A Buddhist dish that's soft and sexy

Photo courtesy of Chowhound

The Atlanta Journal-Constitution published an amazingly erudite review of both All Under Heaven and The Dim Sum Field Guide last month, and my deepest gratitude goes out to the author, JBF winner Wendell Brock. 

He writes things that make me blush and also feel incredibly proud, like, "With All Under Heaven, Carolyn Phillips delivers a remarkable love letter to the infinite variety of Chinese cooking." And then he goes on to say about the Field Guide, "It is as erudite as it is darling." Such lovely words sure do my heart (and ego) good. Thanks, Wendell!

Photo courtesy of Drawn & Quarterly

Canada seems to be liking AUH too, as evidenced by this remarkable bit of news: It made the top five best-selling cookbooks in Quebec! Yay, and thanks to the Drawn & Quarterly Bookstore in Montreal for the shout out and high honors. (And what a great name for a cookbook store...)

Finally, Chowhound has given its considerable blessing to AUH by including it on its "Cookbook Gift Guide for the Holidays." Thank you, Chowhound! This is what the folks there had to say: "Wrap your head around all the varieties of Chinese food in this comprehensive, contemporary portrait of a country's culinary geography and the history that has shaped it." And not only did these fine folks somehow prop me up near the top of that list, but I also find myself surrounded by some of my favorite authors. A terrific honor, and I am both moved and grateful. 

Now, on to more food...

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Simplicity doesn’t have to mean boring, at least when it comes to vegan dishes like this. In fact, this dish is not only simple to make, but also fast and delicious.

The main ingredient in this traditional Buddhist dish from the Yangtze area is soy skin (aka yuba in Japanese), which forms on soymilk when it is being simmered, sort of like the stuff that collects at the top of your cocoa when your great-aunt makes it. In other words, this is simply a thin layer of protein.

But unlike that chewy layer of milk – something that has never charmed me much, to tell you the truth – soy skin is terrific. It has a wonderful texture that changes depending up whether it was dried or bought fresh, and also alters even further if it is, say, deep-fried, braised, or steamed. Dim sum restaurants often wrap julienned vegetables in these soy sheets before either steaming or frying them.

The easy ingredients

If you are a meatless sort of person, soy skin is one ingredient you should get to know up close on a personal basis. It has a bit of a chameleon character due to its different guises. Vegetarian ham or chicken, for example, is made out of gently stewed soy skins that are wrapped up into tight balls and then steamed to set their shape. One of my favorite versions even smokes these grapefruit-sized spheres, and that gives them even more of a meaty texture and flavor.

Today, though, we are going to be looking at a recipe that really is effortless. You can make it with either fresh or dried soy skins. I happened to have a package of fresh ones in the fridge, so that’s what I went with, but honestly, the dried ones are good, too. They have more of a leathery character in this dish, and that is not bad at all, since vegan dishes often can use a bit more texture.

The other main component here are fresh soybeans, what the Chinese call máodòu 毛豆 and the Japanese refer to as edamame. They are available in most supermarket freezers nowadays – and are almost impossible to find fresh – so go the easy route here and have a bag of these shelled beans ready to go in your own freezer.

Rinse off the packaged water

I like to cook this delicious dish in a light braise that is packed with flavor. To do that, I first fry fresh ginger and green onions in some oil, and then add a good wallop of Shaoxing rice wine, soy sauce, and sugar. That’s pretty much it. Who says dinner has to be stressful? Serve over some rice with maybe a bit of greens on the side, and your work is done.

Red-braised soy skins

Hóngshāo fŭpí 紅燒腐皮

Jiangsu

Serves 2 as a main dish, 4 as a side

3 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil

5 slices ginger

Braise the soy skins

2 green onions, trimmed and cut into 1-inch / 2-cm lengths

5 ounces / 140 g fresh soy skins, or one large dried soy skin sheet

Warm water, as needed

6 tablespoons / 90 cc Shaoxing rice wine

¾ cup / 180 cc water

2 tablespoons / 30 cc regular soy sauce

Rock sugar about the size of a cherry, or agave syrup or white sugar to taste

¼ cup / 1½ ounces / 40 g shelled green soybeans (frozen is your best bet)

1. Set a wok over medium heat and then add the oil. Sprinkle in the ginger and green onions, and fry them until they are browned. You can remove them for more formal dinners, but for family meals feel free to leave them in.

