It’s sad-o’clock on Sunday afternoon, I’m drinking iced coffee and thinking about omelettes. In fact, omelettes have been on my mind since Friday lunchtime, when the thought popped up unsought and baseless and unshakeable. I cancelled my plans and instead had a divine Elizabeth David style evening, on omelette and a glass of wine.

Korean eggs.

That first omelette in an eternity was spectacularly eye opening. Three eggs cooked in my new happy-yellow pan (which just turns out to be perfectly omelette sized), filled with king oyster mushrooms and home-made ricotta, the egg ranging from gently browned on the outside to wibbly wobbly soft on the inside. It came out of the pan beautifully folded, like a wrapped present hiding some secret surprise.

In the short interval between then and now, I’ve made and eaten more omelettes than I care to admit. French style, purely egg or with a shaving of parmesan, or filled with mushrooms, roasted tomatoes, bacon, spring onions, home-made ricotta. A dressed green salad on the side makes a perfect lunch, add a glass of wine for a satisfying dinner.

French style omelette. Egg, seasoned with a splash of milk, cooked in butter and oil over high heat very quickly to ensure the egg gets no colour.

It is an understatement to say that I never understood the allure of an omelette until now. It was a standby family dinner when the chickens were laying beyond control, but I thought an omelette was just egg. Now I realise that it is inexplicably so much more. In fact, I cared so little about omelettes before that I only learnt out to properly spell the word last year when I was teaching English in Hanoi and it appeared on a food vocabulary list.

There are a million reasons to love this kind of omelette. Plain or shot with cheese they are delicate and comforting, plain perfection when you’re feeling fragile. Possible fillings are many and varied, fridge scrapings can be rejuvenated into a delicious meal by being sauteed and then enveloped in carefully fried egg. Plus, they’re incredibly quick to prepare, though technically quite difficult to execute (practice makes perfect), and they’re my new favourite post-work dinner. Just prepare your fillings, beat the eggs (lightly, mind, just enough to incorporate the whites). Heat a splash of oil and a knob of butter until the butter foams, then pour in your eggs. For a country style filled omelette we are looking for rustic, large sections of egg, so let your eggs sit for a moment in the pan, bubbling and setting. Pull an edge into the centre, tipping the pan to let the raw egg flow in and fill up the gap. Continue this action for another 20 seconds or so, or until your egg is mostly set. Put your filling ingredients in and flip up the egg to cover them using a spatula, fork or deft pan flick. Tip onto a serving plate and you’re done. It’ll take you longer to read this paragraph than to make your dinner.

A fine french omelette uses a slightly different technique to produce a much more delicate and ephemeral meal. Let Julia Child teach you, but don’t be scared give it a whirl, it’s only eggs.

I believe that all people come to things when they’re ready. A child who hates mushrooms may not always. We grow into and out of things constantly and forcing the issue rarely works. It seems that Easter 2011 I finally grew into a love for omelettes that I hope never dies. But I do hope that it dims, I’m not sure it’s healthy to eat as many eggs as I’ve eaten this weekend.

I made this dish two months ago. I started writing this post three weeks ago but I only one line remained “I am a terrible creature of habit.” I have no idea where I was going to go with that. Maybe I would have spoken about how rarely I cook fish at home. But there is some possibility that I’d intended to discuss my undying love for 30 Rock, my growing dissatisfaction of my current city, or my inattention to this space.

Recently I read a quote, the gist of which was: good writers are able to think clearly. For the past few months my thoughts have been muddled and twirling, concentration and focus sorely lacking. Right now, even, I’m switching between gmail, facebook, twitter and msn when I can’t immediately grasp the word I’m after. There are dozens of tabs open in multiple browsers, all a welcome distraction when my train of thought reaches the end of the line, or halts abruptly, which is more often the case.

What I’m trying to say is that my heart isn’t in it. Blogging has become a habit for me, something that I feel I should do even if my words are muddled and the story comes out wrong. I don’t like this. I started Pikelet & Pie to have some fun, practice and get better at exploring, cooking, writing and photography. But now everything is stagnant.

So, what does this mean? I don’t really know. Re-assessment. Finding some focus. Less posts here, definitely, and hopefully an improvement in quality, but more than that I’m not sure. Anyway time will tell. Too much thinking, not enough eating. On to the dish!

Way back when, in the time of the secret dinner, Fouad suggested that I try this traditional Lebanese dish from Greg and Lucy Maloufs lovely book Saha: A Chef’s Journey Through Lebanon and Syria. But, being a creature of habit and rarely cooking fish at home, I didn’t. I don’t know what drew my attention back, but in the weeks after my return from India this dish was on my mind. I adapted the recipe, fried fish instead of confit, and added the tender stalks of baby coriander as well as the leaves. Fouad tells me that this is a traditional combination, and it is obvious why. The salmon is the star, its mild flavour supported by different levels of nuttiness and highlighted by the tang of yoghurt and the bright splash of coriander and lemon.

