You are currently browsing the tag archive for the 'Chinese food' tag.
As a child, I was often nudged awake by the gentle, silky aroma of Chinese buns being steamed for breakfast. While still curled beneath my covers, counting down the precious last seconds before dragging my feet to the bathroom, I could already picture the plush, white roll nestled in the palm of my hand, each bite melting luxuriously in my mouth. I would take a moment to consider whether that morning was a peanut butter or plain butter kind of morning: whether I preferred the sweet nuttiness slathered in the middle or the velvety richness dripping into every nook and cranny. Every so often, I would summon the audacity to have it both ways. In any case, it was always washed down with a glass of cold milk and followed by a dash to the school bus. Those days are long gone, but while life’s choices are no longer as simple as “peanut butter or butter”, my childhood appreciation for steamed bao remains.
Mixed baozi and hua juan crowd:
A few weeks back, one of my fellow foodies suggested a “day of progressive eating.” The idea was novel to me and the territory unknown — an entire day devoted exclusively to eating – and I’m always one for stretching myself and my stomach capacity, so I eagerly got onboard. This also gave us an excuse to try some of the best-rated restaurants in Hong Kong according to the local food website, openrice.com. An itinerary was mapped out: 11 restaurants/food stalls were chosen for the task, most within walking distance of each other, cuisines spanning Chiu Chow, Malaysian, Thai, and local Hong Kong specialties like wonton noodles.
Our first stop was a place I had been meaning to visit for months, Australian Dairy Company. I’ve heard nothing but the highest praise for this restaurant’s simple fare of eggs, toast, and macaroni soup. At the entrance I ran into some friends of my parents, who apparently recognized me even though I had not the slightest clue who they were (and still don’t). It’s always a bit awkward and disorienting when people you don’t know claim to know (of) you.
Though I didn’t know it at the time, ADC was to be my favorite restaurant of this day. But the scrambled eggs and thick-cut toast were spot-on and satisfying in the visceral way that only foods like scrambled eggs and toast could. I could see why even the humble-sounding macaroni soup had secured a faithful following, as the salty broth with supermarket ham tidbits and elbow macaroni could very well be the Hong Kong equivalent of chicken noodle soup.
Australian Dairy Company:
47-49 Parkes St, Jordan
Scrambled eggs with toast.
Shenzhen is one of China’s designated “special economic zones“. It’s right across the border, and for me that means ready access to dirt-cheap massages, trinkets, DVDs, and Chinese food.
Yesterday I hit up my aunt’s place for a belated Chinese New Year’s meal.
This still taken while fiddling with my camera’s features as my aunt was preppping the food. Unintendedly nice photos are happy. I also realized that I need to start taking better advantage of my camera’s capabilities…So expect a higher standard of photos in the near future!
The spread. At the end of the day, Chinese food made by the family, for the family, puts all my other food cravings to shame. It resonates with every part of my being. This particular homecooked meal was especially therapeutic for my spirits, as I’d been feeling out of sorts of late.
Steamy claypot stew of sea cucumbers, abalone, mushrooms, dried shrimp, and other delectable items. Loads and loads of umami.
Amazing chicken wings, and photogenic to boot. The aroma stopped me dead in my tracks and had me scrambling to the dining table and seated in no time. I coaxed the recipe from my dear aunt — basically boiling the meat in a simple combination of traditional Asian ingredients and then letting it rest in the cooking liquid (kind of like a reverse marinade).
Beef stir fry with crisp asparagus and red onions.
Over the years, experiences like these have won me over to the idea that nothing says home like sitting down to a meal o’ love. That and getting some thick ‘hong bao’ 
In both Nanjing and Zhangye (and throughout most of Asia, it seems), a lot of cooking happens out on the streets. Not only does this enable me to display my photographic prowess, it provides color and character to streetside life. From roasting sweet potatoes and boiling young corn on the cob to full out rocking a wok, catching these studs in action added an entertaining, educational, and often uplifting dimension to my travels.