2. While the ginger and onions are browning, work on preparing the soy skins. Fresh ones should be rinsed in warm water to remove any off flavors – I usually do this in a colander set in the sink. A dried sheet should be soaked in warm water until it is soft, then drained and rinsed. Tear the skin into pieces about the size of your hand and then drain.

Perfectly delicious

3. Add the rice wine, water, soy sauce, and sugar to the wok. Bring this to a boil and add the soy skins. When this comes to a boil once again, lower the heat to maintain a bare simmer, cover the wok, and then stir the skins occasionally to ensure that they cook evenly. After about 40 minutes, most of the liquid should be gone. Taste and adjust the seasoning, then toss in the soybeans. Cover the pan and cook for another 5 minutes or so to simply heat them through, as the frozen beans have already been blanched. Remove the cover, raise the heat (if necessary) to boil down any extra sauce, and then serve immediately.

A healthy spin on a winter classic

Around four years ago, I offered a traditional recipe for this iconic January dish. It’s named after the twelfth and last solar month in the Chinese year – Làyuè 臘月 – which always lands during the coldest season. And the Chinese are ready for such an occasion, as usual, this time with a hot bowl of soothing, slightly sweet congee.

The ingredients

I adore the the old-fashioned way with rice and lots of dried nuts and fruits and beans, but I also have a bit of a reputation for playing with my food. Steel cut oats are one of my go-to breakfast ingredients, and so it did not take much of a leap of imagination for me to push them into assuming the starring role in this nutritious porridge. As it so happens, the results are both very tasty and especially good for you.

Yesterday (January 17) was officially Laba Day, or the eighth day of the Twelfth Month. It is also celebrated as Buddha’s Enlightenment Day, which is why some people call this dish “Buddha Congee,” or Fó zhōu 佛粥. Old Chinese writings tell us that this congee actually originated in, of all places, India. One of the earliest sources for this comes from around 1,000 years ago in the appropriately titled Tang dynasty “Laba Congee Poem” by Li Fu, which says, “Congee of the eighth day of the Twelfth Month came from the kingdom of Brahmans,” and that in this dish “seven treasures” were combined with the rice.

A more specific description was provided by the literary sketchbook Dongjiu menghualu, that noted, “In the twelfth month, all of the great temples hold Buddha washing ceremonies, and they also provide a porridge of seven treasures and five flavors to their followers, calling it ‘Twelfth Month congee.’”

Dates, longans, & wolfberries

Whatever you want to call it, this makes for an incomparable winter breakfast. Do aim for contrasts in here, as differences in flavor, texture, color, and size help to make this bowl of comfort food really interesting. For example, I like to use multicolored quinoa, which provides lots of round, brown specks in the congee against the smooth beige oatmeal. Or, if I am using millet or white quinoa, I'd try to toss in some toasted black sesame seeds to give the eyes something to do. The apples are great because they are slightly tart and juicy, but other fruits could be subbed in easily: fresh pears or dried apricots, say. 

Use whatever you have and whatever you really like. You'll soon have an excellent reason to look forward to cold weather.

Congee updated

Healthy Twelfth Month congee

Jiànkāng lābāzhōu  健康臘八粥

All over China

Serves 4 for breakfast or a late night snack

½ cup steel cut oats

Water, as needed

¼ cup coarsely chopped walnuts

Boiling water, as needed

2 tablespoons quinoa or millet, rinsed and drained

8 large or 12 small Chinese red dates (pit them first if you are going to feed this to children and such)

16 dried longans

2 tablespoons wolfberries (gouqi or goji berries)

A dash of sea salt
2 tablespoons unsweetened shredded coconut (wide strips best)

1 small apple, cored and finely chopped

1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds

Grated zest of 1 orange

2 packed tablespoons brown sugar, or honey to taste

Steel cut oats instead of rice this time

1. Start this the night before by placing the oats in a large (2 quart) pan and covering them by at least 2 inches with cool water, as this will make the oats much creamier. At the same time, to get rid of the bitterness in the walnut skins, place the walnuts in a heatproof bowl and cover them by an inch with boiling water.

