I don’t make a lot of Asian-ish food—my dad has been known to rock the lemongrass on occasion, but it isn’t my bag. (...My bag is cheese.)
In honor of Dale being so damn cool, I tried to dabble with some Asian flavors. It didn’t go well. I may or may not hate soy sauce. What? Is it a crime to hate soy sauce? Maybe I’m just buying bad soy sauce. Maybe you should eat Chinese food in Chinese restaurants.
In short, I tried to make scallion pancakes. Young onions are fresh, fragrant, and in season, and I highly recommend grabbing a bunch of any variety at your local market. I cannot, however, recommend this recipe that I found on thekitchn.
That being said, I loved making these pancakes—I just didn’t like eating them. As my mother says, “Life is too short to eat things that aren’t good.” Life isn’t too short to knead dough and play with flour. Rolling, folding, pressing—those are the parts I enjoyed. If only the pancakes turned out better.
Let’s cut to the quick: I fucking hated these. They weren’t good and I didn’t want to eat them. If you insist on making them, here is my advice:
- Take off your rings.
- Pick a playlist or an album if you want to listen to music. Don’t give itunes the right to shuffle. It will play that Dragostea Din Tei song you liked so much freshman year of college and your floury fingers won’t be able to stop it. Or worse—don’t you wish you remembered to uncheck all those Sarah McLachlan b-sides? The windows are open. Your neighbors can hear.
- Don’t take pictures with your sticky fingers. It is messy. No army of apple geniuses can fix your phone if you get dough in the dock.
- Lastly, don’t make these, find another recipe. Then tell me how it went.
These pancakes tasted like flour. Under-seasoned flour. And they were dense, albeit well onioned. I tried to make tacos out of them, with sesame-ed asparagus, fresh ginger, and radish matchsticks. It didn’t work. They made me want better.
Sometimes recipes fail. Sometimes you need to drink beer and watch the UEFA final.