Out to Lunch with @MadameHuang

Cheesy chicken from Anhui

2012-02-21T23:25:00.002-08:00

Scarlet chicken

It took me a long time to figure out where this dish originally came from, possibly because I have had all sorts of versions over the years.

First guess: Guangdong, because they do make some wonderful fermented bean curd (doufuru) down there, but when that wasn't correct, I figured it had to be from Jiangsu because of their famous pork hock in a cheesy sauce, but even that wasn't right. So down the list I went until I hit that obscure cuisine that tends to be the motherload of all sorts of delicious jackpots: Anhui.

Daxi style doufuru

You just don't hear much about Anhui style cooking (except on this blog, perhaps, as I admit quite freely that I am smitten with their way with food). And that is a crying shame because even though few people have ever eaten Anhui dishes outside of its borders, this is where many of East China's most famous dishes were created, like lion's head casserole. (Jiangsu and Shanghai lay all sorts of claim to this meatball dish, and to be fair, they have some pretty incredible variations that make it one of the best pork concoctions of all time.)

But I digress.

Chicken cooked in a sauce seasoned with fermented bean curd really does have a cheesy edge to it, very rich and creamy, especially when a really great fermented bean curd is used. Although there are supermarket shelves loaded with all sorts of different kinds -- spicy, stinky, red, white, what have you -- my favorite has always been the doufuru that is made in the small Taiwanese village of Daxi, which is not too far in terms of distance outside of Taipei but manages to retain loads of traditional Taiwanese culture.

Look for the characters 大溪

One of its best products has to be their fermented bean curd. This doufuru is slightly sweet, but in a good way. Whole soybeans are packed into the jars along with the thick sauce, a visual clue that sets this variety apart from all of the others. The bean curd takes on a golden tan color that it shares with the soybeans. But what has stolen my heart is the silky texture. Biting into a cube is like sinking your teeth into a young Brie or a very firm cream cheese, and the mouth feel is very similar, too.

I really like the way that it turns into a velvety blanket for whatever is being cooked. The taste is not harsh the way that some of the brine-packed doufuru tend to be, and the sauce the little squares are packed in is every bit as tasty as the bean curd itself.

Over the years, I've played around with this classic a bit, so it might not be quite as authentic an Anhui dish as it used to, particularly because I have added some of that beautiful Fujian red wine lees not only for the depth of flavor, but also for its brilliant color.

Putting this dish together takes less than 30 minutes from fridge to table, and all you need is some hot rice and a stir-fried vegetable. Fit for company or family, this is sure to be an instant favorite.

Lovely red from the wine lees

Chicken in fermented bean curd sauce -- 腐乳雞 Furu ji

Serves 4 as part of a multicourse meal, or 2 as a main dish

4 chicken thighs, preferably organic and free range (see Tips)
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
6 thin slices ginger, minced
4 green onions, trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths
3 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
¾ cup water
2 squares Daxi fermented bean curd, or to taste
2 tablespoons Fujian's red wine lees
Sugar or soy sauce, if needed
Handful of cilantro, chopped

1. Rinse the chicken thighs and pat dry. Cut off any extra fat or skin and save it for something else.

2. Heat the oil in a wok or frying pan over medium heat. Add the ginger and lay the chicken on top. Fry the chicken on one side until golden, and then flip the thighs over. Toss in the green onions.

Doufuru and red wine lees

3. When both sides of the chicken are golden brown, add the rice wine, water, fermented bean curd, and red wine lees. Bring the sauce to a boil and then lower the heat to a simmer. Cook the chicken until just done (about 20 minutes for bone-in thighs, 15 minutes for boneless), and then raise the heat under the pan to quickly reduce the sauce. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning, if needed, with some sugar and soy sauce. (I don't use any extra seasoning, but since not all doufuru are created equal, feel free to play with the flavors.) Toss in the chopped cilantro and serve.

Tips

Use organic, free-range chicken, if at all possible.

Different cuts can be used instead of thighs, if you like. Wings are great, or you could chop up a whole chicken and double or triple the sauce ingredients, depending upon the size of the chicken.

This dish can be made ahead of time and then heated up just before serving.

