Taiwanese peanut tamales

This Friday - June 7 - is Dragon Boat Festival, and there's still time to get ready with this really delicious version of rice tamales from Taiwan.

Taiwan has an absolutely fabulous range of foods, as you’ve probably already figured out from my endless ravings on the subject. Really, though, the culinary creativity of just about every corner of China found a home on this island and then blossomed.

Case in point: Chinese tamales.

Also known as zòngzĭ 粽子, you are able to enjoy an immense variety in Taiwan, including the enormous sweet bean paste or savory pork ones from Hunan, delicately hued amber tamales that probably hale from the Hakka regions, sticky rice paste ones that also lay claim to Hakka ancestry, and lovely Shanghainese tamales with sweet bean centers.

But the list goes on and on, and we’ll most likely be enjoying more recipes each summer as Dragon Boat Festival rolls around again.

Today’s recipe is simple, and so I won’t keep you in suspense for long, since I really want you to try it as soon as you can. The ingredients are absolutely minimal, but they combine to form one of my favorite types of tamale, since it can be eaten sweet or savory, hot or chilled, with toppings or as is, and are beloved by everyone who tastes them.

Honestly, these should be part of your regular repertoire all year around.

Taiwanese peanut tamales
Táiwānshì huāshēng zòng  台灣式花生粽
Taiwanese cuisine
Makes 16 tamales

Tamales:
2 cups | 400 g round sticky rice (try brown sticky rice, if you can find it)
16 large dried bamboo leaves (zòngyè 粽葉), plus a few extra just in case
1 cup | 150 g raw peeled peanuts
Lots of cotton kitchen string
Boiling water

Peanut sugar (optional):

½ cup | 75 g toasted shelled peanuts

Yup, that's it

3 tablespoons (or more) sugar of any type

½ teaspoon sea salt

or some plain old dark brown sugar

1. Start this recipe at least 8 hours before you want to serve the tamales. Pick over the rice for any foreign matter or stones, rinse it twice, and then soak the rice and peanuts together for at least an hour and up to overnight with enough cool water to cover it by at least 2 inches | 5 cm. Use your fingernail to test the rice and peanuts to ensure they’re ready: your fingernail should be able to split them easily.

2. An hour or so before you want to start wrapping the tamales, drain the rice and peanuts in a strainer over the sink and then clean and soak the bamboo leaves as directed in this recipe for Hakka tamales. Trim off the stem ends of the leaves and then cover the cleaned leaves with a moist towel.

3. If you have a slow stove, take a moment to set up about a gallon of water in a 2 gallon | 8 L pot on your stove over high heat so that it has comes to a boil while you are busy wrapping the tamales. 

5. Fold a leaf as directed in the Hakka tamale recipe with the shiny side on the inside and a slight fold at the bottom to keep the rice from squirreling out. Use a Chinese soupspoon to place 2 scoops of the rice-peanut mixture into the cone. Fold the leaf ends over the cone, allow about a half inch of slack in the fold (see the illustration and description in the previous post). Gently tie it up with 2 or 3 simple loops around the center and tie it off, keeping one end long so that you can tie 4 to 6 of the tamales together.

A personal source of happiness

6. When all of the tamales have been filled and tied, lower them gently into the boiling water, cover the pot, and boil them for about 5 minutes to set their shape. Then, remove the cover, lower the heat to a simmer, and cook the tamales for about 90 minutes; add more boiling water if needed to completely submerge the tamales, and check them at 15 minute intervals just to make sure they don't need a bit more water.

7. Remove the tamales from the boiling water and drain. Eat them right away or cool down and store. They can be sprinkled with brown sugar, which is how many people like them. To make the optional peanut sugar, finely crush the peanuts and mix with the sugar and salt; adjust the seasoning as you like. You can then sprinkle them with this for a double peanut whammy, if you are so inclined. Children and children-at-heart will love you for it.

New and improved tea eggs

This is one of my husband's favorite snacks in the whole wide world. It's celebration food, comfort food, and his beloved eggs all rolled up in one. 