Maybe my first step on the path to better writing is making a habit of making this dish.*

Salmon tarator with coriander, walnuts and tahini sauce

Recipe adapted from Saha: A Chef’s Journey Through Lebanon and Syria by Greg and Lucy Malouf.

As is visible in the pictures, I used limes instead of lemons. In Hanoi limes are plentiful and unbelievably cheap, but lemons are imported, flabby and expensive. Although the flavour profile is changed, the choice is obvious.

Serves 6

600g salmon fillet, pin boned

Tahini Sauce
150g plain yoghurt
3 Tablespoons tahini, well stirred
1 clove garlic, crushed with some sea salt
1 lemon, juiced

Tarator
60g walnuts
1 cup coriander leaves, finely shredded
1 purple shallot, finely diced
1 mild red chilli, de-seeded and finely diced
1/2 teaspoon ground sumac (I didn’t have any, unfortunately)
1 lemon, juiced
60ml extra-virgin olive oil

salt and pepper

For tahini sauce: Mix all ingredients together until creamy.

For tarator: Roast the walnuts in a dry pan in a medium oven for about 10 minutes. Be sure to move them around so they brown evenly. Remove from oven and tip only a clean tea towel. Rub them vigorously to get rid of the papery skin, then chop finely. Mix all ingredients together and season with salt and pepper.

For salmon: Fry salmon in a hot pan with a little oil until browned and just cooked. Set aside and cool slightly.

To serve: Top your pieces of fish with a little of the tahini sauce. Gently press as much tarator as you can on top. The original recipe is for confited fish, and calls for it to be served at room temperature. If you fry the fish I think it’s nice to serve it a little bit warm, but either is fine. Serve with some extra tahini sauce on the side.

* HAH! Do you see that I did there? Nowhere to go but up.

I came to Hanoi not because I like Vietnamese food but because it was the best option for me at the time. Friends in Australia were jealous of all the amazing food I’d have easy and inexpensive access to, something that I was excited about after the wallet emptying doldrum that is Sydney. Delicious, cheap and interesting eating is everywhere here, I discover new places all the time but I have to admit it, I’m getting sick of Vietnamese food. On holidays I attempt to eat the local food as much as possible but I’ve been here for almost 5 months, this isn’t a holiday now it’s life.

In my old life I zig-zagged the globe when I ate out, Indian food one night, Greek the next. But obviously Hanoi is no where near as developed or multicultural as Sydney, and the dining scene reflects this. But I live in an area with a high expat population which is dotted with miniature grocery stores selling all manner of imported goods. Despite Hanoi’s dire restaurant situation I have been introduced to all kinds of food by new international friends, and can replicate dishes with ingredients that are easily accessible here but difficult to find in Sydney. Who’d have thought!

Even though I’ve never had a good Mexican meal in Sydney I still hold the cuisine in high esteem, even more so after a recent eye opening and delicious brunch of Huevos Rancheros. Fried eggs with soft wheat tortillas, cooked tomato salsa, black beans and cheese. All of the ingredients, bar some spices, easily available locally, a delicious fleeting snapshot of Mexico from a dining room in Hanoi. And a flavour that I couldn’t forget. I wasn’t interested in all the time and effort involved in bean cooking and cheese grating, so I made my own quasi Huevos Rancheros; Egg, tortilla, salsa.

For weeks I dreamed of this ensemble, tangy hot salsa, crisp tortilla, runny egg yolk all combining to form one great big mess of delicious. Then I took these photos, dreamed up this blog post and my desire for quasi-Mexicana seems to have waned, though I fear the actual posting may have re-ignited the fire. Tonight I am having a casual birthday dinner at a Japanese restaurant, tomorrow I may recall my Vietnamese-ised meal and drown my sorrows with some more fried eggs with tortillas and salsa.

Egg, tortilla, salsa.
If you can’t buy ready made tortillas then you can make them yourself. I never have but there are recipes online. If you are in Sydney you can substitute Greek flatbread (I’m not sure of the brand). It is readily available but much thicker than tortillas. Adjust recipe accordingly.

Freshly made wheat and corn tortillas are available here and can be used for this dish, though I prefer the wheat version.

