Rediscovering Luffa Squash


Luffa squash lying elegantly on my dining table

Our taste buds are the most effective memory keepers of all.

Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to my favorite Hmong farmer, Moua, about the assortment of Asian vegetables he grows and sells. He drew out an elongated green specimen which could have come straight out of a Star Trek episode. The curved gourd has a matt green skin with ridges running down the length of it. “It’s called sing gua,” explained Moua. “Stir fry with pork, garlic and lemongrass .”

Moua and Mary

Moua and his daughter Mary at the Pacific Grove Certified Farmers’ Market

I happily took one home with me to experiment.

Once in the comfort of my own kitchen, I looked up sing gua in Sara Deseran’s “Asian Vegetables.” This odd vegetable is also called luffa squash, Chinese okra and sponge gourd (for good reason!).


If anyone tells you you don’t have to peel the skin, don’t believe them.

To peel the luffa squash, I trimmed the ends and cut it in half. Standing the flat sides of each half on the cutting board, I peeled the bitter skin completely to reveal the pale green flesh. I then cut it crosswise into 1-inch coins.


Peeled and sliced luffa, kinda looks like honeydew melon!

While a luffa has seeds, they are edible and don’t need to be removed. And like a sponge, it will soak up whatever flavors you pair it with.

Anyway I stir fried the luffa as instructed by Moua and sat down to eat. I popped a spoonful of luffa with rice into my mouth and started chewing. As I chomped down on its supple texture, savoring its sweet flavor paired with fish sauce and lemongrass, visions of a childhood dish comprising slices of a soft green vegetable, carrots and cellophane noodles played themselves out in front of my eyes in a wave of nostalgia.

OMG, I know this vegetable!

A quick phone call to my mum revealed this vegetable to be oyong in Indonesian and she furnished me with a recipe.

Funny enough, this childhood dish has been on my radar for the last couple of weeks since I’ve been compiling a list of my favorite recipes for a new book proposal.

The world works in mysterious ways. The stars align. Serendipitous things happen.

Stir-fried Luffa Squash with Pork and Carrots

stir-fried luffa

Luffa is delicious in stir-fries, soaking up the flavors of whatever seasoning or meat/ seafood (it tastes great with squid and shrimp) you pair it with. Try it in curries or soups as well.Some people like it raw too! Ever adventurous, I picked up some burgundy carrots at the farmers’ market which stained the cellophane noodles a purplish hue. Heh.


A burgundy carrot is beautiful to behold but watch out–the color bleeds!

Time: 20 minutes
Makes: 2 servings over rice as a main course

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
I clove garlic, chopped
1 Asian shallot, sliced
4 ounces pork shoulder or loin, sliced into bite-sized pieces (or chopped raw shrimp)
1 medium carrot, peeled and sliced thinly on the diagonal
2 ounces cellophane noodles, soaked in warm water and drained
1 small luffa squash (8 ounces)
Water or stock
2 teaspoons fish sauce
Salt and white pepper

In a large wok or skillet, heat the oil over medium heat until runny and ripply. Stir in the garlic and shallot and fry until fragrant, about 30 to 45 seconds.

Add the carrot and toss for 1 to 2 minutes. Add the pork and toss until the meat loses its blush, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Add the luffa and mix well. Add the cellophane noodles followed by 2/3 cup water. Add fish sauce, salt and pepper to taste and mix well.

Cover and reduce the heat to medium-low. The dish is done when the cellophane noodles are completely transparent, the carrots are soft, and the liquid has reduced to about 1/4 cup, 2 to 3 minutes. The dish should be rather soupy but use your discretion and reduce the liquid further or add more water.

Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary. Serve with steamed jasmine rice.


Pickling Workshop at La Cocina, SF

Last Sunday, I conducted my very first cooking class/workshop in San Francisco. It was organized by Slow Food SF and held at La Cocina, an incubator kitchen for low income minority women.

The series was aptly titled “Grandmother Workshops” and the goal was to teach people the traditional culinary skills our grandmothers used to teach us. Obviously, you needn’t be a grandmother to teach a workshop.

My chosen topic was pickles: kimchi, Chinese cucumber and carrot pickle and asinan buah (Indonesian fruit salad, see below).

