Candied Buddha's hand citron

The Lunar New Year in Taiwan was when candied kumquats showed up in every single marketplace. 

My favorite candy shops were on Dihua Street, an older shopping area that was nothing but Japanese-era brick buildings and baskets filled to the brim with dried and preserved ingredients. It was, in short, heaven.

I’ve never been able to resist fresh kumquat candy, but the stuff on these shores often are leftovers from the Jurassic period, which is why I created this recipe years ago to satisfy my craving.

Candied tentacles

We’ve had a Buddha’s hand citron in our yard for years, and this winter it finally decided to give us a bumper crop. 

So, of course, I made Buddhacello (vodka + sugar + chopped up citron), as that is always at the top of my list whenever I’ve received bounty from my friends. 

But this year, I decided to make candied Buddha’s hand citron because a) both citron and kumquats are of the same family and b) I didn’t have any kumquats sitting around and c) these citron are so aromatic that I could smell them all the way up on the second floor.

These surpassed my expectations. The coating is slightly crunchy against the perfectly jelled centers. They fill your sinuses with the most exotic of perfumes. They’re easy. Plus, you end up with a syrup that tastes like a cross between butterscotch and lemons.

Bubblebath

Get yourself some Buddha’s hand citron and see what I mean.

Candied Buddha’s hand citron chez Huang

Huángjiā Fóshŏu táng  黃家佛手糖

Chaozhou or Anhui or Fuzhou cuisine, maybe

Makes around 12 ounces | 350 grams, plus about 12 ounces | 350 ml syrup

The fruit:

Something around 1 pound | 500 g Buddha’s hand citron

Water, as needed

Slice between the fingers

The candy:

2 cups | 500 ml water

21 ounces | 600 g yellow rock sugar, or 3 cups | 600 g white (caster) sugar

1 tablespoon light corn syrup

½ teaspoon sea salt

½ cup | 100 g sugar, for sanding the candy

1. Place the citron in a bowl of warm, soapy water to soak for a few minutes, and then lightly scrub it with a soft brush. Use a paring knife to remove the stem, and then slice it along the base toward the tentacles, so that you end up with longish strips. Be sure and wash out any grime hidden in the folds. Rinse the citron and pat dry. Don’t worry if you have lots of pith, as this candies up beautifully. Cut the strips into 1-inch | 2 cm batons that are more or less the same thickness, about ½ inch | 1 cm.

Prepped & ready

2. Place the citron in a 2-quart | 2-liter saucepan and cover with water by a couple of inches or centimeters. Bring the pan to a boil and then lower the heat to maintain a steady simmer. Cook the citron for about 45 minutes, topping the pan off with more boiling water as necessary, until the citron is translucent. Drain the citron.

2. In the same pan, bring the 2 cups | 500 ml water, rock or white sugar, corn syrup, and salt to a boil, cover, and then simmer over low heat until the sugar is dissolved. Add the citron to this syrup and bring the pan again to a steady simmer. Cook the citron for about 25 to 30 minutes, until the syrup reaches around 230ºF | 110 ºC on a candy thermometer. (Be sure and use this larger pan, as the syrup will froth up about halfway through the cooking time, and you don’t want this to boil over.) The citron will look like lustrous amber at this point. Let it soak in the syrup until this comes to room temperature.

Pure amber deliciousness

3. Strain out the citron and let it continue to drain, but reserve and refrigerate all of the syrup for something else. It is incredibly delicious, so don’t waste a drop. When the citron is dry, toss it in the ½ cup | 100 g sanding sugar, and then set the citron on a cake rack over a pan to dry overnight. Layer the candied citron with the leftover sanding sugar in an airtight container. You can use this like any other citron, or serve it as a New Year candy with hot tea.

Tip

The syrup will most likely crystallize as it cools, so just heat it up before you use it.

Totally homey, totally amazing

The homey dishes of China – those things that people make day after day when they want to treat their families very well – really define comfort food to me. No one could (or should) eat high on the hog very often, and it’s always nice to sit down to something that offers simple pleasures.

One such dish is this. There really is not all that much to it, and it certainly does not demand much in terms of time or money, but I always look forward to diving into a hot bowl of Honeycomb Bean Curd Soup just the same.

First, I get my hands on some good bean curd. If you have a shop in the area that offers the really fresh, homemade stuff, go buy that. Otherwise, search out an organic brand. Trader Joe’s, surprisingly enough, has some great bean curd I’m always happy to eat right out of the box, it’s that good. Don’t get extra firm or soft doufu (i.e., tofu) here, as the texture just won’t work.

Surprisingly amazing

I tend to think about making this whenever I have some stock simmering away on the stove. We had a roast chicken the other day, so all the bones and skin were tossed into the pot with a bit of ginger and rice wine. You can use mushroom stock if you want to go meatless, or even plain water for a super down-to-earth meal. Not too many rules apply here, so use what you have.

