Red fermented bean curd "cheese" -- at last!

Before I say anything more, let me make one point: this is the most absurdly delicious fermented bean curd (aka tofu cheese) that will ever, Ever, EVER pass your lips.

Period.

I've had an indiscreet love affair with the stuff called nanru for nigh on three decades now, and most of the commercial versions are pretty good when used to make cheesy scarlet sauces for chicken or pork shank. No matter who produces it, these dishes have always turned out perfectly for me. So, if your only desire is for tofu cheese that makes the grade in sauces, then there's really no need to go to the trouble of making a batch at home.

Newly packed jar of nanru

But, if you want to taste something in its natural state that is beyond your wildest imagination, then have I got a gift for you. After 6 months of fermentation, with only occasional tastes along the way, I recently opened up the jar that had waited so patiently for my attentions and discovered ambrosia, so I soon devoured it with singular pleasure and instantly regretted deeply that I hadn't made a couple gallons of this brined wonder last March.

The magical transformation that took place in that jar is hard to relate, for bits of the cubes actually sparkled on my tongue! Fermentation was still going on in there, and as I scooped bits of the nanru into my mouth, tiny bubbles of carbon dioxide exploded on my taste buds, and that is one reason why this is the best recipe ever.

The flavor was absolutely incredible, too. Deep wine aromas accompanied each little bite, the red rice clinging to the custardy tofu and tinting it a beautiful scarlet, and each piece was spangled with darker maroon spots that were the inoculant rice causing all of this action in my mouth. I had added bits of sugar to the jar over the months, feeding the yeast, and was rewarded when the nanru was finally ripe enough to enjoy.

My late mother-in-law used to make the white form of fermented bean curd -- doufuru -- when she lived in Taiwan, and the process she relied on was pretty much the same as Andrea Nguyen described in her seminal work, Asian Tofu: squares of fresh, firm tofu are left to mold for a couple of days, tossed in salt and flavorings, and then covered with rice wine. Nature and time takes care of the rest, converting what looks for all the world like it should be avoided like the plague into a food of incomparable texture and flavor.

Golden yellow spores & blotches

But Andrea said one thing in my book that make me perk up my ears. As if throwing a gauntlet on the floor in my general direction, she noted that she had "attempted to make red fermented tofu but to no avail."

Hm, I thought, that is a challenge if I ever saw one. The thing is, Andrea probably hadn't yet encountered Fujian's Red Wine Lees, which are the key component of nanru, so her statement is more than understandable. But since I always have a fat jar of red wine lees hiding somewhere in the dank, dark recesses of my fridge, I knew that there was only one thing to do: substitute a healthy scoop of the red lees and a good dollop of its amber liquid in place of plain rice wine.

And it worked. And I'll show you how.

Making any kind of fermented bean curd is nothing less than an act of faith. I mean, look at the mold-covered square to the upper right. It looks dangerous, like it could cause severe gastric distress, if not death. So I appreciate you following me this far down the garden path. Your faith will be rewarded!

Andrea's "3S" achieved

You will find when your tofu hits the perfect state of moldiness -- what Andrea called the "3S criteria": slime, splotches, and stink -- that the bean curd actually smells pretty good, at least to my nose. There really was more of a bread-like, yeasty bloom in the air, and when I sampled one of the moldy squares (yes, I am insane), it tasted like a soft Camembert. There was nothing disgusting about it, although my husband left the room as he noticed me happily licking my fingertips.

Here is the recipe, one that more or less follows Andrea's wonderfully precise directions that she says were influenced by the work by another great lady, Florence Lin's Chinese Vegetarian Cookbook (note: this book is also completely brilliant), as they give the bean curd just the right environment to mold perfectly. The brine, of course, is my own, and is a result of lots of guesswork and good luck and memories of what my mom-in-law told me.


Red fermented bean curd "cheese" 
Nánrŭ  南乳
Northern Fujian
Makes about a pint

1 square (13.5 ounces, or so) extra-firm fresh bean curd (see Tips)
1½ tablespoons sea salt
3 tablespoons Red Wine Lees (the solids)
½ cup wine left over from the Red Wine Lees, or a neutral rice wine (see Tips)
½ cup water
Sugar

1. Wash your hands and cutting board and everything else so that there is absolutely no oil or contamination. 


2. Cut the bean curd in half horizontally and then into pieces that are more or less square. Lay a tea towel (something with a smooth weave, rather than terry cloth) in a clean rimmed pan on your kitchen counter and then place the bean curd squares on top of the towel so that they don't touch. Lay other towel on top of the squares, place a smaller pan on top of that, and the weight the whole thing down with 2 to 3 pounds of cans, pans, or whatever. This will gently squeeze most of the moisture out of the bean curd. The squares will feel relatively dry after a couple of hours. 

