Guilin rice noodles

Today’s dish combines last week’s braised beef shanks with pickles in what has to be one of the most sublime pairings I’ve ever enjoyed. What’s more, the main components of this noodle soup – namely the braised beef and the pickled long beans – can be either store-bought or made at home long in advance, which means that this is a really easy recipe to pull together.

I would, of course, strongly urge you to make both of these yourself. Like I already showed you, these Muslim-style shanks are simply divine and can be cooked with very little effort. The pickled green beans are super easy, too, if you already have a crock filled with the aromatic brine from traditional Sichuan-style pickles that we explored a couple of years ago. This traditional way to ferment pickles has become one of the most popular recipes I’ve ever posted on this blog, and I really urge you to get a crock going in your kitchen ASAP.

After three weeks in a delicious brine

It’s hard to describe just how tasty these beans are, but here goes: While commercial ones may be dully green, soft, and sour, these homemade ones posses a much brighter olive color, are gently crispy, and have a lovely range of flavors hiding inside their skins - juices that squish out onto your tongue with each bite and turn this simple street snack into what might easily become an addiction. Of course, if you don't have a nice bunch of these at the ready, just about any other crunchy green Chinese pickle will do, including the cabbage in that main Sichuan recipe or even Shanghai mustard pickles.

Many classic Guangxi dishes as prepared in the bigger cities and lowlands combine local ingredients with Cantonese techniques, but the cuisine does an about-face as one moves into higher altitudes, for it ends up looking and tasting much more like the cooking of its northwestern neighbor, Guizhou. 

Fresh long beans ready for the crock

This is most likely the one dish that the beautiful city of Guilin is most famous for among the Chinese, and pork is the usual meat component here, but those braised shanks work like a dream, too.

So, if you have the ingredients mentioned here already made, you can have a steaming bowl of noodles in a flash.

Guilin rice noodles
Guìlín mĭfěn 桂林米粉 

Guangxi

Serves 2

Thin slices of braised beef shin

1 pound | 500 g fresh rice noodles

Boiling water as needed

½ cup (or so) pickled long beans, or other pickled vegetables, chopped and rinsed with boiling water

10 (or so) thin slices braised beef shank, plus some of the braising sauce

Large handful of coarsely chopped cilantro

2 scallions, finely chopped

Finely ground chile peppers, to taste

1 handful fried soybeans or peanuts

Fresh rice noodles & green onions

1. Place the rice noodles in a wide colander and separate them as much as possible. Put the colander in the sink and run boiling water over them. Shake the colander to fluff up the noodles, and then divide them between two large soup bowls.

2. Arrange the beef slices and pickles on top of the noodles and drizzle in about ¼ cup of the braising liquid. Pour enough boiling water into each bowl so that about an inch of the noodles is peeking out. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Divide the cilantro and green onions among the bowls, and sprinkle on some ground chili pepper, if you like. Toss and eat.

A creamy, cold weather delight from South China

A wonderful surprise was in store for me a few evenings ago when I finally had time to catch up on my favorite podcasts, and lo and behold, there was All Under Heaven being featured and loved and totally understood. 

To top it off, I only discovered this spectacular review a month after it had been aired! (I still need to figure out how to Google myself without being weirded out by all the people who share my name but are simply the dearly departed or the recently arrested. Mine is one popular name, it turns out.) 

Anyway, a long time favorite cookbook reviewer, T. Susan Chang, started a new podcast last month called The Level Teaspoon, and my two books are featured in the very first episode! (The praise starts at the 5:00 mark, if you're in a hurry.) Subscribe to this free podcast while you're at it - you'll be doing yourself a favor if you love cookbooks as much as I do.

And you don't get to consider your bucket list fulfilled as a cookbook writer if you haven't yet been given the seal of approval by the esteemed cookbook site, Leite's Culinaria. Well, that just happened to yours truly, and All Under Heaven somehow made it to the top of their list of "Best Cookbooks September 2016." Call me stunned, thrilled, happy... All I know is that their wonderful reviewer, Melissa Maedgen, completely comprehended what I was trying to do, made a batch of recipes that worked for her (hallelujah!), and had all sorts of nice things to say. Thank you, Melissa!

The Wall Street Journal also quoted me this last Saturday in the well written and oh-so-timely article "Chinese Food in New Translations," which is celebrating the thoughtful and exciting exhibition "Sweet Sour Bitter Spicy" exhibit at the Museum of Chinese in America. The author of this article, Jamie Feldmar, studied in China, so her love for the foods of my adopted country echo throughout this article. Plus, she's a heck of a lot of fun to talk with when you're barreling on a train from New York to DC. 

Finally, you can find me jabbering away about dim sum this week with Evan Kleiman on her tasty and knowledgeable podcast "Good Food," which is on the public radio station KCRW out of Los Angeles. Now that is one GREAT interviewer. I was told I'd sound better than I ever had before, and since that has been proved to be true, I must owe it all to Evan and her talent crew. Thanks, Evan!