Pounding wheat dough for noodles:
Frying bread sticks (‘yau ja gwai’)…I eat these rarely in an effort to limit my daily intake of fried dough, but they are pure deliciousness when the craving hits. They are most commonly eaten alongside a bowl of congee (how I’m most familiar with them) or dunked into a hot cup of soy milk. I’ve had some pretty bad ones, but when they’re good, oh man, they rock. Why oh why does fried bread in nearly every form taste so damn good?
Making fried rice. The clang of his wok against the stove was music to my ears, and as I walked away, I listened for it until I could hear it no more. Next to him was a man doing similarly grand things with noodles.
In her stall, this lady was efficiently but meticulously churning out savory pancakes to order. I watched her make about ten, and each was made in precisely the same way: first, a thin layer of batter was spread over the stove to create a paper-thin pancake; then, an egg was cracked onto this base, roughly scrambled, and then spread out over the pancake; savory ground meat bits and scallions were tossed on, followed by an assortment of thick sauces and condiments; the grand finale was an oversized, deep-fried, Chinese chip (I’m sure you’ve seen these at a Chinese restaurant at one point or another) shattered onto the bed of grub below. All were assembled into something resembling a burrito, placed into a plastic bag (the ones you see hanging on the wall), and promptly transferred for immediate consumption. I regret not getting one.
Preparing an unidentifiable, fiery red substance outside a hotpot restaurant. This guy was here as we walked into the restaurant and was still going at it when we came back out after our meal. Stuff like this brings me down to earth whenever I dare to dream of being a chef.
Gansu cuisine is wheat-based (rather than rice-based, as it is down south), which translated into lots of delicious pulled noodles (as well as bing). In Zhangye, I probably consumed more noodles than in any other six-day span of my life. And this was not a bad thing, considering that most of what went down was hearty and delicious.
A pit stop in Lanzhou provided a glimpse of what would be a familiar sight for the next few days: a steaming bowl of spicy noodles studded with peppers, beef, and garlic stems…a pretty effective antidote to a cold, dry winter day.
Plain wheat noodles, usually served with main courses upon request:
Another spicy noodle dish, with wood ears, chicken, and garlic stems, bathed in chili oil:
A delicious variation on the theme: potato noodles. The texture of these noodles was distinctly lighter and springier, somewhat more gelatinous, than the wheat noodles. I had never had anything like them (even sweet potato noodles are quite different), but I will be on the lookout in the supermarket from now on, because I want more. This particular dish was called ‘big plate chicken’, a Gansu specialty, and along with the potato noodles came hunks of potatoes, scallions, and chicken scraps (I uncovered a chicken head somewhere in there). This plate was hefty enough to serve five normal people. We ordered two of them to split between seven…which is mathmatically suspicious, but luckily for us, I can eat for three.
An assortment of bing, some stuffed with combinations of meat, veggies, and spices:
Heavy as it was, the food in Zhangye was some of the most satisfying I had had in awhile. I had to do some serious detox-ing after coming back, to rid myself of all that oil- and carbo-deliciousness, and have developed a more pronounced double chin as a result of my uninhibited indulgence, but have no regrets about experiencing Gansu cuisine to its fullest (well, my fullest, at least, and then some). Considering that may very well have been the first and last time I set foot in that province, I’m genuinely glad I maxed out on its culinary delights and left nothing to my imagination. And best of all, I felt like indulging in such foods was integral to my connecting with that particular culture and fostering some sense of intimacy with it. Part of it was bonding with the local students over these meals, but there were certainly moments when the very act of eating the food of this people struck an emotional chord for me, one that I suspect will resonate for a long while. Everything just felt so honest, if spicily so, a quality which was also reflected in many of the individuals I encountered. It was as if the food was made not to impress, but rather, with little sense of the impression it created, or something to that effect. I’ll stop waxing, and come to think of it, expect less verbage in the next few blog posts as I continue to play catch-up. I still have private kitchen #2 from the beginning of December that I have yet to unleash!