A tiny masterpiece

3. Have a rimmed glass baking pan ready that is (as always) super clean. Place the squares in the pan so that they don't touch each other, as this gives each side more of a chance to grown mold. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and use a toothpick or skewer to punch about 10 holes in the plastic so that the gases can escape.

4. Place the pan in a warm place away from breezes (an unheated oven is handy), and wait about 3 days until the bean curd is covered with yellowish spots, looks very moist, and has a yeasty smell (see Tips). 

5. Carefully clean a 1-pint jar and lid, and then rinse them out with boiling water; turn them upside-down and let them air dry; prepare two new bamboo skewers for handling the bean curd. Place the salt in a small bowl and put the Red Wine Lees in the bottom of the jar. One-by-one, lift each cube of the bean curd up with a very clean bamboo skewer, roll it lightly in the salt, and then ever-so-gently place it in the jar so that it lies fairly flat and doesn't break apart (see Tips). 

6. When all of the bean curd has been placed in the jar, pour the wine and water into the jar and twist on the lid loosely so that gases can escape as the bean curd ferments. Label the jar with the date and place it in the refrigerator. After about a month, add a tablespoon of sugar to the jar and then lightly reseal and return it to the fridge. After another month, add another tablespoon of sugar. By the third month, take a very clean spoon and taste the sauce; if it still needs a bit more sugar, add it. 

7. By month 5 or 6, your fermented bean curd "cheese" will be ready. Always use a very clean spoon to remove the squares, recover the jar, and return it to the fridge. It will keep for a very long time, and the sauce can be used again in your next batch or in some dish that calls for red fermented bean curd, such as the ones mentioned at the top of this page.

Tips

Use extra-firm tofu here, not firm or anything softer. The reason for this is that it will become incredibly soft as it molds, and extra-firm has been the only type (in my experience, at least) that keeps its shape relatively easily. Don't worry, though... the fermented result will have the consistency of custard.

I always recommend organic, non-GMO bean curd. Soybeans are one of the most heavily messed-with crops, and the big pesticide companies are turning them into tiny images of Frankenstein's monster. Corn, soy, and anything that is made with them should always be non-GMO (not genetically modified) for your health and for the planet's. End of speech.

If you don't have any of the wine left over from your Red Wine Lees expedition, use a neutral-flavored rice wine like Taiwanese rice wine (mijiu), as Shaoxing's flavor will fight with that of the Fujian lees.

The time it takes for the bean curd to mold perfectly will vary according to your kitchen temperature. Check on it daily, and when it's ready, proceed immediately.

If some of the squares break apart as you pick them up, don't despair. Just place them in the center of the jar where no one will see them. Push your perfect squares up against the glass, though, as shown in the second photo from the top... they look beautiful that way.

How much sugar you use depends on two major things: the flavor of your Red Wine Lees and your own palate. The sugar will also help feed the yeast and form those delightful bubbles, but don't overdo it. When it tastes exactly right, stop.

A final note on how to enjoy this nanru, as a couple of readers asked quite sensibly, "If I'm not supposed to throw it into some pork or chicken dish, how do you want me to eat it?" To which I reply, "Savor it like a great cheese." 

Good nanru is most traditionally served as a side dish with congee (rice porridge), and I love it that way. But even better is when a single cube is placed on top of a bowl of freshly steamed rice (get the best you can) or slathered inside of a split mantou (plain steamed bun). You see, just as with soft Western cheeses, nanru benefits from this contrast with starchy sweetness and welcomes a bit of blandness to play against its salty pungency.

Of course, if you are a serious addict like me, you might find yourself nibbling on a spoonful while staring mindlessly out the window, licking bits off of the spoon, letting them dissolve in a shimmer of bubbles on your tongue and lips, and then going back for more until, with little warning, the jar is empty. 

Autumnal lotus root à la Guangxi and Guizhou

As autumn works its way into the year, slowly showing summer the door and painting the leaves the colors of a sunset, yet another Chinese vegetable makes its way onto the stage: the lotus root.

