A few months back when one of my friends from Foodie Group announced that she’d be hosting a kimchi-making workshop, I jumped. I wasn’t very familiar with kimchi (I’d only eaten it a couple times in my life), but experiencing someone else’s culture via food is directly down my happiness alley. Plus, I already have a thing for fermented flour, honey, and dairy, so veggies seemed the next logical step.
So on a Saturday afternoon, a handful of us gathered in her kitchen to chop and toss and blend. We asked a million questions, tried new-to-us ingredients from her pantry (special oil! itsy-bitsy salty shrimp!), and scarfed a snack of green tea and hot baked sweet potatoes still in their jackets.
At the end of the workshop, I had three-quarters of a gallon of kimchi to take home.
I left it on the kitchen counter for only a day or two to begin fermenting, because we were cautioned not to let it go too long for fear we’d find the flavor too strong for our newly initiated kimchi palates, and over the next few weeks, I ate it almost daily: with cottage cheese, with rice and eggs, on hot dogs (with cottage cheese, too!), with greens, with mac and cheese, in wraps, with beans and rice, on pizza (which is freaking amazing — try it!).
I eventually ran out, so last week I made a new batch.
I was a little nervous. It felt like A Project, and first time ferments always intimidate the socks off me. But the kimchi was amazingly simple to smack together and way faster than my other everyday food projects, including run-of-the-mill veggie preservation like freezing corn and making salsa and sweet pickles. And it was waaay less complicated than making cheese.
This time, I fermented the kimchi on the counter until it was actively bubbling and liquid was spilling everywhere, so the flavor is more deeply umami, which is absolutely dee-lush.
Wanna know the very best thing about kimchi? It means veggies are always at the ready.
I know that might not sound like a big deal, but think about it: fresh veggies usually require a wash and chop at the bare minimum, and preserved veggies need to at least be reheated.
But kimchi? It’s ready to go at a moment’s notice, is incredibly nutritious, and packs one heck of a flavor wallop. (Case in point: last night I had kimchi on my grilled cheese which somehow magically turned the sandwich into an entirely different sort of food.)
Kimchi Adapted from Shin Ji’s recipe.
The first time, I used regular green cabbage, but you can use any kind. The second time I used Taiwanese cabbage (labeled “Korean cabbage” at the store). I’d never had it before and it was wildly crispy and sweet.
Shin Ji cuts her cabbage into large chunks. From what I’ve seen, this is traditional, but I prefer my pieces smaller.
I skipped the fish bouillon when I made my batch (because I didn’t have any), but then I ordered some.
Even though this has fish sauce and bouillon, as well as kelp, it’s quite light on the fishy flavor.
This is just a springboard. As with any fermentation project, the variations are endless.
Yield: 1 gallon.
2 heads cabbage, rinsed and rough chopped 1 daikon radish, peeled and sliced 1 bunch green onions, rinsed, trimmed, and rough chopped 1 piece dried kelp 2 tablets of fish bouillon 2 cups water ⅓ cup salt, approximately 2 apples, cored and rough chopped 1 red bell pepper, cored and rough chopped 2 onions, peeled and rough chopped 2-4 tablespoons minced garlic 2-4 tablespoons minced ginger 1 teaspoon fish sauce, plus more to taste 1-2 teaspoons Korean dried red pepper, or lots more to taste
for the veggies: In a large bowl, toss together the cabbage, radish, and green onion. Sprinkle with the salt and toss to coat. Set aside at room temperature for about an hour (or overnight, if you get busy). When ready, there should be some salty veggie liquid pooling at the bottom, and the veggies should be limp and relaxed. They will taste quite salty, put not overpoweringly so. Pour off the liquid, but reserve it in case you need to add more salt and/or liquid later.
for the broth: Put 2 cups of water and kelp in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the bouillon and turn off the heat. Let the kelp steep for at least a half hour. Discard the kelp, and reserve the liquid.
for the sauce: In a blender or food processor, combine the apples, pepper, onions, garlic, and ginger. Whiz until it’s a liquidy sauce, but don’t worry if it’s not completely smooth.
to assemble: Add the sauce to the veggies and toss to coat. Add the fish sauce and red pepper to taste. If you need more salt, add some of the salty veggie juices that you reserved and/or some of the kelp broth. Both the sauciness and saltiness are maker’s preference.
Scoop the veggies into two half-gallon jars and pack down. The liquid should cover the veggies — add more, if needed — but there should be about an inch of head space. Sprinkle a little salt on top of the veggies and screw on the lids.
