It's Friday in Birmingham. It's 70 degrees, and the birds are singing manic tunes outside my window, flogging the life out of the few rain-free hours they're going to get today. The sky is still gray, but the clouds have pulled back a bit above the scene so that there's enough light for me to see just how green everything is beginning to get. Inside, it's hushed, as people tiptoe and murmur through the end of this quiet week that children and people who have children call Spring Break.

In short, it's nice. It's calm. Deadlines are on the horizon, but not just yet. There's a weekend of nothing-planned around the corner.

And I'm sick.

Well, let's be clear: I have a cold. A cold is more nuisance than illness. But it does mean that I feel a little more subdued than normal, ready for the clock to tell me I can put on flat shoes and wash my face. More than ready to stop punctuating the stillness around me with the sound of my honking nose.

The weather has been a little rickety in these parts lately, as it is in the South when the weirdest winter in recent memory gives way to an uncertain spring. And the spring tornado season! Yay! (Not to be confused with the summer tornado season or the winter tornado season or the fall tornado season. Pack your moving truck today!) What all that means is that this week we've had a 70-degree day and a hard freeze. And that can make a person feel a little (ahem) under the weather, if the old wives are to be believed.

It's not surprising then, that the Brussels sprout salad that had been noodling around in my head all week got a swift kick to make way for this big bowl of comfort food. I don't remember eating a lot of egg noodles in my youth, but somehow they still conjure comfort to me. They require virtually no effort, so that's a big part of the allure. But they're also slurpy and satisfying, and they cling to sauce like a dream.

I originally envisioned the meatballs as larger than I might normally make them, all the better to envelop bocconcini of mozzarella. But the bocconcini at my local market were much larger than I'd imagined they'd be, so I decided to go with this brand, which sells smaller bites, about the size of big marbles, marketed as mozzarella pearls. Oh and then I squidged some Romano into the meatball mixture because I had some in the refrigerator that needed using and because cheese makes you feel better. Trust me, I'm a doctor.

No I'm not.

It's best to pack the meatballs fairly firmly, so that the cheese doesn't ooze out, but if some manages to escape (see below), well all the better. This is comfort food, after all, and we are not aiming for perfection. Because they are a little more tightly wound than traditional meatballs, though, I really suggest searing them in a pan and then finishing them in the sauce—it keeps them nice and tender.

I sautéed fresh spinach leaves with garlic, salt, pepper, and dried crushed red pepper on the side, because I figured my immune system probably would like to make the acquaintance of a vegetable every now and again. But you can serve this just as it is, whenever you need a little comfort. Whether you're under the weather or just over it already. 

Enjoy! 


Mozzarella-stuffed Meatballs with Eggy Noodles

½ white onion, divided
1 pound lean ground beef
1 large egg
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
¼ cup fine dry breadcrumbs
1 teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon black pepper
¼ cup shredded Romano cheese (optional)
4 ounces mozzarella pearls or chopped fresh mozzarella
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
3 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 cups fat-free beef broth
Kosher salt, to taste
Black pepper, to taste
Ground red pepper, to taste
16 ounces dry egg noodles
Garnish: flat-leaf parsley leaves

1. Cut onion into quarters. Grate ¼ onion on the fine side of a box grater into a medium bowl. Add beef, egg, next 5 ingredients, and Romano cheese, if desired; mix with hands until just combined. Place about 2 tablespoons beef mixture into the palm of your hand, pressing lightly into a small patty. Top with a mozzarella pearl, and form mixture around cheese to make a meatball. Repeat with remaining beef mixture and mozzarella.

2. Heat oil in a large, heavy bottom skillet over medium heat. Cook meatballs, in batches if necessary, until seared on all sides. (Meatballs will not be cooked through.)

3. Meanwhile, dice remaining ¼ onion. Remove meatballs to a plate, and add diced onion to skillet. Cook 2 minutes or until softened and lightly browned. Add garlic; cook 30 seconds or until fragrant. Add butter, stirring until melted. Whisk in flour, and cook 2 minutes. Whisk in beef broth until smooth. Season with salt, black pepper, and ground red pepper to taste. Continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until mixture thickens and comes to a boil. Return meatballs to skillet, cover, reduce heat to medium-low, and cook 20 minutes or until meatballs are cooked through.

