Quick Cooked in Dragonfire!

Apollo Chinese Restaurant

Every once in a while I just get a craving for simple, delicious pork fried rice. Basic greasy fried rice from your standard Chinese place—nothing special, just good comfort food.

I recently had this craving for two months. I don’t know why I didn’t do anything about it—the craving would come, I would consider getting Chinese food, and then I would do something else. On one recent hot and humid afternoon I decided to do something about it. I think that the weather really put me over the edge. The oppressive heat was so reminiscent of China that I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. I kept thinking about how I used to walk down the street from my apartment and visit this little hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the corner with a man spooning out fried rice into buckets for just a few measly cents in U.S. currency. I would go pick up a bucket of egg or beef fried rice and then savor the salty MSG, filling rice, and chili heat. Granted, the fried rice I would buy on the corner in Chengdu was quite different than the American-Chinese food of my craving, but somewhere in my mind fried rice and hot weather are knit together.

Being unsure where to get some good fried rice in the Collegetown area of Ithaca, NY, I checked out my friend Celeste’s blog 90 Restaurants, 90 Days, a site on which she documents her culinary experiences in Ithaca before leaving the area to pursue other ventures. This blog became a go-to for me during my time in Ithaca. After checking out Celeste’s reviews of a few Asian restaurants I honed in on Apollo Chinese Restaurant, and was immediately convinced that it was the best option. It sounded like the best cure for my craving and they were right around the corner from me.

One of the most satisfying parts of the experience was that when I walked into Apollo the scent immediately took me back to the smell of food in China. It’s so interesting how a particular scent can transport you through space and time, and I definitely experienced that on my recent venture to Apollo. The pork fried rice was exactly what I was craving. My ideal pork fried rice consists of greasy, salty rice laden with hunks of bright red roast pork, bits of scrambled egg, onions, carrots, and peas. I like the rice to be brown from a bit of soy sauce and slightly crispy and clumped together—perfect for scooping up glorious mouthfuls with chopsticks. This was exactly what Apollo delivered.

When I checked out the menu and was tempted to order a few dishes, but it was really just the pork fried rice I was interested in. Even though I was getting a very basic dish I got the feeling (and can see evidence of it in Celeste’s review) that they do “real” Chinese food right. I was more than satisfied and had my craving filled by the fried rice, but if I were to return again I’d probably want to try out their steamed pork buns, one of their various noodle soups, Peking duck, or double sautéed pork (I’m guessing this is the same as twice cooked pork, one of my favorite dishes). Alas, I’m far departed from Ithaca now, but if you’re in the area and looking for a fried-rice fix then it’s the right place to be.

A Chinese Feast

As a thank you to Son and Pat for always taking me out for fabulous dinners and never letting me pay, I cooked them up a Chinese feast last week. I decided to prepare some of my favorites: dumplings, spicy green beans, fish-flavored eggplant, and pork belly.

First up were the dumplings. I do more a Tibetan-style beef momo than the crescent shaped Chinese pork dumpling. The filling is a mixture of ground beef, minced garlic, minced ginger, and chopped scallions. To form the dumpling take a small amount and place it in the center of a dumpling wrapper (I usually get them from the store but they can be made from just flour and water). Then rub the edges of the wrapper with some water and fold the sides up over the meat filling and pinch together to form a little packet. Next place the dumplings in a steamer basket over boiling water. They only need to cook for a few minutes. I usually just grab one from the basket when they look done and cut it open to see if it's cooked all the way through. 

These dumplings are serious.

The dipping sauce for the dumplings is easy. Just mix together soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and sesame oil with some garlic, ginger, and scallions. 

Fish-flavored eggplant and spicy green beans were two of my favorite dishes when I lived in Chengdu. I served up these classic dishes with some white rice.

Fish-flavored eggplant got its name because the same seasonings used to cook fish were used to cook the eggplant. So it's not that the eggplant actually tastes like fish--just that it was prepared similarly. The version I made had eggplant, ground pork, Sichuan numbing pepper, dried red chili, garlic, ginger, scallions, soy sauce, MSG, chili bean paste, sugar, and rice wine vinegar. Delicious.