(Week of 12/14-19 in Zhangye, Gansu Province, China)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been plagued by a minor inconvenience: whenever an inordinate quantity of good food is placed in front of me, I tend to eat an inordinately unhealthy amount of it. Surely, I do not stand alone in this matter, but when it comes to food, I feel I often lack the self-control and common sense that seems to come naturally to many others. Considering my inability to moderate my intake of well-cooked food, if someone were plotting my demise, all s/he would have to do is adorn my bedroom with perfectly-cooked steamed fishies, plump roasted chickens, buttloads of fruit, dark chocolate, freshly-baked rustic breads, custard-filled pastries, and so forth. In all likelihood, I would eat myself to death. I am being somewhat facetious, but give me the chance and I will probably surprise you with how much food I can pack into my frame.
As soon as we set foot in Zhangye, my combustible efforts to shapen up over the last few weeks of 2008 burst into sad, sad flames. However, I maintain that I was not to blame: it was the fault of our overly generous hosts for herding us to restaurant after restaurant after restaurant and ordering more stomach warming and palate tingling foods than we knew what to do with.
You can tell it’s a problem when you need to start balancing plates on top of other plates on a table for 12:
Especially when it becomes a pattern:
Sadly, I have a knee-knocking weakness for spicy food, which all but did me in on many an occasion:
And a huge vat of hotpot broth is never a good omen for a downsizing stomach, especially when said vat is accompanied by a seemingly endless array of delicious weird things screaming to be dunked into the fiery peppercorn- and chili oil-laden liquid of heaven.
We took a pass on these, but “flowering” mini hot dogs, anyone?
As guests in a foreign country, I am certain we at least lived up to the impression of Americans as more than capable eaters. One can but hope we accomplished something greater.
All I had been thinking about for much of last week revolved around planning and preparing for my first private kitchen event. I began entertaining the notion of doing such a thing about a month ago, when I discovered that there were a number of private kitchens in Hong Kong. Dinner parties have always appealed to me; a lowkey, well-cooked dinner in a cozy atmosphere over one or several bottles of wine, in the company of people one enjoys, makes for an ideal evening any day of the week. Since my experience with cooking is spotty, I thought hosting a private kitchen would be a great challenge, especially without my own kitchen space. But I figured that the experience would also grant me a new perspective on food and a richer appreciation for it. And mostly, I just get a huge kick out of sharing my passion for food with others: of spreading the foodie love.
I wanted to create a menu inspired by my own palate, one that made honest attempts at coherence and creativity. Disparate foods kept popping up in my head (salmon head and blue cheeseburgers, for example), but they all stood firmly on common ground as foodstuffs I thoroughly enjoy. Slowly, ingredients, random ideas, and recipes came together, and in gratuitously circuitous fashion, I committed myself to this menu for the night:
appetizer: steamed salmon head over buckwheat noodles, served with soy-sesame-scallion dressing
course 1: bulgogi-rice patty ‘burgers’, served with sugared tomatoes and japanese cucumber relish
course 2: a variation on asian lettuce wraps, served with sweet potato noodles
course 3: classic blue cheese burgers
dessert: rice crispy treats with coconut milk
To my delight, I ended up with something that reflects my trifold fondness for Western, Asian, and somewhere-in-between cuisines. And while I hadn’t made a single one of these ‘dishes’ before last week, I felt relatively confident that my culinary genius (more like my heavy hand with seasonings and a generous dose of luck) would, at the very least, not flat out embarrass me.
On the big day, I managed to escape a potential predicament or two (rice stubbornly resistant to binding) and had a wonderful time with my private kitchen guinea pigs. It helped tremendously that they were an encouraging and supportive bunch, and I thank them heartily for their daring in agreeing to subject themselves to my experiment.
Here’s how the dishes turned out (thanks to g for being the fill-in food pornographer 
).
I wanted the appetizer to feature the absolute deliciousness that is salmon head, so I simply seasoned the heads with some salt and pepper and steamed them, then stripped off the meat and served it over a bed of buckwheat noodles. The dressing was equally simple: I heated until boiling a mixture of soy sauce, scallions, and sesame oil, and threw in a dash of ground ginger. See that piece of meat sitting on top? That’s the fish cheek — in my humble opinion, the best damn part of the fish. It’s soft as a baby’s bottom, tender, and insanely succulent. For me, this dish was all about channeling Mark Bittman’s minimalism, and I was extremely pleased with the outcome.