Nowadays, lotus roots can be found in Chinese markets most of the year, but that doesn't mean that they are at their best at any other time than fall and early winter. The reason is that the juiciest and plumpest ones are plucked when the leaves begin to wither. That is when the sugars in the lotus roots are at their highest.

They will also be fatter and heavier, as if they were little bears getting ready for hibernation. Which is exactly what is happening. Not that they are bears, of course, but they are preparing for a long winter's nap, and so food has been stored to keep the plant alive and give it that energetic burst once spring rolls around again.

Cubed lotus root...

The two relatively hidden provinces that I've been focused on recently that lie in China's south-central region -- Guizhou and Guangxi -- both have a marked fondness for lotus roots. And they treat them in ways I've never seen in other places.

One is an unusual quick pickle that uses the uniquely starchy, crunchy, refreshing nature of lotus root in a unexpected yet totally delightful way. The other is a side dish that is has fermented bean curd flavored with an ingredient that I used to think was confined only to northern Fujian province: red rice wine lees, or hongzao.

But just earlier today, as I was researching the background of Sichuan cuisine, I found a historical record that mentions hongzao being a favorite local ingredient... a thousand years ago! In Sichuan! That's like discovering that Leondardo da Vinci's mom cooked with lutefisk.

Why am I mentioning Sichuan? Because my own personal theory is that Guizhou and western Guangxi -- along with Yunnan province -- should be considered part of the Sichuan school of Chinese cooking.

and sliced

This is one big puzzle piece in the overall grand picture of Chinese food that divides it into eight broad cuisines. The main problem (for me, at least) is that it tends to be strictly drawn along borders, lumping together provinces that may have had some geopolitical relationship at one time or another, but in the end that doesn't take into account what people actually make for dinner. Also, in doing it this traditional way, many wonderful places have been left out of this patchwork, including Yunnan, Guangxi, and Guizhou to give just three important examples.

So, one of the things I'm going to start discussing here as we continue on our trip around China's cuisines is how they relate to each other historically, physically, and most importantly in their approach to food. 

One clue as to why Guizhou is part of Sichuan's general school is its love for chilies, its reliance on salt and fermented chili pastes rather than soy sauce, the main ingredients that make up the backbone of these cuisine, and their similar approaches to cooking.

Take this pickle as a good illustration. The main flavors come from lots of fresh garlic and ginger and green onions -- aromatics that color most of Sichuan's dishes -- plus the hot pickled chilies that add both tang and heat to any dish. These pickled chilies are almost always from Sichuan, and they tend to be either red or green Thai peppers preserved with salt, vinegar, and little else.

Homemade nanru

I love them. The flavors are clear in a way that the hot sauces are not. They convey a sharpness of color and aroma, too, that is unique and delicious. Called pao lajiao, or pickled chilies, they always come in glass jars, either whole or chopped. I much prefer the whole ones because the texture is so much cleaner, while the chopped ones tend to be mushy. Plus, they offer more versatility for the cook, as one can easily slice or dice them if that's what is called for in the recipe.

Pickles of all sorts are a big deal in Sichuan. Just about any Sichuan cookbook worth its salt will have page after page of pickle recipes. And those pickles with their chilies exploding against garlic and ginger look a whole lot like today's recipe from Guizhou, thus stacking even more evidence on the table in favor of my case for enveloping Guizhou (as well as Yunnan and western Guangxi) in Sichuan's loving though considerably spicy embrace.

The second recipe here is for a creamy, cheesy lotus root. This is a subtle dish with more of those echoes of trips to Guangxi by visitors in the north. Guangdong has its fair share of fermented bean curd, but they like their doufuru white and very funky there, while this mild red version called nanru is a taste of places further up China's eastern edge. Cross pollination is always at work in Chinese cuisine. Half of the fun is trying to connect the dots...