For the spicy green beans I went a little bit heavier on the numbing pepper and dried red chili peppers. 

So what exactly is numbing pepper? These little peppers abound in many Sichuan dishes, offering an interesting cooling and numbing aspect to the otherwise intense chili heat of the food. It is called huājiāo, which literally translates to flower pepper—an apt name as the outer husks of the shells used in cooking resemble opened flower petals. The flavor of the numbing pepper adds the quality of mala to any dish—that of numbing spiciness. When eating a Sichuan dish, the first moment is usually marked by the heat of the chili. But when it subsides the numbing pepper takes over. The fires in the mouth are cooled by the strange sensation of the numbing pepper, and truly, the tongue will go numb.This spicy green bean dish was always one of my favorites for riding the hot and numbing wave of Sichuan food.

For the final dish we had braised pork belly. Sonya and Pat had missed out on the pork belly I made for one of our holiday dinners, so I used the same recipe and cooked up the rest of the food while the pork belly simmered away on the stove for a couple of hours.

Since I needed sake to cook the pork belly we also sipped on sake throughout the meal. We had a large bottle of classic, cheap Gekkeikan sake, as well as a bottle of unfiltered, cloudy sake that Sonya likes. The rice wine was definitely a great accompaniment to our delicious Chinese feast.

There's nothing like a home-cooked meal to say thanks. It was my honor to cook dinner for two of my favorite people as they prepare to bid adieu to the island of Manhattan. And the best part? Watching a new episode of Jersey Shore as we devoured our meal. Classic.

China Chalet

After spending three months in Chengdu, Sichuan Province, China, I’m kind of an elitist when it comes to trying “Sichuan” food at American Chinese restaurants. I am almost never pleased with the result, so generally I just don’t order it. China Chalet in Florham Park, New Jersey, however, not only offers a wide selection of Sichuan food but also does it right.

Ever since I left China I’ve been dreaming about these dumplings we affectionately called Sweet Sweet Jiaozi (jiaozi is Chinese for dumpling). These dumplings were steamed and served in a comforting sweet and spicy sauce. But I’ve never been able to find them. I recently learned that they are actually called Zhong Shui Jiao, and when I saw Sichuan Pork Dumpling with Roasted Red Oil on the China Chalet menu I decided to take a chance.

I’m so glad I did.

They were perfect—just like I remembered. The thin dumpling wrappers were stuffed with pork filling and formed into lovely crescent shapes. They were swimming in a bright red oil sauce with just the right balance of sweet and spicy. It transported me right back to the streets of Chengdu. Mmm, sweet sweet jiaozi…

I also tried the Dan-Dan Noodle with Minced Pork and Chili Vinaigrette. Divine. Dan Dan Noodles are a classic Sichuan dish. Served in China, they would have been spicier, but China Chalet still gave them a nice kick. They came with a little bit of broth, tasty minced pork, and some green vegetables—stirring it all together and slurping them up made for a great meal. 

The two Sichuan dishes I tried at China Chalet impressed me. I’ll definitely be going back to try some of their other Sichuan dishes, such as Mapo Dofu, which is a classic spicy dish with tofu and minced beef. And I can rest easy now that I know a reliable place where I can indulge in sweet sweet jiaozi when I get the craving.

If you are in North Jersey and interested in getting a little taste of Sichuan province, I highly recommend trying some of the delicious dishes at China Chalet.

TIC: Chopsticks

I love chopsticks. I’ve used chopsticks my entire life—I don’t remember ever learning, just doing, so when confronted with the daily use of chopsticks while living in China it was very easy to dive right in. One way to connect with a foreign country’s culture is to adapt their dining habits. Using chopsticks is fundamental to eating in China and connects the diner not only to the present meal but also to thousands of years of past eating in China.

It’s easy for some Westerners to make fun of chopsticks, but perhaps this is simply because they can’t master their use themselves. For example, Bill Bryson stated “I find chopsticks frankly distressing. Am I alone in thinking it odd that a people ingenious enough to invent paper, gunpowder, kites and any number of other useful objects, and who have a noble history extending back 3,000 years haven't yet worked out that a pair of knitting needles is no way to capture food?” And even the loveable Muppet Miss Piggy insulted chopsticks, noting that “You do not sew with a fork, and I see no reason why you should eat with knitting needles.”