The days leading up to the workshop was a flurry of activity shopping for the right ingredients, not so easy when you don’t live in a metropolitan city. Fortunately a small Korean-owned market in Seaside proffered red pepper powder, the one ingredient I thought would be most difficult to find.

When I got to San Francisco, I stayed with my friend Angeline who was my chauffer, helper and photographer (yup, she took all the pictures on this page) all rolled into one. I owe you one, Ange!

On Saturday, I scoured Chinatown for some fresh produce. While I was lugging daikon, jicama, cabbage and the like up and down Grant Street, Angie and my hubby went for foot reflexology and a full body massage respectively (I am in no way bitter about that, of course).

me and sugars

Prepping for the class

On Sunday, we got to La Cocina an hour early to prep. The large cavernous space comprises 2 sections, 4 work stations, even more sinks, several industrial-sized burners, an industrial-sized mixer, and a massive dishwasher, just to name a few accoutrements I saw.

By 3 o’clock, about 25 people had filled the room. I talked a little about pickling in general and the ingredients we would be using.


Everyone had different reasons for coming. One gentleman really wanted to learn how to make kimchi and requested that straight out. My second cousin came because she wanted to see me (or so I’d like to think). A science teacher thought that pickling might be a fun food science lesson to teach her students.

Soon, the sound of (knife) blade to (chopping) board reverberated throughout the space and informal chatter invaded the kitchen. I walked around making sure everyone knew what they were doing.

pickle mania

Pickle mania!

The communal pickle pot was the first to fill with the assortment of vegetables everyone brought. This we pickled using the same brine as the Chinese pickles. Some students worked on the kimchi and others tackled the jicama and pineapple for the asinan.

kimchi making2

Massaging the chili paste into the vegetables to make kimchi

There was some bickering over the vegetable peelers (we only had 3!) and we ran out of ginger and vinegar halfway. It was also hard to be heard with the banging of pots and pans in the next room and because of the echo-y space. And yes, there was chaos; as my friend said, “hands-on workshops are always a handful.”

In the end, everyone seemed to have a great time. I believe that the asinan was hands down the favorite. When everyone was filling their take home jars, that was the first to disappear.

As for me, I had lots of fun and it was definitely a learning experience.

Indonesian Fruit Salad (Asinan Buah)


The communal pickle pot is on the left and the asinan is on the right

There are two versions of asinan, this one with chunks of fruit and (fruitlike) vegetables and another with a medley of vegetables–carrots, cucumbers and cabbage–and showered with roasted peanuts. This is my favorite, eaten as a refreshing snack on a hot, sunny day. Indonesian palm sugar might be a little difficult to find. Substitute Thai palm sugar or seek out Sweet Tree Sustainable Sweeteners evaporated palm sugar which I found at Whole Foods.

Time: 20 minutes
Makes 4 servings

2 cups fresh pineapple cut into 1/2-inch chunks (about 8 ounces)
1 large firm mango, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 2 cups)
1 small sweet potato, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 small (about 8 ounces) jicama (Mexican turnip), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 tablespoons (about 2 ounces) chopped Indonesian palm sugar
1 fresh, long red chili (like Holland or Fresno), pounded with a mortar and pestle or chopped in a food processor into confetti-sized bits, or 1 teaspoon bottled chili paste
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 cup boiling water
1/2 cup distilled white vinegar

Place the fruit and vegetables in a colander over the sink to remove excess liquids.

Place the palm sugar, chili and salt in a large bowl. Pour in the boiling water and vinegar and stir well. Let it cool.

When the dressing is cool, tumble the fruit and vegetables into the bowl and toss. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours to allow the flavors to meld. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

As grandma always says, please share!

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Indian Chicken Wings

Chicken wings were one of my favorite childhood snacks: baked, grilled, or fried, it didn’t matter. I’d gnaw on the wing tips until all the flavor and what little meat and skin were on ‘em was sucked off!

So when Monica Bhide asked me to cook her Indian chicken wings recipe from her new cookbook Modern Spice as part of a virtual bloggers dinner, I was happy to oblige!

indianchx2 by you.

