Ajad – Thai Cucumber Salad

For the last 25+ years, my family has been frequenting the same Thai restaurant in Burbank. To pass it on to the next generation, my brother’s family orders take-out from it regularly. I have always ordered the chicken satay. I love slathering the chicken skewers with peanut sauce and then sprinkling on the sweet vinegar from the cucumber salad before popping it in my mouth. To this day, it reminds me of being seven years old.

But what is that sweet and sour relish filled with cucumbers and onions? Oh, it’s known by many names, but the proper name is ajad. Or ajat, ached, or อาจาด. My Thai friend Oakley, she of the Oakmonster food blog—and the catalyst for the bacon scotch we always keep on hand in the G+F kitchen—told me ajad is correct. And because she will play tour guide on my eventual trip to Thailand, I believe her. She’s also originally from Bangkok, so she should know.

And who knew it was the easiest dish to make? Certainly not seven year old me, who believed this sweet and sour concoction must be magical. I was always afraid to finish it for fear that there would be none the next time. The innocence of childhood!

But it truly is so simple. Cut up a cucumber, some shallots, a pepper (I prefer red Fresnos for color, as do the folks at Saveur), boil some water, mix it with vinegar and sugar, toss in some cilantro, and you’re done. Waiting for it to cool enough to eat is the hardest part.

This keeps well in the fridge for quite some time, given the preservative qualities of the vinegar (and sugar). I now consistently keep it on hand. Because it IS magical. And I never want it to disappear!

Saveur’s recipe calls for a LOT of shallots. I rarely use more than one small one for a large cucumber. Your mileage may vary.

Original recipe on Saveur's site.

Simple No-Mayo Tuna Salad

Ordering tuna salad is always a bit tricky. First it has mayo. Icky. Then there's usually the demon cardboard vegetable celery in it. More ick. Truthfully, the mere thought of it turns me off to food completely.

To avoid all that nonsense, I make my own, which is better than any I've ever had. I know that sounds terribly arrogant. But I don't like eating the same thing on a daily basis and I've eaten this for the last 4 days. No kidding. I've craved it like a fiend.

Put it between two slices of bread and it's a special sandwich. Wrap it in lettuce or mix it with quinoa, even better. Eat it straight, simply delicious.

But if there's no mayonnaise, what holds it together? I routinely substitute Greek yogurt for mayo in everything else, so this is no different. And, of course, Dijon mustard. Without mustard, life is far too bland. Add in cucumbers for crunch and capers for a sour bite, and you have yourself tuna salad without the ick.

Unless you simply don't like tuna, then there's no hope for you.

Add in a roasted pepper and you'll have a colorful plate. Or banana peppers. And pickles for even more sour crunch. But this right here, as is, it's as close to perfection as I've ever gotten in my own kitchen.

Which is saying a lot about a mere tuna salad.

This is a single serving recipe but scales easily.

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No Mayo Tuna Salad

by Paulette Fontanez March-23-2012

A delicious combination of briny capers, crispy cucumbers, and fleshy tuna married with Dijon mustard and yogurt.

Ingredients

• 1 5-oz can of tuna in water, drained
• 1 egg, hard boiled
• 1/2 cucumber, peeled and diced
• 1/4 cup Greek yogurt
• 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
• Juice of 1/2 lime
• 1 tablespoon capers
• 1 tablespoon fresh chives, chopped

Instructions

In a bowl, mix together all the ingredients. Serve in a sandwich, a wrap, or with crackers.

Yield: 1 serving

Sunday Brunch: Jicama Salad

I had invited my parents over for brunch and I wanted to keep it light. I actually made more than this (including pork medallions with sauteed cabbage and apples) but I forgot to take pictures. Oops. Again.

This is the type of dish you may find at some Mexican restaurants, the kind that don't serve chips and salsa as the freebie starter. We used to have one here in Culver City--and not to name drop, but I once ran into Jed the Fish there, his voice is unmistakable--but they tore it down and made it a nouveau Mexican chain restaurant instead. I'm guessing they abandoned the jicama for chips. It's what Americans expect, after all.

This is even simpler than the chocolate hummus because all this requires is a peeler and a knife. Or a mandoline, but I didn't have one at the time.

Jicama Salad
1 jicama, pared
1 cucumber, pared
1 orange, sectioned
Chile lemon salt (to taste)

Peel and cut the jicama and cucumber into spears. Peel and section the orange. Sprinkle the chile lemon salt over the entire plate, to taste. Serve immediately, or chill in the fridge.

My mother, who is originally from Guadalajara, Mexico, has always referred to this as pico de gallo, which perplexes people who are used to the tomato/onion/cilantro concoction you find in American restaurants. Wikipedia explains the subtle differences.