Lotus chips

2012-02-11T23:33:00.000-08:00

Chinese chips

Just like most people, I love potato chips. But now I have a bag of something much better sitting on my counter: chips made out of thinly sliced lotus roots. These are not only tasty... they are also absolutely beautiful. Plus, they have the faint flavor of the lotus in them, which makes them extra special.

Lotuses are important throughout most of China, where they grow in ponds and send forth great stalks topped with enormous, gorgeously scented flowers. Walking by a lotus pond in midsummer when the cicadas are whirring, the dragonflies are hovering like jewels, and the fragrance from the ponds wrapping me in a fragrant reverie is one of the most cherished of my memories of life in China.

Wafer thin and crispy

The Chinese are practical people, though, and adore eating, so these intensely beautiful plants are also grown also for their leaves to be used as wrappers, as well as their seeds and roots, which are actually amazing rhizomes. Interestingly enough, both the seeds and the roots are starchy, and Chinese cuisine has taken excellent advantage of that, transforming them into fascinating foods that dazzle the eye, as well as the palate.

A few months ago I introduced Jiangsu's Sweet Stuffed Lotus Roots, which takes one ingenious approach to cooking with these lacy rhizomes and filling just the holes. Other areas, like Hubei province, slice the roots into discs that are then sandwiched with a meaty filling before being fried. Totally delicious, and we will be certain to do that one of these days.

But the dish we are going to look at today is really unusual. It might be considered nouvelle Chinese, as I've never seen it in a traditional meal other than, say, a few little chips garnishing something meaty.

What I did was to treat the lotus roots just like potatoes: peeling and frying them into ethereally light chips that go well with things like fried chicken or fish (think Chinese fish and chips), and can easily be served along side some cold beer as a bar snack.

Fry til golden

These are super simple to make and can be prepared days ahead of a party. Just fry them, cool on paper towels to absorb any extra oil, and then store in a resealable plastic bag. As long as they have no contact with moisture (including air), they will stay fresh for up to a week.

A mandoline is extremely handy here for cutting the roots up into wafer-thin slices. What I do is trim of the end of one root and leave the other end on as a handle; then, I just shave the root into as many slices as possible until I reach the other end. Since the ends are nice and hard, they make very practical handles! Of course, as with all sharp blades, use care when slicing things on a mandoline, as they can cut up fingers in a flash.

The oil does not have to be fresh from the bottle for this; as long as it has no smells (such as from fish) and doesn't have a stale aroma, used oil should work fine. Use whatever kind of salt you like, plus a sprinkle of spices, if you wish.

One odd thing about lotus roots that you should be aware of is that they produce a hairlike juice. I mean, really, they look like very fine hairs and will stay that way even when the slices are fried. So don't be alarmed if you see what looks like blond hairs weaving in and out of the chips; totally harmless.

Perfect with cold Chinese beer

Fried lotus chips -- 炸藕片 Zha oupian

Fresh lotus roots (see Tips)
Peanut or vegetable oil
Sea salt, fleur de sel, or kosher salt

1. Peel the lotus roots with a potato peeler, and remove any soft or brown spots. Rinse off any mud that might have worked its way into the roots (see Tips). Shave the roots into thin slices using a mandoline or a very sharp knife.

2. Prepare a plate covered with a paper towel next to the stove. Heat a few inches of oil in a wok over medium-high heat until a wooden chopstick inserted in the oil bubbles all over. Add a handful of the lotus root slices to the hot oil and stir them around with the chopsticks so that they don't stick to each other. Stir and fry them until they are a light golden brown all over. Use a slotted spoon to remove them from the oil and place them on the paper towel to drain. Sprinkle the hot chips with the salt to taste. Repeat with the rest of the lotus root slices until done.

3. Cool to room temperature and either serve immediately or store in a resealable plastic bag, preferably with a paper towel to absorb any moisture or extra oil.

Tips

Sliced fresh lotus root

Choose firm, white lotus roots that have no bruises and are heavy for their size, which means that they are fresh and juicy.

Try to avoid any roots that have holes in them where mud could have worked its way in. Once in, it is hard to clean it thoroughly off the inside of the roots and will stain the lacy structure.

Store the fresh roots in the refrigerator in a plastic bag with a damp paper towel; use them as soon as possible.

