Rachel Khoo's Kitchen Notebook: Over 100 Delicious Recipes from My Personal Cookbook

I carry a notebook everywhere and it almost always ends up tattered, dog-eared, and splashed with various food stains from eating my way around the world or cooking in my kitchen. The recipes, illustrations, kitchen tidbits, and tips that end up in my notebook are all something that I wanted to share. The recipes reflect both my culinary past and present, the places I’ve been, my kitchen experiences . . . making a book that tells the story of how I cook in the kitchen.

After writing two cookbooks that chronicled my exploration of la cuisine française, I felt it was time to show my true colors with this book. My childhood played a big part in forming my culinary DNA, but the experiences and cultures I’ve been exposed to in my adult life have also been formative in the way my cooking style has evolved. The last several years have been packed tighter than a tin of sardines with adventures close to home and beyond. I’ve visited an eclectic range of places, from the Scandi-cool Stockholm and the fragrant delights of the East in Istanbul to the slightly rough-around-the-edges Naples, and rediscovered my hometown, London, with its vibrant, energetic food scene.

Even though I’ve lived in Paris for eight years, I am not that French woman off the telly, as I’ve frequently been described since the Little Paris Kitchen TV show aired. I’m quite proudly British (despite the many years of British food bashing I endured in France), with a colorful culinary heritage, thanks to my Malaysian dad and Austrian mum. Living in Bavaria as a teenager also played its part. My taste buds were stimulated from a young age with spices, flavors, and smells from Southeast Asia, sweet and heartwarming dishes from Austria, as well as some British classics such as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Although I had a diverse culinary upbringing, my parents were not snobby when it came to food. They understood the importance of nutritious home-cooked fare and the ritual of sitting down for a meal every day as a family, but the odd fast-food treat or TV dinner was still allowed. My mum has always been a savvy shopper, never wasting a thing and ever-inventive with leftovers. Our so-called leftovers night, a common thing at home, would often look like the foodie equivalent of a United Colors of Benetton commercial, with schnitzel, shepherd’s pie, rendang curry, and stir-fried rice all on the table at the same time. When I look back, I think my parents were unintended foodie visionaries with their leftover fusion food. Eating Austrian dumpling soup with some char siu roasted pork and pickled chiles was not unusual in the Khoo household, and this was back in the ’80s, long before Korean tacos or kebab pizza were the norm.

I come from a creative background. I spent four years at art college, working on projects where the main objective was to communicate an idea through a particular medium, in my case graphic/web design and photography. I was initially drawn to food because it’s a way of expressing my creativity with an added tasty bonus. Since I started writing cookbooks, I feel like I have hit the jackpot. It combines many of my passions: creativity, socializing, and eating!

The way I go about creating a recipe book is similar to the creative practice I learned at art college. Just like an art project, it all starts with hands-on research, initial ideas scribbled in my notebook, that evolve into experiments, and then the final piece. I like to travel, to meet people, and to experience the food, culture, flavors, sights, sounds, and smells firsthand, gathering the inspiration and research to feed my brain and tummy with ideas. Those ideas end up being an initial scribble and sketch in my notebook. Then, when it comes to taking the sketch from concept to recipe creation, chaos ensues in the kitchen, with pots, pans, and many ingredients being thrown around. More often than not, the recipe does not turn out quite the way I imagined on paper. However, even the failures are usually successes: I might discover a new flavor combination, or texture, or cooking technique. If it’s really a total disaster, it ultimately helps me to write a better recipe, as I’ll then understand what can go wrong in the kitchen. I always believe that failures are part of the process. It’s how you deal with them that will eventually influence whether you succeed or not.

Famous communication philosopher Marshall McLuhan once said that the medium is the message. A cookbook has a tactile and personal element that a recipe on a tablet or TV show can’t have. Reading a tablet in the bathtub is a little more risky than reading a book. But this goes beyond the physical object for me. I think of a recipe as a little snapshot of what I’ve experienced, and putting them together in a book is like collating a personal culinary diary.

It’s a time-consuming process, but I love every part of it, from the research, recipe development, and writing about my personal stories to the photo shoot, where the book begins to take a visual shape. Writing a book may start off as a solitary activity, but the more the book progresses, the more essential it is to work with people you admire and find inspiring (more about them in the Acknowledgments). They all play a part in pushing me as a food writer and making the book the best it can be.