Sprinkling chaat masala over the tasty wings

Now the recipe called for an optional garnish of chaat masala, a spice blend that is sprinkled onto snacks and used in aloo chaat. Unless you live near a South Asian market, it might be a little hard to find. So I devised a do-it-yourself version using whatever spices you can find.

Mix and Match Chaat Masala

Chaat masala is available as a ready mix at South Asian markets for about $1 but if you aren’t able to find it, make your own. It may seem like there are 101 ingredients and yes the ingredient list is lengthy, but if you’re a spice fiend like me, you might already have quite a few of the ingredients in your pantry. Aside from cumin seeds and coriander seeds which I always have on hand, I was pleasantly surprised to be able to put the dried mango powder, black salt, and asafetida powder I had received as gifts to good use! Of course, there are also 101 recipes for chaat masala but that’s the beauty of it—you can mix and match to your taste.

2 tablespoons dried mango powder (amchoor)
3 teaspoons cumin seeds
3 teaspoons black salt (kala namak)
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

As many of the following ingredients you can find:
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds
1/4 teaspoon ajwain seeds (lovage or bishop’s weed)
1/4 teaspoon asafetida powder (hing)
1/4 teaspoon ground dried mint
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon paprika

Toast the whole spices separately in a small dry cast iron skillet for 1 to 3 minutes, or until they are fragrant and turn a shade or two darker. Don’t let them burn! Grind them individually into a fine powder.

Combine all the ingredients and store in an airtight container.

In the Kitchen With Mum and Popo

In this installment, Audrey Low contributes a little snippet that reflects on the kitchen chores she had as a child, plus a whimisical look at an old wives’ tale . Of Malaysian-Chinese descent, Audrey is an anthropologist living in Australia. Her blog: combines her love of Asian art, food, travel, and writing, blending her personal journey with people’s stories and her research.

If you would like to guest blog about cooking with a special woman in your life, please email me at

In the Kitchen with Mum and Popo
By Audrey Low

Audrey and mum

Audrey and her mum, Judy Low, at graduation

Choy keok, a Hakka hot and sour soup, is a dish my mother learned to cook when she was a child from her nyonya grand-aunt. Imagining my mother as a child reminded me of learning to cook with her.

My mum cooks in silence; it’s like meditation for her. I remember my dad urging me to go into the kitchen to learn how to cook, but she would never say anything except, perhaps, the occasional instructions to get some ingredients: “Take the blunt knife and cut some serai (lemongrass) from the garden,” or “Pluck some curry leaves/fresh limes/chilies.” Mostly, I learned through observation.

There were many chores for kids around the kitchen. I, like Pat, had the interminable chore of breaking the ends off every single bean sprout. I too could never understand why it was necessary, and no amount of reasoning could get me out of that chore.

Pounding chili in the heavy stone mortar and pestle was another favorite job to give kids. And when I was doing the task, I would inevitably get a speck of chili in my eye. My grandmother’s solution was to pour cold water on my feet. Admittedly, it’s a far more elegant method than simultaneously hopping around in agony, rubbing one eye and splashing water on my face, which I did repeatedly.

However, after trying her way a couple of times unsuccessfully, I gave it up. But I’m pretty sure my grandmother still swears by the method to this very day.

Mum’s Choy Keok

Photo and recipe courtesy of Audrey Low

For this soup, mustard cabbage is not interchangeable with other leafy greens — it’s the only vegetable that will not fall apart in this robust soup. You can buy roast pork from a Chinese restaurant or deli or make it yourself with this recipe. Please visit Papaya Tree Limited for more stories and photos!

Makes: 8 to 10 servings
Time: 20 minutes plus simmering time

2 tablespoons vegetable oil
20 slices assam keping or assam gelugor (sometimes mistakenly called dried tamarind), or 3 heaping tablespoons tamarind paste
8 cloves garlic, smashed
5 dried whole chilies
3 fresh red Thai chilies, sliced
1 thumb-sized piece ginger, cut into 1/4 inch slices
1 to 2 pounds roast pork (or any other roast meat like duck and chicken)
2 (12 ounce) bunches mustard cabbage (gai choy), cut into thirds
1 1/2 tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon salt

In a big stock pot, heat the oil over medium heat until it starts to shimmer. Add the assam keping, dried and fresh chilies (add more to taste, if desired), ginger, and garlic and stir until fragrant.