The bulgogi patties were my Asian interpretation of the classic American burger, and though the execution on the rice patties was lacking, the bulgogi received thumbs up all around. I loosely followed this marinade recipe, which served me well. I also think the sugared tomatoes, a traditional Northern Chinese preparation, were a strong complement to the bulgogi, as was the cucumber relish.
For a riff on Asian lettuce wraps, I minced a bunch of oyster mushrooms and cabbage, some preserved Chinese sausages, and dried turnips. I also wanted to use bean curd skin, as I am partial to its chewy texture, so I threw some of that in as well. All this was sauteed with soy sauce, chinkiang vinegar, brown sugar, and sriracha. I originally used the brown sugar to dull some of the heat from the hot sauce, but it ended up being a bit overpowering. Nevertheless, with some tweaks, I think this one is a keeper.
Then the BURGERS!!! One food I have been consistently craving since coming to HK. Though I wasn’t able to taste one, my guests robustly approved, which was good enough for me. Again, I channeled some of MB’s minimalism, and just seasoned the beef with s&p (here I realized that high quality ground beef does make a difference) before tossing it with some mustard and an egg. Having no grill, I opted to cook them over high heat on the induction cooker while the buns were toasting, and then finished it all off with a few minutes in the oven. These ended up more cooked than I would have liked, as I was being overly cautious, but they looked and smelled fantastic.
Finally, I decided to serve a classic American dessert, rice krispy treats, but substituted some coconut milk for butter to keep things interesting. I tested out this whim earlier in the week, and ended up with soggy and overly coconut-y rice krispy treats, so I adjusted the proportions, and this time ended up with glorious results. The finished product is topped with toasted coconut and peanut m&ms. Rice krispies are ridiculously easy to make, and at the end of a busy night, they really hit the spot. I would just make sure to give them at least a couple hours to rest before digging in — your tastebuds will be duly rewarded.
However time-consuming and draining it was, the evening far exceeded my expectations. I pestered my diners for suggestions (and got some compliments along the way), experienced a genuine sense of accomplishment, and felt deeply connected to both the people and the food in a new way. I am currently planning another private kitchen session in two weeks, and my hope is that this evening was only the first of many of its kind.
Dear reader, know that this post will not do its subject justice. Nevertheless, I am compelled to share my first, though by no means my last, foodie encounter with something very special.
A few weeks ago, another ETA urged me to watch Anthony Bourdain’s travel show “No Reservations: Hong Kong.” As fate would have it, our institute is located within an easy bus ride away from not one, but two of the restaurants that the show features. Below is the clip from the show about both these places.
I discovered I had already been to the first one, a restaurant specializing in roast meats, and had left underwhelmed. Always one to give others a second chance, I did go back after watching the episode and ordered exactly what Bourdain did — roast goose and suckling pig — with better results.
The highlight of Bourdain’s trip to Hong Kong, however, is without a doubt the noodle shop that he visited directly after his roast meats experience, conveniently located only blocks away. This to me was the larger prize, in part because I have never been a “noodle person”. When given the choice, I almost always go with rice, largely because that’s just what I ate growing up. Up until the last couple years, my run-ins with noodles were primarily restricted to instant ramen, delicious but artery-clogging beef chow fun, and the occasional bowl of soup noodles. With Chinese food, I also generally view carbs as supplementing a meal rather than being the star of the show, and rice seems more open to taking a back seat, in that sense.
The show also makes clear that this noodle place is not just any old, run of the mill noodle establishment but the home of a dying art form: handmade bamboo noodles. The cloyingly sentimental tone of the feature aside, perhaps we all know something of the beauty that Bourdain describes, one rooted in the mortal quality of great things.