My ideas start with a taste, a flavor, and a sketch in my kitchen notebook, then evolve from experiments in my kitchen back into the book, and eventually (I hope!) to your kitchen and mouth. My culinary holy grail is to find my cookbook on your bookshelf with greasy fingerprints, food-stain splatters, and your own personal scribbles on the recipes.

This book is a collection of recipes that were inspired by my travels, adventures, and food experiences, which I hope will, ultimately, inspire you to cook!

Light bites or small dishes to tantalize your taste buds, that’s what starters are all about. More often than not they set a tone, showing your guests what culinary delights await and giving diners a little taste of what’s in store. Starters also make a fantastic meal for one or two—see my Little Socca Cakes with Ratatouille (page 33) or my Hot Butter and Soy Sauce Mackerel with Chopped Salad (page 41). I often opt for a selection of starters rather than one main course when I eat out. I’m never happy with just one plate of food; I like to try lots of different things—and with small dishes I can leave the restaurant without feeling like I need a forklift to take me home. Since I began developing recipes for a living, I often also find myself having a starter as a lunch or light dinner, and sometimes even for breakfast . . . or perhaps that’s just my Asian heritage coming to light.

Starters aren’t just reserved for special occasions. In Europe it is perfectly normal, and totally sensible, in my mind, to kick off a home meal—guests or no guests, midweek or brunch—with a little appetite whetter; it’s a great way of prolonging time spent at the table too. When I cooked for a French family, I discovered that a starter can simply be a slice of perfectly ripe melon with a few ribbons of salty, sweet Bayonne ham. For some other easy, quick starters, see my Poached Fennel with Pink Prawns and Toasted Almonds (page 38), Pan Con Tomate (page 25), or the rather unusual Morcilla, Egg, and Crisps (page 25).

I don’t believe you need to serve something complex in order to wow your guests, but if you’re looking to push the boat out then some of my favorites are my ultra-bling Smörgåstårta (page 57) or my dainty Baked Goat’s Cheese Cigars with Melon, Radish, and Cucumber Slaw (page 21).

And if you’re new to the kitchen, or have a tendency to burn your food, I even have a recipe for you too: my Burnt Leek Parcels with Romesco Sauce (page 34). It’s one of those few recipes in which burning your food is not so much undesirable as a sought-after outcome.

The archipelago around Stockholm, with its crystal-clear water, crisp fresh air, and untouched scenery, captured what for me is the essence of Sweden. It is the juxtaposition of water and forest that inspired this recipe, and, of course, the Swedes’ love of meatballs. I turned tradition on its head a little, and let the coast inspire these fish balls. But these aren’t just any old fish balls.

Instead of taking the more traditional Swedish approach to making meatballs (ground meat or fish, rolled into a ball), I’ve taken inspiration from my Chinese heritage. I love the chewy texture of Chinese fish balls, which is created by slapping the flesh around. I’ve spotted old ladies in fish markets in Malaysia doing this. The pounding and slamming of the fish stretches and uncoils the previously wound protein strands, which makes for this unusual bouncy texture.

Serves 4

Preparation time: 25 minutes

Cooking time: 30 minutes

For the fish balls

14 oz cod or pollack loin, skinned and deboned

2 tbsp chopped fresh dill

¹/2 tsp sea salt

¹/4 tsp white pepper

For the soup

1 tbsp olive oil

2 knobs of butter

2 onions, peeled and finely chopped

2 cloves of garlic, peeled and minced

2 sprigs of thyme

1 lb portobello mushrooms, roughly chopped

sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 cups good-quality beef stock

1¹/4 cups heavy cream

1 knob of butter

2 oz wild mushrooms (such as chanterelles), brushed clean and torn if large

juice and zest of 1 unwaxed lemon

2 to 3 knäckebröd (rye crispbread)

chopped fresh dill for garnish

To make the fish balls: Pat the fish dry with a clean kitchen towel. In a food processor, blend the fish to a smooth paste with the dill, salt, and white pepper. Add about 3 tbsp water and keep blending. Check the consistency and add as much water as needed to bind into a paste; you want it to be pastelike but not too wet to form into balls.

Now it’s time to start slapping your fish. Take the mixture in your hands and keep slapping it down on a clean work surface for a minute or two. As the mixture is thrown down more and more, you will notice a bounce develop in the texture.