4. Meanwhile, cook egg noodles according to package directions. Top noodles with meatballs and sauce; garnish, if desired. Makes 8 servings.

 

My friends, I am tired.

There are only a handful of Vietnamese restaurants in my municipality, but I credit one of them with introducing me to the concept of pho, which I believe is Vietnamese for "noodle soup."

This isn't pho (I admit I don't know much about the various incarnations of this across the Asian continent—I'm sure there are many, and I beg forgiveness for the many ways I've destroyed their authenticity in my own kitchen), but the overriding factor in my adoration is depth. There just seems to be this bottomless layering of flavors that seems beautifully endless: starchy noodles, spicy broth, hearty chicken, crisp onion, bright lime, soft egg, and, in this case, chicken broth, curry paste, fish sauce, soy, coconut milk, sriracha ... Every bite is the definition of satisfaction.

It's without doubt the best cure for a cold—all that warm comfort and gentle heat are soothing, while the protein and carbohydrates (hello, lover) restore your energy. I'm not ill, thankfully, but last night proved surprisingly cold in the Deep South, and it felt like the perfect excuse to make one last bowl of soup for the season.

I've made this a few times now, adapted each time more and more from a recipe I found at When East Meets West. I'm a bit flummoxed by it—the components seem to be there, but there's still some missing chromosome that's keeping it from being all it can be. The first time I made it, I attempted to correct its flatness by stirring in a king's ransom of sriracha, and while it was delicious, it was still missing something. This time I added curry paste, a step in the right direction, but it's still not all the way there.

As a personal preference, I don't adore poached chicken. I think next time the chicken might get sautéed. Maybe less broth? More lime? It's a testament to how good this is that I keep making it, but I'm going to continue to tinker with it.

If you want to be a little bit bad, I suggest eating the good stuff and then throwing a bit of hot cooked rice in to soak up the broth. Or maybe you could just put the rice and noodles on a pizza crust between two slices of bread. Carbs are your friend.

I'd love for someone to make this and tell me what it needs to reach its full potential. No chicken noodle soup left behind!



Chicken Coconut Noodle Soup
1 large sweet onion, halved and cut into thin crescents
3 tablespoons fish sauce
3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons red curry paste
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 (2-inch) piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 large yellow onion, chopped
2 teaspoons ground paprika
3 (13.5-ounce) cans lite coconut milk
7 cups chicken stock
½ cup cornstarch
16 ounces dried Chinese egg noodles
6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
Sriracha, to taste
2 green onions, white and green parts, chopped
1 cup chopped fresh cilantro
3 limes, quartered

1. Place sweet onions slices in a small bowl, and cover with cold water. Set aside.

2. Combine fish sauce and next 5 ingredient; add chicken, and stir well. Set aside.

3. Heat oil in a Dutch oven over medium heat until it becomes runny and starts to shimmer. Stir in yellow onion, and cook 3 to 4 minutes or until soft and translucent. Add paprika, and mix until onions are well coated.

4. Add chicken and marinade; raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring, 5 minutes. Add coconut milk and stock, and bring to a gentle boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer 20 minutes.

5. Whisk together cornstarch and ½ cup warm water; stir into soup, and return to a boil. Simmer over medium-low heat 10 minutes or until the soup thickens slightly. Reduce heat to low, and keep warm until ready to serve.

6. Cook noodles according to package directions. Divide among individual soup bowls, and ladle over each about 1½ cups soup. Top with reserved sweet onion slices, eggs, sriracha, green onions, and cilantro. Serve with limes. Makes 6 servings.

I know it's been awfully flush with Asian flavors around the Woodside lately, but I found myself this weekend confronted with feeding a crowd—seven adults, two almost adults, and one toddler—including two pescetarians.

Immediately I thought of two things: shrimp, and big bowl o' noodles.

There are some spaghetti-haters in the group, so Italian was out. And because so many Asian flavors (fish sauce, sesame oil, chili sauce) are best in small doses, I tend to have a bottomless supply of them at the ready.