Sichuan style aromas

Pickled lotus root from Guizhou 
Guizhou paojiao lian'ou  貴州泡椒蓮藕  
Guangxi 
Makes about 2 cups

Lotus root and aromatics:
1 plump lotus root, about 6 to 7 inches long
½ teaspoon sea salt
Filtered water as needed
3 green onions, trimmed and chopped into ¼-inch rounds
1 tablespoon peeled fresh garlic, finely chopped
10 or more pickled red chilies (I use 14)
2 plump garlic cloves, thinly sliced

Brine:
2 tablespoons vinegar from the pickled chilies
¼ cup light rice vinegar or good cider vinegar
¼ cup sugar
2 teaspoons sea salt
Filtered water as needed

1. Peel the lotus root and remove both ends. Rinse the root thoroughly under running water; if there is mud in one of the holes, use a thin chopstick to scrub the inside. Cut the lotus root lengthwise in half and then into quarter-inch cubes. Place the cubed lotus root in a small saucepan, add the half teaspoon salt, and cover with water. Bring the pan to a full boil and then reduce to a simmer. Cook the root for about 5 minutes, or until it is just barely tender but still has a crunchy texture. Drain the pan in a colander and rinse the lotus root with cool water to stop the cooking.

2. Place the cooked lotus root in a 3 cup container with the green onions, ginger, pickled chilies, and cloves. Mix together the pickled chili vinegar, rice vinegar, sugar, and salt, and then pour this over the vegetables; add just enough water to almost cover them. Refrigerate the pickle for at least 24 hours. Remove whatever amount you want with a very clean slotted spoon. The pickle will stay crispy and tasty for at least 5 days.

Velvety lacy slices

Guangxi style lotus root with red bean curd cheese 
Guishi nanru oupian 桂式南乳藕片
Guangxi
Serves 4 as a side dish

1 plump lotus root, about 6 to 7 inches long
2 teaspoons roasted sesame oil
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced  
½ cup filtered water
½ teaspoon sea salt
1 cube red fermented bean curd (aka red bean curd cheese or nanru), lightly mashed, plus a dribble of the nanru's sauce
1 teaspoon sugar

1. Peel the lotus root and remove both ends. Rinse the root thoroughly under running water; if there is mud in one of the holes, use a thin chopstick to scrub the inside. Thinly slice the lotus root crosswise into lacy rounds.

Creamy vs. crunchy

2. Heat the sesame oil in a wok over medium-high heat until it smells wonderful, and then add the lotus root. Quickly stir-fry them for a minute or two to heat them through. Then, add the rest of the ingredients. Toss the lotus roots in the sauce for a few minutes until the sauce thickens. Taste and adjust seasoning, and then serve in a pretty bowl.

Tips

Select lotus roots that are heavy for their size. Avoid any with soft spots or heavy bruises, as this also indicates that the roots might be muddy inside.

Store the roots in a plastic bag in the refrigerator. They keep best if wrapped with a damp paper towel first since they are, after all, aquatic plants.

Pickled chili peppers will be found in the condiment aisle of Chinese markets. Look for peppers that are a shiny red, which shows that they are still fresh; dull red ones have been around too long. Keep leftovers in the fridge like any other pickle.

Red fermented bean curd (red bean curd cheese or 南乳 nanru) will also be on the condiment aisle. Store an opened container in a cool place, preferably the fridge if you're not going to use it up quickly. (I will be sharing a recipe for this creamy ingredient before long... so if you don't have your Red Wine Lees made yet, get started!)

If you want, you can use regular doufuru with a teaspoon or so of the Red Wine Lees.

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.

Roast chicken with a Fujianese twist

The other day I brought back home a large bird that dared me to come up with a new way to prepare that delicious standby, roasted chicken. This was a six-pounder, a fine representative of the best that poultry farmers can offer, so she only needed some tasty encouragement to turn into a crispy-skinned dinner.

My big jar of Fujian Red Wine Lees sat on the counter, looking as lovely and as scarlet as ever, which made me think, why hasn't anyone roasted a chicken with it? I've basted many a chicken with Shaoxing rice wine, but why not the red stuff? I couldn't think of a good answer, so I invented the following recipe. I guess you could call this nouveau Fujian style chicken, for want of a better name.

The main requirement, really, is a very good quality roasting chicken. This means that it is much larger than a fryer, which usually weighs in at about three to four pounds. The older birds respond wonderfully to the dry heat of the oven, rendering their fat and juices into the most perfect sauce imaginable.

Ruby red and delicious

Second on the list is Fujian's Red Wine Lees, a beautiful ingredient that can easily be either made at home or bought at a Chinese market; if for some reason you have neither, feel free to use either the Homemade Fermented Rice we talked about so many times here, or even a good Shaoxing rice wine. Everything else is pretty straightforward.

