North Korea, Iran and Bulgogi Leftovers

North Korea qualified for the World Cup this year? Really?

Source: BBC Sport

Does anyone detect the sweet irony of this situation? The only reason North Korea squeaked by was because Iran failed to beat South Korea, meaning that North Korea only needed a draw with Saudi Arabia. But WHY Iran failed to beat South Korea is amazing, in my book at least. Six of the Iranian players (including the Captain) chose that game to protest Iranian presidential election results. They wore green arm bands, a very visible protest and reminder to the Iranian audience that was watching it telecast at home on state television that they supported the opposition candidate, Mir Hossein Mousavi.

They came out for the second half without the armbands. Apparently they'd been told to remove them. So, let me get this straight. These men chose to defy what can only be called a rogue regime, and chose very publicly to do so on television worldwide, and then someone tells them during halftime that they really should take them off (if they know what's good for them, that is). And then they come out for the second half and go on to draw 1-1, failing to win one of the four automatic qualification spots for Asia. Are you kidding me? They must have been so damn scared, knowing that they were going to have to go home after that match, that I'm surprised it was 5-1--and not in their favor. Seriously, watch the video in this report--scroll down and please ignore the inane commentary about 'detecting protest.' Those are terrified men on that field.

South Korea got really lucky in that match. It's not like they were really preoccupied with a terrifying regime at home. After all, it's not like they're North Korea, right? Some of that luck ended up wearing off on North Korea too though, which is the irony. Players who bravely protested a terrifying regime ended up pushing through players from another terrifying regime. North Korea and Iran--now that would be a match.

And I'll bet that when you saw it was a post about North Korea, you thought I was going to talk about the Chinese individuals who were paid money to appear as North Korean fans.

In all fairness, since I like to use World Cup games as inspiration for meals, I now have double the reason, with both North and South Korea qualifying, to make bulgogi. I think I stumbled upon a very satisfying recipe the other day, and it was delicious. And because my very considerate mother knows how much I love bulgogi, she always picks up about 2 extra pounds of the thinly sliced ribeye when she shops at her local Korean grocer, since I can't seem to get anyone to cut it that thinly up here.

When you consider how much thinly sliced meat constitutes 2 pounds, you'll understand we had a lot of leftovers. After a couple of meals of bulgogi and brown rice, I decided to whip up something new, using the leftover meat. What came together was amazing--the bulgogi had soaked up juices over 2 days, and, what's more, the fresh cabbage, peppers and scallions over rice vermicelli made it taste refreshingly Vietnamese, and the peanut chili sauce reminded me of Thai noodles. All in all, a party in your mouth and definitely one I'd host again. Enjoy!

Bulgogi part 3: Peanut Chili Noodles

Ingredients:

• 3/4 pound of leftover bulgogi
• 2 red peppers (thinly sliced)
• 1/2 head of purple cabbage (thinly shredded)
• 4 scallions, white and green parts (chopped)
• 1 tbsp garlic (minced)
• 2 tbsp ginger (minced)
• 10 oz. rice vermicelli
• 1/2 cup natural peanut butter (if using regular peanut butter, just omit 1tbsp sugar)
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 1/2 cup-1 cup low sodium chicken broth
• 1 tbsp red chili flakes
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 tbsp low sodium soy sauce
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1 tbsp sesame oil

Directions:
Submerge vermicelli in boiling water for 6-7 minutes. Then flush the noodles with cold water for one minute. Drain and keep aside. Add vegetable oil to a pan and saute the garlic until fagrant. Saute the red peppers and cabbage in this oil for 3-4 minutes and then add green onions and saute for another 3-4 minutes. Remove from heat.

Combine peanut butter, soy sauce, sesame oil, ginger and red chili flakes in a saucepan. Slowly add chicken brother, making sure to continue stirring so it doesn't congeal. Stir for 10 minutes, allowing it to simmer, but continuing to add broth so it doesn't become too thick. Toss the vermicelli with the sauce.