Ferment the kimchi at room temperature for 3-5 days. Twice a day, “burp” the jars by unscrewing the lids. You’ll know the kimchi is fermenting when the liquid rises up and you can see it actively bubbling. The longer the kimchi ferments, the stronger the umami flavor. Once the kimchi has reached your desired level of fermentation, transfer it to the fridge.
And there you have it — ready-to-eat veggies 24/7!
I realize “vanilla bundt cake” sounds like an edible yawn, but when I say this is a cake people talk about, I’m not lying.
Here are two examples.
Example 1 One Sunday afternoon, I was reclining (because I can’t spell the more ordinary word that means reclining and starts with an “L”) on the sofa when my nephew and his friend came panting into the house. They had been out on a bike ride and were stopping in for — I forget what, maybe water?
“Are you hungry?” I asked (sillily). “There’s cake on the table there. Help yourself.”
The friend took some and then wandered over to peer down at me and ask what kind it was. Vanilla bundt, I told him.
“It’s really good,” he said (with feeling).
And then — here’s the clincher — my brother texted me a little later to say the friend had reported that they’d had “amazing vanilla ‘butt’ cake.”
Example 2 I was in the living room rocking a sleeping babe (insert all the melty emoji faces in the world), when my daughter and her friend stopped in. Right away, my daughter zeroed in on the cake (my second one) sitting pretty on the kitchen island under its glass dome.
“Ooo, what’s this?”
“It’s good,” I said. “Eat some.” So they did, end of story.
Or so I thought….
The next day when my daughter and I were chatting over the driveway gate — she on her way into the barn to pick up her milk from the fridge, and me on my way back to the house after lifting weights in the barn — she suddenly sighed dramatically, and said, apropos of nothing, “That cake was soooo good.”
And then she told me the two of them continued discussing the cake long after they’d left our place. (And she mentioned a couple days ago that they’re still talking about it.)
So like I said, this one’s a cake to talk about.
Yes, it’s a simple cake. But, oh my sweethearts, listen: It’s also incredibly tender and moist, flavorful, and surprisingly addictive. Expect people to eat it serially — ie, cut and eat, cut and eat, cut and eat. My advice?Just leave the dang knife on the cake plate already.
In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, a better name would be Doubletake Cake because:
Almost everyone goes in with low expectations, takes a bite, and then a startled look flits across their face, like they’ve just been pleasantly zapped. It’s delightful to watch.
I can’t tell you the number of times people have asked, “What kind of cake is this?” after the first few bites.
They almost always take another slice (if not more).
I hope you find time this week to make your own doubletake butt cake.
It’s worth it.
Vanilla Bundt Cake (aka Vanilla Butt Cake, aka Doubletake Cake) Adapted from NYT Cooking
After the first cake, I couldn’t stop thinking how much it reminded me of a giant cake doughnut, and once that popped into my mind, I decided the cake simply had to be glazed in its entirety. So for the second one, I also glazed the bottom, flipping the cake mid-glaze to ice its bottom (er…top?) and then turning it facedown again. The extra step was awkward and messy, and the bottom glaze stuck to the cake plate when serving, but still, I think the full drench was better.
I love my bundt pan — cakes come out cleanly and always look striking. Recommend.
for the cake: 226 grams (2 sticks) butter, room temperature 350 grams (1¾ cups) sugar 4 eggs 1 tablespoon vanilla ½ teaspoon almond extract 290 grams (2¼ cups) flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1¼ teaspoon salt 180 ml (¾ cup) milk
Cream the butter and sugar for about 5 minutes, or until the color lightens. Beat in the eggs. Add the extracts.
Mix the flour, baking powder, and salt, and then add the dry ingredients alternately with the milk. If the batter looks curdled, don’t worry about it.
Scoop the batter into a well-buttered and floured bundt pan. Bake at 325°F for about 1 hour, or an hour ten. Allow the cake to cool for 10-15 minutes before inverting onto a cooling rack.
for the glaze: 185 grams (1½ cups) confectioner’s sugar, sifted 2-4 tablespoons milk 1 tablespoon vanilla (extract or bean paste) ½ teaspoon salt
Whisk the sugar, vanilla, salt, and 2 tablespoons of milk together. As needed, add more milk to get a smooth drizzle.
Once the cake is mostly cooled (but still a little warm), brush the glaze over every single inch. Take your time and be thorough. This is art.
