“I am my own worst critic” is my understatement of the century. In my opinion, I can do everything worse than you. I never have a good word to speak of myself, and when one is spoken of me, I usually have a trick up my sleeve for convincing you that you’re wrong.  Three-plus decades of attempted perfectionism has yielded a girl who doesn’t know how to relax and not needle out flaws. You name a category, I tell you how I just don’t measure up. It can be exhausting, but thankfully for you, the people most exhausted always have a PhD at the end of their names.

In the context of this blog, my urge to needle and prick means I’m an insecure, amateur cook who has found relief in New York City talking about the food that I eat rather than the food that I make. As much as I can find great satisfaction in pulling something culinary off, especially if it’s for a guest, I get anxious prior to the pots and pans coming out. Food is just food, I know, but I don’t want to be serving fucked-up food to a person that I care about or photographing ugly food for you, dear readers.

A guest in the house brought out my caretaker, and with it, my need to care through food. You’re sleeping on my couch? I’ll make you a meal even when my little devil tells me it’s going to be  a flop. (I do give myself brownie points sometimes for trying.) Given that my guest was from Edmonton, and I’d still not heard a peep from any Edmontonians about any newfound love of burrata cheese, I had ingredient number one. I was introduced to burrata a few years ago in Vancouver and fell head over heels instantly. “Mozzarella that gives birth to creamy strings of heaven” would be my second understatement of the century. Slapping it on some bread with a bit of salt and a bit of sweet was… my best idea ever. After one bite, I beamed. After two, I reminded myself that no, I hadn’t read about this somewhere. I DID IT. Of course, there are prosciutto, peach and mozzarella creations all over the internet, I told my devil. But my creation had burrata. And balsamic mayo.

For about an hour, as my guest and I enjoyed the sandwiches, joked, and caught up, my needle stayed in my pocket and my devil shut up and read “The New Yorker.”

Prosciutto, burrata, and peach sandwiches
Use amounts based on how many sandwiches you want.  One standard ball of burrata could be used for about three sandwiches.

Crusty bread, such as ciabatta
Prosciutto, shaved
Burrata cheese
Fresh peach, sliced
Fresh basil leaves, roughly torn
Balsamic mayo*
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Slather one slice of bread with balsamic mayo. Layer prosciutto, then peaches, then a few basil leaves.
Cut ball of burrata into chunks. It will be messy. Just go with it.
Layer cheese on sandwich. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place second piece of bread on top.

*Balsamic mayo: In a ratio of about 4:1, mayonnaise to balsamic vinegar, mix well and add one garlic clove sliced in half lengthwise. Let sit in the fridge for at least 15 minutes. Remove garlic before serving and mix again.

For those of you who know me, I apologize that since vacationing in Vietnam,  the only post I’ve done about it concerns fruit. 

Amazing fruit, mind you, but fruit nonetheless.

Every time I think about doing a post, I start to miss being there.  And as Edmonton’s winter still seems to be leaving its trace, remembering moments in tropical heat makes my current discontent all the more worse.  As we cannot stop mentioning the longer Alberta days, I thought our obsession with the sun would twin nicely with posts on Vietnam.  And as the days are just going to get shorter again (too) soon, I should get in while the getting’s good.  Like Kramer and Newman with the Mackinaw peaches.

I don’t have to go much into why a foodie would want to go to Vietnam.  Culinary stars such as Tony Bourdain and Dorie Greenspan have made recent journeys to taste the vast landscape of Vietnamese cuisine.  More sweet in the South, more bitter in the North.  City air that is as heavy with the smells of rice and cilantro as it is with scooter exhaust.  The best baguettes I’ve had outside of France.  Right now I’m craving a deep-fried pumpkin flower stuffed with catfish that I had while in the Mekong Delta. *sigh*

Green papaya salad with shrimp, Mango Rooms, Hoi An

Green papaya and green mango salads quickly became an obsession.  Few things seemed more perfect on a hot afternoon than a cold salad of crunchy fruit in a salty dressing.

Green papaya salad, Hoa Sua School, Hanoi

Hoa Sua School

KOTO

Banana flower salad, KOTO, Hanoi

Banana flower salad, Red Bridge Cooking School, Hoi An

The salads were what I wanted most when I came home.  An inspired bowl of cold-spicy and salty-sweet to offset the persistence of dry radiator air.  Something that would be kind to my waistline after one too many baguettes and cones of “young rice” ice cream.  For a quick fix, I headed to Lucky 97 to get some ingredients to go with the rotisserie chicken I had at home.   

With the exception of the dressing, I didn’t really follow a recipe.  For two girls who were to stay in and paint their nails, I bought two mangos and one green papaya.  Purple basil, cilantro, and mint.  Shredded carrots.  One diced chili.  Scallions.  Sesame seeds.  The chicken.   A super simple dressing c/o Red Bridge:  juice of one lime, 1 teaspoon of fish sauce, 1 garlic clove crushed, and 1 tablespoon of sugar. 

It was too cold for a cold beer, but that’s what was then needed.
And as they say in Vietnam:  Yo!