Add the roast pork and mustard cabbage. Add the sugar, salt and enough water to cover the ingredients. Raise the heat to high and bring to a boil. Then reduce heat to low and simmer for about 1 hour, or until the mustard cabbage is soft. Serve with rice.

As grandma always says, please share!

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Mushroom Mania

One cannot complain about living on the gorgeous Monterey Peninsula along the California coast just blocks from the water. Yes, I have a view of the bay from my kitchen’s picture window but please allow me this one gripe — moving from Seattle has deprived me of the plethora of fabulous Asian restaurants and the bounty of Asian produce and products.

So you can’t blame a gal when she gawks openmouthed and almost trips over her own two feet upon stepping into the Mecca of Japanese and miscellaneous Asian food called Mitsuwa Marketplace  in San Jose. (The San Jose/Sunnyvale/Silicon Valley area is about an hour 15 minutes north of here). Trust me, I was like a bee buzzing about fastiduously in a wildflower meadow.

After picking up some powdered matcha, kuri dorayaki (chestnut-filled pancakes) and Tamaki haigamai rice, I came across these cute little button-like shimeji in the produce section.

I must admit I was a little wary because the mushrooms were packed in plastic and they were imported from Japan but I just couldn’t resist the mushroom cartoon (see below) beckoning to me, “Buy me, buy me!”


Isn’t it so cuuute?

In the end, I succumbed, burdenened with guilt that I had substantially upped my carbon footprint and food miles, and bought two kinds of mushrooms: buna-shimeji, also known as the brown beech or brown clamshell mushroom, and bunapi-shimeji, white beech or white clamshell.


When I got home, I typed the Web site address into my internet browser to find out more about the company that produces and exports the shimeiji. With each sentence I read, I breathed a little easier. They use environment-friendly Polypropylene film for their packaging and 100 percent organic culture mediacorncob meal (pulverized cobs of non-genetically-modified corn) and rice bran.

white_mushrooms by you.


Edible mushrooms native to East Asia, shimeji is rich in umami, i.e. the fifth taste. Buna-shimeji has a somewhat bitter taste which develops into a nutty flavor when cooked. The cooked mushroom has a pleasant, firm, slightly crunchy texture and is excellent in stir-fries, and sauteed with seafood. Or toss it into soups, stews and sauces. On its own, shimeji tastes lovely topped with a dab of butter and slow-roasted in the oven.

As I had a ready supply of pea shoots in my fridge, I made a pea shoot and buna-shimeji stir-fry.


Wok-Fried Mushrooms and Pea Shoots

mushrooms_and_doumiao by you.

Pea shoots, sometimes called pea vines are available at farmers markets and Asian markets (under the name dou miao), they should include a top pair of small leaves (the tip), delicate tendrils attached to the young stem, and a few larger leaves or blossoms. Select bright green, undamaged shoots.

Time: 10 minutes

Makes: 4 servings as part of a multicourse family-style meal


1 pound pea shoots, rinsed and drained well

7 ounces buna-shimeji or bunapi-shimeji mushrooms

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

3 cloves garlic, minced (1 tablespoon)

1/4 cup chicken stock or water

2 teaspoons soy sauce or fish sauce

Sesame oil for drizzling (optional)

Trim the pea shoots and remove any tough stems. Break up the cluster of mushrooms to release the individual mushroomettes.

Preheat a large wok or skillet over medium heat. Swirl in the oil and heat until it becomes runny and starts to shimmer. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, 15 to 30 seconds.

Raise the heat to high, throw in the pea shoots and toss to coat evenly with the oil and garlic for until the leaves are just wilted, 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Add the mushrooms, stock and soy sauce and toss until the liquid has reduced to a few tablespoons and the shoots are tender and bright green, another 1 to 2 minutes. Drizzle with sesame oil and serve immediately with freshly steamed rice.

Pat’s Notes: Pea shoots are often confused with pea sprouts, the whole baby pea plant. However, shoots and sprouts can be used interchangeably. Just vary the cooking time.


As grandma always says, please share!