Serve topped with peppers and cabbage mixture, and top that with some heated leftover bulgogi. Serves 6.

Bunny Chow

In honor of World Cup 2010's host country, I decided to make some popular South African street food for a group of friends who gathered at our place yesterday to watch USA vs. England. I was lucky enough to get to SA in our summer/their winter of 2005, and Bunny Chow was far and away my favorite meal there--perhaps with the exception of PeriPeri shrimp, which I'll post before the Cup ends. Here's the recipe for one of the easiest and most satisfying dishes I've made in ages.

Bunny Chow

• 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (bite size pieces)
• 2 tbsp garlic (minced)
• 2 tbsp ginger (minced)
• 1.5 red onions (chopped)
• 4 large potatoes (bite size pieces)
• 1 tbsp turmeric
• 2 tbsp red chili powder
• 2 tbsp ground coriander
• 2 tbsp salt
• 2 tbsp garam masala
• 1 inch piece of cinnamon
• 3-4 cardamon pods
• 3-4 cloves
• 1 cup low sodium chicken broth
• 1 tbsp cornstarch and a little bit of water
• 12 whole bread rolls (not the sliced kind)

Here's the amazing part--just combine* all of the ingredients (with the exception of the chicken broth, cornstarch, water and rolls) in a slow cooker. Make sure you rub the spices into the chicken, onion and potatoes. Next, add the chicken broth. Cook on high for 3.5-4 hours, or on low for 7.5-8 hours. About 30 minutes before serving, mix the cornstarch with enough water to make a thick paste and add this mixture to the chicken curry. Stir well, and don't be afraid to have the chicken and potatoes break apart. *I ignored a bunch of slow-cooker first principles by not searing the meat, not layering meat on top of potatoes, etc. It turned out moist, tender and delicious anyway. And if we had the time to do all of those preparatory steps in the morning before work, would the slow cooker really have revolutionized the amount of time we spend on meals?

How to serve: Pour the chicken curry into a serving dish and garnish with chopped cilantro (optional). Take the bread rolls and hollow out a large hole in each one, making sure that you retain the 'lid' and 'insides' as one piece. [note: the kaiser rolls pictured above are a decent, if not slightly disappointing, substitute for South African 'government sandwich loaves' which are tall and square, like Indian pav. If you can get loaves like those, bless you.] Allow guests to assemble their own Bunny Chow by removing the lid, scooping some curry inside and using the lid to eat the meal with their hands. That's the real way to do it. Serves 12.


The astute among you may be asking why chicken curry inside of a bread bowl is called Bunny Chow. Since 12 servings of rabbit do not usually appear on a graduate student's grocery budget, I'm grateful that the name developed completely independent of the cottonball-tailed burrowers.

While the actual origin of the dish is disputed, I find the most believable account to involve the Bania (pronounced: buh-nee-yah) caste of Indian migrants, brought over to South Africa as indentured laborers to work on sugar cane fields. One version explains that Indians were excluded from restaurants and given curry scooped into a loaf of bread to take away; another claims that Indian workers found the loaf easy to transport to the fields. Both reports describe the affordability and convenience of a meal that workers have discovered in various countries throughout history--pasties in England, for example, were also cheap and convenient options for Cornish tin miners who could not come up for lunch and wanted a self-contained meal to eat without utensils below ground.

The term Bunny Chow is said to have arisen around 1933, when Indians and non-Indians alike suffered from the Great Depression and discovered that this meal was one of the cheapest they could manage. Bunny became the colloquial adaptation of the Banian curry, and 'chow' was the term used to describe Chinese food--another community who turned to the meal for sustenance. Interestingly enough, now the phrase is sometimes used to describe multiculturalism in South Africa, even becoming the namesake for a 2006 film about the humanity in interpersonal/intercultural/interracial, really inter-difference, relationships.

