Strange flavor peanuts

The name alone for this dish makes me happy. The other plusses are that these are dead simple to make and are absolutely tasty and crunchy, and are wonderful to have on hand, so prepare to make a lot after this first batch.

“Strange flavor” is a Sichuanese term that is applied to quite a few dishes. Usually it means that there is a complex number of seasonings going on in there that will fight for your attention. In this case, the toasted peanuts are covered with a crispy sugar shell spiced with all sorts of good things – namely smoked paprika, chiles, Sichuan peppercorns, black pepper, and cumin – and balanced with a nice jolt of salt to keep things on track.

These are, in a word, bar snacks with an attitude. And for the record, my husband refers to them as weird nuts.

It used to be that this recipe was a whole lot more difficult to prep, because back in the day we didn’t have peanuts with the skins removed. That meant toasting the nuts and then rubbing them in a towel to knock off most of the bitter red skins. Yes, it wasn’t backbreaking work, but this extra step always made me think twice about dedicating the necessary time to pulling the ingredients together.

Nowadays, Chinese shops and organic markets often have these nude peanuts for sale, so buy a couple of packages when you run across them.

A gorgeous load of spices

The basic recipe for this calls for toasting the peanuts in an oven (a toaster oven works nicely here), tossing them over the heat with a barely caramelized sugar syrup that evenly coats each nut, and then sprinkling in the seasonings, as well as a bit of starch to keep things tidy. You end up with a nice pile of expertly flavored peanuts that gain serious crunch as they cool down.

Once you master this basic recipe, think about the other flavors you like and start experimenting accordingly. Five spice powder works well in here, as does a bit of curry powder or powdered ginger or even pumpkin spice. You can 86 the chiles and amp up other seasonings, or make them relatively mild when you have kids ready to pounce on them.

The only caveat would be to not add anything moist, like fresh garlic or ginger or green onions. The seasonings have to be absolutely dry so that the crunchy shell doesn’t melt and goo up.

The basic recipe for toasted peanuts is something you should have in your permanent repertoire. It’s super easy and a whole lot tidier to make than fried nuts. I’ll set it off below the main recipe here so that you can refer to it as needed, and it is also included on page 411 of All Under Heaven.

Strange flavor peanuts

Guàiwèi huāshēng  怪味花生

Sichuan

Makes about 3 cups

Caramelization is underway

1 teaspoon ground toasted cumin

1 tablespoon smoked paprika

1 teaspoon ground chiles

1 tablespoon ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 teaspoon sea salt

3 tablespoons cornstarch

Spray oil, if using foil for the baking tray

1 cup | 225 g sugar

¾ cup | 180 ml water

1 pound | 450 g toasted skinless peanuts (see recipe below)

1. Combine the spices, salt, and cornstarch in a small work bowl. Have a large, rimmed baking tray ready and line it with Silpat or foil sprayed with oil.

2. Place the sugar and water in a wok and swirl them around a few times to ensure that the sugar is wetted all the way through. Bring the sugar water to a boil over medium heat, swirling it now and then. Cover the pan for about a minute so that the steam will wash down any crystals, and then turn the heat up to medium high. Swirl the pan now and then, rather than stir it, and as soon as it takes on a golden tinge (but is not yet caramel), toss in all of the peanuts.

3. Use a spatula to toss the peanuts in the nuts until they are thoroughly coated. Remove the wok from the heat as you rapidly sprinkle the spice mixture over them, and then return to the heat as you quickly toss them to distribute the seasonings evenly.

4. Remove the wok from the heat and wait about 30 seconds for the sugar coating to start to cool down and harden. Then, scrape the nuts onto the lined baking tray. Scoot the nuts around to separate them as much as possible. Cool the nuts thoroughly and store in a closed container.

The sugars turn golden...