If you are pretty busy, you can marinate the chicken ahead of time by placing it in a resealable plastic bag with all of the marinade ingredients. Squish the marinade over the chicken and refrigerate everything. (Past experience with leaky bags has taught me that it's always best to place a work bowl underneath the bag, too.) Refrigerate the chicken for 8 to 10 hours, and it will be even more flavorful.

Serve this chicken with rice or steamed bread, a couple of simple vegetable dishes, and maybe a hot soup, and you will have a very easy feast with lots of leftovers. The broth from the chicken makes a delicious base for soups, too; just toss in some fresh mushrooms, spinach, soft bean curd, or even the onion that is stuffed inside the chicken, plus filtered water and seasonings to taste.

Roast chicken with a Fujianese twist 
Minshi kaoji  閩式烤雞
Northern Fujian

Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal

1 organic, free-range roasting chicken, about 6 pounds
1 large onion, peeled
½ cup Red Wine Lees
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
3 tablespoons soy paste (jiangyou gao)
1 tablespoon sugar
3 tablespoons roasted sesame oil 

Robed and ready

1. Start this recipe at least 3 hours before you wish to serve it. Clean the chicken and pat dry with a paper towel. Stick the whole onion into the chicken, as this will keep the breast meat from drying out. (If you don't want to do this, tie the legs together to keep the drying heat out of the cavity.)

2. Place the chicken in a resealable plastic bag and add the rest of the ingredients. Seal the bag while forcing out most of the air, and then massage the marinade into the chicken from the outside of the bag. Put the bag in a work bowl and refrigerate the chicken for at least an hour and up to 10 hours. 

3. Remove the chicken from the refrigerator while you heat up the oven to 4oo degrees F. Select a roasting pan that is just a bit wider than the chicken; either a high-sided baking dish or an iron Dutch skillet work great here. If you have one, place a small trivet inside the pan so that all of the skin will get a chance to crisp up. Arrange the chicken in the pan and place the pan in the oven. Immediately turn the temperature down to 375 degrees F.

4. Roast the chicken for about 1½ hours, basting every 10 minutes during the last hour. It will be done if the juices in the cavity run clear when you tip up the chicken; you can also check that the thighs are done by piercing them with a knife, as these juices should be clear, too.

5. Let the chicken rest for 15 to 30 minutes while you prepare the rest of the meal, as this will allow the juices to plump up the meat. Remove the onion and use it for something else. Drain off the juices, skim off the fat if you like, and either serve this alongside the chicken or save it for the soup mentioned above.

Fujian's red wine chicken

I was first introduced to northern Fujian's exciting cuisine through my husband's beloved professor, Wang Men-ou. A native of Fujian, Professor Wang once took us out for a meal at a his favorite place, a bare bones shop called Victory Restaurant. 

This little storefront was on the wrong side of the tracks in a bad part of town, but I don't think that this ever bothered its clientele much. They were there for the food. Period. 

Victory was always packed and was always serving dishes that I'd never heard of before and have never had again. Except, of course, for the ones that I have reconstructed from my memories.

This place was so great that even the rice was unforgettable. A unique style of cooking from the Hakka people of Fujian province, these firm and chewy grains were cooked in woven grass bags that scented the rice with the lush aroma of summer. Likewise, the crispy eel filets were better than any other way I've eaten them: coated in a batter flavored with red rice wine lees, this was like fish and chips gone to heaven. Light and remarkably grease free, it was always the first thing I would order whenever we returned for another feast.

All the flavors this marvelous dish

Fujian's cuisine is generally divided into north and south. Southern Fujian cooking is very much like Taiwan's because of the mass migration to the island that occurred just a few hundred years ago.  Today we are going to talk more about the cuisine that centers around the capital city of Fuzhou in the north, where the banquet dishes in particular are often fancier and are just as refined as those of its neighbors to the north, Jiangsu and Zhejiang.

As I've gone on to explore this little known arena of incredibly good food, I've found other dishes that are just as inventive and just as tasty as what I enjoyed at Victory. 

Number one has to be this chicken. The Red Wine Chicken of northern Fujian is just about as lush a version of braised poultry as you're liable to run into.  It calls for only two indigenous ingredients, but they will already be in your pantry if you've made Fujian's Red Wine Lees, which provides you with both the solids and the wine. If not, search out some commercially made wine lees (or hunt down a northern Fujian native for a handout) and use either some Fujian red rice wine (pictured above) or Shaoxing rice wine.