He will eat these from morning til night, and then get into them again at night if I don't watch him like a hawk. And so, I make these only on rare occasions because he just can't be trusted not to finish them off.

I often used to make a batch of these whenever we went down to Southern California to visit my mother-in-law. She was a terror on most days, but calmed down significantly if she got to munch on something tasty and, preferably, from her childhood. Tea eggs fit the bill perfectly. If a dozen managed to make the eight-hour trip down to her home (you can imagine how many I had to start out with), we would have a happy beginnings to our stay. 

The tasty factor

I've found a new and better way to make these, though, that gives me a softer, creamier center. The whites are tenderer this way, too. And when you think about it, this makes sense, for instead of boiling the bejeezus out of them, they are soaked in the marinade. In a ton of spices and herbs and other good things.

Tea eggs are as beautiful as they are delicious. Pasture-raised eggs tend to have a nicer flavor, more personality in the yolks, and whites that are almost sensual in texture. 

Use older eggs, if you can, as they peel easier, and smaller ones absorb the marinade down toward their yolks, which is always a good thing. For that reason, buy the eggs and set them out on a cool counter for a week or so to age them a bit. 

Prick the fat ends to release the air

Now, about that marinade. Most tea eggs turn out wishy-washy in color, with none of that deep crazing over the surface that tells you the aromas of cinnamon and soy sauce have worked their way down under the shell. When you do a repeated dip like here, the yolks get to stay cool and so not turn powdery, while the whites never have the chance to seize up. To get the flavorings down in there, I have to let you in on a few secrets:

First, you not only need plenty of seasonings in the form of the usual suspects—soy sauce, rice wine, warm spices—but you need to amplify them. And so, you’ll find a lot more of them than normal in the marinade here. But I’ve gone a step further by adding the oyster sauce. This adds a gentle richness and subtle scent of the ocean, and it works marvelously with everything else that’s going on in here.

Cradle them into the hot water

Second, you need tannins. That means lots of black tea. They will stain the eggs just like your shirt and your teeth, and for once this is something nice. Thanks to the tea, these eggs will look gorgeous.

And third, the secret most people aren't aware is even important when making tea eggs, is acid. The makes all the difference in the world when it comes to getting the egg whites to accept the marinade. For that reason you have Shaoxing rice wine leading the way, as well as a big handful of fresh orange peel, plus my secret weapon: orange juice and a lemon.

You might expect these eggs to taste rather citrusy as a result, but they don’t. The other seasonings tussle with the orange and lemon and vie for attention, so they mainly are there to provide the proper chemical reaction.

If only high school chemistry had been this delicious.

Creamy tea eggs

Your ice bath

Tángxīn cháyèdàn 溏心茶葉蛋

Jiangsu

Makes 2 dozen

Marinade:

2 quarts | 2 liters water 

½ cup | 40 g black tea leaves

1 fresh peel from 1 large orange (remove the orange part only with a potato peeler)

1 stick cinnamon

3 star anise

1 teaspoon fennel

1 teaspoon Sichuan or black peppercorns

4 pieces dried licorice 

½ cup | 125 ml Shaoxing rice wine

A porcelain spoon works great here

4 slices fresh ginger

2 whole green onions

2 walnut-sized pieces rock sugar

¼ cup | 60 ml oyster sauce

¾ cup | 175 ml regular soy sauce

1 large orange, juiced

1 whole lemon

Eggs:

2 quart | 2 liters water 

2 dozen medium eggs at room temperature 

a large bowl of ice cubes and ice water

Try to make spiderweb patterns...

1. A couple of days before you plan to serve these, prepare the marinade by simmering all of the ingredients (except the orange juice and lemon) together for about 1 hour, or until the liquid has reduced by around 1 cup | 250 ml. Add the orange juice and lemon, and bring the marinade to a full boil before removing it from the heat.

