Panko-Crusted Chicken with Mustard Sauce

 

 

Long before I became a dietitian, in my youthful days when I ate everything and anything without feeling guilty, I'd indulge in McDonald’s at least once a week. It was worse when I had to deal with a wave of homework, my parents left to go out for dimsum and I’d head to the golden arches (which was conveniently just below our apartment building). I always ordered the same thing: McChicken with fries. I loved the fried chicken. Skin that crisped and crackled in my mouth, like a mini fireworks party, it was the best part of my weekends as I stressed over mind-numbing calculus equations and English essays. Nowadays, I stay away from McDonald’s (except when it comes to an Oreos McFlurry) though I still eat the occasional fries (with spicy mayo!) when I dine out and try to make a conscious choice to eat less deep-fried foods.

 

But once in a while I have a hankering for fried chicken. Maybe because I forbid myself to eat it so all I can think about is eating crackly chicken skin, ripping meat off the bone, slathering some sauce, chew, chew, chew, swallow, and repeat. I wanted tender, juicy bits of chicken. I wanted to get my hands dirty. McDonald’s and KFC was out of the question, nor was I going to sacrifice vats of oil for deep frying. The solution, my friends, is panko.

Typically used in Japanese tempura, panko crumbs are light breadcrumbs. They don’t burn in the oven and retain their crispness. Here, I used them in chicken wings. I dredged them in an egg wash, coated them in panko breadcrumbs and before baking them for about 45 minutes. Meanwhile, I mixed together a mustard dipping sauce using whole grain mustard and lemon juice. It was easy peasy. The hardest part was whether to dig into my wings first or take these pictures during dinner, thankfully, I managed to do both. 

The crust is undeniably flaky, one bite into these wings and you hear multiple crackles as your teeth give way to moist strips of chicken. My mom and I ate these for dinner with mashed sweet potatoes and a brussels sprouts slaw (I always have a nice dish of veggies on the side). Now you too can relish in the carnal pleasure of eating meat without the deep-fryer. Go on, eat it double-fisted, I won't judge.

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Green Bean and Red Quinoa Salad

Like the other 50% of Torontonians that flocked to High Park to admire the cherry blossoms, I thought I'd share their beauty with you (if you haven't gotten sick of them already). I went  with my mom and cursed myself the whole time how I should have worn shorts. I didn’t believe how warm it was. It seemed implausible, an evil trickery from the weather people. The moment we parked the car, we were giddy with cherry-blossom-frenzy. Teeny buds of pink and white flowers swayed under the bright sun. I always forget how lovely it is this time of year, when we can shed our bulky jackets, throw on a bright dress and show some skin, and breathing in fresh air doesn’t hurt the lungs, but actually feels pleasant.

Mom and I walked around High Park, took more photos (I took about 259 photos that day alone) then strolled along Bloor Street West to find a good lunch spot. We were famished and sweaty and couldn’t be more happy to sit and rest our feet, we collapsed at a table at The Kennedy Public House. Getting my priorities straight, I ordered a Kronenberg, then we waited for our warm panzanella salad and chicken club sandwich (cleverly placed under the “witchcraft” category on the menu). We people-watched and again, boasted how lucky we were for the cooperative weather.

I craved something light and fresh, and the panzanella hit the spot. There were roasted tomatoes and red bell peppers, their syrupy juices seeping through the arugula and onions, softening the croutons, plus springy buffalo cheese and briny olives. I’m drooling just thinking about it. The sandwich was a delight too; moist bits of meat with mayo oozed between focaccia. Even the ceasar salad that came as a side was equally memorable; it won major brownie points for fried artichokes and homemade parmesan tuilles. I was so full I couldn’t breathe and thankful for the walk back to the car. 