Toasted peanuts

Kăo huāshēng 烤花生

Makes about 3 cups

Toasted skinless peanuts

1 pound | 450 g raw peanuts, with or without the skins

1. Heat the oven or a toaster oven to 275°F | 135°C. Place the peanuts in a baking pan large enough to hold them in a single layer – the bottom of the broiler pan that may have come with your oven works well. Put the peanuts in the oven.

2. Slowly toast the nuts for about 1½ hours. Because the edges of your pan will be hotter than the center, you’ll want to shake the pan once in a while and stir the nuts occasionally. When the peanuts start to smell cooked and begin to split along the center, taste one; if the rawness seems to have disappeared, taste a couple more from different parts of the pan just to be sure. It doesn’t matter if the nuts are crisp yet, as that will happen once they cool down.

3. Pour the peanuts into a wide, heatproof bowl and let them come to room temperature. Store in a sealed container.

Cold tossed purslane Sichuan style

Purslane is one of those vegetables that tries to disguise itself as a weed. Most times, this is a successful ruse.

I often see it growing in people’s gardens, in public parks, and in fields that offer more obvious variations on produce, for it generally manages to duck under the radar of all but the most finicky gardeners.

Even they, though, can sometimes beguiled by the simple beauty of this succulent, for it is relatively unassuming and offers up jadelike leaves, reddish stems, and tiny yellow flowers in an attempt to curry favor.

I definitely succumbed to its charm long ago, both in my yard and in my kitchen. And now I can’t wait for summer, when the warm weather causes it to sprout all over the place. Like now…

In this recipe, the stems and leaves are quickly blanched and then shocked in ice water, which mellows the natural tartness of purslane and transforms it into a delicious regular on my summer tables.

Eat your weeds

The leaves and stems remain slightly crunchy when prepared this way, and they are then ready to be robed with whatever dressing you’d like. My favorite is something with a good helping of chile oil and goop, plus crushed toasted peanuts to make the texture even more interesting. I guess you can tell by now that in my book, peanuts are welcome in just about anything I make.

Farmers’ markets sometimes offer purslane, as do some ethnic and local greengrocers. You can also hunt it down in walks around your neighborhood. If you do find it, ask if you can weed their yard a bit, and then scurry home while they are still none the wiser.

One caveat: prepare purslane as soon as you can, for the leaves mush up easily. When that happens, prepping this lovely weed turns into a royal pain.

And so, this is what I do: I soak the purslane in a big bowl of ice water for just a little while to perk it up. Then I use my fingernails to trim it. Like asparagus, if you can’t stick your nail into the stem, it’s too tough to eat.

Pretty in its own right

Just break the stems into whatever lengths you like, and drain. They can keep for a couple of hours if wrapped in a paper towel and refrigerated, but they don’t improve much with the wait. So plan ahead, if you can.

The good news, though, is that if the purslane is super fresh, this dish comes together in a snap.

Oh, by the way, purslane is incredibly nutritious. In its raw state it has more omega-3 than any other greens. But even so, I recommend that you blanch it, for raw purslane is also high in oxilates, which is what leads to kidney stones. Besides, for my money purslane is much tastier after it has had a quick bath.

Today’s dressing is more of a suggestion than a recipe. Use it as a template, and then add or subtract whatever you like.

Purslane appetizer Sichuan style

Chuānshì măchĭxiàn 川式馬齒莧

Sichuan

A simple, spicy dressing

Serves 3 or 4

Purslane:

8 ounces | 225 g fresh purslane

Boiling water

Ice water and ice cubes

Dressing:

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tablespoon chile oil

1 tablespoon of the goop from chile oil

2 teaspoons balsamic vinegar

1 teaspoon regular soy sauce

2 teaspoons sugar

½ teaspoon sea salt

¼ cup | 30 g chopped toasted peanuts

1. Rinse the purslane and gently shake dry. Use your fingernails to nip off the stem ends, and then break the stems into whatever lengths you like. Discard any dark or mushy bits.