Lamb tail beignets from Beijing

2012-02-08T09:00:00.000-08:00

Airy puffs

In the last post I introduced a Manchurian dish called Fried Deer Tails. Staying with this theme of of fried tails that aren’t really tails, we now go into a completely opposite direction with a gentle Beijing sweet called Fried Lamb Tails.

This was a treat that originated in Beijing’s Muslim community. One old cookbook I read said that lamb tail meat had once filled these fried pastries, but eventually they were turned from savory into sweet beignets with the substitution of red bean paste.

Another fading cookbook dedicated to Beijing Muslim cuisine lists 36 recipes for sweet dishes, a fact that delights me to no end, and this is the final one in that extensive chapter, for good reason: it is unlike any other Chinese sweet that I have encountered, and it deserves to be the ultimate recipe in that book.

A Beijing Muslim treat

I know that I’m stretching it a bit by calling these Fried Lamb Tails “beignets” because these are actually lighter than air. What looks at first glance like something heavy dissolves in the mouth with little more than a puff of air and the smooth aftertaste of the red beans.

Served as a snack with afternoon tea or even at the end of a fancy banquet, your guests may demur at the idea of consuming more than a single bite, but that one nibble will convince them to polish off whatever you have placed on the table.

Composed of only a few ingredients, this is easy to put together and actually is quite inexpensive to make. The only item that cannot be found in most Western supermarkets is canned sweet bean paste, but that is easy enough to stock up on whenever you are close enough to an East Asian grocery.

Ribbon of batter

You can assemble the ingredients and whip up the batter ahead of time, and then fry the lamb tails just before serving. The original recipes call for them to be sprinkled with regular sugar, but I prefer the almost imperceptible sweetness of a bare dusting of powdered sugar. Although the batter is not sweetened, the red bean paste stays sweet without cloying if only a decorative flutter of powdered sugar accompanies them to the table.

Double the ingredients if you are planning to serve more than 3 or 4. No need for recommendations on leftovers -- you won’t have any.

Fried lamb tails -- 炸羊尾 Zha yangwei

Makes 12 and serves 3 or 4

2 large, organic egg whites (about 4 tablespoons), at room temperature

3 tablespoons cornstarch

¾ cup sweet, smooth red bean paste (see Tips)

2 cups fresh peanut or vegetable oil (see Tips)

Bean paste coins

1 or 2 tablespoons powdered sugar

1. Beat the egg whites until stiff and then slowly beat in the cornstarch until you have a thick batter that forms a long, sticky thread when you lift out the beater.

2. Roll the bean paste into 12 balls and then slightly flatten them with your fingers.

3. Heat the oil in a wok over medium heat until wooden chopsticks inserted in the oil barely bubble. Place a plate covered with a paper towel next to the stove.

4. Use wooden chopsticks to pick up the bean paste balls one at a time and dip into the batter until it is thoroughly covered. Carefully lay it into the oil, dabbing more batter on top if it looks at all thin. Repeat with the rest of the bean paste balls, and do this in two batches if needed.

5. Slowly fry the lamb tails until the bottoms are pale gold, and then flip them over with your chopsticks; they should not stick. Fry the other sides until they too are pale gold, and then remove the lamb tails to the paper towel to drain. Some of them may split as they fry, but that is all right.

6. Arrange the lamb tails on a serving plate (or on individual plates), sift the powdered sugar over them, and serve immediately with hot tea.

Dabbing more batter on top

Tips

Sweetened red bean paste is available in two forms: smooth and chunky, just like peanut butter. Use the smooth variety here; if you can’t read Chinese, the picture should show you whether it is smooth or not. I have had good luck with both Taiwanese and Japanese brands, as the quality has been consistent and they are not too sweet.

Use fresh oil for frying these, as any flavors in the oil will be immediately transferred to these airy puffs.

Keep the heat under the oil at a minimum, as you do not want these to brown quickly. Medium heat should give you just the right amount to cook the egg whites without burning.

Fresh Manchurian sausage

2012-02-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

Fit for the emperor

Situated up in the northeastern regions of China, Manchuria was once a vast land of little but wilderness. It is such a cold region extending even into Russia that Vladivostok lies to its southeast, and in its northernmost regions permafrost reigns.

