Blunderproof Kung Pao Chicken

With help from an especially adept sous chef, I returned home Monday tonight with a complete mise en place ready to prepare Grace Young's Kung Pao Chicken for dinner. Described by the wok guru as one of her favorite recipes from Stir-Frying to the Sky's Edge - and the selected post for this week's Wok Wednesdays online event - my only task was to locate the two tablespoons of chicken broth Tim was unable to find in our typically stock-stuffed freezer.


The bags of cubes and containers of broth that often tumble from my freezer were oddly missing from sight; a signal, at long last, that it really is time to replenish. In its place I made a scant cupful of broth from a liquid concentrate, a reasonable substitute since everything else was so perfectly in place.

Or so I thought. I messed up the maestro's organization by stashing the excess broth too close to the prep station. Tim handed me each ingredient with the confident skill of a surgical nurse - scalpel! clamp! red bell peppers! - until I misspoke and asked for broth instead of the savory mix of soy sauce, rice wine and toasted sesame oil actually called for.

I didn't even look when I splashed in about 3/4 cup of light golden broth, which should have been dark and  shimmery. I realized the blunder about a minute later when the stir fry failed to gain the classic lacquered look of Kung Pao. In rapid succession, I strained off the excess liquid, added a teaspoon of corn starch and the proper sauce, then held my breath as I tossed the contents in the bubbling mix.

In just a minute or two, it assumed expected appearance and was brought to the table still steaming. A photo I posted as a preview earned admiring comments from friends who were unaware of how close I came to completely ruining the dish.

Photo @TheKitchn

Once my adrenalin rush subsided, I had to admit I went too weenie on Grace Young's recommended heat scale. I had planned to substitute the 4-8 dried red chiles with a generous shake of red chile flakes but opted instead to use two fresh jalapeno peppers in our market stash. Even with seeds, their sweet almost-heat should have been amplified by some red chile.

One ingredient that absolutely must not be messed with is the half-teaspoon of roasted and ground Sichuan (or Szechwan, etc.) peppercorns. I can't imagine anything else that comes close to the floral, almost fruity essence of this critical ingredient. Most well-stocked grocery stores carry this, as well as local and online specialty spice shops. Splurge a few bucks and get a jar; you'll be surprised how often you sneak it into favorite dishes.

Leftover grains and grillings yield savory breakfast quiche

Mix of leftover ancient grains, grilled chicken and
asparagus combine for a quick quiche. 

I craved something decadently Southern for breakfast and considered my options: perhaps creamy grits with gobs of melted cheese, or farmer's market eggs cooked to a soft sunny-side-up with crisp strips of just-fried bacon, perfect to discharge golden streaks over buttered toast.

But the combined weight of calories and a fridge filled with leftovers made me feel guilty. Inspired by Maria Speck's Ancient Grains for Modern Meals, I had about 2 1/2  cups couscous steamed in vegetable stock with a handful of golden raisins; about a cup of farro, simmered in water and whey from homemade labneh; and a za'atar-coated chicken thigh and asparagus, remains from a delicious grilled dinner.

Combined, I realized I had the makings of a Middle Eastern-inspired quiche. From inspiration to letting it cool just enough to serve, it was on the table in about an hour. I served with this a dollop of za'atar-spiked labneh, but a spoonful of thick Greek yogurt would be just as nice.

Za'atar Grilled Chicken and Asparagus Quiche with Couscous Crust

Use a ramekin to gently press couscous mix into edges.

2 1/2 cups cooked couscous
1 cup cooked farro
1 tsbp. melted butter
Vegetable oil spray
1 grilled za'atar-seasoned chicken thigh
12 spears grilled asparagus
5 eggs
1/4 cup cream
salt, pepper
Labneh or Greek yogurt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Blend room temperature couscous and farro in medium mixing bowl; add melted butter and stir to combine. Transfer to two-piece tart pan coated with vegetable oil spray. Spread evenly with a spatula, then press lightly with a small ramekin, working from center out, to cover fluted sides of the pan.

Cover gently with parchment paper and pie weights (I use a mix of beans and rice), and bake about 15 minutes or until firm and lightly golden on edges. Remove and set on a cooling rack. Lift off parchment and weights then leave undisturbed for 10-15 minutes or no longer warm to the touch.

While you wait, chop grilled chicken thigh into small dice. In a medium bowl, beat eggs with cream. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Distinct bits of couscous and farro form a delicate crust.

Arrange asparagus spears in a pattern, tips toward crust, trimming to lengths as needed at center. Scatter diced chicken between spears then slowly pour in egg mixture. Use a spatula or small spoon to coax egg mixture into any bare spots.

Return to 350 degree oven and bake 12-15 minutes, or until eggs are just set. Remove and let cool on rack for about 10 minutes. If crust has not pulled away from edges, lightly slide the tip of a sharp knife around the circumference to loosen before freeing base from the tart pan.

Lift slices with a flexible metal spatula. Serve immediately with a dollop of labneh or Greek yogurt.

*Note: Za'atar spice blends can be found in Middle Eastern markets and some grocery stores. I am particularly keen on the variety sold by Savory Spice Shop, which has a store in North Raleigh.

A fennel conspiracy?

What is it with the French and their fennel?

I recently ran out of herbes de Provence, a variety from Savory Spice that I'm fond of, and decided to "splurge" on one of those familiar little crocks of the herb mix imported from France. Imagine my dismay when I peeled off its international plastic sani-wrap and discovered that about a third of it was the foul stuff.

Of course herbes de Provence should have some fennel, but this was more than I could bear. I started plucking the offensive seeds one by one before it dawned on me to to use a mesh colander. This allowed me to separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, and now the remaining mix has more breathing room.

Me, too. I was so horrified that my husband felt moved to pluck some daffodils from the garden to cheer me up. He also poured me a glass of wine, purely for medicinal purposes, which seems to be helping.

I know that fennel is adored by many, and I've been tricked into eating the braised bulb more than once and lived. My distaste for it in all forms even managed to offend an otherwise Zen butcher at Whole Foods, who recently bristled when I asked if they had any house-made turkey sausage without it.

"That's what makes it Italian," he said, looking at me as if I landed from Mars -- where it no doubt flourishes in its inhospitable environment.

So if anyone would like a jar of lavender-spiked fennel seeds, let me know.