2. The next morning, drain and rinse the walnuts. Bring the oats and their soaking water to a full boil and add the walnuts, quinoa or millet, dates, longans, wolfberries, and salt. Lower the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and stir the oats every 5 minutes or so. Add more boiling water as needed to keep the mixture nice and loose, as it will thicken up considerably once it starts to cool down. After about 20 minutes of cooking, the oats should be creamy and yet still have a little bit of a chewy texture, which is what you want.

Apples, sesame, coconut, & zest

3. Turn off the heat, add the coconut, apples, sesame seeds, and orange zest before covering the pan. Let it sit undisturbed for around 10 minutes to allow the residual heat to gently cook the apples. Stir the congee, and if you want the texture a bit looser, pour in more boiling water. Add the brown sugar or honey and serve this hot. You can offer milk or cream on the side, which is not at all traditional, but I won’t tell.

Tip

Substitute anything else you’d like in there, like slivered almonds, raisins, dried cranberries, prunes, dried apricots, soaked barley, a bit of finely chopped candied ginger, and diced pears or bananas, to name just a few candidates.

Dining in Jiangsu on what tastes like meat, only better

Vegetarian — and even vegan — food in China can be extraordinarily sensual. There is not a scrap of meat in this dish, for example, and yet the flavors are so rich and the textures so varied that you could almost swear pork was hiding in there somewhere.

Two secrets make this divine: a silky sauce that hits every note between sweet and savory, and the use of gluten puffs to complement the meaty texture of the mushrooms. Gluten puffs are rarely used outside of China’s Yangtze Valley cuisines. Taiwan is sole exception that I can think of, as there these puffs are braised with peanuts in a sweetish sauce that goes great with congee. My guess that they were probably introduced by Mainlanders during the great immigration of 1949.

Fresh outta the package

No matter where they are made, though, gluten puffs are worth knowing. They are sold as solid balls in plastic bags, but their looks are deceiving, for they resemble some sort of fried dough balloons. They crush easily, so transport them carefully from the store to your home. Keep them refrigerated, and they will stay fresh for at least a couple of weeks. 

When you prepare them, the most important thing to remember is that they must be soaked in boiling water. This softens them and so keeps them from crumbling into bits. The bath also gets rid of the oily residue on their surface, which can taste a bit stale. Once they’ve turned into floppy rags, cut them in half and toss them into a braise that contains some sugar, as is this what sets off their flavor. Satiny in texture, they will soak up the seasonings beautifully. Do note that even though I keep on adding more and more puffs to this recipe, there never seems to be enough once I start to eat. They deflate in the sauce, but they also take on a gentle chewiness that is indescribably wonderful.

Soaked puffs 'n mushrooms

Don’t forget the bok choy, either. It provides just the right amount of fresh sweetness and visual contrast to this beautiful Buddhist dish. (If you are aiming for a strict vegetarian dish, leave out aromatics and wine, of course.)

Braised mushrooms and gluten puffs

Xiānggū shāo miànjīn  香菇燒麵筋

Jiangsu and Buddhist vegetarian

Serves 4

8 dried black mushrooms

Cool and/or boiling water, as needed

15 to 20 gluten puffs

2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil

2 teaspoons finely chopped ginger, optional

Whites of 1 green onion, chopped, optional

1 tablespoon regular soy sauce

Lovely brown balloons

1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine or water

1 teaspoon (or so) rock sugar

8 ounces baby bok choy

Greens of 1 green onion, chopped, optional

1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

1. If you have the time, soak the mushrooms overnight in cool water. Otherwise, place the mushrooms in a heatproof work bowl and cover them with boiling water by at least 2 inches, as they will expand. When they have become soft and pliable, cut off the stems (reserve them for stock) and cut the caps in halves or quarters. Strain and reserve the soaking liquid.

