Sampling Indian Food for Divali with Juilliard Graduate Florence Paget by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

Sampling Indian Food for Divali with Juilliard Graduate Florence Paget by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget 

My family has had fun living in Virginia and California as a military family.  We learned about Divali, the Indian Festival of Lights in Virginia thanks to our Indian neighbors. 

In fact, my fondest memories of being a Navy wife in Norfolk, Virginia, home of the largest Naval Base in the world, was swapping Christian and Hindu sweets with my Indian neighbors as we celebrated our different religious traditions.

Everyone in our apartment complex was in the Navy except for our next-door neighbors, who were from India.  They always loved talking with my daughter Florence, since their own grandchildren lived “up North.”

At Christmas, my daughter presented them with a plateful of Christmas cookies – peanut blossoms with Hershey kisses, chocolate chip cookies, Russian tea cakes and so on, she proudly said, “I made these all by myself.”

The following year in October, our next-door neighbor knocked at our door.  She told us, “These are the traditional candies we eat on our holiday of Divali.”

We thanked her and ate everything in about twenty minutes.  I took the plate back in what I thought was a polite hour later.

Our next-door neighbor invited us in when we brought the plates back.  We told her how much we liked the candies.  We sat down, and she placed more of them in front of us.

We could not stop eating the candy that came in many colors with almonds and pistachios on top called barfi.

Indians cook this treat by evaporating milk along with sugar and ghee, purified butter.

They spread the mixture on a greased, round tray called a thali, and then, cut into it.

Other sumptuous goodies we ate included nutty ball bundles called laddoos made from fried semolina flour, sugar, ghee, milk, nuts, and carrots.

The only mouthwatering sweets, though, had intriguing sweet and savory syrup on them.  They did not know the name of the ingredients in English, but several visits to India’s Clay Oven (now closed) in Monterey, California revealed what these secret ingredients were: cloves, green cardamom, black cardamom, and bay leaf.

This aromatic syrup flavored sweet rolls called gulab jamun made from milk, flour, rose essence, and ghee as well as little balls that had sugar candy inside rasgoolas.

Cooks make rasgoolas with flour and chana, a soft cheese made by adding lime juice to warm milk and then straining it through a muslin cloth.

Cooks make balls with the dough, and then, soak them for ten minutes in the syrup.

My neighbor appeared out of the kitchen with a plateful of saucer-sized orange coils that are one of the most difficult sweets to make in the Indian kitchen – jalebis.  I bit into the cold, crunchy crust of my first jalebi to discover a rose-flavored syrup inside the coil.

The tricks to achieving this culinary masterpiece are a perfect saffron-flavored dough, a coil squeezer, and warm syrup.  Cooks deep-fry the batter in ghee, and then, place them in the warm syrup.

The coils absorb the syrup, leaving the one side crunchy. Jalebis stay fresh for only one day, so my daughter and I made sure that none were wasted.

I asked what Divali celebrated.  My neighbor told me that there were two Divali stories.  The first tells that the day honors the God Rama’s coronation after he had conquered modern-day Sri Lanka after being exiled from his home.

The second story relates that the god Vishnu killed a giant demon.  His people celebrated his return with lights and decorations.  The stories’ characters differ, but both recount victory over adversity.

“The name of the festival itself,” he continued refers to the little clay lamps with oil and wicks called “dipa” set up in a row called “avali.”

Together they form, the alternative name of the festival – “Dipavali.”

My neighbor said that Indians celebrate Divali by doing things such as buying new clothes, buy new accounting ledgers, and lighting fireworks.  Most importantly, Indians say prayers to Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity, asking her to visit their homes.

I said, “I think Lakshmi has already visited me” which made the neighbors laugh.

Note:  Parts of this story were printed in The Monterey County Weekly (Circulation: 200, 000).

You can sample Indian food at the Ambrosia Restaurant in downtown Monterey, California.  They have a nice lunch buffet and lovely dinners.  I like lamb vindaloo (spicy) and mango lhassis (mango yogurt drinks).  They also have lovely, bronze Nataraja sculptures located around the restaurant.

You can buy ingredients for making Indian food at home at the Asia-Pacific Market on Reservation Road in Marina, California.  They sometimes sell live crab, spices in bulk, and have tropical fruit for sale.

By Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks and Marrying France

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Sampling Baan Thai Food with Juilliard Graduate Florence Paget by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

Sampling Baan Thai Food with Juilliard Graduate Florence Paget by Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

I loved Seaside, California, my family’s first neighborhood, when we moved to the West Coast for its variety of ethnic restaurants.

I wanted my daughter Florence to try Thai food, so we went to Baan Thai when it was just opening up in 2000.  (It is still open 17 years later.)

On our first visit there, the walls were painted white and the glass over the pale green tablecloths gave off a slight glare, because there were no curtains on the waist-to-ceiling high windows that covered two walls of the restaurant.

I chose a corner table and studied the only decoration in the restaurant – an 8 ½” by 11” photo of what I thought was a seated Buddha or a person.  A tall, tapering crown that resembled Thai temple towers topped off this personage.

When the waitress came to take my order, I asked her, “Is that a man or Buddha in that picture?”

“Both,” she answered.

“He is our king.”

That was my first inkling that India had influenced Thai culture as well as that of China.

I gave her my order for panang curry not quite knowing what that was.  A series of five peppers at the bottom of the menu served as a spiciness (hot) guide for your order.

I chose the three-pepper variety.  The panang curry served with ridged carrots, corn, bits of chicken, and green pepper filled half of my plate.

A mound of white rice sat next to it with a twisted orange slice next to that for decoration.

The taste was citrus and hot.  It left a pleasant tingling taste in my mouth, but I was too busy at the time as a salesman selling Tibetan art, Russian icons, Ghandaran Buddhas, Thai and Vietnamese Buddhas, Indian Ganeshas, and Persian carpets in Carmel to delve into the ingredients in this delicious dish.

What I did do one night when I should have been researching another story was to look Thailand up on my computer’s encyclopedia.  I discovered that the Thai practice Theravada Buddhism, derisively called Hinayana (Lesser Vehicle) by the Mahayana (Greater Vehicle) Buddhists of China and Japan.

In a nutshell, Theravada Buddhists seek Enlightenment for themselves whereas Mahayana Buddhists endeavor to become a Bhodsattva, one who can achieve Enlightenment, but who puts it off to help others attain Enlightenment.

Young Thai men I read in this article usually spend some time as a monk in the same way that young men in many countries spend some time doing military service.

I wondered if this was why the servers at Baan Thai seemed so unflappable even when it was busy.  Then, I went back to my other story and let my interest in Thailand hibernate.

I went back to Baan Thai and decided it was time to try something new when the waiter saw me and said, “Panang curry?”

I changed my order several times to yellow, green, and red curries.  They were all good and contained peppery, anise-flavored Asian basil.

I progressed up the chile chart for spicy additions to the dishes I ordered.  Sugary Thai iced tea made with condensed milk put out some of the wildfire situations I willingly undertook.

I read the cookbook Cracking the Coconut by Su-Mei Yu, who had “attended an exclusive boarding school founded by the Royal Court of Thailand,” according to the book’s cover. 

I made panang curry once at home to know how to make it, but preferred eating it in restaurants to support ethnic communities, especially my neighborhood.

In 2002, I took Florence out to Baan Thai for an early dinner after I had picked her up from her charter Waldorf School in Pacific Grove, California.  Baan Thai had prospered and had received excellent reviews in the local newspapers.

Landscape paintings were lined up along the windowless walls.  Lace curtains kept the sunlight’s glare at bay and big, color pictures of the King and his consort decorated the dining room.  Smaller pictures of dancers in tall, conical hats, boats in Bangkok, and elephant tapestries decorated the walls.

Behind my daughter was a picture of the one-tusked elephant God from India called Ganesha.  At the Asian Art Gallery, I sold tons of these little, bronze statues by saying, “Ganesha is the remover of obstacles.”

Everyone in business knows these are people who mess up mailroom procedures, invoicing, and inventory control in companies.  I think everyone in Silicon Valley has one of these statues by now.

Florence asked me, “How do you remove obstacles?”

I told her the kiddie version of Ganesha, “Ganesha gave up one of his tusks, so humans could read.  Basically, if you read well and know math very well, you will have a good life.  Lawyers have very big vocabularies.”

End of Article

By Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks, Teen in China, and Marrying France

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Chicago Thai Food Adventures by Ruth Paget

Thai Food adventures in Chicago for Savvy Mom Ruth Paget

My childhood buddy and I took turns heaping thin, green chile rounds into our now forgotten dishes the first time both of us ate Thai food at the Thai 55^th Restaurant in Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood in 1983.