I adapted this recipe from one at My Adventures in Food, because it's simple and easy and requires ingredients I can find at my wacky neighborhood grocer. It does not, however, carry pad Thai noodles (I substituted lo mein) nor, on this day, peeled and deveined shrimp (I did the dirty work myself, GOLD STARS). When I'm serving carnivores I use ground meat—chicken, turkey, or pork—which cuts the prep time down considerably. In this case I also cut each shrimp into about three pieces, the better to help things stretch a bit and feed a lot. I love the intensity of these flavors and the unexpectedly delicious, surprising weirdness of shrimp + eggs + peanuts. I doubled the recipe, but that's a lot for one pot to handle; I had to make two separate batches. Truth be told, I usually do—this one disappears fast, and the leftovers are divine. There are lots of ways to mix up the ingredients here—add more sriracha for heat, change up the meat, even leave out it out altogether—because it's basically a stir fry, but don't neglect the lime! It makes all the difference.



Shrimp Pad Thai
8 ounces dried lo mein noodles
¼ cup fish sauce
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup rice vinegar
2 tablespoons hoisin sauce
¾ pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
¼ cup vegetable oil, divided
2 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon sriracha, plus more to taste
2 eggs
4 green onions, thinly sliced
10 oz fresh bean sprouts
¾ cup unsalted peanuts, finely chopped and divided
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
Lime wedges

1. Cook noodles according to package directions. Set aside.

2. Mix fish sauce and next 3 ingredients in a bowl, stirring until sugar dissolves. Set aside.

3. Heat a wok or large, deep skillet over medium-high heat; add 2 tablespoons oil. Sauté garlic and sriracha until golden, about 1 minute. (Stand back; sriracha may splatter.) Add reserved noodles, tossing to coat with oil.

4. Push noodles to one side of pan, and add remaining 2 tablespoons oil. Crack eggs into pan, and cook until slightly set. Stir into noodles, breaking up eggs with a spoon. Toss in shrimp, green onions, most of the bean sprouts, and ½ cup peanuts. Cook 1 to 2 minutes or until shrimp just turn pink.

5. Stir in reserved fish sauce mixture, tossing to coat. Sprinkle with cilantro, remaining ¼ cup peanuts, and remaining bean sprouts. Serve with lime wedges. Makes 4 servings.

It's never all that cold in Alabama (despite my inability to procure any sort of appropriate winter wear); Facebook status updates from my North-Midwestern family serve as a constant reminder. They're all, "BURIED IN SNOW. SEND HELP."

Drama queens.

But last night it was sleeting, for a good 10 minutes at LEAST, and that sort of precipitation means three things in this fair state:

1. The vast majority of the citizenry will temporarily take leave of their ability to drive.
2. Schools will immediately shut down and fling their doors wide, sending all manner of small people scattering, unsupervised, into the streets where the terrible drivers are.
3. Local news anchors will report grocery store shortages of bread and milk, while the Winn-Dixie near my home will mostly run low on buy-one-get-one-free boxes of Cheez-Its and cases of beer.

People need provisions.

There used to be three grocery stores in my neighborhood, the better for choosing according to need: One is new, carrying the nice, clean, orderly items and the highest-quality meats/produce/organic foods; one has terrible produce and questionable meats, and stocks terrifically obscure "ethnic" foods but past-their-expiration-date dairy products; and one had shelves full of almost nothing you needed but was always, at any hour, completely empty, fantastic for when one required nothing more than a bottle of wine and a bag of goldfish crackers for dinner but not so great for business. (RIP, Bruno's.)

It's really more of a toss-up than it sounds; grocery option A is shiny and new but has minuscule aisles (the better to cram all that fancy stuff into) and is full of oblivious people and people who still write checks. Grocery option B, on the other hand, is the fastest route to possible stomach ailments but also has self-checkout and a stunning Asian foods selection.

I usually choose B. I'm tough.

I braved the frozen precipitation last night to procure the necessary items to make my very favorite spicy noodles with spicy shrimp dish, adapted from Evil Shenanigans. I don't know when I first tried this one, but I've made it several times since, and it always delivers. Shenanigans calls it "fancy enough for company, yet easy enough for a weeknight," and I've made it for all kinds of reasons—internationally visiting family, nights curled up in my holey socks when nothing but peanut noodles will do.

