Curried Persimmon Ham

My mom is a mad scientist when it comes to cooking. She is constantly opening up her cupboards and fridge, giving them all a good look, pulling out a motley crew of items, and slapping together something that may never be replicated. Her Turkey and Hominy Soup that I've written about is a great example, because it is really never the same batch twice. She throws in so many different things and in different quantities, it's hard to keep up, let alone write the recipe down.

She also has a gift for making mass quantities of food. If the recipe serves more than 1-2, it's a fair bet it was originally my mother's recipe. I don't have much occasion to cook for a small army, but around the holidays is the best time to cook for a crowd because you never know what sort of get-together you'll host or be invited to! My mother brings this ham to potlucks, and even gives it away as holiday gifts, that's how popular it is!

I don't think even she could come up for a thought process for this recipe, besides noting she had a lot of persimmons, and a stray block of Japanese curry roux rattling around her pantry. She moves on instinct, a trait that I did not inherit. I spend a lot of my time thinking, not just about food.

Tonkatsu Karē Donburi (トンカツカレー丼)

I seriously cannot believe that I haven't blogged about this recipe before. I've talked about it numerous times, so I have no clue why I haven't shared this recipe with you yet.

Actually, scratch that. I know exactly why I haven't: I hate frying.

I hate frying because I am great at creating epic messes when I cook. My dog hovers outside the kitchen hoping something will drop, and Mr. Mochi usually retreats a safe distance to avoid the Willy Wonka atmosphere I tend to create, complete with weird noises and puffs of smoke and flour.

So when you throw in hot oil and breadcrumbs, I basically destroy my kitchen.

Eggshells in the sink. Flour on my shirt. The dog bursting forth into the kitchen and frantically licking up breading that was flung off into space. Even the bowls for mise-en-place when I'm not frying end up stacked hap-hazardously on all counters like the tea cups of Alice in Wonderland. 

I am a world-class culinary mess maker. A lot of people tend to downplay their faults, strive to make their lives seem perfect from the outside. I can tell you that most food bloggers don't start their posts by telling their readers their faults.

Whatever. I can't pretend that I'm anything more than chaos and entropy, blonde hair and boobs. I don't even know how anyone puts up with me.

Don't fret, I'm sure you will manage to cook this without any of the daikaiju wasteland side-effects. It's actually a really simple recipe with only a handful of ingredients, and shallow frying makes the tonkatsu a breeze to prepare. And if I'm in good company and you're a fellow Godzilla of the kitchen, one bite of this will convince your own Mr. Mochi to help you clean up.

Karē Tamago Kake Gohan (卵かけご飯のカレー)

I promised you that I would have a curry tamago kake gohan variation this month! I've written many times about how much I love Japanese curry, known as karē, so it only make sense to make a TKG version.

Early this month, I introduced you to tamago kake gohan, which literally means "egg over rice": a very simple dish were a raw egg gets mixed into steaming hot rice for a quick tasty rice bowl. The raw egg cooks a little in the hot rice, for a creamy luscious sauce that coats the grains of rice. It may sound weird, but once you try it, you'll love it too.

As I mentioned last time, since this uses raw eggs, you need to be able to trust your egg source. After all, the heat from the rice does not cook it enough to kill anything creepy. If you don't have parents with heirloom breed chickens in their backyard whose husbandry you trust, there are pasteurized eggs available. However, if the idea of raw egg still makes you queasy even if they are pasteurized, consider how many times you have eaten raw cookie dough without a second thought to the origin of the eggs, or the last time you ordered sunny-side up at your local greasy spoon.

Japanese Curry Turnovers

When talking about my blog, my mother wanted to know if my blog followers were aware I was "The white girl version of a Japanese person," and I assured her that anyone who clicks on the About page would know I am very Caucasian in appearance, jokingly telling her, "Don't worry, they know I'm Jet Puffed Japanese!"

I think she was worried people would be deluded into thinking I'm some sort of wannabe Harumi Kurihara of the States. (Harumi Kurihara is like the Japanese Martha Stewart, and her cookbooks are awesome by the way). Just because I resemble my nickname (white, squishy, and sweet describes both me and mochi) doesn't mean I don't love sharing my hapa Japanese dishes with you all.

Even in high school, kids would look at me and tell me I don't look Asian enough to call myself part Japanese. Funnily enough, with his dark hair and more olive complexion, my brother would pass their test.

The best thing about being white-as-a-marshmallow yet also Japanese American, is that I am free to mix my cultures as you see fit. Especially since my mother and grandmother were bit of rebels when it comes to cooking, we all blur the lines a lot. Tuna sandwich with a side of ramen? Check. Tsukemono and deviled eggs at Thanksgiving? Every year!

So when I decided to bust out the puff pastry dough to make some meat pies (I love pasties) and instead ended up with a Japanese American version, I don't think either of those cooks would be surprised.

Coco Ichibanya Curry House

Recently I've been pretty stressed out and not wanting to cook a thing. Fast food wasn't doing anything but making me more sluggish and more uninspired. I needed some comfort food, stat! And nothing is more tasty and simple than kare raisu (カレーライス), or curry rice. So Mr. Mochi and I went to check out Coco Ichibanya Curry House, located at the Diamond Jamboree in Irvine, which is chock-full of all sorts of Asian American stores and restaurants.

Reading this blog, you know that Mr. Mochi is a huge fan of Japanese curry. For a white boy, he is quite the connoisseur of fried foods and rice smothered in gravy-like curry sauce. He was very keen on trying out a new curry place.

Coco Inchibanya first started in Nagoya, Japan, in 1978 and now has over 1200 restaurants in Japan, as well as many more internationally in places like China, Korea, and Thailand. Their first U.S. restaurant didn't open until 2011, and now there's three of them. Funnily enough, all three are in Southern California, all within 45 minutes of me!

Keema curry with naan bread

Coco Ichibanya has a unique menu, in that you can choose the quantity of rice and the level of spiciness in increasing levels. Unless you are super hungry, the normal amount of rice I think would satisfy (I had leftover with the normal portion), but you can order any quantity you want! Also fun is the mind-boggling array of topping choices, everything from the classic tonkatsu or beef/carrots/potatoes, to cream chicken, fried squid, or even sausages.

Uomoto Style Karē

Karē (カレー), or curry, is something that surprises a lot of people about Japanese cuisine. When most people think of curry, they think of India.  But karē, as the Japanese call it, is so ingrained in Japanese society, its considered a national dish. One of Mr. Mochi's favorite dishes when we go to Mitsuwa's food court is katsu-karē (カツカレー), which is a pork cutlet with curry and rice.

Karē came to Japan in the Meiji era (1868-1912) via Britain. Since Britain at the time was occupying India and stealing their spices, the British Navy introduced Japan to curry. That's why Japanese curry is more stew-like and sweeter than most curries as it's an adaptation of Britain's adaptation. Ironically, since it was introduced by the British, karē is considered "yoshoku," a western style dish despite it's eastern roots.

Now of course Japanese Americans have brought it here to America, where we tinker with further like we do all good hapa food. I called the title of my post "Uomoto Style Karē" because this is how my grandmother made it before my mother got a hold of it, and then of course, myself.  The beauty of Japanese curry is that it is traditionally not made with any seasonal ingredients so you can make it at any time.  Those traditional vegetables are potatoes, onions and carrots, but you can experiment with throwing in any sort of veggies you feel like, to give this recipe a seasonal spin.