Perking up the purslane

2. Bring 1 quart | 1 liter water to a full boil. Have a bowl filled with 1 quart | 1 liter ice water and a good handful of ice cubes ready.

3. Drop the purslane into the boiling water and cook for no more than 15 seconds, or until the leaves turn a bright green. Immediately drain the purslane, rinse it with cool water, and then plunge it into the ice bath. Swish it around to cool the purslane down quickly. Drain thoroughly.

4. To make the dressing, mix together the minced garlic, chile oil, goop, vinegar, soy sauce, sugar, and salt. Taste and adjust the seasoning as you wish.

5. Just before serving (and not before), toss the purslane with the dressing. Mound the purslane on a serving dish and sprinkle the peanuts around it. Serve cold.

A high summer appetizer from Hangzhou

It's mid-summer, and so nowadays my refrigerator always has celtuce in it. 

This southern Chinese vegetable is crisp and refreshing, but for some strange reason no one knows about it but the Chinese.

I have written about celtuce many times before on this blog, but no matter. 

Today’s recipe is so simple and so downright delicious that I really cannot wait to tell you about this cool appetizer seasoned with little more than ginger juice and balsamic vinegar. Refreshment on a plate.

Four fine candidates

First of all, find yourself a Chinese market. That is about the only place you’ll be able to hunt these down. 

This time of year is the perfect time for celtuce (pronounced SELL-tuss, since it’s a smashed-up contraction of celery + lettuce… don’t blame me, I didn’t name it) or stem lettuce (only slightly more helpful) or wōsŭn just in case you need to ask a clerk to direct you to the right bin.

Now pick them up and feel those stems. They should be heavy and firm, as that means they’re juicy. They shouldn’t have a huge scab on the cut end, because that shows you they are relatively fresh.

The next thing you do is check out the leaves. Most will probably have been removed, but you should still see some at the very top. The leaves should be green and energetic rather than yellow and floppy. 

Peel down til you see pure jade

Now look at the very center of the leaves. No flower stem? Perfect. If it’s starting to bolt, all the energy will be directed into those blossoms and the stem will in turn be tough and stringy, as well as hollow and dry.

When you get home, rinse the stems lightly and pack them in a plastic bag before refrigerating them, as this will help perk them up a bit. Consider them as nascent flowers at this point.

Celtuce is really good in stir-fries, but I adore it raw. Now that it’s so hot out, keep this recipe in mind for an easy side for dinner. And if you have a good bunch of celtuce leaves on hand, too, nothing is more delicious than this Sichuan-style salad. Nose-to-tail dining for the vegetarian set!

Briefly salt the celtuce

Hangzhou-style fresh celtuce stems

Jiāngzhī wōsŭn 薑汁萵筍

Zhejiang

Serves 4 as an appetizer or side dish

Celtuce:

4 hefty celtuce stems

1 teaspoon sea salt

Sauce:

4 inches | 10 cm fresh ginger

2 tablespoons agave syrup or sugar

2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

Freshly grated ginger

½ teaspoon sea salt

1. Cut off both ends of the stems and use a peeler to remove both the tough outer skin and the white webbing inside. Slice the stems into even batons of any size. Place them in a colander set in the sink and toss them with the salt. They will quickly look moist, which is a good thing. Let them sit there while you prepare the sauce.

2. Grate the ginger and use your fist to squeeze out all the juice. Mix this juice with the sweetener, vinegar, sesame oil, and salt.

3. Pat the celtuce dry with a paper towel and then arrange it on a rimmed plate. Pour the sauce around the celtuce so that the vegetables keep their beautiful jade color. And that’s it.

Smoked pork cheeks chez Huang

Pork jowls, pork cheeks… whatever you want to call them, these are bacon-y parts of the pig that you rarely can ever find in a supermarket, or even in a high end butcher’s shop for that matter. I find this truly odd. Every pig on the planet is going to have two of these lovely chunks of meat, so where do they all go?