2. Put the gluten puffs in a heatproof work bowl and pour boiling water over them. After a few minutes, use chopsticks to toss the puffs around in the water so that their shells soften. Pour off the water, rinse the gluten puffs with tap water, gently squeeze them dry, and cut each one in half.

3. Place a wok over high heat, and then swirl in the oil. Add the optional ginger and onion whites, and fry these until they start to turn golden. Toss the mushrooms with this for a minute or so, and then pour in their soaking liquid. Add the soy sauce, rice wine or water, and sugar, and then sprinkle the gluten puffs on top. Bring the liquid to a boil and then lower the heat to a bare simmer, adding boiling water only if absolutely necessary. Slowly cook the mushrooms and gluten for 20 to 30 minutes, or until most of the liquid has been reduced. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

A nest is best

4. While the mushrooms are cooking, cut each bok choy in half or quarters, as needed. Rinse them well, paying special attention to the bases of the leaves where dirt collects. Shake them as dry in a colander. The recipe can be prepared ahead of time up to this point. Just before serving, heat the mushroom mixture until it boils.

5. Add the bok choy to the wok, cover, and bring the liquid to a boil. After a minute, remove the cover, shake the wok around a bit, sprinkle on the optional green onions and sesame oil, and then plate the dish. It is prettiest when the greens are arranged into a nest, with the mushrooms and gluten piled in the center.

No birds were harmed in these braised sparrows

About a block from the Taiwan Provincial Museum in downtown Taipei was a Buddhist restaurant where we often dropped in for a snack. 

Not that we were particularly welcome. In fact, we were generally met with either a roll of the eyes or a scowl because we always ordered the same thing: vegetarian sparrows and some steamed buns stuffed with things like blanched green cabbage, sesame seeds, and xuelihong. Nothing else on their extensive menu could ever tempt us because we never made it to the menu. 

We only went to that restaurant when we had a serious jones for these two dishes. And we always left happy, sated, and only a few dollars poorer, much to the dismay of the owner.

Vegetarian sparrows are fat little parcels of lightly seasoned vegetables and bean curd that are wrapped in bean curd sheets, fried, and then quickly braised in a delicate sauce. They get their name from the little “wings” that the wrappers form when they’re tied into knots, but the wings become velvety, soft sheets once they are braised, so you don’t see the sparrows unless you’re doing the cooking.

Worth the wrath

Chinese Buddhist who eat su 素, or Buddhist vegetarian cuisine, not only do away with all meat, poultry, eggs, and seafood, but also never use alcohol, garlic, onions, chives, chili peppers, garlic, or anything else that could be considered “addictive” or draw attention away from the pure nature of the food that is being prepared. I don’t think that I could ever go that route. But, in the spirit of authenticity, I have noted here that all those addictive seasonings can be optional.

One thing I now almost invariably do is fry these sparrows, which is completely nontraditional but extremely good. You see, what happens is that I let the sparrows sit overnight in their sauce, which further seasons their innards. Then, I pan-fry them in a bit of oil the next day, which not only warms them up just right, but turns their skins delectably crunchy. The contrast between the thin skins shattering into your mouth is perfect against the pillowy filling, which also has all sorts of interesting textures going on. 

Not being a Buddhist, I have come to love these slathered with any one of my chili concoctions. as you can see in the lower left corner of the second photo next to the rice. It makes me feel like a comfortable cross between saint and sinner.

   

These are cheap, easy, nutritious, healthy, and delicious, either with some steamed buns or lots of steamed rice to soak up all the tasty sauce. 

It’s no wonder that we tempted the wrath of that restaurant. It was always worth it.

Eggs are optional

Braised (and fried) vegetarian sparrows

Shāo sùhuángquè  燒素黃雀

Jiangsu

Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal

4 black mushrooms, fresh or dried and soaked

Salted water for blanching

4 heads of baby bok choy (about 3 inches in length)

1 carrot, peeled and cut into a small dice

1 tablespoon peanut oil

3 eggs, beaten, optional

1 square firm bean curd

¼ cup shelled green soybeans, rinsed in warm water and drained

1 green onion, cut into small slices, optional

1 tablespoon light soy sauce

1 teaspoon sesame oil

½ teaspoon sugar

8 soy sheets, fresh or dried

1 cup peanut oil, or as needed

1½ cups unsalted mushroom stock or mushroom soaking liquid or filtered water

1 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine, optional

3 tablespoons light soy sauce

5 thin slices ginger, optional

2 teaspoons sugar

Toasted sesame oil

Shredded green onion or chopped cilantro for garnish, optional

For frying:
Fresh peanut or vegetable oil, as needed
Light soy sauce to taste

1. If you’re using dried mushrooms, cover them with boiling water, cover, and let them plump up while you’re preparing the rest of the ingredients.