“I really don’t think you like spicy food,” I taunted as she placed a spoonful of peppers on her plate.

“You’re the wimp, Ruth,” she said as she placed another spoonful of the dark, green seedy peppers over her dish.  Was it Pad Thai, the stir-fried egg noodles?  I could not let that remark pass, so I helped myself to a few more spoonfuls.

We considered ourselves spicy superwomen after downing bowlfuls of hot sauce with chips at the Las Brisas Mexican Restaurant in Detroit where we grew up.  We emptied the glass container that held about ¾ cup of chiles.

I took the first bite.  A sensation like ammonia-flavored hot wax sent little needles of heat into every surface of my mouth and into my glass of water and chomped unceremoniously on the rice.

“Rice is supposed to help,” my childhood buddy ventured to say.

I ignored her and waved my arms to get the waiter’s attention.  He looked at me and started to come our way, but I could not wait for him to come to the table, go get water, and return.

I made what I hoped was the universal sign for water by cupping my hand and tilting it towards my mouth.

He understood and walked very slowly to our table with a pitcher of water.  I indecorously blew my running nose on my napkin and breathed in through my mouth to cool off my palate.  What was taking him so long?

When he finally arrived, he took one look at the green chiles heaped on our dishes and laughed.

“Those are very hot,” he needlessly said.

“Please leave the pitcher,” I managed to say before I snatched up the water glass.

I chomped on some more ice cubes, which seemed to numb the pain and what I thought was swelling under my eyes.  I could see the waiter laughing with the busboy in the back of the restaurant; no doubt talking about the pepper lovers in the corner.

My childhood buddy started to move the green chiles off to the side of her dish.  I crunched some ice before breaking the bad news to her.

“The juice is hotter than the peppers,” I said, feeling like a marathoner who has crossed the finish line before another runner.

“You’re just trying to scare me,” my childhood buddy said somewhat hopefully.

“Just try it and see,” I cackled before wishing her, “Bon Appetit.”

I poured another glass of water and felt the heat finally subside from my forehead.

Reason returned; I was no longer living for ice cubes.

My buddy, on the other hand, had just taken her first bite.  Her face turned crimson.  I offered no solutions to her problem and just laughed at her cruelly.

She grabbed her glass of water and looked at the pitcher.

“You drank all the water, Ruth,” she said with a scowl.  The waiter brought a new one and my buddy went through the same water drinking and ice crunching ritual that I had just done.

“The restaurant owners have not watered these babies down yet for the Yankees,” I said.

I knew my buddy was thinking, “This is another fine mess you have gotten us into!”

“Maybe the heat wears off after you get used to it,” my childhood buddy said.

“Let’s see who can eat the most bites before taking a drink of water,” she said, knowing that a challenge might get us through the meal.  We had each taken one bite of our meal so far.

For the next three hours, we alternated between fanning our open mouths and eating.  The chiles prevented me from tasting or remembering my food that evening.

“What were those chiles?” I asked myself for twenty years as I read cookbook Cracking the Coconut: Thai Home Cooking by Su-Mei Yu.  Prikk Namm Som in vinegar reminded me of my steamy evening eating “Thai Bird Chiles.”

The Thai 55^th visit encouraged me to check out the Thai Restaurant in my neighborhood with my daughter Florence – Baan Thai in Seaside, California.

End of Article

My family’s visit to Baan Thai in Seaside, California forms Part 2 of this blog series on Thai food.  Traveling with small children is hard, so I was happy I could introduce Florence to other cultures at restaurants in our neighborhood and by cooking foreign food at home.

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Flaming Table Korean Barbecue by Ruth Paget

Flaming Table Korean Barbecue by Ruth Paget


Korean Barbecue is a lot of food to eat.  It is expensive, but I still queried The Monterey County Weekly (Circulation: 200, 000) to do an article on it.  They asked me to go and have fun with little Florence.

Nak Won Barbecue is no longer in business, but there is still a barbecue house where the old restaurant was.  They just have new owners.  They do not use the fire pit tables anymore to barbecue.  Barbecuing is done in the kitchen now.

My entire family learned a lot about Korean food on this review.  I looked at a Korean cookbook before going, but it is always fun to see what you are actually served in a restaurant.