As for the other parts of the pig, you usually can’t find pork belly with the skin on that often, either, but at least that gets turned into bacon. But those cheeks? They look very much like the belly and have the same delicious layering of meat and fat—ribbons of red muscle interwoven with strips of white lard. I do wish Americans would get wise to this great cut of meat. Italians are sensible folks who turn this into guanciale by curing it. (Ergo, I love the Italians.) So, pester your butcher to start offering this.

Bouncy, bouncy

To get started, you will need to find yourself a good butcher shop and put in an order for jowls. Not everyone will be able to accommodate you, so look around. The delivery of this cut of meat might take a while, so do not even think about making this on the spur of the moment. While you’re doing that, order two or four pig’s ears, since we soon will have spectacular recipe for that, too. As always, make sure the pig comes from a responsible farmer who gave it a great life. And order more, if you love this, and then freeze the meat, either raw or already prepared.

Today’s recipe is one that I developed myself, and it is one that I adore. I braise the cheeks in a highly seasoned broth before smoking them. The results are out of this world. What happens is this: the salt and herbs and spices in the broth work their way into the meat and fat and skin of the cheeks over the course of about three hours. The pork cools off and firms up, and then it is smoked over tea and rice, which makes this much like the most subtle, creamy bacon you ever imagined in your wildest dreams.

That's four cheeks

The good news is that the cooking doesn’t take much time at all… you just let the chunks simmer away, and later on you plop them into the smoker. That’s it. And before you serve them, the cheeks are sliced into thin strips that are then steamed, which encourages most of the fat the exit the cells, leaving behind that extraordinary Chinese concept called yóuérbúnì, or buttery without being fatty.

You should set aside a bit of time for the prep work, though. There’s no two ways about it. Cheeks come with the skin attached, and that is definitely what you want, but pigs are hairy creatures, and the enjoyment of their skin will require a bit of effort on your part. No free lunch and all that.

Arm yourself with Chinese food tweezers (or a pair of needle-nose pliers plus regular tweezers), as well as a razor of some sort. You will have to carefully pluck out all the hairs. This is not hard at all, especially if you do this after you’ve blanched the jowls, since this tightens the skin and makes the hairs stick up a bit. But it will require you to relax, find yourself a comfortable chair and some good light, and then you will be busy plucking out as many hairs as you can find. After that you can shave off any renegades.

I like to serve this meat steamed, which will render out most of the remaining fat. The meat turns into silk at that point. I serve it over cucumber ribbons, which have a slight sweetness and bitterness that contrasts perfectly with the smoked meat. As a final touch, I like to make a garlicky vinaigrette. Perfection.

Smoked pork cheeks chez Huang

Huángjiā xūn zhū sāibāngziròu 黃家薰豬腮幫子肉

Northern Chinese

Serves 12 to 16 easily

Massive dose of flavor

Pork:

4 pork jowls with the skin on, about 4 pounds | 1.75 kgs

6 star anise

6 pieces dried licorice root

2 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorns

1 tablespoon fennel seeds

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

½ stick cinnamon

½ cup white liquor (like gaoliang), or gin

2 tablespoons sea salt

6 slices fresh ginger

Smoke:

¼ cup black tea leaves

¼ cup raw rice

1 tablespoon sugar

Spray oil

Love demands sacrifices

Vinaigrette (per jowl):

4 cloves garlic

2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil

 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 teaspoon regular soy sauce

1. At least 3 days and up to 2 weeks before you plan to serve these, rinse the cheeks thoroughly and place them in a medium saucepan. Cover them with water and blanch the pork for 10 minutes, and then wash both the pork and the pan clean. Let the cheeks cool off until they are cool enough to handle easily. Use Chinese tweezers or a combination of needle-nose pliers and regular tweezers to remove as many of the hairs as you can. Shave off any fuzz. Rinse the cheeks again.

