WW: potatoes

I’m submitting this recipe to Weekend Wokking, a world-wide food blogging event created by Wandering Chopsticks celebrating the multiple ways we can cook one ingredient. The host this month is White on Rice Couple. If you would like to participate or to see the secret ingredient, check who’s hosting next month.

This month’s ingredient is the humble potato. Those who know me are familiar with my forgetfulness about potatoes. After all, I’m a pasta/rice girl. But I do have a roomie who is partial to potatoes. So when my mom invited us to a family get together and said she would make bánh tôm, roomie was pretty happy. Bánh tôm is a kind of potato and shrimp fritter. These photos aren’t going to win any awards, mind you, because playing sous chef in my mom’s kitchen is not very conducive to taking photos.

And since this is my mom’s kitchen, the recipe is going to be a bit sketchy. Sorry about that.

We started by peeling four potatoes: two russets and two sweet potatoes. You can also use just sweet potato, but my mom like the look of the two mixed together. These are cut into thin slices and then julienned cross-wise into match-stick size. Mom had already prepared about 3/4 to 1 pound small shrimp (probably in the 31-40 count range). Small shrimp have softer shells that crisp up when fried. So Mom simply trimmed off the legs and tail (they came headless).

Her batter consisted of water, tempura mix, 1/2 teaspoon turmeric powder, 1/2 cup chopped green onions, and about a teaspoon chicken broth granules. The amount of water and tempura mix are combined by feel, but I would venture to guess about 1/2 cup mix to about 1-1/2 cups water. My mom is always adjusting as she goes, so measurement is virtually impossible. Basically, you’ll want a blend that’s thinner than pancake batter – just thick enough to cling to the potatoes and help keep them stay together as they fry. Thicker batter may be easier to work with and result in a more fritter-like thing, but it will mask all that potato goodness.

Mom used a wide slotted spoon and layered the potatos and shrimp (about three or four shrimp to about 2 tablespoons potatoes). Then she spooned the batter over the potatoes and shrimp, letting the excess drain a bit through the slots before gently sliding the little bundle into hot oil (she used a blend of canola and olive oil – just over an inch deep in the pan).

After frying for about 3-5 minutes each side (or until the potatoes looked golden and crispy), the bánh tôm is shaken over the pan to let the extra oil drain off, then placed on paper towels to cool.

In our family, bánh tôm is typically eaten with lettuce and herbs (cilantro, tía tô, rau răm, mint, what have you) with fish sauce to dip into (fish sauce, water, lemon juice, sugar, chiles, garlic). But on this occasion, my mom was also making a Cambodian fondue type of dish — that’s what’s cooking in the pot with the red lid in the photo above. The thick broth contains a curry base, lemon grass, lemon juice, garlic, onion, pureed bananas, crushed peanuts, coconut milk, and fish sauce (perhaps a recipe for another day!). Once it’s heated to a low boil, diners put in shrimp, fish, and/or thinly sliced beef to cook to their liking. We eat it with rice vermicelli (bún) and herbs.

In my family (and I’m sure much of this is due to my mom’s cooking style), there’s always cooking going on even while guests and/or family members are eating. So we (my mom and I and sometimes a brother or two) take turns frying up the bánh tôm as the others eat them up while they’re hot and crispy. Yes, it makes for a pretty chaotic kitchen (and that’s why there’s only one photo of a bánh tôm!). But that’s what eating at home means to me.

Oh, and another tradition. My mom’s elderly neighbor, a Japanese widow in her late 80s and a rabid sports fanatic, loves my mom’s cooking. So mom often takes over a tray of food to share. On this particular evening, she had trouble calling her neighbor. Apparently, there was a riveting baseball game on TV and she couldn’t tear herself away to answer the phone.

Neighbor’s tray, ready to go