2. Next, prepare the eggs: Bring the water to a full boil in a largish pan. Poke a small
hole in the round ends of the eggs and then slide them carefully into the water. Simmer for 7 minutes. Have a large bowl of ice cubes and ice water ready. 

... which will give you this

3. Slide the cooked eggs into the ice water to stop the cooking. When they are cold, lightly crack them all over with the back of a spoon. Bring the marinade to a boil and then add the eggs.

4. After a couple of hours, remove the eggs to a work bowl. Bring the marinade back to a full boil before returning the eggs to the pan. Remove from the heat and let the eggs completely cool down. Repeat this step four or five times, or until the eggs are as dark as you like them. Shell the eggs just before serving and cut them into wedges, if you like. The marinade can be reused.  

Tomatoes, sour plum powder, & wonderful advance reviews for All Under Heaven

A quick bit of self-promotion before we get to this week’s recipe:

All Under Heaven is receiving terrific advance reviews! Here are some of the things people are saying:

"This unprecedented reference will thrill cooks who want to expand their knowledge and move beyond the mainstays of American Chinese restaurant menus. Those who enjoy the thoroughly researched cookbooks of experts such as Claudia Roden (The New Book of Middle Eastern Food) will appreciate Phillips’s comprehensive treatment, which includes historical information, an extensive ingredient glossary, suggested menus, and useful advice." — Library Journal, Starred Review

"Phillips (The Dim Sum Field Guide) offers a comprehensive and thoughtful examination of Chinese cuisine, providing a wealth of appealing recipes for beginner and advanced cooks... This is a broad and discerning approach to regional Chinese cooking... Buy This Book" – Publishers Weekly

"This has the makings of an all-time classic." – Epicurious

"This is sure to be this year's best cookbook, I have no doubt." – Cookbook Junkies

"Carolyn Phillips has written one of the best books on Chinese cooking that I’ve ever encountered. This is one of those books that will inspire all of us to get into our kitchens and cook. It is also one of those books that is almost as enthralling as a bestselling thriller. Phillips is a first-rate writer, and has made this a 'must-have' cookbook for inclusion in any respectable recipe collection." – NetGalley, Five Star Review

"What a work of art... I have always welcomed any book that expands the horizons of our knowledge of Chinese food; now comes one of the best I have seen in ages. All Under Heaven is not just a mere cookbook – in fact, it may be the most comprehensive work to date on an incredibly complex subject... I cannot praise Carolyn’s work enough; I am sure that in the coming years, All Under Heaven will come to be considered a classic, as well as an invaluable reference for any serious cook’s kitchen." – Ken Hom, OBE, celebrity chef and author

Thank you all for these amazing words. I’m humbled and delighted and thrilled! These two books hit the shelves on August 30, but can be preordered just about everywhere.

Also, this just got published on Food52: "How to Dim Sum Like a Pro." Happy eating!

*   *   *

It’s the end of summer, a time when tomatoes and melons are at their absolute best. True, tomatoes are not constant members of a Chinese cook’s produce bin, but they do show up, especially in Muslim areas, as well as in Cantonese cooking, probably because these love apples go especially well with beef.

I practically lived on tomato beef over crispy noodles during my first year in Taipei, since there was one little Guangdong-style stand on Songjiang Road halfway between my classrooms and the Chinese home where I boarded. The lady there knew exactly what I wanted: a slightly sweet-and-sour sauce, barely cooked wedges of bright red tomatoes, thin and tender slices of seared beef, a scattering of green onions, and a crunchy pillow of thin egg noodles. It was intensely good.

Now's the time for tomatoes

As I started to become more accustomed to the local cuisines, the Taiwanese affection for matching salty with sweet drew my attention. First to hook me was the penchant for sprinkling salt on cold wedges of watermelon. At first this seemed totally unnecessary – after all, you really can’t find a better dessert than ripe fruit served up all on its own – but a few exploratory nibbles showed that a tiny bit of salt emphasized the sweetness and made each mouthful just that more delicious.

