Okonomiyaki

I don't want to scare you away, so let's start with a picture, shall we? 

Riiiight? I promise: this tastes just like it looks: like it's not 90% cabbage. It's as if cabbage isn't even there. Maybe you're a cabbage lover, in which case I don't even need to try to convince you. Chances are, though, if someone gave you a recipe for pancakes or pizza made up almost entirely of cabbage, you'd run away. Well, okay. You're polite, so you'd probably feign some interest and then chuck the recipe.

Maybe it's just me, but I really think that this is precisely the sort of thing that deserves to be judged only after it's been tasted. Honestly, I never would have made this, had it not been for my younger sister. While I do believe that it's always good form to taste something before passing judgement on it, I must also admit that I filter what appears on our dinner table ... meaning: I read a recipe and imagine how it would taste; if at any point I grimace, chances are pretty high that it's not going to be making an appearance.

This brings us back to these cabbage-centric pancakes and my younger sister, who made them for me when we saw each other last summer. "They're soooo goooooood," she gushed. "Trust me!" And, of course, being the wonderful big sister that I am, I humored her and went along with it. (I'm only saying that because I know she's reading this!) Jokes aside, I really am glad she made them, because, well, after I took my first bite, I realized that she wasn't kidding. They are sooooo gooooood. Trust me!

 

Native to Japan, this dish is known as okonomiyaki. It is a combination of 2 words: "okonomi"- "what you like/want", and "yaki" - "grilled/cooked". I've never been to Japan and I'm not an expert on Japanese cuisine, so I'm not making any claims to authenticity, but it does strike me that the name really is quite apt. You always start off with a base of flour and cabbage (with a few other things like water or dashi stock, and nagaimo, if you have access to it), but after that it seems you can throw practically anything you want in it: shrimp, octopus, sliced pork, grated vegetables, cheese, to name a few. Oknomiyaki is also known as Japanese pancakes or Japanese pizza, and I guess that works too, because they do take the form of a savoury pancake and they do behave a little like pizza (you know, top it "okonomi-style").

My sister, a big fan of Cooking With Dog, uses Dog's recipe. I didn't have many of the ingredients, though, and I wanted to come up with a recipe that would call for the staples I normally have in my pantry (plus a special trip for cabbage). Again, this probably isn't authentic, but it's in the spirit of okonomiyaki, and we really enjoyed it. As you can see above, the batter was really not very pancake-like. It was mostly cabbage held together by flour/water/egg, with some green onions and shrimp.(Again, note to cabbage non-lovers: something magical happens when these are cooked that makes them very un-cabbage-y, so take a leap of faith here!)

Okonomiyaki would not be okonomiyaki without toppings. Japanese mayonnaise and okonomiyaki sauce (I didn't have that but I always have tonkatsu sauce, so I substituted) are common. Traditionally I think some dancing bonito flakes also make an appearance, but again, I don't normally have that in my pantry, so our pancakes did not put on a show for us. Shucks. Some recipes cook the pancakes with sliced pork belly, but since we like bacon around here I decided to crisp up some bits and sprinkle those on instead. 

So there you have it: okonomiyaki! (Don't you just love Japanese words?) And ... cabbage? I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You do rock!

(My take on) Okonomiyaki 

If desired, brown in a nonstick skillet until crisp: 

  2-3 slices bacon, diced 

Set the bacon aside on paper towels to drain. Drain the rendered bacon fat off the skillet and reserve skillet for making the pancakes. 

In a medium bowl, whisk together: 

  ¾ cup unbleached all purpose flour 

  ½ tsp baking powder 

  ⅜ tsp salt 

  a few grinds of pepper (optional) 

Add and stir a few times with a rubber spatula to combine roughly (it will be very thick and clumpy; do not try to combine thoroughly): 

  scant ½ cup water, at room temperature (or dashi stock)

  1 egg 

Fold in, until evenly coated with the flour "batter", taking care not to overmix: 

  2½ cups finely chopped green cabbage 

    (8 ounces of cabbage will be more than enough) 

  2 scallions, white part only, sliced finely (reserve the green parts for topping) 

  4 ounces raw shrimp, cut into small bite-sized pieces 

To make individual pancakes, heat about 1-2 teaspoons of vegetable oil (or some reserved bacon fat? just saying ...) in a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Scoop out about a half cup of the cabbage mixture into the skillet. Flatten it to form a pancake about 4-5" in diameter (a bit less than ½" thick). Give the pancake 3-5 minutes to brown. Control the heat so that it does not brown too fast, as the cabbage needs a bit of time to cook. Flip the pancake and cook for another 5 minutes or so, until that side has browned as well. Transfer to a wire rack, blotting any clinging oil with paper towels. Repeat another 4 times for the remaining batter, using a teaspoon or two of oil for each pancake.