I did this review in the Year 2000 and love it that Korean food is the big “in” thing now like Vietnamese and Thai food.  I consider this to be another use of my degree in Far Eastern Languages and Civilizations.  I knew my extended family members were joking, but they did ask me when I graduated, “What is that? How are you going to make a living?”

My family no longer laughs about that degree that I got in 1986.  With that thought in mind, my family and I went to Nak Wan Barbecue, looking to have a fun time.  I wrote the following restaurant review for the Monterey County Weekly (Circulation: 100, 000):

Nak for Barbecue

My daughter Florence loves Korean bulgogi, thin strips of grilled beef that have been marinated in soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic, and sugar.  Nak Wan Barbecue in Marina, with its charcoal pit grill tables tops her list as the “most fun place in town” to sample this delicacy.

My entire family shares her opinion.  Usually when we go to Nak Wan, we all ordered bulgogi.  The night I reviewed the restaurant, we allowed our daughter to order bulgogi as usual.

My husband Laurent ordered dak bulgogi, a grilled chicken version of this dish, and I ordered dol sot bimimbap, a mixed rice, meat, and a vegetable dish.  We sat in the regular dining area.  You can still order a grilled dish there, but it will be prepared in the kitchen rather than at the table.

The owner opened his restaurant eight years ago, using recipes he learned from his mother: waiting for your food is half the fun at this family restaurant.

If you sit at the fire pit, the waitress will turn on the flames in the charcoal pit.  Then, she will add the charcoal, which turns out to be no ordinary charcoal.  This charcoal comes from oak trees.  The redolent smell of oak trees rises up from the table as customers warm their hands above it.  You could see all of this from the regular dining room area, too.

We picked up the pieces of bulgogi with our chopsticks.  Laurent has become handy with chopsticks, too.

Nak Wan’s bulgogi is tender and less sugary than what you get in other restaurants.  The beef gets tender by having length-wise and cross-wise incisions made into it before it marinates.  The oak charcoal contributes a woodsy flavor to the meat.  The chicken bulgogi that Laurent ordered was equally tender and juicy.

I have learned enough Korean to know that I have to order bibimbap in its “dol sot” version, if I want it to arrive piping hot instead of cold, which I find unappetizing, especially since I like it topped off with an over-easy egg.

The cookbook Traditional Korean Food published by the Korean Ministry of Culture and Tourism describes bibimbap as “steamed rice with assorted wild vegetables.”  The owner described it to me as “mountain food” with tamer vegetables at sea level.

Bean sprouts, thin slices of zucchini, carrot matchsticks, tofu rods, strips of bulgogi, and purplish, brown onion-tasting straws decorated the top of the rice, wagon-wheel-style at Nak Wan.

A fried egg reigned over it all.  The stone bowl arrived sizzling with the rice adhering to the bowl.  I mixed all these ingredients together with kochusan hot sauce made from red peppers and soy bean paste.  The spicy sauce was balanced out by the savory, onion-tasting stems and salty-sweet beef.

The sauce formed a crust with the rice on the bottom of the bowl that tasted like a salsa-flavored rice Krispie treat.  The bibimbap was such a tasty meal that I could only pick at the pan ch’an (side dishes) that I usually finish.

Pan ch’an surround you at almost all Korean formal meals.  They run the gamut from hot and spicy to salty, savory, and outright bland to counter the effects of the hot and spicy offerings.

The food you will always find in a selection of pan ch’an is cabbage kimchi, Korea’s national food.

“Kimchi is over 4,000 years old,” the owner said, “and each family has its own recipe for making it.”

To make kimchi, cabbage is sprinkled with salt and gets passed down like sauerkraut, but there the resemblance ends.

The Koreans add lots of red chili pepper, garlic, and secret family ingredients to kimchi.  I like Nak Wan’s crunchy cabbage kimchi as well as its cucumber version.

Rice cools off the tongue from both of these dishes, but I actually liked letting the temperature go up as I drank some of Korea’s thirst-quenching OB beer with the kimchi.

The only thing I really did not care for was the turnip soup, which I thought was bland.  They do have hot sauce you can add to make the food spicy.

Nak Wan Barbecue is well-known among Marina’s Korean community; all the seats around us were full of Koreans.  I knew that was a good advertisement for a good restaurant.

End of Article

Book Recommendation:

Growing up in a Korean Kitchen by Hi Soo Shin Hepinstall

By Ruth Paget, author of Eating Soup with Chopsticks, Teen in China, and Marrying France

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