Serves 1

1 clove garlic
red chilli to taste
1 ripe roma tomato, diced
coriander
lime juice
salt and pepper

2 tortillas
2 eggs
oil

1/4 avocado, flesh diced and mixed with salt and lime juice

Cut garlic finely and crush to a fine paste with some sea salt. I use the side of my knife to pulverise the garlic/salt mixture against the cutting board, but you could use a mortar and pestle if your kitchen was thusly equipped. Cut chilli finely. In a bowl mix tomato, garlic and chilli to combine, season with lime juice salt and pepper to taste, set aside for 15 minutes to enable the flavours to develop.
Heat a frying pan large enough to hold a tortilla over medium heat. Add 2 teaspoons of oil. When hot place both tortillas in the pan, and turn them almost immediately. Fry until bottom tortilla is golden, then turn again. Now you have a choice: fry eggs on top (it will be layered tortilla, tortilla, egg), or fry eggs between the tortillas (tortilla, egg, tortilla). Whichever you chose, add eggs as soon as you turn the tortillas. Season and cook until whites are set. Check the bottom tortilla as you may need to flip the whole eggy mess over. Don’t worry about this too much it will taste delicious even if it looks odd.
When eggs are cooked turn out onto a plate.
Mix roughly chopped coriander with the tomato salsa and arrange on top of your egg. Note: my salsa always turns out quite liquidy, I don’t pour all the liquid on the eggs as I don’t like it soggy. Use your judgement. Top with avocado.
Enjoy!

Saving money to start my ‘new life’ as a drifter has forced me to be even more frugal than usual, if that were even possible. Combined with the transition to cooking for one means my eating, and also cooking, habits have changed considerably. I no longer plan elaborate braised or roasted meat-heavy meals, switching instead to light, quick and simple pasta dishes and salads. Making the most of greengrocer specials and using up my extensive pantry stocks have been of paramount importance. Miniscule Qantas baggage allowance limits have necessitated the clearing out of speciality pasta shapes, my hoarded array of dried fruit and nuts, beans, rice (who really needs more types of rice than you can count on one hand?), and more delights that I’m still in mourning for.

Some habits stick fast, though, over-buying vegetables being my current undoing, I’m crunching through a carrot as I write this. But what to do with the cubic megatonne of broccoli I brought home to make friends with the watermelon sized cauliflower taking up a whole half shelf in my fridge? Make a warm salad, eat it for dinner with a small wedge of toast (or cornbread!). With leftovers, that takes care of at least half a megatonne, with delicious results.

Broccoli, almond and ricotta.

Chop your brocolli up small. Heat a tablespoon or two of oil in a frypan, add some sliced garlic and chilli and fry til fragrant but not coloured. Add your brocc and a few splashes of water (or wine, if you need to use a whole lot of that up too), cover and cook until its softened but still green, and the liquid is mostly evaporated. Season with sea salt and black pepper, a few glugs of olive oil and some lemon juice (though be careful as the lemon can turn your green vegetable grey and unappetising if left for too long). Transfer broccoli to a serving plate and dot with ricotta and scatter over some freshly toasted slivered almonds. Now, to attempt to stop buying broccoli.

Pockmarked Mother Chen’s Tofu. Not a terribly becoming name is it? But whoever turns their nose up at this spicy tumble of silken tofu and pork belly is missing out (and anyway, more for me!)

Sichuan Province is high on my list of places to return to. Pandas, relaxing tea drinking and spicy, interesting food. But for the time being I just have to think about those hilariously fun Pandas, and cook Sichuan food for myself (but not for long! Terrifying change could see me transplanted into downtown China much sooner than expected).

But this version of the traditional Ma Po Tofu is not authentic. It is dulled down spice-wise to make it more enjoyable for those of us who don’t eat mouth explodingly spicy food constantly. That said, it is still chilli hot, and has that wonderful spicy, tingling mala (麻辣) experience that I love so much.

Don’t judge the dish by its name, adjust the heat to your taste and travel to Sichuan Province for dinner.

Ma Po Tofu
adapted from Balance and Harmony: Asian Food by Neil Perry.

300g silken tofu, cut into cubes
2 tablespoons oil
200g minced pork belly (I minced the pork belly myself, so it was more like a brunoise of pork belly, just the way I like it)
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
2 spring onions, sliced
2 tablespoons hot bean paste
125ml chicken stock
1 teaspoon shaoxing wine
2 teaspoon soy sauce
2 teaspoon sugar
pinch sea salt
2 pinches Sichuan pepper
1 teaspoon sesame oil.

Heat oil in a pan until smoking, add the pork and fry until browned. Add the garlic, spring onions and bean paste and cook, stirring until fragrant. Add the stock, wine, soy, sugar and salt. Bring to the boil then add the tofu. Reduce heat to a gentle simmer to allow the sauce to thicken. Don’t stir too vigorously as you want to keep the tofu intact.
Add the Sichuan pepper and sesame oil and serve.