But chopsticks are a very interesting way to relate with food. Rather than piercing and slicing, you gently pick up the food. It’s a much less violent way to approach a meal. Chopsticks also demand a certain degree of mindfulness when eating. It’s difficult to shovel huge amounts of food in your mouth when eating with chopsticks, so the smaller bites might as well be embraced. Note the flavor and texture of each mouthful before going in for the next bite. Enjoy the satisfaction you get from masterfully plucking an item from the dish and popping it in your mouth.

In her Chinese food memoir Fuschia Dunlop explains how the preparation of Chinese food and the use of chopsticks go hand in hand: “Chopsticks, used in China for two, maybe even three thousand years, make their own demands. Knives are almost never seen on the Chinese dinner table, so food must be tender enough to be torn gently apart with chopsticks, or otherwise cut into bite-sized pieces. At grand feasts, you may find whole ducks, chickens or pork knuckles, braised so lovingly that they melt away at the touch of a chopstick, but for everyday meals, almost everything is finely sliced or slivered.”

During one meal in China, a fellow student asked Wentao, our Chinese mom, if he was good at using chopsticks. Obviously expecting a different answer, he looked a little crushed when Wentao replied, “Hmm, not really. Your form is not very good.” Then she proceeded to analyze everyone’s use of chopsticks around the table, offering brutally honest criticism. But when she got to me she said, “Now Maya, you have good form.” Sweet. It was definitely a proud moment for me.

So what constitutes good form with chopsticks? Well, one aspect is the location on the chopsticks where you place your hands. Wentao informed us that only children and foreigners hold their chopsticks close to the pointy end of the chopsticks where you pick up food. As one gets older and more experienced, his or her hands naturally move up the chopsticks, further away from where you grab food.

There are also some basic rules to using chopsticks. For one thing, don’t impale your food with the pointy end of the utensil. Food in China is prepared so that you shouldn’t have to pierce your food, but rather pluck it lovingly from the dish. Sometimes a slippery dumpling can make this difficult, but try to avoid stabbing your food. Another taboo is sticking your chopsticks into a bowl of rice so that they stand straight up in the air. And when you are not using the chopsticks either lay them on the accompanying chopstick stand or on the edge of your plate.

With practice even rice, which many find difficult to eat with chopsticks, becomes easy to eat. Next time you sit down to a Chinese meal, abandon the fork and try out some chopsticks. And if you need pointers, check out these videos on how to properly hold and move chopsticks.

This is China

In the summer of 2006 I studied abroad in China. I was 21 and had never traveled to another country (besides Canada, but that doesn’t really count). My experience in China was filled with ups and downs, chaos and confusion, the thrill of new adventures but also a longing to go home. I kind of wish someone had said, “Hey, you’re going to have a life-changing experience!” And maybe some people did, but either I wasn’t listening or I just wasn’t prepared for the effect that China would have on my life.

Now I didn’t just study abroad in the standard, well-known Chinese cities like Beijing, Shanghai, or Hong Kong. I was in Chengdu. “Where the hell is that?” you may ask. That’s what I said too when I first found out about the program. Chengdu is in Sichuan province, way in the mainland of China. It’s got the same population as New York City and yet many people have never even heard of it before. I felt like I was embarking on a journey into unknown territory. And I was. But when I arrived there was so much I wasn’t prepared for. Even though I’d taken two years of Mandarin Chinese, the Sichuan dialect was so different and muddled I couldn’t understand anything. Traffic was insane. Everywhere I went people pointed and called out to me. Babies defecated on the streets. Nobody knew how to properly stand in a line. And I learned about aspects of recent Chinese history that surprised and scared me.

For a while I felt lost and confused. What was I doing in this strange country? I felt like an alien lao wai (foreigner) amidst the crowds of Chinese locals. But there was one thing besides the friendships I forged that got me through the chaotic experience—food.

When I returned home people asked what the best part of the trip was. The answer was always food. When people asked if I would ever return to China, I responded “Maybe. If just for the food.” 