Traditional recipes for this dish usually don't call for the chicken to be browned first, but I like the texture the browning gives to the meat, and it also gives me a chance to pour off most of the fat for something else. The flavors are cleaner this way too, in my opinion, and the red wine lees have more of a chance to dance on your tongue without impediment.

This dish calls for a whole chicken, but you can use whatever cuts you like, such as wings, thighs, breasts... just get the best quality bird available. If you do use a whole chicken, cut off and reserve all of the extra fat; we'll talk about how to render chicken fat soon, since that is a wonderful seasoning for any number of East China dishes. And you can also trim off the back, wing tips, and neck from the whole bird and use them to make a quick stock to go with your dinner; we'll look at this recipe very soon, too.


Fujian's red wine chicken
Hongzao ji   紅糟雞 
Northern Fujian
Serves 4 as a main dish, 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal

1 whole organic, free range fryer, or about 3½ pounds chicken parts

1 tablespoon roasted sesame oil
1 finger fresh ginger, unpeeled and thinly sliced
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced 
4 green onions, trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths
4 tablespoons (or so) Red Wine Lees, homemade or commercially prepared (see above)
½ cup Fuzhou red rice wine, the wine from the Red Wine Lees, or Shaoxing rice wine
1½ cups boiling hot filtered water
10 large Chinese mushrooms, fresh or plumped up, stems removed
1 or 2 tablespoons light soy sauce
Sugar, optional
Shredded green onions for garnish

1. Rinse the chicken, pat dry, and remove the extra fat, as well as any organs still inside the cavity.  If you are serving this as a main dish, you can cut this into 10 large pieces (legs, thighs, wings, and the two breasts cut in half); for a more traditional presentation, cut the chicken into pieces about 2 x 1 inches in size.

Brown the chicken first

2.  Heat the sesame oil in the wok over high heat until it smokes, then add the ginger, garlic, and green onions. Quickly stir-fry the aromatics for about 10 seconds to flavor the oil before pushing them up the side of the wok. Add all of the chicken to the wok, skin side down, with the dark meat in the center of the wok and the breasts around the edge. Brown the chicken all over, turning the meat and adjusting the heat as necessary, and stirring in the ginger, garlic, and green onions.

3. As soon as the chicken is browned nicely, pour off all but about a tablespoon of the fat and reserve it for something else. Push the chicken to one side and fry the red wine lees in the center of the wok to remove its raw flavor. Toss the chicken with the fried red wine lees, pour in the rice wine and water, stir the mixture around, and then add the mushroom caps and soy sauce; if you are using commercially prepared red wine, this will probably have salt in it, so don't add too much soy sauce immediately. Lower the heat and simmer the chicken in the sauce uncovered until the breast meat is just barely cooked; remove the breasts to a plate, taste and adjust the seasonings by adding more soy sauce and sugar, if necessary. Continue to simmer the dark meat until the thighs are fully cooked. Reduce the sauce more, if necessary; it should have the consistency of thick cream.


4. Arrange the chicken and mushrooms on a serving platter, pour the thickened sauce over them, and garnish with the shredded green onions. Serve with plenty of hot steamed rice.

Scarlet rice wine of northern Fujian

(Note to my readers: sorry about the lapse in recipes lately... had carpal tunnel surgery on both hands in July, so while I've been cooking away, it's been a bit of a challenge to type. But be prepared for a deluge of new dishes in the weeks to come!)

Nothing symbolizes northern Fujian-style cooking more than its red wine lees, called either hongzao in Mandarin or ang chow in Fujianese. Made pretty much in the same as the Homemade Fermented Rice that we looked at a few months ago, this local concoction is both flavored and colored by a remarkable ingredient called red yeast rice -- or hongqumi -- a type of rice grain coated with the bacteria Monascus pupureus.

The Chinese have enjoyed the health benefits of this cholesterol-lowering bacteria for countless years, and the West has only recently started to pay attention to red yeast rice as a medicine, but few know how good it tastes when brewed the right way. In fact, this is so delicious that you could be easily forgiven if you made it just for its deep crimson hue and delicious winy aroma.

Red wine yeast

You sometimes can find it already fermented and ready to use in its paste form, where it will usually be located in the refrigerated section of a Chinese grocery store. However, if you enjoyed making your own Homemade Fermented Rice, this recipe will be a snap. It's pretty much the same recipe, just with a bit more water plus the red yeast rice.