This is the land of nomadic peoples who somehow managed to conquer China at least twice -- leading to the short-lived Later Jin dynasty, as well as China's last imperial house, the Qing -- and the latter especially left a distinct stamp on the culture and foods of North China.

Fond of wild game, the Manchus who established the Qing brought a taste for venison with them, a taste that they perhaps indulged in more than the deer population could withstand.

Raw sausages

So, as the Manchu rulers settled down in Beijing, supply outstripped demand, and the deer they were accustomed to enjoying gradually disappeared. An enterprising chef somewhere along the way met this challenge with aplomb and found a way to imitate one particular food the Qing nobles enjoyed: Fried Deer Tails. And that is the dish we are going to look at today.

To be honest, I have to take the word of others as to whether this really tastes like the original dish, as I have never tried real deer tails. However, that doesn't really matter, as this is one tasty sausage even without the venison.

Ground pork and liver are mixed with green onions, garlic, seasonings, and pine nuts before being stuffed into sausage casings. Much easier than it sounds if you have a sausage stuffer at hand, this actually comes together quite quickly, so that everything but a last minute fry can be done way ahead of time, making it perfect for a party.

I have taken a few small liberties here, the main one being the substitution of chicken livers for pork liver. I prefer the lighter taste of the chicken ones and enjoy the way that they sidle up to the pork with all of the familiarity of the ingredients in a French pâté. In fact, if you ate this without knowing its background, you might think that it was a very exotically seasoned dish out of Dijon with maybe a detour through Paris's Chinatowns.

Cooked and cooled

So, if anything, this shows how much similarity there is between what are probably two of the greatest cuisines the world has ever known: Chinese and French. Ginger, though, as well as soy sauce, sesame oil, and Shaoxing rice wine place this sausage squarely in the realm of Chinese cuisine.

This is an uncured sausage, so it is poached until completely cooked through to prevent it from spoiling. Then, just before serving, the sausages are slowly fried in peanut oil to crisp up the exterior and give some nice textural contrast to the soft, meaty interior.

Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I would be happy to put one in a toasted bun with a nice slathering of mustard and enjoy it with a nice, cold beer.

Fried “deer tail” sausages -- 炸鹿尾 Zha luwei

Makes four 8-inch sausages

Sausages

4 ounces very fresh chicken livers (about 5)

1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine

3 feet salted sausage casings

1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine

2 ounces fatback (solid pork fat; see Tips)

1 pound good quality ground pork (about 30% fat; see Tips)

5 tablespoons raw, shelled pine nuts

3 tablespoons finely minced ginger

¼ cup finely minced green onions

5 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

1½ teaspoons sea salt

Nuts, onions & garlic

2 tablespoons filtered water

¼ cup roasted sesame oil

Filtered water, as needed

2 cups peanut or vegetable oil

Sauce

½ cup balsamic vinegar

Pinch of sea salt to taste

Either peeled, grated, older ginger or finely julienned young ginger

Or, ½ cup garlic vinegar from the Pickled Garlic recipe

1. Rinse the chicken livers and pat them dry. Remove any discolored areas and sinews with a paring knife. Cut the livers into small (¼ inch) pieces, place them in a small bowl, and pour a tablespoon of the rice wine over them while you prepare the rest of the ingredients; this will remove most of the impurities and give you a cleaner flavor (see Tips).

2. Place the sausage casing in a medium work bowl and cover with cool water. Rinse the casing carefully inside and out under running water. Squeeze all of the water out, pour a tablespoon of the rice wine inside the casing, and swish in back and forth inside the casing to further cleanse it; drain the casing.

3. Finely chop the fatback and mix it with the pork. Coarsely chop the pine nuts so that some are at least cut in half while others are more finely minced (see Tips). Add these to the pork, along with the ginger, green onions, 5 tablespoons rice wine, sea salt, water, and sesame oil. Drain the chicken livers, rinse briefly, and add them to the pork mixture before stirring it to combine the ingredients evenly.

Pierce the links

4. Stuff the casing according to manufacturer’s directions. Use kitchen twine to tie off the ends and then tie off sausage in four links, each of which should be about 8 inches in length.