Truly, I was in the mecca for food lovers. Sichuan province is known for its exquisite cuisine. I might even be able to attribute my development into a full-fledged foodie as having roots in my time in China. It certainly contributed to my unhealthy appreciation for MSG, and I would never love hot and spicy foods as much if I hadn’t lived there for three months and eaten copious amounts of hot chilies and numbing peppers. If I were to go back now I would be much more adventurous, but I still had some amazing food during my initial trip.

This new series on my blog, This is China (TIC for short), will feature tidbits of my food experiences in China. It will range from dining customs to cooking classes, suan nai to fish heads, and 24-hour train rides to street food.

When I think of China, I think of food. And I hope you’ll appreciate some of our upcoming culinary adventures in the savory, salty, and spicy city of Chengdu.

 

I Feel Like a Zombie Soup Dumpling

Sonya, Pat, and I have a list of places we need to eat at before the end of January. Or rather, places they’ve already eaten at but want me to experience. So far we’ve crossed four out of fourteen off our list: ’ino, Thai Market, Beard Papa’s, and, the focus of today’s post, Shanghai Cuisine.

So after a lazy Sunday of White Russians and cream puffs, we headed to Chinatown to check out Shanghai Cuisine. Our mission: Zombies and soup dumplings.

Zombies on the Shanghai Cuisine menu are described as “our version of Don the Beachcomber’s original lethal libation, a real dirty stinker.” This description is absolutely true. The Zombie is basically a combination of rum and fruit juices, and it’s all topped off with a shot of 151. Powerful. We thoroughly enjoyed drinking this classic tiki drink as we indulged in delicious Chinese food.

Sonya tried the Pineapple Paradise, which was a blend of rum, tropical juices, and spices. It came frozen like a smoothie in a cute, little pineapple glass. I knew another Zombie would put me over the top, so when it came time for a second round of cocktails I opted for a Mai Tai. I love Mai Tais with their combination of light and dark rums and fruit juices, and they always remind me of my time spent in Hawaii. I was pleased with Shanghai Cuisine's interpretation of the Mai Tai. It seems they take their cocktails very seriously.

We accomplished part one of the mission with our first sip of zombies, and next up was the soup dumplings. Shanghai Cuisine offers three different types of soup dumplings, so naturally we ordered all three kinds: pork, crabmeat and pork, and shrimp and pork.

Some of you may be wondering what exactly a soup dumpling is. No, it’s not a dumpling in soup. It’s a dumpling that has a meat filling also has soup inside. The dumplings arrive in steamer baskets, and the first thing to do is carefully transfer a dumpling from the steamer to a spoon. It’s key to be careful so that you don’t accidently pierce the dumpling wrapper and lose the precious soup inside.

 

Take a little of the sauce that accompanies the dumplings and pour it on top. Once the dumpling is on the spoon you don’t want to just pop it in your mouth—the soup will probably be too hot and will explode in your mouth and burn you. Not cool. So instead take a little bite out of the side of the dumpling and suck up the soup through the hole. Be prepared for a savory, salty, delicious broth that warms the soul. After quaffing the lovely liquid, it’s time to eat the dumpling. The soup dumplings at Shanghai Cuisine were superb. Everyone needs to experience these little packets of deliciousness at some point in their lives.

Besides the soup dumplings, my other favorite dish we tried that night was jellyfish with shredded turnip in scallion sauce. I never had jellyfish before, but I wanted to try something a little exotic and Sonya was also down to test it out with me. Pat initially refused to taste the jellyfish, but after some liquid courage from the Zombie he took a bite. And I saw him going back for more.

I think for a first experience with jellyfish we opted for the right preparation. It was shredded into thin pieces and mixed in with turnip that was the same size and shape, so it was impossible to discern what was jellyfish and what was turnip. The texture was a mixture of softness from the jellyfish and crunchiness from the turnips. The dish was served chilled and reminded me of eating cold noodles. I loved the scallion sauce—it was nice and salty without being overpowering. I’ll definitely be trying to replicate the sauce at home. All in all, the jellyfish experience was much tamer than I expected and I would order it again in a second. I’m hooked.