The only unusual ingredient is that red yeast rice, but it is becoming more available nowadays in the dry goods section of a Chinese market, usually near the beans or herbs. Whenever you run across it, snag a bag and store it in the freezer or refrigerator along with any Chinese wine yeast balls that you have left over from your last wine-making session.

Again, the main requirement for success is that absolutely everything be spanking clean. Oil should never touch anything, so use only freshly cleaning utensils and containers. The glutinous rice and the red yeast rice need to be soaked ahead of time, which means that you should start this the evening before you plan to put everything together. 

The main problem here, as with the Homemade Fermented Rice and the Sweet Pickled Garlic Cloves, is that you will have to be patient. Months are needed to turn the rice into this aromatic seasoning, but you can keep it up on your shelf while it ferments, enjoying its color while it takes its sweet time to mature. 

You will be able to decant off the liquid after a couple of weeks, and this will also age into a nice cooking wine. The bright red lees (or solids) will store well in the refrigerator once the fermentation is complete, and the wine too will keep a long time -- even improving -- as it ages. Do note that commercial red wine lees are usually salted, so feel free to add a bit of salt if you don't plan on using it up quickly.

I've suggested making a relatively small amount of red wine lees, but if you already have worked with it and cook Fujian-style dishes often, the recipe is easily doubled. The wine is great for cooking, and as with just about anything alcoholic, it only improves with age. And be sure to make your own Fermented Bean Curd with it... life will never be the same!

Fujian's red wine lees
Hongzao  紅糟 
Northern Fujian

About 3 cups wine and about a pound of red wine lees

1 pound round sticky (a/k/a sweet or glutinous) rice (nuomi)
2 ounces red wine yeast rice (hongqumi)
Cooled, filtered boiled water
1 tablespoon sugar
1 Chinese wine yeast ball
1 tablespoon cornstarch

Steaming rice

1. Place the rice in a strainer, tossing out any bits of debris that you run across. Rinse the rice under tap water, and then place it in a medium work bowl. Cover the rice with cool tap water by about 2 inches. Leave the rice to soak for 8 hours, or overnight.

2. While the rice is soaking, place the red wine yeast rice in  a very clean 2-quart jar with a lid. Cover the rice with 3 cups cool, filtered water, add the sugar, and stir. Cover the jar and let it sit 8 hours or overnight to wake up the bacteria in the yeast.

3. The next morning, steam and rinse the rice as directed here. 

4. While the rice is steaming, place the wine yeast ball in a small bowl and barely cover it with cool, filtered boiled water so that it can soften. After the rice has been steamed and rinsed, smash the wine yeast ball with your fingers or a fork. Add the rice, the smooshed yeast ball and soaking water, and the cornstarch to the jar with the red wine yeast rice. Stir the ingredients together with a very clean wooden spoon. Cover the jar loosely so that carbon dioxide can escape but insects can't go in. Place the jar in a warm place as directed in the Homemade Rice Wine recipe, and stir it or shake it once a day for a week to evenly distribute the yeast and its food. 

5. After a few days, check the the jar. If it smells alcoholic and the rice has formed a raft that floats on top of the wine, remove the jar and place it in a cool area out of direct sunlight, but keep the lid only loosely screwed on.

Bubbling wine

6. When the rice has broken down and has formed a much thinner raft on top of the wine, it is time to strain out the solids. Place a few layers of very clean, fine cheesecloth in a very clean sieve over a bowl. Carefully ladle the rice and wine into the cheesecloth, giving the wine a chance to dribble down into the bowl before adding more. When all of the wine has decanted into the bowl, bring the corners of the cheesecloth together and tie the bundle. Place a small plate on top of the cheesecloth bundle and then put a pound can on top of the plate to weight the lees down and extract as much wine as possible. Cover everything with a clean towel to keep out insects, and leave the lees to slowly drip for a couple of hours. The lees should end up being moist but not wet and have the consistency of fairly dry mashed potatoes.

7. Empty the drained lees into a very clean jar, label it, cover the jar, and refrigerate. It will keep a very long time this way, but you can mix in a bit of salt if you want to keep it for more than a few months. The wine can be decanted into very clean bottles; discard any solids at the bottom of the bowl, or use them in any dish that calls for the red rice wine lees.