Eager to experience the hype of these noodles for myself, I had previously attempted to seek out this place, but failed miserably. It doesn’t help that the show makes little effort to put a name to a face. Luckily though, a friend of the hardy sort proudly announced that she had tracked down the name of the place. Armed with that, in addition to sky high expectations, a trio of us set out to finally give this place a whirl.
We stepped inside Tai Po Cooked Foods Centre with direction and purpose. The place was promptly found by said friend, and we grabbed the table closest to the kitchen to watch the maestro at work.
I couldn’t help but smile broadly upon noting his presence. Yes, he had no idea who I was, but I felt a strong affinity for him, especially after learning of his extreme dedication to his family and craft. The cheesy music and overly dramatic script of the show became afterthoughts. I instead latched on to his gentle mien, his sure, precise movements, and the quiet confidence he exuded. Even before our noodles came, I felt sure they would not disappoint.
We ordered and within five minutes, our noodles arrived.
And they were nothing short of unforgettable. The minute I slurped them in, all I could think of or feel was the incredible interplay between the ungodly springiness of the noodles, the creamy, pork lard coating bathing them, and the shrimp eggs that added nuttiness to every single bite. The noodles were cooked to absolute perfection: chewy and light, heaven’s gift of a vehicle and an excuse for transporting the savory pork oil into ma grande bouche. One mouthful was all it took to realize I had never tasted anything like this before, with the centuries dedicated to perfecting this dish infusing every dusty corner of my palate.
We got seconds.
And I could’ve kept going, restrained only by the thought of ‘next time’. Toward the end of our second plates, the man himself stopped by our table and suggested that the noodles would be enhanced by a spoonful of vinegar. We enthusiastically followed his suggestion, and just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, you bet they did. The slightly tart/tang kick from the vinegar opened my t-buds to new worlds, elevating the dish another dozen or so notches. I only wish he had stopped by sooner so I could’ve enjoyed both my heaps of noodles doused in vinegar.
Here he is preparing haw fun noodles:
Though sad to leave, there are few times I left a meal feeling so content, privileged, and excited at the prospect of coming back. His signature noodle dish is without a doubt ridiculously delicious, but it was the completeness of the experience that made it quite extraordinary. From before the start to after the finish, this was one foodie’s dream meal come true.
Until my recent trip to China, I didn’t think it was possible to eat dim sum three days in a row. Well, that’s one more thing I can check off my to-do list for life.
And I was sort of right…it certainly wasn’t possible to gorge on dim sum for three consecutive days. I noticed myself eating considerably less at each subsequent meal, such that by the third, I realized I probably hadn’t overeaten at a dim sum meal for the first time in…probably forever. I’m sure even when I was a babe, my parents were spoonfeeding me mushed up pork dumplings and steamed rice rolls to shape me into the giant poofball that I was (and arguably still am ).
Some of the highlights:
Tea preparation:
Best chicken feet ever:
Fish heads with spicy peppers and garlic with SERIOUS YUM FACTOR. My first time having fish heads prepared this way, and I loved the way the entire fish head, even the bones, were infused with this intensely hot, garlicky flavor. Plus, I got to relive my childhood by eating some eyeballs. I hope I still have friends after that comment.
Roast goose for the first time! It looks pretty similar to duck, and is a bit tougher in texture but still pretty darn good. Thinking about roast meats makes me salivate sometimes.
Siu mai — the porkiest siu mai I’ve ever tasted, with unbelievable girth:
Plump, juicy haw gao bursting with nicely-sized, flavorful shrimp chunks. The shrimp was not overcooked and the skin was just the right chewiness, making it a mouthful to remember:
Amazin cha xiu bao straight from the oven — do not be deceived by the sweet milk topping. One bite through the warm tender bun revealed a saucy, sweet-yet-salty center of cha xiu filling.
Awesome, awesome beef tripe with daikon and my favorite — pan-fried daikon cakes studded with bits of chinese sausage. I almost never fail to get these whenever I have dim sum:
Sigh…I almost instinctively associate dim sum with family, which is why no matter how bad the food could get, it always manages to bring a smile to my face (or a grimace, whenever the end of the meal comes and they start jumping on top of each other to pay the bill).