The following day it was just as sunny and warm. I still wanted something crunchy and laden with vegetables. I’ve had plenty of quinoa in sitting my pantry for a while now and always promised myself to make it and feature it on my blog, but obviously, never got around to it. Maybe it was the panzanella, or the ceasar salad, but I had the urge to make something with spring greens. I made a green bean and quinoa salad inspired by Sara Forte of Sprouted Kitchen. It comes together easily and will even make you lick your plate. I know, you don’t hear of plate-lickingly good salads often, but trust me, the key is in the dressing. I made my own mustardy version for the dressing and the combination of heat, acid, and oil helps to bring the otherwise bland ingredients alive. I whizzed together garlic, lime zest, and a dollop of Kozlick’s sweet and smokey mustard.  

The green beans are blanched, then tossed with cooked quinoa, coated with the dressing and sprinkled with toasted pecans, to give you plenty of crunch in each forkful. It took less than 20 minutes to put together, I even enjoyed it on the balcony while watching the sun go down. It’s nice to see you too Spring.

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Mustard Glazed Salmon

I'm a liar. My pants are on fire. I promised to share recipes from my cookbooks, but frankly, I haven't toyed with new ideas just yet. Instead, I'm going to share some fish with you.

One of the most popular ways to cook fish in Chinese cuisine is to steam the whole thing, and pour in a sauce, or rather, a mix of heated ingredients consisting of sesame oil, soy sauce, fresh ginger and whispers of green onions. That's all. A recipe isn't even needed, my parents can cook fish this way blindfolded if they wanted to, it's intuitive, unpretentious and easy.

As my fellow Asian friends can attest, the most prized part of the fish are the cheeks. These are meatiest portions and if someone at the dinner table were to pick this for you and leave it in your rice bowl, you were obliged to say “thank you”, lest a slap on the wrist for seeming disrespectful. My parents used to save this cheeky part for me all the time, perhaps I have the answer to my undeniably round cheeks, as my friends always lovingly tease me about.


To the contrary, my favorite part of the fish is the belly. When steamed, the heat vapors seem to transform this ordinary part into meat so silky, its slippery in your mouth, as though the fish has sprung to life. Dabbed in just a touch of soy sauce, the fish tastes even sweeter and nothing completes the meal better than a bowl of long-grain rice. My parents have never been fond of the fish belly, whereas I dig in headfirst (or rather, belly-first) once the fish is set on the table. They do however, remind me that my grandpa used to love the fish belly too, which I makes me glow inside because I miss him.


This recipe is about salmon however, and though there isn't the bright kick of green onions, it's pretty darn good too. My mom has been begging me to find new ways to bake salmon, since it's something we eat once a week, and to be honest, salmon dressed with a few squirts of lemon juice can get old pretty quickly.


I tried this a few times already and knew I'd be arrested if I didn't tell you about it. It's simple and you ought to make it dinner tonight. The fish we buy is salmon steak, a beautiful slab of pearly orange meat, practically glowing in the afternoon light. It's seasoned with a dash of wine, salt and pepper, then smothered with mustard, covered with foil and baked. Meanwhile, you can prepare the rest of your meal, be it rice, pasta or salad, anything will do. In the last few minutes before the fish is done, take it out from the oven, carefully unwrap the foil, brush with honey, cover it up again and allow it to bake a few more moments.


I'll admit, I prefer how the salmon looks when it's still raw, but when it's cooked, oh my is it sensational. The mustard I used is spiked with chives and fennel, a souvenir I bought for myself in Paris (le sigh), and it's wonderful on the fish, adding a creamy flair, kind of like how pinning a flower to your hair, or topping your outfit with a fedora makes you stand out in the crowd. The brush of honey embellishes the fish with a coat of sweetness, heightening the softness of the flesh. And don't forget to wrap the salmon with foil to trap in all the moisture as it bakes, lending the fish a velvety texture throughout.

My favorite part of the dish is picking at the tail ends of the steak, you know, those unattractive narrowed ends of the salmon, lying there innocently. It's the most tender bit of the fish and I love lapping it up with the extra marinade left in a pool on the plate.

We ate the fish with some vegetables and rice, then promptly left the empty dishes behind, so we wouldn't miss this breathtaking view.

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