To serve, place a pancake on a plate. Top with: 

  tonkatsu sauce 

  Japanese mayonnaise 

  bacon bits 

  sliced green onions 

  toasted sesame seeds 

Serve immediately. Makes 5 4-5" pancakes. I find that this is really filling, and 1 pancake is a satisfying serving portion; my husband has a bigger appetite and prefers 2.

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Scallion pancakes

Did you know that scallions and green onions aren't exactly the same thing? I thought that 'scallion' was just a highfalutin way to say 'green onion', and word-perception aside, I think a lot of cooks would agree that scallions = green onions = those green straw-like leaves with little white bulbs (typically sold in bunches, often held together at the ends by 2 thin blue rubber bands, for 30-50 cents a bunch).

However, the other day I was at my favourite grocery store and in their fresh produce aisle, right above a huge pile of beautiful green onions, was a little poster explaining that scallions aren't green onions. That was a first ... maybe I've been hanging out at all the wrong circles, but I'd always heard that green onions are scallions. 

Anyway, a bit of quality time in cyberspace did confirm that there is indeed a difference. To sum it up, scallions are young green onions: they are slightly milder in taste and more slender in shape, with no hint of a bulb. Subtleties aside, I think they are often used interchangeably in cooking, and probably all but the most discerning palates wouldn't take offense.

On many dinner tables, scallions/green onions often appear in a supporting role, added in small quantities for a bit of an Asian kick, or sprinkled over a dish as garnish. In scallion pancakes, though, they step to the forefront - but fear not: the allium flavour is quite mild, definitely nowhere near incendiary.

I'd never made scallion pancakes before, and what I found most intriguing was how these pancakes are formed. You start off with a small ball of dough, roll it out into a disc, sprinkle chopped scallions over it, roll it up, coil it, and roll it out again. It sounds fussy, but it actually goes pretty quickly. 

 

All that rolling helps create a pancake with layers, and after a brief encounter with some hot oil, what you end up with is a crispy crust and a tender, slightly chewy, layered interior. A cross between pancake and flatbread, these are particularly tasty when dipped in sauce. Some people serve these as a side dish and use it to sop up little puddles of sauce left on their plate; others serve it as an appetizer or a snack with sauce on the side.  

As for the whole scallion vs. green onion issue ... for my purposes, toh-may-toh, toh-mah-toh, or something like that: I made these scallion pancakes using green onions, and they turned out just fine.
 

Scallion Pancakes and Scallion Dipping Sauce

Adapted from The Cook's Illustrated Cookbook

This recipe serves 4 to 6 as an appetizer, snack, or side.

Whisk in a medium bowl:
  1½ cups all purpose flour
  1 tsp salt

Add:
  ½ cup water, at room temperature

Using either a fork or your fingers, combine the flour and water. This is not meant to be a wet dough, but if the dough is having trouble coming together, add more water a teaspoon at a time. 

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured flat surface and knead it for about 5 minutes, until smooth. Brush the dough with a bit of vegetable oil, and let it rest at room temperature, covered, for 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, mince to yield about ½ cup:
  6 scallions (or green onions)

Divide the dough into 4. Working on one piece at a time, while keeping the others covered to prevent drying, roll one of the dough quarters into a disc about 7" in diameter.

Brush each disc with:
  ½ tsp toasted sesame oil (2 tsp sesame oil total) 

Sprinkle with:
  2 Tbsp of the scallions minced earlier (½ cup scallions total)
  1½ tsp chopped cilantro (2 Tbsp chopped cilantro total)
    (I think the cilantro is optional - I skipped it because I'm not a fan) 

Roll the dough, like a cigarette, then coil it into a spiral, tucking the tail end underneath. Roll this out to about ¼" thick (to get a disc about 5" across). Set aside and cover, while you roll out the remaining dough pieces. (See the step-by-step pictures above).

Fry 1 pancake at a time, in a nonstick skillet over medium heat, using about 1 Tbsp vegetable oil per pancake, until golden brown on each side, 1½ - 2 minutes per side.

Transfer pancake to a chopping board and tent loosely with foil while you cook the others. Slice into wedges and serve, preferably with scallion dipping sauce (below).

Scallion Dipping Sauce

This can be prepared a day in advance and stored in the refrigerator. 

Combine in a bowl: 
  ¼ cup soy sauce
  2 Tbsp rice vinegar
  2 Tbsp mirin (rice wine)
  2 Tbsp water
  1 tsp chili oil (optional)
  ½ tsp toasted sesame oil
  1 scallion, minced

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Fresh pineapple cake

Every weekday morning almost always starts the same: my husband wakes me up, I ask him what time it is, and I fall back asleep, knowing that 5 minutes later my little snooze alarm will tiptoe up to my side of the bed and say, "Hi Mommy. I'm going to brush my teeth and then I'll see you downstairs, okay?" 

