Burmese Baby Bok Choy Salad

Your past experience, may be even your common sense, will tell you that bok choys are meant to be boiled, stir-fried or grilled. What if I tell you to fight those biases? Why, you ask? I am here to tell you that one of the best ways to enjoy bok choys is to actually eat them raw. I know this fleshy bonsai-looking vegetable does not look like something that will win the America’s Next Top Salad Green. But, trust me when I say that its seemingly fibrous stem is actually quite tender, juicy and crunchy. Moreover, I absolutely adore raw baby bok choys’ sweet pepperiness, reminiscent of a milder and a more palatable cousin called watercress. The last but definitely not least, compared to lettuce, bok choys hold up their shape so much better after being tossed in salad dressing, making them a wiser choice for packed lunches.

30-minute shortcut Mohinga (Burmese fish vermicelli soup)

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I always feel like November is a month of a preparation for change. I like to stress here the word “preparation” because the change may not have happened yet, but the seeds have been planted and there is potential of replacement.

Burmese chickpea tofu salad (soy-free)

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When I was a kid, my only wish was to become an adult so that I can buy and eat whatever and whenever I want. Kids are not allowed to touch money in my family. Naturally, the first time I felt like a grown-up was not the day I lost my virginity, but the very first day of fifth grade when I finally received my first pocket money. As soon as I arrived school, I went straight to the cafeteria with thirty kyats (3 cents) in my hand. Of course, with the prospect of food within the next 5-10 minutes, my face was beaming like a Ferrari’s headlight. Despite the cafeteria’s small size, it was mostly flooded with candy shops. I literally was a kid in a candy store; unable to decide who should get my 30 kyats. But, of course, as a child taste prodigy, I was not tempted by the lowly high-fructose corn syrup. I somehow ended up at a salad station, and finally got myself a Burmese chikpea tofu salad with a complex flavor profile. That day, I learned two very important lessons- that autonomy is priceless and unsanitary hands give you a very bad stomachache.

Burmese Garlic Noodle (See-chat-khawt-Swe)

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I was a classic chick-flick protagonist growing up – a shy kid who hits books to avoid people. I hated going outside. I hated the sun, the moon, the stars and everything nature. Luckily, my mother had a massive collection of novels, comics and journals, which she stored in a big red old cabinet under our altar. I remembered spending hours a day, lying on my belly, leafing through pages of old dusty pages amidst the cloud of molds from old pages and incense smoke from the altar above. Whenever a book was coming to an end, I would try to read slowly so I was not forced to go outside by boredom. Not surprisingly, growing up with books made me want to start writing. I am not saying that I am a good writer, but a solid 80% of me believes that the love for writing does not come to those who hate reading.

Fool-proof Way to Make Your Own Burmese Chickpea Tofu at Home

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When I was eight in Burma, I was ridiculously, seriously, passionately into collecting fridge magnets with cartoon figures. I quietly store those magnets in metal pencil boxes in a little wooden drawer my mom gave me. Being an imaginative kid, I pretend that there is a ring of fire, an army of wizards and a big giant crab protecting my magnets. My brother tried to steal them? Oh please, he had no chance. But one day, I just woke up and decided that I didn’t like them anymore, and gave every single one away to my brother and my cousins. After I had given away, I felt no attachment whatsoever. Damn, my eight-year-old self was such a pro at letting stuffs go. There was no dilemma, no ambivalence. He knew he didn’t want them. He gave away -the end of story. He moved on to find the things he will like. He didn’t know what they are or how they will look like, but he was open-minded for possibilities. More importantly, that kid did not give a crap about what others people think.

How to make Burmese curry noodle with only two spices

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I never understand why Westerners practically freak out and cower at the corner at the thought of throwing a spontaneous dinner, brunch, or BBQ party.  As far as I am concerned, it is practically me hanging out with my friends and family at the comfort my place with the food I like to eat. There is no expectation from them (well, at least I hope) to be impressed with my cooking skills. After all, I am not a chef and should not aspire to be one. The get-togethers are meant to be and should be about doing things that I normally do by myself, like ignoring the world over Instagram, being nosy about other people’s life or laughing maniacally over cute Internet cat videos, except that this time with friends and families. So, I cook accordingly to fit that mission.

Gaw-bi-thoke - classic burmese cabbage cole slaw

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Ok, back in January, Huffington post released an article, casting a long-over due spotlight on Burmese salads. My face brimmed up, as if I am Amy Shumer with a class of Chardonnay.  Yes, the world domination is here – Burmese food goes mainstream now.

Back in Myanmar, our family eat salads as a part of our daily meals along with curries, rice and soup, rather than as a bowl of self-deprived and monotonous leafage as a promise to achieve a better health. In fact, the salad culture is quite popular in Yangon, a bustling city of Myanmar where I grew up in. My fondest memory of Burmese salads was eating with my second eldest aunt at a roadside salad bar, draped in sun-bleached vinyl blue sheets to get shelter from the unforgiving tropical urban heat. (I used the word “bar” specifically because the experience actually felt like I was at a crowded bar at a club, where I have to use sign languages and yell to get some attention. There were usually one or two “salad masters” at the salad bar, with ten people shouting simultaneously on their orders.)