5. Place the sausages as one coil in a large pan and cover with filtered water. Slowly bring the water to a boil and then gently poach the sausages for about 30 minutes; about 10 minutes into the cooking, use a bamboo skewer or toothpick to pierce each sausage in a couple of places, preferably where bubbles are forming (see Tips). Remove the cooked sausages to a plate and cool, and then cut them into links and remove the twine. (The sausages may be made ahead of time up to this point; refrigerate them if not serving them within a couple of hours.)

6. If you are not using the sauce from the Pickled Garlic recipe, mix the balsamic vinegar and salt to taste with either with the grated older ginger or the julienned younger ginger; taste and adjust the seasoning. Divide the sauce into small, individual serving bowls.

7. Just before serving, heat the oil in a wok or frying pan over medium heat until a wooden chopstick inserted in the oil just barely bubbles (see Tips). Wipe off any moisture on the sausages and gently place them in the oil. Slowly fry them on both sides until golden. Remove from the oil, drain, and slice on a steep diagonal. Serve immediately with the vinegar sauce.

Tips

Scrape off the tough fibers

Over the years, I’ve found that cleaning livers with wine really is a good way of getting rid of any off-putting flavors and smells. Most of the bile gets washed away, as well as the blood. Take the time to remove the tough strands in the livers, as they otherwise will make themselves known to your diners.

Use a good quality, organic, free-range pork if at all possible. Don’t use lean ground pork, as the sausage will be too dry, and do not eliminate the extra fatback, as this is what makes the sausage juicy. Pork sausage must contain a healthy dose of fat – there’s just no way around it.

Each sausage stuffer is different, so you might have to chop the nuts finer if your machine is unable to handle anything larger than a lentil; check the stuffer's instructions for how finely ingredients must be chopped.

Pierce each link after about 10 minutes to help keep the sausages from bursting, which not only doesn’t look very appetizing, but also dries out the meat. You want to keep as much fat in the sausages as possible, so limit the piercings to no more than three per link.

For the same reason, you do not want the sausages to explode in the hot oil. The best way to achieve this is to let the links come to room temperature (take them out of the fridge for an hour or two before frying), and insert them into oil that is not too hot. As they slowly fry, their internal heat gradually rises, and so there are no sudden bursts of juice popping out, which can be quite dangerous.

Muslim style boneless lamb

2012-02-06T08:43:00.000-08:00

Tenderest lamb imaginable

Of the three major influences on Beijing's cuisine -- Manchuria, Shandong, and Muslim -- perhaps the most remarkable one is the last. China in no way is an Islamic nation, nor has any of its emperors or presidents ever been a Muslim. But the foods of Central Asia were carried into the northern regions of China over a thousand years ago, and they took root in a land that has enthusiastically welcomed their flavors and aesthetics.

True, many Chinese converted to Islam over the years, and the northwest and western regions still are home to a great many Muslims. But something happened to the spices and meats and breads that wound their way along the northern Silk Road and finally into the nation's capital: the foods became unmistakably Chinese.

Take this lamb recipe, for example. The meat is simmered for hours until little more than a harsh look makes it fall apart in your hands. And yet it is not at all dry: in fact, this might be the tastiest and juiciest lamb you've ever tried. It is on a par with the most delectable lamb dishes China offers.

But it is more than that: exotic spices that were imported into China -- cinnamon and fennel -- nestle up to Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, ginger, and green onions to scent even the innermost regions of the meat. Soy sauce and North China's beloved sweet wheat paste (tianmianjiang) season the sauce, but in keeping with halal rules there is no rice wine.

The meat is perfectly delicious as is, but to bring it up one more level, it is fried in roasted sesame oil, which not only flavors the exterior, but also crisps up the edges and offers some of that inimitable Chinese counterpoint of tastes and textures.

This is served simply with some tender Spring Wraps to enfold the meat, along with a sprinkling of either shredded green onions or cilantro, plus the Fried Sweet Wheat Paste, which has a recipe down below, and the Mustardy Cabbage Mounds in the previous post make the perfect accompaniment. You can, of course, use plain sweet wheat paste instead of heating it up, but there is a rawness in the stuff that comes out of a jar, and this responds happily to a quick frying with some sesame oil, sugar, and a sprinkle of soy sauce to balance out the flavors.