2. Place the cheeks back in the saucepan and cover them with water. Add the rest of the ingredients up to the ginger. Bring the liquid to a full boil and then reduce the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Slowly cook the cheeks until you can pierce them easily with a chopstick, about 3 hours. Remove the meat, shake off any spices, and discard the broth. Cool the pork and refrigerate it overnight.

Out of the smoker

3. To smoke the pork, place the tea, rice, and sugar in the bottom of your smoker. Spray the rack and lid with oil. Arrange the pork on the rack skin-side up. Set the smoker over medium-high heat and then adjust the heat to maintain a good stream of smoke, but so not that the smoke smells bitter, as this will lend a sour taste to the meat. Allow the pork to smoke for 20 to 30 minutes, turn off the heat, and let the cheeks sit in the smoker for another 10 minutes to absorb more smoke. When the pork is cool, transfer it to a container and refrigerate overnight, where it will be fine for a week or two, although it also can be frozen.

4. Just before serving, cut the meat on a diagonal across the grain. Set the slices in a heatproof bowl. Steam the pork for 30 minutes or more, and pour out the fat that accumulates into another bowl. (This fat is excellent for things like flatbreads, so keep it, if you can. It will stay in good shape as long as it is refrigerated in a closed container.) The pork is ready when the fat looks translucent. Serve as is or arrange it on a mound of cucumbers cut into thin ribbons.

5. To make a simple Chinese vinaigrette, lightly chop the garlic. Set your wok over medium heat and add the oil. Swirl it around, and then add the garlic. Sauté the garlic until it smells amazing, and then add the vinegar and soy sauce. Taste and adjust seasoning. Pour this over the cucumbers and serve immediately.

Taiwanese popcorn chicken

This dish is known as "salty crispy chicken" in Chinese, and that about sums it up in the tersest language possible. These seasoned chunks of fried chicken started to become insanely popular in Taiwan around the early eighties. I think the first people to sell this were the street hawkers. These folks would push little carts with propane stoves set up in front, a wok full of hot oil, and all of their seasonings ready in a shaker can.

Some chicken would already be fried and ready to go on their display shelves, but those in the know would ask that a fresh batch be cooked up to order. This ensured maximum freshness and crispness. Once the chicken had been fried, it would be transferred to a small paper bag. A handful of fresh basil leaves was then tossed into the chicken to add color and freshness and a blast of flavor, and toothpicks were inserted into a couple of the pieces to act as instant serving utensils.

The last word in fried chicken

This to me was one of the most inspired dishes I learned to love in Taipei. I’ve always been a big fan of fried chicken, but this beat American fried chicken by a country mile. It was the seasoning in the meat and the incredible crunchy-chewy texture of the coating that always blew my mind. Instead of plain chicken seasoned with just salt and pepper like Mom used to make, I could taste garlic and five spice and soy sauce in there. Every bite was yet another step down the path to complete addiction.

The Taiwanese have an amazing way with fried foods, for the meat itself is not only expertly seasoned from the inside out, but the coating is most often composed of nothing more than sweet potato flour. Also known as sweet potato starch, I have to tell you that this is one of the best and most brilliant culinary inventions ever.

Taiwanese sweet potato powder

Instead of a batter, the meat is coated with this dry flour and the excess is knocked off just before the morsel is deep-fried. The surface turns from white to a deep golden brown and crisps up into bubbly mounds that crunch and offer total sensory satisfaction. But it’s what lies beneath that turns this into a genius move: the part right next to the meat becomes chewy and gloriously tensile. Oh. My. God. These contrast against each other and complement each other and then do this all over again in a luscious tango with the juicy meat.

Basil is the herb of choice in this dish. Its peppery, licorice aromas bounce off well against the fried chicken. But while it’s usually added as a raw garnish in Taiwan, I’ve come to love it fried. This way the leaves become brittle and the flavors turn muted, so that they act as more like a gentle counterweight to the chicken, rather than a conflicting salad of sorts. I’ve also added just a touch of cayenne to insert a bit of a kick. You can definitely add more or leave it out, depending on what you and the folks you are serving tend to like.

