Recipes from My Home Kitchen: Asian and American Comfort Food from the Winner of MasterChef Season 3 on FOX

273 Pages·2013·5.16 MB·English

by  Christine Ha

For my parents, especially my mother, who lives on through me and these
recipes.
Contents
Foreword
Introduction
Chapter 1. SNACKS AND STARTERS
Chapter 2. A BOWL OF COMFORT
Chapter 3. FROM MY MAMA’S KITCHEN
Chapter 4. WESTERN CLASSICS
Chapter 5. FOOD FOR CASUAL GATHERINGS
Chapter 6. ON THE SIDE
Chapter 7. SOMETHING SWEET
Chapter 8. A STOCK, SAUCES, VINAIGRETTES, AND
SEASONINGS
Glossary
Acknowledgments
Index
Foreword
Christine Ha walked into my life
with a white cane and a brilliant
dish on the first day of the third season of my FOX show, MasterChef. She was
competing with 99 other home cooks for a coveted white apron and a place in
the MasterChef kitchen . . . and she was blind. I thought I’d seen everything in
my 20-odd years in the culinary industry and 3 years as host of this globally
captivating TV cooking competition for amateurs. But a blind contestant? All
sorts of questions were running through my head. How would she handle hot
stoves? What about sharp knives? Would she chop off her fingers?
But that first dish Christine made for us—Clay Pot Catfish with Quick
Pickled Cucumbers and Carrots—was both unbelievable and unforgettable. It
had a depth of flavor that tasted as though it had been cooking for hours, though
Christine had created the dish from scratch in just 60 minutes. I was pretty
intrigued and impressed that this dish had been made by an amateur, let alone
someone without the ability to see what she was creating. It was unimaginable to
me. It was clear that this was a woman who was using each of her other senses—
touch, hearing, taste, and smell—to elevate her cooking to an extraordinary
level. I was really excited. I also felt immediately that, in Christine, we had a
young woman whose unique story and life experience could be a powerful and
inspiring tool to help others achieve their dreams. While there were often
doubtful voices around me, I had faith that Christine’s blindness could, in a very
strange way, almost be an advantage.
I am very pleased to say that I was right! Christine went on to eliminate each
and every contender and nail the title of MasterChef USA. Her dishes just kept
getting better and better. Her signature Asian-influenced comfort-food
appetizers, entrées, and desserts demonstrate an innate connection to flavor and
texture that I rarely experience in professional chefs, let alone amateur cooks. An
equally talented writer, Christine’s dishes immediately whisk you off into her
imagination. She embodies the essence of what it takes to become a great
cookery writer.
In the short amount of time since Christine’s taken the MasterChef crown,
she’s gone on to judge MasterChef Vietnam and inspire thousands of people
around the world with her against-all-odds story, brilliant cooking
demonstrations, and motivational speeches. She’s also turned in her master’s
thesis in creative writing at the University of Houston and, now this, her first
cookbook.
I love Asian food. I’ve enjoyed some of the best dishes of my life during my
trips to Asia. But I know that these foreign flavors can often be intimidating to
others who don’t have that heritage or experience of traveling in the Far East.
But have no fear. Christine has taken those flavors by her Texan bullhorns and
created a huge array of delicious dishes with both Asian and Southern influences
and turned them into simple recipes perfectly suited to the modern home cook.
I hope that you enjoy taking inspiration from Christine’s phenomenal first
book. I’ve had the great fortune of tasting many of her dishes. Now it’s your
turn.
—Gordon Ramsay