One thing I would insist on are dried black mushrooms for flavor and texture and color, as well as that ginger and rice wine. I mean you can go all Spartan here, but really, what’s the point. Even the simplest meal should be a reason for celebration.

This is called “honeycomb” because the bean curd is simmered in a couple of changes of water, which rinses out any chemicals in there (like the coagulants - plaster or salt water), leaving behind only the soy proteins. The doufu changes its character quite a bit in the process, with bigger and bigger holes running through it as the bean curd tightens up. This turns the white squares into perfect sponges for all of those vibrant flavors – mushrooms, ginger, and rice wine – which is another reason why they are so important here.

Don’t confuse this, though, with frozen bean curd, as that is quite resilient in texture, very chewy, and so able to withstand being boiled and swished around in a hotpot. This, rather, is more meaty and subtle.

The honeycomb forming

In fact, the texture here is utterly amazing: the bean curd "blooms" when it simmers this long, giving it an otherworldly mouthfeel and ridding it of any extraneous flavors. What's left is really rapturous - in fact, if you are an adventurous eater, you will immediately be reminded of lambs' brains. (If you're a vegan, sorry about that.) But when you are a meatless diner, you are always on the lookout for some new twist you can make on doufu or gluten because you need to have more than a tad of protein in your diet. So, study this clever way of making something new out of the same-old same-old.

As the days turn cool, this is the sort of thing that ought to start gracing your table with delicious regularity.

Honeycomb bean curd soup

Fēngcháo dòufŭ  蜂巢豆腐

Anhui

Serves 4 to 6

Fresh regular bean curd

4 large dried black mushrooms

Water, as needed

Around 1 pound / 450 g regular bean curd, preferably organic and non-GMO

1 quart / 1 liter chicken or mushroom stock, or water

¼ cup / 60 ml Shaoxing rice wine

¼ cup / 15 g thinly sliced fresh ginger

2 green onions, whites only, kept whole

Mushroom powder or sea salt, to taste

Freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup / 40 g frozen baby peas (or baby fava beans or thinly shredded snow peas)

1 green onion, greens only, sliced thinly on the diagonal

1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

1. Start this the night before you want to serve it by rinsing the mushrooms, placing them in a bowl, and covering them by at least an inch with cool water. Let them plump up overnight. The next morning, strain the liquid into a 2-quart / 2-liter saucepan; rinse the mushrooms, remove the stems, and cut the caps on the diagonal into thin slices before adding them to the soaking liquid.

Simmer the bean curd three times

2. Drain the bean curd and cut it crosswise into ½ inch / 1 cm slices. (Or, you can cut it into as many pieces as there are diners so it's easy to serve - just don't make these less than ½ inch / 1 cm thick.) Place these in a second saucepan, cover with water, and bring the pan to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat to a simmer and cook the bean curd for around 15 minutes. Drain the bean curd, cover it again with water, and simmer it again for 15 minutes. Repeat this for a total of three times. Drain the bean curd carefully using a lid, since it becomes more and more tender as it cooks, and then gently transfer it to the saucepan with the mushrooms. You will see the holes in the bean curd increasing and enlarging as it cooks.

Honeycomb writ large

3. Add the stock or water to the saucepan with the rice wine, ginger, and whites of the green onions. Bring the liquid to a boil over high heat and add mushroom powder or salt to taste, as well as a couple grinds of black pepper. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pan, and simmer the bean curd over low heat for 20 to 30 minutes, or until the slices are speckled with even more pretty holes. Remove and discard the ginger and green onions. The soup can be prepared ahead of time up to this point and then reheated just before serving.

4. Add the peas and bring the stock to a boil again. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Pour the soup into a serving bowl or individual bowls, sprinkle on the green onions and sesame oil, and serve.  

One-upping the sugar doughnut

Continuing the theme of my obsessive interest in having a great breakfast whenever possible, today’s recipe for a morning bread comes from the unappreciated culinary goldmine of Anhui, which is located upriver (the Yangtze, that is) from Shanghai. Many of Shanghai’s delicious pastries came from the Huangshan area of southern Anhui, including such glorious creations as crabshell pastries, which have no seafood, just a savory mixture of meat and green onions stuffed inside the baked puff pastry.

Those of you who love Chinese food have probably enjoyed different versions of the scallion breads that have made their way into just about every restaurant nowadays. Crispy, with good-sized bits of green onion knocking around in the dough, these are terrific with soups and casseroles and just about anything else that could do with a little crunchy contrast.

Specialty of Tianchang

Anhui goes scallion bread one better and makes it like a sugar doughnut was tossed in the mix. The result is heavenly. In fact, the Chinese name for these is literally "the sweet dew pastries of Tianchang." With that dusting of sugar setting off the savory green onions and super-flaky bread, this is the ideal item to put on the table for breakfast, particularly if you have some hot soybean milk or even a nice latte on hand. 