Pretty soon I was enjoying things like inspired mixtures of peanuts and cilantro and sugar, which hit all sorts of nerve endings in my mouth, puzzling and intriguing and pleasing and confusing my palate at the same time. And then I discovered sour plum powder, which my Chinese girlfriends liberally dusted on top of crisp guavas and ripe tomatoes.

To be honest, my girls all loved tart flavors much more than sweet – and that’s true even to this day when they can no longer be officially categorized as girls – and so anything that would lend a sour note to a dish was welcomed with open chopsticks. And when a dish or drink was especially puckery and delicious, the usual reaction was a delighted smile with a slightly agonized expression, a happy moan, and the rubbing of one side of the face while they exclaimed, “Ay-ya, that’s good!”

This one is just the flesh

Summer was celebrated in particularly lavish style: luscious tomatoes were seasoned with the sweet-sour-salty plums called huàméi 話梅. Dried little taupe nuggets, these are usually used to accompany tea, but also find their way into certain dishes, like these eggs or pork ribs. It’s an almost indescribable flavor, since you also have a fruity layer that somehow glues all of those disparate elements together.

You can cut off the flesh from the pits and then stick little slivers inside of cherry tomatoes before chilling them, or you can even peel the tomatoes, toss them with the sour plum powder, and let them marinate in the fridge overnight. Both are good.

But when you have some amazing tomatoes to work with, sometimes simplest is best. This requires that you first get your hands on Taiwanese style sour plums. Be sure that they are called huamei, as any other kind will taste very different and quite possibly be too sour to eat. (See Sour Plum Infusion for more on that.) If you can find the ones that are already pitted like this photo on the right, even better. If not, just use kitchen shears or a sharp paring knife to trim off the flesh – the pits can be reserved for tea, which is great hot or chilled.

Pitted sour plums

Do note that the flavor of each brand of plums varies wildly. Some are coated with lots of ground herbs, like licorice, while others are incredibly salty or a bit sweet or just mildly sour. So, taste the dried plums and add as much sugar or salt as you think it needs. Use a spice grinder here, rather than a mini food processor, as it gets the job done easily. Pulse the plums up in short bursts, not at full blast, and let the grinder cool down as needed. This will help prevent the sugar in the plums from heating up and gumming up the works.

Make extra sour plum powder, as it keeps well. Then get in touch with your inner Chinese woman and sprinkle it on pineapple, melons, cucumbers... whatever needs a flavor boost.

Note: you can occasionally find this powder ready-made in some Chinese markets, but it tends to be padded out with citric acid and other stuff, as well as red food coloring. So, try it if you like, but compare it with this homemade pinch of heaven. There's no contest.

Tomatoes with sour plum powder

Méizifěn fānqié 梅子粉蕃茄

Taiwan

Serves 4

Around 1/2 cup / 60 g pitted dried sour plums (huamei)

2 tablespoons sugar, or to taste

1 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste

1 pound / 450 g ripe and fully flavored tomatoes of any kind, preferably a mixture of two or more varieties

1. If your dried plums are not pitted, then use kitchen shears or a sharp paring knife to remove the flesh. Place the dried plums in a clean, dry spice grinder and pulse until they are reduced to a fine powder (see headnotes). Add as much sugar and salt as is needed, pulse again, and taste – there should be a nice balance of sweet, salty, and sour, so adjust things as needed. Store the sour plum powder in a dry jar in the pantry.

Ready to go

2. Rinse the tomatoes, pat dry, and trim as needed. If they are cherry or plum tomatoes, no further work is needed. Slice larger fruits up into wedges. Arrange these on a plate or bowl. They can be chilled if you like, but I personally prefer room temperature, which allows their flavors to really bloom. Offer little saucers of the sour plum powder around the tomatoes and sprinkle a tiny bit on top of the fruit. Serve with forks, chopsticks, or long skewers.

Tip

Your spice grinder will probably have bits of sour plum gunk stuck on the blades and so forth. Don't soak the machine or wash it, but rather wipe it out with a damp cloth immediately after you've emptied it, then thoroughly air dry the grinder before closing it up.