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The Ritual of Rice

pouring_rice by you.

Jasmine rice is the staple of my childhood 

As a little girl, one of my very first tasks in the kitchen was cooking rice.

Imitating my mum’s every move, I’d scoop 4 cups of rice into the steel rice bowl–purists may balk but when I was growing up, rice always came out of a rice cooker ringed in pink peonies–and place it in the sink. A couple of turns of the tap and whoosh, a steady stream of cold water rushed into the bowl. When the water reached halfway up the bowl, my tiny fingers swished and sloshed the rice grains until the crystal clear water graduated to cloudy white. Then I’d tilt the bowl over the sink to drain the water out, cupping my free hand along the container’s edge to prevent rice from falling out. After I repeated this procedure three or four more times, the water would run clear and only then was I done.

You would think that the measuring lines inside the rice bowl were there for a reason. Well, I guess my mum didn’t trust them. Following her lead, I’d stick my index finger into the bowl, its tip barely touching the surface of the rice, and fill the bowl with water until it reached the first joint of my finger. Once the lid of the rice cooker snapped shut, I’d wait about 20 minutes before opening it again to fragrant, perfectly steamed rice.

For many of us, rice washing is a ritual. It dates back to the good old days when it was essential to remove bits of debris, rice hulls, and, yes, bugs. Plus, rice used to be coated with talc and washing removed most traces of the powder. Some also believe that washing breaks down the starchy surface producing shiny, pearly grains of rice that is the fluffiest and tastiest when cooked.

I think it all boils down to the simple matter of preference.

As an adult, I’ve gotten somewhat lax in my rice washing regimen, only washing my rice once or twice. (My excuse, and it’s a good one: Since the U.S. Food and Drug Administration mandate that all milled white rice be fortified with an enrichment coating, I don’t wash away all the good stuff!) While I may have reneged on this one little detail, I’ve learned another valuable lesson.

Traditional Japanese cooking relies heavily on quality ingredients and water is no exception. Japanese culinary instructor Hiroko Sugiyama uses only pure spring water to make her rice and dashi because she believes any ‘off’ odors or tastes in tap water will be transferred to the final dish. She follows this credo not just for special occasions but for everyday consumption. Several times a month, she makes the 30-mile trek to a wellspring that’s certified pure by the city of Lynnwood in Washington State, bringing home 10 two-gallon containers.

Not all of us are as fortunate to have a free, ready source of spring water, or are willing to go to such great lengths to obtain some. But there’s no harm in seeking out the best quality ingredients you can find, be it water or other foods. I’ve found that even just using Brita-filtered water improves the taste of my rice. It’s even more noticeable where I now live because of the hard, nasty-tasting water that comes straight from the tap.

hagamai5 by you.

Beige-colored, translucent haiga mai grains. Can you spot the brown germ at the tip of each rice kernel?

Hiroko also introduced me to haiga mai (which means “rice germ”), a specially milled Japanese short grain rice. This process removes all the bran from the rice kernel while retaining the nutrient laden rice germ rich in Vitamins E, B1 B2 and B6. Hence it’s just as nutritious and full of fiber as brown rice but is easier to chew and very tasty.

To introduce more fiber into our diets, I’ve always cooked half-and-half rice (half white and half brown). But it wasn’t always welcome on the dining table. With haiga mai, even my husband digs in with relish!  Cook it as you would white rice or use Hiroko’s clay pot method below. Tamaki, a brand from California, is Hiroko’s preferred brand.

Haiga mai may be padi fields away from the jasmine rice of my childhood–and much pricier– but just as my cooking has evolved, so have my rice-eating habits.

 What about you? Do you wash your rice? Do you care? What’s your favorite type/brand of rice? Do write a comment and we can compare.  

Japanese Rice Cooked in Clay Pot (Gohan)

perfect gohan by you.

Whenever Hiroko craves for rice with a slightly burned bottom (okoge), she uses a donabe or Japanese clay pot. This basic recipe is so easy. Unfortunately, once the rice cooker was introduced, most Japanese no longer cooked rice in this traditional manner. If you don’t have a donabe, cook the rice in a rice cooker using the same proportions. Do not use this method to cook rice in a regular pot on the stove. I tried and the bottom of my pot still bears the scars!