But these breads are also different in that instead of the usual simple layer of fat rolled into the dough to form those many layers, this bread relies on the powdery mixture of flour and fat that the Chinese call yóusū 油酥, which is also used as a filling for many of East China's most delicious and popular pastries.

The idea of sugar and green onions may seem like an odd combination to you, but be assured that this happens a lot around the lower reaches of the Yangtze River for no better reason than it is downright good.  Anhui's sister to the east, Jiangsu, offers a huge array of pastries in its traditional teahouses, and this marriage of sweet and savory is a lasting one.

Cut the fat into the flour

It should therefore come as no surprise that this version hails from the town of Tianchang on Anhui's southeastern flank, in the little finger of land that is poking felicitously into the neighboring province of Jiangsu. And this isn't just anywhere in Jiangsu; Tianchang is just up the highway from Jiangsu's culinary capital of Yangzhou, home of some of the best cooking in the world.

I have specified white Chinese flour in this recipe because it has less gluten than American flour; Korean flour is particularly excellent and of high quality, and it is what I usually use. (See the October 3, 2010, post on hand-pulled noodles for more discussion and recommendations.)

Feel free to leave out the sugar if you want to serve this with dinner or lunch; it is good either way. Count on one bread per person as part of a meal, or two breads per person if serving this as the main offering at breakfast.

Sprinkle on the filling

Tianchang's sugared fried bread 
Tiāncháng gānlù bǐng  天長甘露餅
Anhui

Makes 4 breads

Dough:

¾ cup Chinese flour, or ½ cup all-purpose plus ¼ cup pastry flour
1 tablespoon unsalted butter or lard, cut into small pieces
4 tablespoons cool water

Flour for rolling out the dough

Filling:

¼ cup flour
1½ tablespoons cold unsalted butter or cold rendered chicken fat, cut into small pieces
½ teaspoon sea salt
1 green onion, trimmed and finely chopped

Finishing touches:

Vegetable or peanut oil for frying
3 tablespoons sugar

Roll over the edges

1. Make the dough first since it will have to rest a bit before you form the breads: mix the flour, fat, and water together in a medium work bowl to form a dough. Knead the dough until smooth and let it rest for 15 to 20 minutes to relax the gluten.

2. Next, make the filling: cut the fat into the flour using either a pastry knife and a small work bowl or a small processor. When the mixture looks like wet sand, toss in the salt and green onion, and mix these together well.

3. Roll the rested dough into a foot-long stick, and then divide it into 4 equal pieces. Dust your work surface with flour as needed and use a small rolling pin to roll out each piece into a rectangle about 3 inches by 6 inches in size. Sprinkle a quarter of the filling down the length of the dough, leaving all of the edges clear. Roll the dough over lengthwise and pinch the edges together to seal the filling inside the dough. Roll the dough edge over the filling again and then coil up the dough into a snail. Set the snail aside to rest while you roll out and fill the rest of the dough the same way.

Go almost to the edge

4. Lightly sprinkle your work surface with flour and dust the snail a bit, as well. Gently squash the snail and then roll out the snail to a 6-inch circle. (The best way to do this without making the filling burst out of the dough is to roll the pin out almost to the edge of the snail, turn the snail, and then roll it out again almost to the edge; if you don't roll over the edge itself, the filling has less incentive to pop out.)  The breads can be frozen in a single layer on waxed or parchment paper at this point, packed in freezer bags, and stored for weeks in the freezer; there is no need to defrost them before frying.

5. Have tongs and a plate covered with a paper towel ready at the side of the stove, and heat up the oven to 225°F.

6. Heat a few tablespoons in a flat frying pan over medium-high heat until the oil is sizzling hot. Gently lower one of the breads into the oil, and fry it until it is golden on one side, then flip it over and fry the other side, too. 

7. Drain the bread on the paper towel and toss it in the heated oven it to keep it warm.

Ready for breakfast

8. When all of the breads have been fried, cut them into quarters, arrange them on a serving platter, and sand them with the sugar. Eat them while they are hot, and don't count on any leftovers.

Tips

Cover the frying pan with a lid when frying both sides of the bread, and carefully regulate the heat so that the bread fries quickly but doesn't burn. Covering the pan allows the filling between the many layers of dough to steam and thus separate the dough into thin layers, which then cook rapidly, too.

As always, use the lower gluten Asian wheat flours for Chinese pastries since you will end up with a tender crumb that way.

Cheesy chicken from Anhui

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.


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.)

Daxi style doufuru

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 is now a homemade one that uses Fujian's red wine lees.

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  
Furu ji 腐乳雞  
Anhui
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 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.