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Veggie Gyoza

Yesterday I woke up from the most amazing dream ever. I mean, my dreams are random and weird, but sometimes magical. This time it was the latter. I dreamt that I was friends with Valentino. We were partying together, walking around parks and talking about art, music, fashion, films. Just before I woke up, we were having a picnic with few other friends (and Giancarlo of course), lying on the grass, eating strawberries, laughing…It seemed so real and relaxing, it was almost painful to wake up. If there is psychological explanation to why I am having a dream like that, I would like to hear it. Probably some escapism shit or another…

Anyway, the dream made me want to watch again the documentary ‘Valentino: the Last Emperor’.

I always thought that Valentino’s designs were timeless. Whichever year the dress you pick from, you can wear it now. There’s so much elegance, grace in his designs, and although they are very glamorous, there’s also simplicity. To me Valentino is an artist, he didn’t create ‘just dresses’, he created art. Beautiful and well crafted.


When you watch a documentary about an artist, you have to have something simple but flavorful for dinner.

Veggie Gyoza:

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

200g chopped mushrooms (oyster, shiitake or chestnut)

1 clove minced garlic

1-2 cm peeled and grated ginger

1 tsp chopped chilli

1/3 cup chopped spring onion

1 cup shredded Chinese cabbage (napa or bok choy)

1 cup chopped water chestnut

1 cup chopped bamboo shoots

1-2 tbsp tamari

gyoza wrappers (I get them from Chinese supermarket)

rice oil

For the dipping sauce:

1 tsp rice vinegar

1 tsp lime juice

1 tsp tamari

1 tsp teriyaki sauce

1 tbsp toasted sesame oil

sprinkle of chilli flakes

1. Heat oil in a pan. Add ginger, garlic and chilli. Fry for 3-4 minutes. Add chopped finely mushrooms.

2. Fry until mushrooms loose moisture. Add spring onions, Chinese cabbage, bamboo shoots and water chestnuts. Stir for few minutes, add tamari. Wait till cabbage is wilted. Cool.

3. Put the stuffing in the middle of gyoza wrapper, wet your finger with water and trace it around the edges of the wrapper.

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza

veggie gyoza



About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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