Time: 30 minutes
Makes: 4 to 6 servings

2 1/4 cups Japanese short grain rice
2 and slightly less than 2/3 cups spring or filtered water
Japanese clay pot (donabe)

In a large bowl, wash the rice in 3 to 4 changes of water until the water runs clear. Drain the rice in a colander for 1 hour.

Put the rice and water in a clay pot and cover tightly with the lid. Set the pot on the stove over high heat. As soon as you see steam escaping from the hole in the lid, set your timer for 3 minutes (don’t reduce the heat). When the time is up, remove the pot from the stove.

Let the rice stand for 5 to 10 minutes. Lift off the lid carefully. Stir the rice gently with a Japanese rice paddle (shamoji) and transfer it to a wooden rice container (ohitsu) if you have one, or lay a cotton cloth (fukin) over the rice and cover with the lid.


As grandma always says, please share!

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The Char Siu Challenge

Eleazar Juarez, owner of Rio de Parras Organics, pressed a brown bag full of greens into my hands. I peered inside and beyond the feathered leaves I saw the pale, straggly cilantro roots still attached. Who knew that a simple herb could invoke such a spring in my step!


This was one of the smaller roots that Eleazar gave me

Ever since I discovered the recipe for Chinese barbecued pork (char siu) in the Chong Family cookbook, I’d been at a lost where to find cilantro roots. I didn’t want to pull out the fragile seedlings growing on my windowsill and everywhere I went cilantro was sold with the roots already lopped off. Then it hit me. Duh, ask a farmer! And so I did.

If your hunt is not as successful, the stems will do fine. Besides, not all recipes for char siu call for cilantro roots. I must say that the addition does add an earthy and musky nuance which I thoroughly enjoy. Cilantro roots are also used in Thai cooking. Fat roots are crushed to flavor soups just like lemongrass and thinner ones thrown into stir-fries.


Chinese Barbecued Pork (Char Siu)

IMG_4766 by you.

The words char siu literally mean “fork burnt or roasted,” a nod to the traditional preparation method of skewering strips of pork with long forks or hooks and cooking them over a fire or in a hot oven. This has its benefits. It allows the meat to cook evenly from all sides. If you’d like to try this, hang pork strips from metal S-hooks on a high rack in your oven over a foil-lined pan on the lowest rack to catch the drippings. I improvised even further by rolling strips of aluminum foil to act as loops and tied them to the upper rack (see photo below).

Time: 1 hour (15 minutes active) plus marinating
Makes: 4 to 6 servings as part of a multicourse family-style meal

2 1/2 to 3 pounds boneless pork shoulder (measuring about 8- x 6- x 3-inches)
2⁄3 cup sugar
1/2 cup soy sauce
2 green onions, smashed with the flat part of a cleaver or a large knife
2 cilantro stalks (preferably with their roots attached), smashed with the flat part of a cleaver or a chef’s knife
1 star anise pod
1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
1/2 teaspoon sesame oil
1/2 teaspoon 5-spice powder

Cut the pork lengthwise into four long strips. Lay each strip flat on the cutting board and cut in half lengthwise. You will end up with 8 strips about 1½ inches wide, 1 ½ inches deep and 7 to 8 inches long. Place in a dish large enough to hold all the pieces in one layer.

In a small bowl, mix the together the sugar, soy sauce, green onions, cilantro, star anise, rice wine, sesame oil, and 5-spice powder. Pour the marinade over the pork. Cover with plastic wrap and marinate in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours, or preferably a day and a half.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Remove the pork from the marinade and place on a broiling rack set on top of a foil-lined roasting pan to catch the drippings. Reserve the marinade. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, flipping halfway, or until the pork starts caramelizing and is just beginning to char at the edges. Baste at least once on each side during the first 30 minutes of cooking.

Transfer the pork to a chopping board and let rest for about 10 minutes before cutting crosswise into ¼-inch-thick slices. Meanwhile, simmer the reserved marinade over medium heat for at least 10 minutes and skim off any scum that rises to the surface.

Serve with freshly steamed rice or noodles and sauce.


An easy way to “skewer” your meat and roast it from all sides

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