See the birdie?

2. Bring a medium-sized pot of salted water to a boil while you cut off and discard the stems of either the fresh or plumped-up mushrooms, and then cut the caps into a small dice, toss into a large bowl, and set aside. Split the baby bok choy into quarters lengthwise, rinse them carefully to remove any grit, shake dry, and cut into a small dice. Toss the chopped bok choy into the water and let it blanch for no more than 20 seconds, or until it turns a brilliant green. Scoop them out of the water, run some cold water over the bok choy to stop the cooking, let it drain, and then squeeze any excess water out; add to the mushrooms. Toss the diced carrots into the boiling water and let them blanch for about a minute, and then rinse them under cold water, drain, and add them to the mushrooms, too.

3. If you want to use the eggs, heat the peanut oil in a wok until it starts to shimmer, and then add the eggs and stir-fry them until they are cooked through. Cut them up into small pieces with your spatula and then add them to the mushrooms. Remove any hard edges from the block of bean curd, and then cut it up into a fine paste before adding it to the mushrooms along with the drained, defrosted soybeans. Add the optional chopped green onion, 1 tablespoon soy sauce, sesame oil, and ½ teaspoon sugar to the bowl and toss the ingredients well to mix. Divide the filling into 16 portions (no need to be really exact here).

4. If you are using dried soybean skins, remove them one at a time, rinse them under warm water, gently shake dry, and cut in half. If you are using fresh skins, just remove one sheet at a time and cut it in half. (Keep all the other skins well covered so that they don’t dry and crack.) Lay the halved sheets on a flat surface and place a portion of the filling in the center of each, and then roll the skins up lengthwise like a cigar; tie the ends of each cigar like a loose knot. Cover the filled skins with a barely moist tea towel while you prepare the rest. This will make 16 knots.

5. Heat about 4 tablespoons oil in a wok until it shimmers, and then add the knots a few at a time so that they all are in the hot oil and aren’t crowding each other. Fry them on all sides until they are golden and remove to a plate as they get done. Repeat with the rest of the knots until all have been fried, adding more oil as necessary. (This dish can be made ahead of time up to this point and refrigerated.)

Filling on the soy skin

6. Drain the oil out of the wok and lightly wipe it with a paper towel. Pour the stock, rice wine, 2 tablespoons soy sauce, optional ginger, and sugar into the wok and bring the sauce to a boil. Add the fried knots, toss them gently, and let them cook for about 10 to 15 minutes, gently tossing them about halfway through so that all get bathed in the sauce. When most of the sauce has been absorbed, sprinkle on a bit of sesame oil, remove them to a serving platter, and sprinkle with the optional green onion or cilantro. Serve hot or even just slightly warm.

7. If you want to go the frying route (and you really, really should), chill the sparrows overnight. Heat a frying pan until very hot and then film the bottom with some oil. Shake the sauce off of one sparrow and carefully add it to the pan: you want it to crisp up evenly and brown nicely, but not cook so quickly that it burns or so slowly that it stews, so adjust the heat as needed. Add only enough sparrows to the pan so that they barely touch each other, and flip them over to brown the other side. Squirt a bit of light soy sauce on them, which will caramelize in the heat and add a bit of savoriness to the skins. Serve hot.

Dining on lily bulbs Buddhist style

Of all the many dishes we ate in lovely Lanzhou in Gansu province – right at the headwaters of the Yellow River – this was the most memorable. Just before we set sail to visit a Buddhist shrine upriver, we ate at a Buddhist restaurant. Everything was vegetarian, of course, but even more importantly everything was 素 sù, the Chinese word for super-strict vegetarian that includes no garlic or chilies or onions or ginger or anything else that could be considered an addictive flavor.