It looks like a long list of ingredients, but you're doubling up on most of them to use in the shrimp sauce and the noodle sauce. That's great, because it means you can make the noodles on their own any time you like—for vegetarians, with a different protein, or just because they're that good.

These are some aggressive flavors, which is why I love them so much, but you may need to back off on the sriracha or the curry paste; I like to make it just hot enough so that your face falls off. There's something wicked about NEEDING to have another bite just to take the edge off the bite you had before.

My sense is that the best recommendation you can give a recipe is that just looking at the photos conjures the sense memory of tasting it. This is some seriously mouthwatering, fire-breathing business. And the noodles are even better the next day.

Last night I chose grocery option B, which meant the fish counter was completely, inexplicably empty, like it'd been the victim of some bacterial outbreak, but there was a lone pack of peel-and-eat shrimp that didn't look toxic. They were very small, though (51/60), so this version leaned a little toward the noodley side (all the better). I go very heavy on the ginger and curry paste, because I love it. Do not be fooled into buying spaghetti for this recipe—it will still be tasty, but there's a lightness to the lo mein that's absolutely worth it, especially when you're talking about dunking them in peanut butter. The Chinese noodles are cheaper, too, so get them if you can.

Just as deliciously radioactive as it looks!



Curry Shrimp with Spicy Peanut Lo Mein

1½ (10-ounce) packages dried lo mein noodles
2 cups fat-free vegetable broth
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
¼ cup creamy peanut butter
5 teaspoons Sriracha, divided
2 tablespoons red curry paste, divided
4 garlic cloves, minced and divided
2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger, divided
1 small white onion, finely chopped
1 lime
2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
24 small (51/60) shrimp, peeled and deveined
½ cup light coconut milk
1 tablespoon fish sauce
2 teaspoons sugar (optional)
1 tablespoon cornstarch
Garnish: fresh cilantro leaves

1. Cook noodles according to package directions; drain and set aside.

2. Combine vegetable broth, soy sauce, sesame oil, peanut butter, 1 tablespoon sriracha, 1 tablespoon red curry paste, 2 garlic cloves, 1 tablespoon ginger, and ½ the chopped onion in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Squeeze in the juice from ½ a lime, and whisk until the mixture comes to a boil. Reduce heat to low, and let simmer 10 minutes, stirring often.

3. Heat 1 tablespoon oil to a large skillet over medium heat; add shrimp, and cook just until shrimp start to turn pink. (Shrimp will not be fully cooked.) Remove from pan, and set aside.

4. Heat remaining 1 tablespoon oil in skillet over medium heat, and sauté remaining 2 garlic cloves, remaining 1 tablespoon ginger, and remaining ½ chopped onion until softened and fragrant. Stir in coconut milk, fish sauce, remaining 2 teaspoons sriracha, and remaining 1 tablespoon red curry paste. Squeeze in the juice from the remaining ½ lime; stir in sugar, if desired. Mix well, reduce heat to low, and cook about 5 minutes or until sauce thickens.

5. Raise heat under saucepan to medium, and bring peanut sauce to a boil. Whisk cornstarch with 2 tablespoons water in a small bowl; whisk into peanut sauce until combined, and let thicken about 1 minute.

6. Meanwhile, toss shrimp into sauce in skillet; cook 30 seconds or until shrimp are just cooked and heated through, and remove from heat.

7. Toss noodles with peanut sauce, and divide among serving bowls. Top each with shrimp and sauce. Garnish, if desired. Makes 4 servings.

I. am. so. funny. SO funny, in fact, that I stole that joke from someone else. Rather unabashedly, in fact. Miso shameless. Miso ridiculous. Miso hilarious. If mido say so miself.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

It's Friday. You didn't expect sanity here, did you?

Today's bout of absurdity is sponsored, though, brought to you by my lovely coworker M, who trekked to the furthest reaches of our fair suburbs to bring me white miso. I needed 4 tablespoons; I now have 2 pounds. You're probably going to see it show up here a lot as I attempt to work my way through the remainder.

Aw, shucks.

I adapted this from a recipe I found at Momofuku for 2, which refers to chicken ramen as "my kind of trashy comfort food."