It wasn't always like this. There was a long stretch of time when my alarm clock really was an alarm clock, purposely placed far away from my bed so that I wouldn't use the snooze button. Then came a time when my alarm clock was the crying of an infant, wanting to be fed or changed or cuddled ... and then the cooing of a wide-eyed baby at the colourful mobile floating above his crib ... and then the smiling face of a little monkey of a toddler who couldn't wait to start his day and had hoisted himself over the rails of his crib. (Actually, that last version was a tad too effective as a wake up call, and definitely not the way I would recommend discovering that your child is ready for a bed!) 

I've always thrived on routine, and being a parent has presented me with the constant challenge of finding routine in a life that is changing all the time. 

I should have said, then, that every weekday morning almost always starts the same, for now. I find my way downstairs, in the dark. It's still winter, but already I feel that spring must be right around the corner. When I looked outside the kitchen window today, I could see the outline of the trees and bushes in our backyard. A few weeks ago I would look out the kitchen window and see darkness, with very little besides: only faint patches of light from kitchen windows of other houses, mostly those with school-age children dwelling within ... in the stillness of the early morning, the neighbouring lit windows prompting a fleeting quiet thought that all over the world so many of us start our days tending to our little ones. 

  

Then it begins. Breakfast is laid out for the second grader: always a glass of milk and some fresh fruit, and then, often plain yogurt, sometimes toast, other times cheese. He eats while I pack lunches, each of us keeping the other company until we are both finally fully awake. 

Some nights ago, before going to bed, he told me that they had reached a milestone in school: 100 days of school, done! And to that he added, "That means that I went 100 days without eating a school lunch. You've made 100 lunches for me this year." The next morning, he found a slice of pineapple cake waiting for him for breakfast: a treat. A hundred days of school for him, a hundred days of routine for me. It was time for something a little - just a little - different.

Fresh Pineapple Cake

Adapted from Baking for All Occasions

The original recipe is actually "Fresh Pineapple Crumble Cake" - basically the cake pictured above, but with bigger chunks of pineapple, and topped with streusel. I skip the streusel, and we love the cake anyway. Without the streusel, the crust that forms on top is slightly thick, similar to the crust you would encounter in banana bread or pound cake, and the cake itself is slightly sweet and nutty, not at all dry, with little bursts of juicy pineapple that have become just a tiny bit chewy from the heat of the oven. (The batter is thick so the fruit doesn't all sink to the bottom, although it may seem that way from the pictures).

This recipe first caught my eye because it calls for a cup and a half of pineapple - most pineapple cake recipes use just a quarter cup, or a half cup of the fruit, and I find it's hardly worth calling a cake "pineapple cake" if there is barely any pineapple in it. This one, on the other hand, does have a good amount in it - definitely enough to merit its name!

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Butter, flour, and line a 9"x2" round cake pan.

Cut into chunks, and then set on paper towels to absorb some of the juice:

  9.5 ounces fresh pineapple 

    (to yield 1½ cups, or 38 medium-sized chunks, or many ½" chunks)

Finely grind:

  3 ounces (½ cup + 2 Tbsp) whole hazelnuts

    (to yield 1 cup finely ground hazelnuts)

Sift together:

  6.75 ounces (1½ cups) all purpose flour

  1 tsp baking powder

  ¼ tsp salt

Add the ground hazelnuts to the flour mixture.

In another bowl, beat on medium speed with an electric mixer until smooth and creamy:

  8 ounces (1 cup) unsalted butter

While beating, add in a slow, steady stream and continue to beat until fluffy (2-3 minutes):

  7 ounces (1 cup) granulated sugar

Meanwhile, in a separate bowl, lightly beat with a fork:

  3 large eggs

Slowly add the lightly beaten eggs into the butter, about 3 tablespoons at a time, beating well after each addition. 

Add:

  1 tsp vanilla extract

Adjust the mixer speed to the lowest setting and gradually add the flour/nut mixture, beating until just incorporated.

At this point, I fold in the small pineapple chunks, using a rubber spatula, and then I scoop the batter into the cake pan. (The original recipe does it differently - place half the batter in the pan, scatter half the pineapple chunks over it, spoon the remaining batter over the pineapple, and press the remaining half of the pineapple chunks over that.)

Bake the cake until it is golden on top, springs back when gently pressed in the centre, and a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean. The recipe indicates a baking time of 43-45 minutes; in my oven in takes around 55 minutes.

Transfer to a wire rack and cool for 10 minutes. Remove cake from pan and place directly on wire rack to cool completely. 

This cake freezes well. Let it come to room temperature before serving.

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