Taipei can be daunting. Back when we lived there, part of me would
dread the heavy layer of gray clouds that draped themselves over the city basin
from early November to at least early April, with only the occasional downpour
to alleviate the monotonous weather.
Comfort could always be found in the local food, though, which is
why the other part of me could hardly wait until winter came.
The street vendors in particular would do a brisk business during those long months selling piping hot treats to commuters and shoppers, who would buy these goodies as much to warm their hands as to fill their mouths.
One of my go-to guys when I was even more frozen than usual was the old Shanxi gentleman who would roll a heavy concrete barrel down the street that was configured to make a constant clacking sound as he pushed it around.
The barrel was shaped sort of like a traditional tandoori oven,
and it served much the same purpose: it was a portable little kiln. Hot
charcoal covered the bottom and vibrantly orange sweet potatoes were hung by
hooks around the rim; they would slowly bake into a tender lusciousness as
their bottoms roasted over the slow fire and the skins turned a crispy
black.
Techniques like this show better than any history book how the Silk Road both changed China's cooking and pollinated local cuisines with concepts from both South and Central Asia. In fact, if you do happen to look at a map, you can see how the northern province of Shanxi has Inner Mongolia above it and Beijing a short distance to the east, with the thousands of miles of the Silk Road spreading out westward toward Central Asia.
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| Smells like candy |
Lucky for us, Shanxi had made its way to Taipei via its roasted
sweet potatoes. We would buy a couple of these gems, which the sweet potato man
would wrap in newspaper before dropping them into a plastic bag. The newspaper
was a godsend, because it acted as both a cushion against the fierce heat that
the potatoes would radiate for at least a few minutes, and also as a sponge for
any juices that dribbled out.
Yes, these were juicy potatoes, two words that you probably never
thought you would see in the same sentence.
When cooked properly, the potatoes will ooze with juices that will
first caramelize and then burn, making the house smell like cotton candy. It doesn't
really matter whether you take them out covered with their natural caramel or
allow the juices to turn black; it's all a matter of personal taste. If you
remove them while the caramel is still brown, it will form sugary strings just
like real caramel, and that is a treat in and of itself. But if you wait for a
bit longer, the caramel may turn black, but the potatoes become even juicier.
Can't decide? Eat half at the caramel stage and half at the black... the best
of both worlds!
Once we had made our purchase, we would make a beeline for Star Cafe, a beat-up lounge in downtown Taipei
where writers liked to hang out, eat Russian pastries, and argue over cups of
coffee. It's been said that the First Lady at that time, Chiang Ching-kuo's
Belarusian-born wife Faina (Chiang Fang-liang), had a standing weekly order at
the place. Star Cafe was decidedly bohemian and was hardly the kind of cafe
where Madame Chiang could ever personally set foot, so the pastries were always
delivered to the First Lady's residence, while folks like us would go there to
catch up on gossip and watch the likes of a certain local poet and infamous roué trying
to sneak one of his bare feet under the bottom of a young female admirer.
After shouting out an order for coffee, we would tear into these
potatoes just about as soon as we sat down, since the aroma would be
practically killing us by then, and we would wallow in the orangey pillows that
burst out of the potato skins. This simply is great snack, and so it is one of
the many things I had to reproduce once we had left Taipei.
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| Caramelized juices |
The good news is that these are astoundingly easy to make at home.
Only one ingredient and one baking pan are needed. That's it. I use my toaster
oven since it makes this dish even more cheap and economical, but a regular
oven will do, especially if you are planning to cook more than your toaster
oven will hold. Be sure to get the red type of sweet potato (sometimes called a
yam, but I'm not going to get into that argument), preferably the Garnet
variety, which is especially sweet and moist. Store your sweet potatoes in a
very cool, dry place with absolutely no moisture around them, which is why you
should remove them from any plastic bags or wrapping when you get home,
as otherwise they will sweat and get moldy.
Eat these roasted potatoes hot as soon as they come out of the
oven with an equally hot beverage like tea or even a bowl of sweet fermented rice soup, or serve them
along with a roasted bird. I feel a bit silly giving a recipe for this, since
it is so straightforward, but here you go.
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| The skin is yummy, too |
Roasted sweet potatoes
Kǎo hóngshǔ 烤紅薯
Shanxi
Makes as many as you want
Red sweet potatoes, preferably on the thin side and of the same
size so that they cook evenly
1. Heat your oven to 375 degrees F. Scrub the sweet potatoes well
(since you'll probably end up at least nibbling on the skin). Cover a baking
sheet with foil for easy cleanup if you want. Trim off any soft or bruised
areas, but you don't need to prick or oil the skin.
2. Place the potatoes on the baking sheet in a single layer with a
bit of space between them. Bake for 60 to 90 minutes (depending upon your oven
and the size of the potatoes), until the potatoes are squishy soft and either
have caramel oozing around them or the caramel has burned to a crisp. Serve as
hot as possible with no adornment necessary.