A note to my legions: Trashy is swiftly becoming a theme around the Woodside.

It's ultimately a breeze to put together, but there are elements that need individual attention, so it requires more focus than I'm generally known to assign a task (read: any). Here they are in finer detail:



What you can't see, at the bottom of the bowl, are the ramen noodles. I used pre-packaged dry ramen, the kind that comes molded into a brick with the foil packet of poison (also known as the "seasoning mix," responsible for ramen's bad reputation, which contains—wait for it—1,200 mg of sodium). That went into the garbage. Spooned on top are shreds of rotisserie chicken, quite tasty but looking awfully pallid here, blanched spinach, buttered corn, a (too-)soft-boiled egg, thin slices of raw onion, and pretty rolls of green onion—because they make everything look lovelier, and because there were some in the refrigerator.

The miso had an earthy smell I didn't expect; one of the listed ingredients is, sort of ominously, "alcohol," and the best way to describe it is that it made my chicken broth smell a bit like beer. The original recipe suggested tasting the broth for seasoning and adjusting accordingly because not all miso is created equally, apparently. Not having a firm idea of what my miso broth was supposed to taste like, I mostly blundered along blindly. I was instructed to soft-boil the eggs for 6 minutes, but as you can see that wasn't really long enough. I love a silken, runny yolk, which in this case partnered up with the buttered corn for some terrific richness, but these were definitely collapsed centers as opposed to wobbly ones.

(Note: I did as directed and ran the eggs under cold water for a few minutes directly after boiling, and they did peel more dreamily than any other boiled egg I've ever attempted. It must be said, though, that not-quite-firmly-boiled eggs are a delicate business.)

This recipe didn't really have a failure potential, because it combines so many of my favorite things—soft eggs, chicken, noodles, and deep, can't-quite-put-your-finger-on-it flavor—but the real surprise for me was the effect of the raw onions. There are people in my life who will run girl-screaming from the room if they catch sight of a raw onion, but these added necessary crunch, that beloved bite, and a really unexpected sweetness.

Still, as I've wandered this culinary labyrinth lately, like the unmotivated mouse I am, I do find that I'm accidentally learning a thing or two. And as I prepared to make this meal, there was something nagging me in the back of my brain: The flavors seemed a little too mild for me. Delicious, yes, and variously sweet, salty, rich, and bright, but something fell flat in my first virtual taste. And my first real taste confirmed it. This recipe really doesn't need any improvement, and it would be just right for many people, but for me, it needed a squeeze of sriracha to tie it all together. A spritz of lime juice might do it, too, if you don't like spicy foods, but there was just a tiny voice in the expanses of my tangled brain that whispered, "acid."

At least I think that's what it meant.

This really is comfort food at its best, which is trashy, and I know I'll think of it the next time I'm sick, or cold, or tired, or just craving a big bowl of my favorite things.



Chicken Miso Ramen

8 cups fat-free, low-sodium chicken broth
4 tablespoons shiro miso (white miso)
2 (3-ounce) packages ramen noodles (any flavor), seasoning packets discarded
4 eggs
2 cups frozen whole-kernel corn
Kosher salt
4 cups spinach leaves
2 tablespoons butter
3 cups shredded rotisserie chicken
1 small white onion, thinly sliced
2 green onions, chopped
Sriracha (optional)

1. Place broth in a stockpot or Dutch oven over medium heat; stir in miso until thoroughly mixed and heated through. Reduce heat to low, stirring occasionally.

2. In a medium saucepan, cook noodles according to package directions. Drain, and divide among 4 serving bowls. Add water to pot, and bring to a boil. Place eggs into boiling water; cook 6 to 8 minutes, according to preference. Drain, and run under cold water until cool; peel and slice in half.

3. Sauté corn in butter in a small skillet, stirring until kernels are heated through.

4. Meanwhile, add water and kosher salt to medium saucepan, and bring to a boil. Cook spinach just until wilted and bright green; drain.

5. Arrange chicken, sliced onion, spinach, and corn over noodles in serving bowls. Top each serving with miso broth, and then eggs and green onions. Stir in sriracha, if desired. Serves 4.