Divide the mixture into 16 portions and shape into small balls. If you find it easier, wet your palms before rolling the mixture into neat balls. Place on a clean plate.

To make the soup: Heat the oil and butter in a large saucepan over low heat. Add the onions, garlic, thyme, and mushrooms. Season with salt and black pepper and cook, uncovered, for 15 minutes, or until soft.

Add the stock to the mushrooms, bring to a simmer, and let simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Add the cream. Remove and discard the thyme. Using an immersion blender, blend the soup until smooth.

Fill a medium saucepan with water, bring it to a boil, and drop in the fish balls to cook for 3 minutes, or until they float to the top. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside.

Heat the butter in a frying pan over medium-high heat. Add the wild mushrooms and sauté for 2 to 3 minutes, then set aside.

Finish the soup by stirring in the lemon juice and tasting for seasoning. Ladle the soup into bowls, adding four fish balls to each. Garnish with some shards of knäckebröd as croutons, fresh dill, and the lemon zest. Scatter some of the sautéed mushrooms over the soup in each bowl before serving.

Tip

Soak the bowl of your blender or food processor immediately after making the fish paste, as it has a tendency to stick!

Get ahead

You can make the soup a day before. The fish balls can be formed the day before serving. Store in an airtight container and cook just before serving.

Anyone who has ever cooked and eaten on a budget in the United Kingdom will be familiar with some of Britain’s perennial foodstuffs: canned soup and tomatoey baked beans. They were the standby meals of choice back in my university days, and there is nothing quite like a cream of tomato soup to brighten up a winter night.

I love these lemony chickpeas (I always have a can of chickpeas on hand in the cupboard); they’re my version of croutons. I like to sprinkle them on top of soups, but they are equally delicious as a stand-in for nuts—a homemade bar snack.

Serves 4 as a starter

Preparation time: 15 minutes

Cooking time: 35 to 45 minutes

one 14-oz can chickpeas, drained and rinsed

1 unwaxed lemon, sliced

4 cloves of garlic, unpeeled

1 tbsp canola or other vegetable oil

sea salt

one 28-oz can good-quality cherry tomatoes

1 cup vegetable stock or water

1 tsp sugar

1 tbsp red wine vinegar

freshly ground pepper

³/4 cup heavy cream

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Combine the chickpeas, lemon slices, garlic, and oil in a small bowl and toss to coat. Place the chickpeas on a rimmed baking sheet. Sprinkle with salt and roast for 30 to 40 minutes, or until golden and crunchy.

Meanwhile, put the tomatoes and stock in a medium saucepan and bring to a simmer. Remove the roasted garlic from the baking sheet and squeeze the garlic from its papery husks, then add to the saucepan and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the sugar and vinegar and continue simmering for 1 minute. Taste for salt and pepper and stir in half the cream, then remove from the heat and use an immersion blender to blend until smooth.

Ladle the soup into bowls and garnish with the crunchy chickpeas, a slice of roasted lemon, and a drizzle of the remaining cream.

Tip

Don’t boil the soup with the cream in it, as it will curdle.

The Nice area in France tends to produce goat’s cheese rather than cheese made from cow’s milk, as the landscape is too rugged and rough for cows to graze. Eating goat’s cheese from this region really captures the flavors of the terroir. Goats graze on whatever grows, from wild herbs, such as oregano and thyme, to berries, and these flavors subtly influence the end product. These cigars make a delectable summer starter or an aperitif with a glass of rosé, showcasing the flavors of Provence.

Serves 4 as a starter

Preparation time: 20 minutes

Cooking time: 15 to 20 minutes

For the cigars

1 to 2 rectangular filo sheets (depending on the size of your sheets)

4 tbsp butter, melted

leaves from 8 sprigs of thyme

4¹/2 oz soft goat’s cheese

4 tsp honey (lavender, if possible)

For the slaw

1 small cucumber or ¹/2 regular cucumber

¹/2 unripe galia melon, seeded

6 radishes, trimmed and sliced into thin rounds

For the dressing

1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil

¹/2 tbsp red wine vinegar

sea salt and freshly ground pepper

To make the cigars: Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Unroll a sheet of filo horizontally on your work surface. Cut the filo sheet in half lengthwise and in half crosswise to make four rectangles measuring about 6 by 8 in. Lay them all out on the work surface, then brush the rectangles generously with the butter, reserving about 1