We also ordered some pork fried rice. It’s classic comfort food. Shanghai Cuisine makes it just the way I like it—a little greasy, a little crispy, and loaded with lots of roast pork. Yes.

Next up was a seafood bird’s nest. It consisted of a combination of various seafood and vegetables displayed in a pretty “nest” made of fried noodles. Although the basket was nice to look at, it was not pleasant to eat—dry, tough, and bland. Don’t eat it. The seafood mixture was much more appetizing. It came with squid, crabmeat, scallops, shrimp, mushrooms, carrots, baby corn, and peas. Pat also tried what he thought was a water chestnut but turned out to be a fish ball. No, not the balls of a fish, but rather a sort of meatball made out of fish and steamed. The seafood bird’s next was pretty basic Chinese food—it was good but could not compare to the soup dumplings on any level.

My recommendation for Shanghai Cuisine is to stick to their powerful libations and dim sum menu. It’s definitely worth the trip to Chinatown just to try their soup dumplings. If you’re feeling adventurous I’d also suggest trying some of their less typical fare, such as jellyfish, duck tongue, chicken’s feet, or sea cucumber. And don't forget the Zombies!

Tower of Cosmic Reflections

On another day that I spent on my own exploring Portland I hit up the Lan Su Chinese Garden and the Tower of Cosmic Reflections in Chinatown. That's right--a teahouse called the Tower of Cosmic Reflections. How could I resist a place like that?


The garden was beautiful. It was exquisitely authentic and evoked the same feelings of the Chinese gardens I visited in Beijing and Sichuan province when I lived in China for a summer. There were beautiful walkways, bridges, pavilions, and lovely landscaping. A tranquil pond offered a reflection of the impressive yet welcoming architecture, and soft green plants made me forget that I was surrounded by an urban environment. The only difference from China? There were way more white people and barely any Chinese people. So it goes...

The tea house was located right in the garden. I ordered an old growth tea called Banzhang Zhuan Cha, which was served in a ceremonial style.


In addition to the tea I ordered some baozi (steamed buns). I used to grab baozi for breakfast on my way to class at the Southwest University for Nationalities in Chengdu. They are typically a thick steamed bun filled with a meat or vegetable stuffing. I usually opt for the pork filling, but the Tower of Cosmic Reflections only served baozi stuffed with a vegetable and mushroom filling. They also cost about ten times as much as the baozi in China, but that can be expected. They were still very tasty.


The baozi were on the lighter side as far as baozi go, which is what I prefer. Sometimes the bun is so thick that it weighs heavy and makes it so there's not much room for the filling. These ones were more thin and came with a little oil and sesame seeds. The filling was made of shredded and cooked green vegetables with small pieces of mushrooms. The dipping sauce seemed to be composed of soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, and black and white sesame seeds.


A light cucumber salad in rice wine vinegar accompanied the steamed buns and was topped with more sesame seeds. The salad was also topped with little red goji berries. They offered a nice sweetness against the vinegary sauce.


Because the tea was served in a ceremonial style, there was a very specific process that needed to be followed. It began with the server giving a description of the tea. She held it out for me to view and to smell the earthy pieces of brick tea. I could smell the forest, the dirt, the past.

Next the clay pot was filled with hot water and also had water poured over it to purify the vessel and warm it up. Then the water was emptied from the clay pot and the tea was placed inside. Hot water was poured into the pot and the tea was left alone to infuse.


After a few minutes the tea was poured from the pot into another vessel. From that vessel, a small amount of the tea was poured into a tall smelling cup.




The drinking cup was then placed on top of the smelling cup.


Next the drinking and smelling cups were turned upside down (this step was a bit precarious!).


The smelling cup was lifted out of the drinking cup. With every new pour I breathed in the subtle earthy scents that wafted out of the smelling cup.


Now the tea was ready for drinking. It was sipped in small doses out of the delicate drinking cup, each taste a new and refreshing experience.


The various infusions of the tea were rather light in color--a honey brown in the pot and almost golden green in the little drinking cup. The tea was foresty and earthy. It tasted like it was solidly rooted in the earth and yet exhibited the freedom of the sky.