Introduction
I did not grow up cooking
by my mama’s side. I am not one of those
people who can say I’ve always loved food and have been cooking since I was
old enough to hold a spoon. Quite the opposite, actually. My aunts and uncles
tell stories of how, as a child, I used to be an extremely picky eater, taking hours
to eat a bowl of rice, often turning it into porridge with my tears. My mama
forbade my leaving the table until every grain of rice was gone. One time, I
snuck away and flushed my food down the toilet. “You didn’t eat all that food in
10 seconds,” she said. My mama was no fool.
I left for college with only three recipes in my culinary repertoire: scrambled
eggs with toast, frozen pizza, and instant ramen. When I moved out of the dorms
and into an apartment next to campus, I was suddenly without the convenience
of a cafeteria meal plan. Instead, I found myself standing in the middle of a 5-
by-4-foot linoleum-floored kitchenette with faded Formica counters and a
cracked ceramic sink. I purchased my first set of knives and cookware for less
than 50 dollars. Then I went to a secondhand bookstore and bought an Asian
recipe book.
I first tried to make a noodle soup in which the dumplings broke and the
broth became cloudy with starch. My roommates pursed their lips and shook
their heads, leaving me to eat my murky meal alone. My next cooking
experiment was ginger braised chicken. The tantalizing aromas of onion, ginger,
and fish sauce filled our cozy apartment. This time, my friends were more than
eager to trust my cooking and even asked for seconds. The notion that I could
create something that evoked joy in others was deeply fulfilling, and this became
the impetus for my desire to master all things culinary. It is a lifelong journey,
and I still learn something new in the kitchen every day.
Unfortunately, when I began my love affair with the culinary arts, I struggled
with an equally disheartening diagnosis of neuromyelitis optica (NMO) and
subsequent vision loss. I recall being home alone one afternoon in 2007, shortly
after my vision had worsened to the level it is today. It felt as though I were
floating through a continuous fog. I was hungry and so made my way to the
kitchen by feeling along the walls. I retrieved what I knew to be peanut butter
and jelly but had trouble spreading them onto the bread. Globs of strawberry
preserves covered the counter, and only one corner of the sandwich was covered
with a clump of peanut butter. In putting together the sandwich, I misaligned the
slices and ended up with jelly dripping down my arm. I remember being so upset
with myself and my incapability that I just tossed the whole thing into the trash
and cried.
Only a few years earlier, I was preparing the entire Thanksgiving dinner for
my family. And now, I had trouble making a simple peanut butter and jelly
sandwich. I thought I might have to give up cooking forever, and this broke my
heart.
With the encouragement and support of friends and rehabilitation counselors,
however, I eventually gained the determination and adaptive tools to cook again.
I relearned how to use a knife with more precision and care. A talking
thermometer, a beeping liquid measurer, extra-long fire-retardant oven mitts, and
other tools helped me make my way around the kitchen safely again. Perhaps
most importantly, I learned to rely on my other senses in preparing food. It took
months, maybe even years, for me to relearn how to cook an entire meal, but
when I think back to the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d muddled 6 years
ago, I am reminded of how far I’ve come.
Food, like love, is a basic human need. Everyone needs sustenance to
survive. Food can unite people regardless of culture, ethnicity, religion, political
ideals, or socioeconomic backgrounds. Two people who may not speak the same
language can sit down to a meal together and thereby instantly have something
in common: the desire to partake.
One of my favorite things to do is travel and immerse myself in another
region or country’s culture; it helps remind me just how big the world is and gain
a perspective as to my place in it. Since I lost my vision, sightseeing has
naturally become quite boring for me. Instead, the way I experience another
place and people is through food. Whether it’s the catch of the day made into
nigiri in Tokyo, hot baguettes from a Paris boulangerie, ceviche from a cafe in
Cabo, or beef brisket from Texas hill country, I love to do as the locals do and
eat what the locals eat. This is how I make a connection with them and is
ultimately why I cook: to connect with others.
I learned all about connecting from my parents, who came to the United
States as refugees in 1975. While my mama primarily cooked Vietnamese food
in our house, our home was in America, and I grew up eating both cuisines. My
mama was the best cook I knew (and I don’t say this just because she’s my
mama). The intoxicating aromas of her noodle soups and braised meats would
call me out of bed every Saturday morning. I was fortunate to eat well at home