Sixteen years after the end of apartheid, South Africa has made serious advancements in this direction, and I hope that this fact isn't lost on World Cup audiences as they watch matches hosted in this country. Its post-apartheid Constitution was the first in the world to outlaw discrimination based on sexual orientation, for example, and even legalized same-sex marriage in 2006.

But race relations seem to be another matter. The legalized system of racial segregation under apartheid (in addition to a history of colonialism), and the measures that have since been taken to compensate for such injustice, have fostered distrust and resentment that seems to live strong today. I remember walking back to my hostel in Durban, with some Bunny Chow in hand, and encountering its white owner on a bench outside. He looked at the food in my hands and offered the following, unsolicited, wisdom: "We have a saying here in South Africa. During apartheid, whites were the head of the cow, blacks were the ass, and Indians were milking it in the middle. Now that apartheid's over, blacks are the head, whites are the ass and the damn Indians are still milking it in the middle." Charming, really.

Lemn Sissay

On Saturday night, I went with some friends to see Lemn Sissay perform his new one-man show, entitled "Why I Don't Hate White People" at the Lyric Theatre in Hammersmith. While the piece posted above is meant to illustrate his incredibly lyrical quality (and perhaps ward off the miserable weather they forecast for the next couple of days here), the show we saw on Saturday focused on his personal journey to understand race relations growing up in northern England. Part Ethiopian/part Eritrean, and raised by white foster/adoptive parents after a bout with social services, Sissay chronicles the difficulties of being the only black person he'd ever known until he was eighteen years old.

Sissay hops around the black box experimental stage, wildly and beautifully impersonating key characters throughout his childhood--my favorites included the pub-going-rugby-playing meathead in Wigam and the old lady who sits next to him on the completely empty bus, lest she appear ignorant by not sitting next to him. The story that emerges is clear: Sissay grew up shouldering the burden of explaining to people what the other is like--answering questions about afros, weed, and anatomical sexuality that reveal the insidiousness of racism today—racism veiled behind curiosity, humor, and the arrogance of confidence.

D. emailed me a nasty review of the show that gets at the heart of exactly why this show is so important--namely, that some people think that we’re in a post-racist society because the lady on the bus didn’t accuse him of stealing her purse or because the meathead kept his fists tucked into his pockets. Apparently racism needs to leave some sort of physical proof of its brutality.

When B. and I were on our honeymoon in St. Lucia in July, we went to a ‘fish fry’ in a village across the bay— an attempt to market St.Lucian food and culture to a captive group of tourists who weren’t supposed to know any better (and we didn’t). The food was hideous and the same 3 dishes were served at every other stall: a combination of stuffed crab shells, overcooked garlicky shrimp and bland fried beignets. Point is, there were around 10 people on the boat for the 30 minutes it took to get over there, we were in close quarters in the market once we got there, and we joined each other again on the 30 minute trip back across the bay. Once we returned to our resort, B. and I went up to the office to get our bags, with the rest of the crew behind us, trekking up the 70-80 stairs it took to walk up to the cottages from the beach. I left the office to visit the bathroom and ran right into this obnoxious ball of lard who was from the States and had a sad new wife who used him for the money he threw around the place we were staying. He was drunk and panting profusely from 10 minutes of cardio, but he managed to stop me, place his six-pack on the bench and start mumbling about filling out a comment card and how we (meaning: staff at the resort) should build some sort of structure that mechanically lifted people from the beach. Quite honestly, I was stunned and walked away, leaving him speaking unclearly behind me. In the bathroom, I thought hard about what had just happened. For a stretch of 6 hours, this slob had failed to register any differences between myself and the resort’s staff--even the full uniforms that the latter wore around the clock weren’t enough of a signal. Because the only thing we shared in common was the color of our skin and that particular color made us invisible to this man. The shame that comes from feeling like you need to justify your existence or belonging at any place or point in time is still very much a serious racism—insidious because it seems impossible to legislate against humiliation.