I spent about two hours in the Tower of Cosmic Reflections, sipping my tea and appropriately reflecting on cosmic matters. What brought me to this very moment in time? How did universal occurrences align to bring me right here, right now? It was truly a matter of intuition that brought me to Portland. It started with a dream, turned to a two-second text message--reaching out to see if my communication would be answered. And it was. Then a simple invitation. A flash of realization that, yes, I needed to be there. But even though cosmically the opportunity arose I still needed to take action. Curiosity led to searches for flights, a look at finances, and a desire to fulfill my passion for pursuing new adventures.

And isn't that what it's about? Not just paying attention to signs but then acting on them? I could have let the notion go--float away as a possibility. But instead I turned that possibility into my reality, and the universe was pleased.

I've been filled recently with a sense of calm excitation, an eagerness to pursue various aspects of life but without the sense of rushing. It's like I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing at every moment. The flavors of the tea and the whole ceremonial process of preparing and drinking the tea reminded me of that sense of rightness that has recently permeated my life. The tea was light--it was not looking to overpower and yet it still had a nice intensity. It spoke clearly without shouting.

I stopped to appreciate the scent of each cup before I took the first sip. I allowed the flavors to waft over me, awakening the senses as the traditional tea with deep roots in the past of an ancient country so far away infused my being with its delicateness.

Like many traditional practices, this style of drinking tea promotes mindfulness. Each step in the process was permeated with purpose and simplicity. The action of each step could be pared down to just one verb…

Look.
Smell.
Purify.
Warm.
Pour.
Infuse.
Pour.
Pour.
Pour.
Smell.
Sip.
Taste.

Similar to meditation there was an aspect to focus on at all times. Rather than focusing on breathing or on a mantra as with meditation, here the focus shifted and yet helped the mind to remain present throughout the whole ceremonial process. Each sip woke up the mind again, reminding me to stay present as it interacted with the body, creating sensations through taste and tea and water.

As with so much in Portland, I felt at home in the Tower of Cosmic Reflections. It was easy and comfortable, and all was right with in the world and the universe...

Song of the Week: Shanghai Noodle Factory

Meditations on MSG

Isn’t it about time for MSG (monosodium glutamate) to make a comeback in the culinary world? Although this flavor enhancer has been successfully eradicated in most of American cuisine because of the pervasive myth that MSG can cause adverse reactions and is unhealthy, MSG can truly bring a dish to life. Just ask the Chinese. At any restaurant in China one can order dish after dish of delicious delicacies and sprinkled on top are those delectable little crystals of MSG.

MSG is a flavor enhancer that brings out "umami" in dishes. Umami is considered the fifth flavor that our taste buds can recognize, the other four being sweet, salty, bitter, and sour. Umami means savory—think of the heartiness of meat, mushrooms, or cheese. MSG adds a bit of this savory essence to food and brings more flavor to dishes that lack that hint of umami.

The issues associated with consuming MSG include the immediate effects of headaches, nausea, sweating, and some even argue that it contributes to Alzheimer’s and other long-term diseases. However, there does not seem to be any conclusive evidence for claims of allergies or Alzheimer’s. Blind studies continue to indicate that the so-called allergy to MSG is most likely a placebo effect. Glutamate naturally occurs in many living things, including food we eat, such as tomatoes, mushrooms, and meat, and our bodies are designed to break it down. And although MSG contains sodium, it actually has less sodium per serving than table salt—perhaps a good addition to a low-sodium diet!

MSG is probably nothing to be afraid of and the FDA states that it is safe for human consumption, but the epidemic of fear of MSG continues to thrive in this country. Although most food purchased or cooked in America no longer contains MSG (even though it could contain naturally occurring glutamate), it can be purchased in Asian supermarkets. Look for packages or bottles in the spice section that contain white crystals. Try a taste test yourself by cooking a dish and adding MSG to one dish but not to the other—what do you think? If the Chinese cook nearly every dish with a pinch of this flavor enhancer, then perhaps it’s worth another try. Let go of the preconceptions of MSG and just see how it tastes—you might be surprised.