(click on photo for shot-by-shot food styling and photography analysis of some of the photos that led up to the “money shot”)

Chinese restaurants in China don’t really have Chinese Chicken Salad on their menus, it’s a creation of Chinese-American restaurants! According to Cecilia Chiang, author of The Seventh Daughter: My Culinary Journey from Beijing to San Francisco(one of my all time favorite Chinese American cookbooks), lettuce was rare and imported in China, and “salads” referred to pickled items. But, I still love a good Chinese Chicken Salad, especially if it’s got a tangy, sweet sauce and crunchy bits of fried wonton strips.

But please, Applebee’s restaurant, can we rename your “Oriental Chicken Salad” to something more hip? Asian Chicken Salad or Chinese Chicken Salad would be much better. Oriental is such a dated word…so..19th century!*

Recipe for Chinese Chicken Salad is below.

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Food Styling and Photography

Many of you requested that I continue posting my shot-by-shot analysis of all the failed photos that led up to this one that I like…my “money shot.” I also show you my photo setup - which really doesn’t change too much during the “NOT-winter” season. I use natural light as much as I can, and when dreary winter comes along, I switch to using my Lowel EGO lights.

Vegan Yum Yum just posted a fabulous write up on food photography - make sure you check it out.

In the meantime, here’s my shot-by-shot analysis of the Chinese Chicken Salad photos!

For more food photography posts, I have a whole category called “Food Photography/Blog Tips.”

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When Elise asked me to be a guest writer for Simply Recipes, we decided to take Chinese favorites and make them better, lighter and easier to cook at home. So, I grabbed a take-out menu from the local Chinese restaurant and I will be working my way around those recipes for you. The first dish that popped out was Sweet and Sour Chicken.

If there’s one thing that I detest, it’s greasy fried food covered in goopy Chinese take-out sauce. Okay, so sometimes I like that stuff, but it usually those cravings come at 3 o’clock a.m. during a certain time of the month.

But, I digress.

This recipe for Sweet and Sour Chicken doesn’t deep fry, but instead uses a method for creating a delicate, smooth and succulent chicken that goes perfectly with a lighter sweet and sour sauce. The secret is in the chicken marinade, specifically using egg white and cornstarch, which creates a super-light coating all around the chicken. It won’t be a crunchy, deep fried coating, but I think it’s a nice alternative, both texture-wise and weight-wise! Read the full story

from Steamy Kitchen food column in Tampa Tribune

Writing and editing more than 100 recipes for a cookbook that I’m doing is no easy task. In fact, it’s quite a bit more intense than I had ever imagined. The more-than-occasional brain farts and writer’s block are tough, and usually I can deal with those moments by distracting myself with a massive, industrial-sized roll of bubble wrap. It’s uniquely satisfying, covering three out of five senses in less than two seconds.

pop! pip! pop!

Sometimes, when the stress of writing turns into a gnarly tumbleweed, the giant roll of bubble wrap finds its place under the desk, propped between my feet. I unroll a nice, perfect, clean sheet onto my lap, I take a deep breath and let my hands wring the shit out of those air pockets.

POPOPOPOPOPOPOPOPOP!!!!

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Today is Saturday, May whatever. This morning I woke up and FINALLY gave myself permission to be sick. After uttering those words to my bedside lamp, the already straining cork that had been clinging on for dear life where head meets nose the past 4 days, holding back the gush of mucus (gross), finally popped.

I am sick.

Which, in all honesty, just being sick actually feels better than my mind knowing that my body is sick but demanding, “Man up, soldier! YOU ARE NOT SICK.” Yesterday was a big day, when Holly, my editor, flew all the way down from Vermont (brrr) to Florida (aaaahhh) and spent the day with me in the kitchen. It just would have sucked to be snottin’ and sneezing all over the food. It was an absolute must that I was healthy - er- at least functioning fairly well for that day.

Our plan was to spend the day cooking, testing/writing recipes, photographing, eating and editing. Ok, really, my agenda was to distract her as much as possible in the kitchen, get her drunk so that we could forget about editing. Cuz me no likey editing. You could threaten to take a hammer to my cherished kiwi Le Creuset baby dutch oven and I still would choose THAT over picking apart words and trying to come up with a suitable phrases to replace my babbling, wandering musings and cussing. <– that sentence was a run-on and probably didn’t make much sense.

But, I’m totally stoned on Nyquil right now. So back the hell off.

I wanted to show Holly what a “day in the life of a deranged, disorganized food blogger, cookbook-author wannabe” would be like. And boy, did I work her ass off. We created 4 new recipes, photographed them for the book and fed the dinner party for that evening. I had scribbled down recipes for 4 dishes that I had created in my SICK BUT NOT SICK head and when she arrived, I thrusted my notes to Holly and said, “here are my recipe notes!”

They really shouldn’t be classified as “recipes,” because they looked like this:

hoisin, honey, ginger but maybe garlic or maybe just omit both, how about orange marmalade? could use palm sugar too, 5sp, S+P, ribs, slow+low and glaze.

Holly looked at me with the “this is a recipe? are you fucking serious, lady?” look and then muffled into her sleeve, “bluejay calling mother hen…red alert..I REPEAT…red alert…operation steamykitchen is a no go….requesting permission to abort mission.”

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I know this photo sucks - my kids played with the camera and did something with the settings and I didn’t find out until after the food was eaten!

from my column in Tampa Tribune

Two weeks ago, I took a trip to Los Angeles to teach a couple of cooking classes and to visit family. So, I thought it would be a great idea to bring both of my boys along with me since tickets were only $250 each round-trip for a direct flight from Tampa to Los Angeles.

It was a deal too good to pass up, as I’m a Wal-Mart shopper and easily wooed by a bargain. I wouldn’t normally buy tangerine-flavored fingernail polish, but if it’s on sale for 35 percent off? OMG. I cannot resist. Give me the entire lot of them.

So, when I saw that the airfare was practically half off, I quickly purchased the tickets, not really thinking of the consequences of spending five hours in a small, enclosed flying contraption with no easy access to reinforcements, aka husband, teachers or relatives. Tag team, FAIL.

Thank goodness for the rolling minibar and $3 Snickers. That newlywed couple in the next aisle going to Hawaii for their honeymoon? My money says they probably swore off having children for the next 11 years. Who knew that flying with kids would be such great birth control? Next time your teenager talks about sex, have ‘em sit next to us on an airplane. Cheaper than an intervention or therapy.

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