A hint of cayenne

Another thing I've done here is to sub out the regular bone-in chicken (usually whole birds are whacked up into small pieces) in favor of my favorite cut of meat, the thigh, which has had the bone removed to make dining even easier. Call it chicken mainlining, if you like.

This is still good cold (and would make terrific picnic fare), but I always opt for it fresh off the stove whenever possible. Serve this with ice-cold beer and prepare to be amazed. As Aretha Franklin said in The Blues Brothers, it’s the best damn fried chicken in the county.

Popcorn Chicken

Yánsū jī 鹽酥雞

Taiwan

Serves 6 as an appetizer or bar snack

1½ pounds | 675 g boneless free-range chicken thighs (about 5 or 6)

1 tablespoon regular soy sauce

½ teaspoon five spice

¼ teaspoon cayenne

1 tablespoon mild rice wine (like Taiwan Mijiu)

1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

Deep bubble action

1 cup sweet potato flour (also known as sweet potato starch) or tapioca flour; cornstarch will work in a pinch

1 teaspoon dry-fried Sichuan peppercorn salt or black pepper salt

Half a bunch of fresh basil (more or less), rinsed and patted very dry

2 cups frying oil (used ok, as long as it smells fresh)

1. Pat the chicken dry. Leave the skin on if you are lucky enough to have it. Cut the chicken roughly into pieces no larger than 1 inch | 2 cm square. You don’t want uniformity here, as ragged bits will crunch up nicely, while the squarish ones will offer juicy contrast. Toss these in a bowl with the soy sauce, five spice, cayenne, rice wine, and sesame oil. Do NOT add the garlic unless you are cooking this within an hour, as otherwise the garlic will become overpowering. Cover the bowl and refrigerate at least for an hour and up to 24 hours. Toss in the garlic within an hour of proceeding to step 2.

Fresh basil

2. Pour the sweet potato flour or tapioca flour into the chicken and mix it around with your chopsticks so that every piece turns completely white. You should only have a little bit of flour left over. The flour is what gives this chicken its amazing texture, so don’t shortchange it by giving it a quick toss. Spend a couple of minutes on this.

3. Pluck the basil leaves off the stems; you can keep the top parts together, if you like. Pat these again until they are really, really, really dry. Any water that finds itself in the hot oil will explode, so this step is also important. Array the leaves on a dry tea towel and roll them up so that any extra water gets a chance to wick away.

Crisped up leaves

4. Have a medium work bowl and a Chinese spider or slotted spoon ready. Heat the oil in a small saucepan rather than a wok, as this will give you a deeper well to cook in and thus you will not need as much oil as when you are using a wok. Set the pan over medium-high heat. You can tell the oil is ready for frying if you insert your dry wooden chopsticks into the oil and they immediately bubble all over.

5. Carefully slide about a quarter of the chicken into the hot oil and mix them around with your chopsticks so that they do not stick to each other. Stir the chicken every once in a while so that the chicken gets evenly browned. As soon as it is a deep gold, use your spider or slotted spoon to scoop out the chicken into the work bowl. Repeat this step until all of the chicken is fried.

Snack heaven

6. Have a spatter screen or wide lid ready to shield you from any spattering oil. Set the pan over medium heat and cautiously slide in a small handful of the basil leaves. They probably will spit hot oil at you even though you did your best to remove all the water—that’s just life, so use your screen or lid to protect you from harm. As soon as the sputtering slows down, mix the basil around with your chopsticks to ensure that they fry evenly. When they turn a dark green and are crispy, scoop them out with your spider or slotted spoon and into the bowl with the chicken. Repeat until all the basil has been fried.

7. Sprinkle the toasted salt over the chicken and toss everything together so that the basil and salt quickly covers the chicken. Scrape this out onto a serving dish and eat immediately. Fried chicken will never be better than this.

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