Now, I am a proud chilihead, and I don’t get that shaky when deprived of my peppers, as long as it’s not more than a day or two. Really, I’m fine. And yet, could see how someone striving for Nirvana would want to put any earthly desires to one side, including all of the aromatics I reach for automatically whenever I’m cooking.

Be that as it may, dishes that highlight only the natural flavors of a few ingredients can sometimes be magical. Take this one, for example. It is simple in every way and yet quite beautiful, the bright red berries shining against the ivory petals of the lily bulbs. They glisten with only a bare sheen of oil, and a subtle shake of salt provides the barest whisper of savoriness against the delicate sour and sweet notes.

The bulbs all cleaned up & snowy

The most difficult ingredient to find here are the lily bulbs. They come into season only in late fall and are imported from Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu province. Yes, they are available dried, but don’t even think about using them here because dried bulbs are starchy and flat-tasting. 

If you see the fresh ones in a Chinese market any time of the year, snap as many of them up as you can. Then, use half for this dish and plant the other half… they grow easily in almost any temperate climate, and soon you will be able to revel in them whenever you choose.

Lily bulbs and wolfberries 
Bǎihé chǎo gōuqĭ 百合炒枸杞 

Gansu
Serves 4 to 6 

¼ cup organic dried wolfberries (gouqi or goji, see Tips)

Boiling water as needed

4 fresh Lanzhou lily bulbs, about 10 to 12 ounces total (see Tips)

1 tablespoon fresh peanut or vegetable oil

½ teaspoon sea salt, or to taste

1. Place the wolfberries in a medium heatproof bowl and cover them with boiling water. Let the berries plump up while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

The good, bad, & ugly

2. Prepare the lily bulbs by first using a paring knife to trim off any roots or discolored areas. Working on one bulb at a time, hold it over a colander and gently peel off the “petals” of the lily bulb until you cannot peel off any more; cut the center in half or quarters. Repeat with the other bulbs until they are all separated into petals. Rinse the petals under cool running water and lightly toss them over the sink to remove most of the water. Pick over the petals and nip off any discolored bits.

3. Drain the wolfberries, straining out the liquid into a measuring cup, and if you have less than ¼ cup of the soaking liquid, add just enough water to reach that mark.

4. Heat the oil in a wok over high heat and add the salt. Swirl the wok around to melt the salt and then add the wolfberries, the soaking liquid, and the lily bulb petals. Quickly stir-fry them over high heat only until the liquid boils. Taste one of the petals: it should be cooked and sweet but still crisp. Serve hot or warm.

Tips

Do not use any other variety of lily bulb for this dish other than those that come from Lanzhou lilies, as not all lilies are edible. The Latin name for the Lanzhou lily is Lilium davidii, and they look very much like tiger lilies when in bloom.

Select the most perfect ones you can

Most of these lily bulbs will be sold in small plastic bags, as shown to the right. Look at them carefully through the tiny window and select only those that are pure white; less pretty ones will be jammed into the back of the bag out of sight, of course, but do the best you can. I always buy more than I need, as noted above in the headnotes, both to compensate for the inevitable bad bulb or two, and also to have more to plant.

Dried lily bulb petals are also sold in Chinese markets, but please do not use them here! They turn starchy and tasteless when they are dried, which is fine for slow-cooked things, but here the crunch and the sweetness of the fresh bulbs are absolutely essential.

Wolfberries are called gouqi in Chinese and goji in Japanese. Use caution when purchasing them from Chinese markets, as some are dyed red or have been subjected to heavy pesticides or pollution.

I prefer to get my gouqi from either a good Chinese herbalist or from reputable health food stores. Organic wolfberries are becoming increasingly available, too.

Select berries that are plump, the color of ripe persimmons, and as large as possible. Check for insect infestation by shaking the bag around, and discard any that show holes or that have dark, round dust (= insect poop) at the bottom. Store them in a freezer bag in the freezer if you are not using them within a month or two, as this will keep them fresh.