Leftover meat can be used, along with some of the cooking stock, as a terrific topping for plain wheat noodles. Top with some blanched greens and you have an utterly delicious meal practically as an afterthought!

Peppercorns and lamb

Muslim style boneless lamb -- 鍋燒羊肉 Guoshao yangrou
Serves 6 to 8 as a main dish and around 16 people as part of a multicourse meal

Lamb

Approximately 3½ pounds boneless organic, free-range lamb (leg or shoulder; see Tips)

1 leek or 5 green onions, trimmed and cleaned (see Tips)

10 slices fresh ginger

3 whole star anise

½ cup regular, good quality soy sauce

2 tablespoons sweet wheat paste

2 inches stick cinnamon

1 tablespoon Sichuan peppercorns

1 tablespoon whole fennel seeds

Filtered water to cover

1 cup fresh roasted sesame oil

Garnish

Fried Sweet Wheat Paste Sauce (recipe follows)

Shredded green onions and/or cilantro sprigs

Double the Spring Wraps recipe if you are serving the entire amount

1. Rinse the meat and pat it dry. If your butcher has not bundled the lamb in a net, use kitchen twine to tie it up, which will keep the meat from disintegrating during the long simmering.

2. Place the meat in a pot, cover with tap water, and bring the water to a boil. Simmer the meat for about 10 minutes, at which point scum will have risen to the surface. Dump out the water and rinse both the meat and the pot. Wipe all of the scum off with a paper towel and return the meat to the pot.

3. Add the leek or green onions in one piece to the pot (they are easier to remove this way), as well as the ginger, star anise, soy sauce, sweet wheat paste, cinnamon, Sichuan peppercorns, and fennel seeds. Add enough filtered water to cover the lamb. Bring the pot to a boil and then lower the heat to a simmer. Slowly cook the lamb uncovered for 4 hours, or until extremely tender. Cool in the stock. Remove the lamb from the stock and let it drain; see Tips. (You may prepare the lamb ahead of time up to this point and refrigerate the meat; the stock can be used for other things, as suggested above, and the fat can be easily removed once it is chilled.)

4. Remove the net or twine. Cut the meat in half with the grain so that you have two large slabs. (Fry only as much of the meat as you want to serve immediately.) Heat the sesame oil in a wok over medium-high heat until it starts to smoke and carefully add one half of the meat. Fry it on both sides until crispy. Cut it against the grain into strips and serve with the Spring Wraps, shredded green onions and/or cilantro sprigs, and Fried Sweet Wheat Paste Sauce. To eat, smear some of the sauce down the middle of a wrap, add a strip of the lamb, and tuck in some of the green onions; roll them up together and eat with your hands.

Dark & delicious

Fried Sweet Wheat Paste Sauce – 炸甜麵醬 Zha tianmianjiang

Makes about ½ cup

3 tablespoons roasted sesame oil

½ cup sweet wheat paste (tianmianjiang)

2 teaspoons sugar, or to taste

2 teaspoons regular soy sauce, or to taste

Toasted sesame seeds, optional

1. Pour the sesame oil into a wok and warm it up over medium heat until it is very liquid. Stir in the sweet wheat paste until the oil is incorporated. Taste and add as much sugar and soy sauce as needed. Cool to room temperature.

2. Scrape the sauce into either a container or small dishes for individual service. (This can be made ahead of time and stored in the refrigerator or at room temperature.) Sprinkle with the sesame seeds as garnish, if desired.

Tips

Use any tasty cut of boneless lamb; it should be fatty for the most flavor, and it can be full of connective tissue and tendons (as in the leg), since these will become soft and tender by the time the meat is fully cooked.

Some butchers will provide a net for boneless cuts like this. If yours doesn’t, simply tie kitchen twine around the lamb as for a roast (i.e., tightly around the meat at 1-inch intervals).

If you are using a leek, keep the root end on, split it down the center, and then rinse the leek under running water to remove all of the sand and dirt. Shake the leek dry and add it to the pot without cutting it up further; this makes its later removal much easier.

The brands of sweet wheat paste vary, so use your own judgment when seasoning the sauce. It should not be overly sweet, but rather have a lovely balance of sweet and savory.

Top and bottom photo credit: Jen Y. Cheng