oil, garlic and lemongrass and shoved in a hot box with spuds for an hour or more. Most of these birds get boiled or grilled. I wasn't sure that the meat wouldn't end up as tough as a billy-goat's knee.

I had to be vigilant and I had to use aluminium foil for part of the cooking time. The result was well worth the risk. I cleavered the bird into pieces and surrounded them on the plate with sweet and normal potatoes. Ye olde feast ensued, drumsticks were brandished, bones flung about, tankards of wine swilled and spilled and wanton wenches pleasured.

Well, almost. Kind of.

Introducing the Hanoi Cooking Centre

Stickyrice readers, particularly those on the way to Vietnam, often make food related enquiries about Hanoi, many of them concerning cooking classes. Until now, I haven't been able - with any confidence or first-hand experience - to recommend a cook nor a kitchen.

Drum roll, people. Twenty-one gun salute, even.

Allow me to introduce the Hanoi Cooking Centre, the brainchild of long-time Vina food-phile, chef and cookbook author, Tracey Lister, and business partner Linh Phung Dinh, Hanoian born and bred expert eater and local hospitality insider. Launched softly a few weeks back, the centre is aiming to promote and teach Vietnamese cuisine from up and down the country, offering classes ranging from the dishes of Hanoi and the northern highlands to vegan tofu cookery to my personal fave, Vietnamese street food.

But, local expats and Vietnamese citizens sit up and take note. The centre is also catering for those who may have noodle and rice fatigue, those who may want to dip their cooking chopsticks into the cuisines of other regions, those who may have a new oven and don't know what to do with it. Graduate in bread, biscuits or elegant finger food if you like. This week just gone, Tracey has been earnestly bashing out dough for that old Easter favourite, hot cross buns.

So, I know that the Hanoi Cooking Centre is going to be a happening place where food will truly be celebrated. I'm also looking forward to collaborating with Tracey, Linh and the god on some unique street food tours, routed through markets and some of my compulsory eating haunts in Hanoi. But more on that later.

In the meantime, visit the centre's website...book a class. Have an espresso in their cafe.

Tell them Sticky sent you!

Chicken Salad

So a mate from Ha Tay, a province adjoining Hanoi which has recently been re-zoned as an official part of the capital, brings back what is known locally as a countryside chicken or ga ta. I'm not sure if that qualifies these chooks as free-range in the western sense of the term. I mean I have seen lots of chickens wandering about in the alleys of rural villages and I suppose they are much happier than shed ones.

Anyway...whatever...the god and I got together in the kitchen to do some justice to it. We divided up the labour. The god took to the already cooked bird with his bare hands, tearing it limb from limb, wing from wing, greasing up his hands in the process. Shredded flesh and skin along with thinly sliced heart and lung were the first ingredients ready for the salad bowl. Further up the bench, I was dealing with the vegetable and liquid content. Limes were softened with a roll to loosen their juice. From the sink, the stunning spicy scent of  bathing Vietnamese mint (rau ram) was rising. A red onion lay sliced on the chopping board, paper thin. Freshly ground pepper, sea salt and chopped spring onions were ready to be sprinkled.

The assembly is not dainty, human hands being the most effective implement to mix this fine marriage of ingredients. It could be served with rice crackers or pushed on top of a bowl of hot steamed rice. The god and I opted for no carbs.

Basically we each ate half a bird!

Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble

"Making pho can't be that difficult, can it?"
"Nah....it's just a broth, few bones, water, bit of this, bit of that."

My first attempt at it started with me talking to myself. Then I wrote a shopping list, shot down to the market and picked up some pig bones, some this and some that.

Back in the kitchen, I filled up the pot with water, dropped the bones in, fired up the gas cooker and started messing about with the other bits. I bashed the ginger up, bruised the lemongrass and, along with the star anise, nutmeg and cinnamon sticks, half an onion and a bulb of garlic, they took a synchronised dive. Bloody simple!

The broth boiled, I skimmed the scum, turned down the flame, took to my book and drank two cans of Bia Hanoi. Two hours and one nap later, I returned to the kitchen for the moment of truth. The aroma was intriguing.

I put the spoon to my mouth.

It had a pungent herbal wallop that would kill a brown dog.

I'm going to follow a recipe next time.

Three Soups

A couple of weeks ago, I went mad at the vegie stall in the local market, bringing home a sackful of herbage and vegetation for some kitchen treatment. The street eat blues had set in, due largely to the drop in temperature in Hanoi. Managing the chopsticks while wearing woolen gloves ain't much fun - don't know whether to eat or knit!

So...to the kitchen. After polishing off most of the greens and roots in our normal day to day eating, I was left with my trusty plastic bagful of aromatics, half a pumpkin, some spuds and a bunch of the best green veg in 'Nam - rau can tay. The Viet-English dictionary reckons it's celery but it throws up dyslexic translations all the time. It is a subtle lemon on the tongue and, when steamed and eaten simply, should have crunch. Like with most vegetables, overcooking this little number would be a sin. Anyway, have a gander at it.

So, what to do with this miss-mash of veg? Make a bloody soup, I say. A week before, I'd blended far too much Thai curry paste, so that went in with half a tin of coconut cream and an inch of smashed ginger to start off proceedings. The spuds were peeled and drowning in water to avoid the big brown, the pumpety-pump had been murdered and was sitting in clumps on the chopping board as I threw a diced onion and half a dozen thin stems of chopped celery into the pot of spluttering aroma. Next in were the pumpy and half of the potatoes, followed by a kettle full of hot water and a pho ga stock-cube. In our poxy little oven which nonetheless packs a punch of heat, I roasted the remainder of the spuds.The one-two-three of boil-simmer-blend finished off the show.

Serving was simple: I'd cut the rau can tay into 5cm lengths and blanched them momentarily, plonking a scissored-into-bite-size pile of them into each bowl before ladling the soup over (good way to suck the kids into eating their greens, hey what?). Prettified with a few roasted spud chunks, coriander, celery leaf and cracked pepper, the bowls were whacked on the table with a basket of toasted banh my and spooned down as we looked out the kitchen window at the drizzle and grey sky that is Hanoi in winter AND spring.

With renewed confidence in my cooking skills - I haven't really put knife to chopping block much in the last two years - I hit the market again for more soup vegetables. The following is the creation of Cauliflower and Coriander Soup, made following much of the above vague method without the roasted potato palaver and with a slightly different paste, heavy with Vietnamese mint (rau ram).

The third soup of the title is bun rieu, this one made out the front of a family home and eaten in their living room, after I'd bought the veggies and was wandering around the alleys behind the market so ravenous I could've eaten the crotch out of a low flying duck!