* * *

The autumnal equinox has passed and the northern half of the world is becoming chillier. And that’s just the way I like it, because it means I get to dine on the warming comfort foods of China. This country has a marvelous battalion of soups, stews, and braises that are specifically designed to warm your toes and make even the crankiest diner happy. And this is one of them. In fact, this dish is downright luxurious.

Traditionally, this cured duck casserole is just pieces of the cured bird simmered with taro and a bit of ginger. And it’s good that way, but not the kind of thing that keeps me up at night with anticipation. Some recipes suggest adding coconut milk, and that is what got my mind really revving, since coconut milk always equals comfort food in my book. It’s sort of like adding heavy cream or a rich béchamel sauce to a dish, but with a delightful tropical twist.

I then went a bit nuts and took this dish many steps further down the road to hedonism: There’s rice wine in there to vibrate against the cured duck, the green onions and ginger are toasted to make them nothing less than absolutely mellow, I fry the duck after simmering it to give the skin a lot more interest and flavor, and the tangle of golden ginger is reserved to act as a chewy foil for all the soft textures underneath it.

Fuzzy baby taro

But I also took a cue from Macau’s great chicken dishes and broiled the top of the braise, which supplies yet another layer of texture, since a skin forms on the top of this rich coconut sauce and turns a rather boring looking dish into something that is quite beautiful. Finally, it all got lavishly decorated with garnishes that turn this dish into a celebration.

Do note that the ratio of taro to duck is huge. That’s because the duck acts more as a seasoning here than as a regular meat. When it’s cured like this, the bird becomes intensely flavored – a lot like prosciutto – which then turns around and seasons everything in its path. The duck is also very salty, and that’s the reason why it needs that initial hot bath to wash off a good part of the cure and also plump up the flesh a bit.

You can find cured duck (làyā 臘鴨) in most Chinese grocery stores all year around, but it will be best from autumn through spring, when the turnover is much faster. Try to find ducks that are grown and cured in the States, rather than China. Since the duck is completely cured, the unopened packages will keep forever in the refrigerator.

Use whatever kind of taro you like and is available. Mature taro – which looks a bit like a football and is very heavy and starchy – will make the casserole creamier and have more of a tropical flavor. Young taro are more vegetal and juicier, and in their own way are just as fine here. So, go with what you like.

Those lovely, creamy insides

I suggest you get a good-sized amount of taro because you will probably be trimming off a good portion of the flesh in addition to the skin, since things like bruises will have to be cut away. When it comes to young taro, trim off anything that is not creamy white, and keep only the lavender parts of more mature taro. (Do note that some varieties of mature taro will come in different colors – if you get a particularly pale or deep-colored root, you will be able to easily figure out what parts are good and what parts should be 86’d.)

To select taro, first eyeball them. They should look plump all over. When you see shrinking around the base, that means they have been hanging around too long and will be dry, which in turn means that they will take forever to cook. Avoid any with mushy spots, as this indicates rot. They are quite hairy, so you will have to fondle them in the vegetable bin – try not to make a scene while doing this or frighten the children.

Lots of times the mature taro will be cut in half or pieces and wrapped in plastic. There’s nothing essentially wrong with these, but do realize that they probably had their rotted parts trimmed off and so should be checked over very carefully for signs of further damage or excessive age.

Keep your taro dry and chilled and wrapped up in a bag with a paper towel, for this will help prevent them from sprouting or decaying. Wear kitchen gloves when you start to peel them if you are allergic to their juices. (Mature taro is much more irritating to the skin than immature ones, for some reason.) 

Fry the duck & onions

Use a potato peeler to remove the skins and then carve off any less than perfect parts. They don’t have to be soaked in water like potatoes, and if you do lots at one time (highly recommended if you are a taro fanatic like me), freeze them in a single layer and then store them in a freezer bag; they do not have to be defrosted first for most dishes.

Cured duck and coconut casserole with taro

Yézhī lìyù làyā bào  椰汁荔芋臘鴨煲

Southern Guangxi and Guangdong

Serves 4

1 Cantonese-style cured duck leg

Boiling water, as needed

Around 1½ pounds / 700 g baby or mature taro

¼ cup / 60 ml toasted sesame oil

¼ cup / 30 g thinly julienned ginger

4 green onions, trimmed and cut into fourths

¼ cup / 30 ml mild rice wine (mijiu)

1 (13.5 ounce / 400 g) can whole fat coconut milk

Sea salt to taste

1 green onion, trimmed and finely shredded

¼ cup / 30 g unsweetened grated coconut, toasted

1. This is great the same day that you make it, but gets even better with a day or two of rest in the fridge. Use a heavy cleaver to whack the leg into pieces that are around 1 inch / 2 cm wide all around. Place them in a saucepan, cover with water, and bring the pan to a boil over high heat. Lower the heat to a simmer and cook for about 5 minutes to remove the extra salt. Drain the duck well in a colander set in the sink, and then pat it dry with a paper towel.

2. Peel the taro, and if you are using mature taro, be sure to wear gloves if you are allergic its raw juices. Rinse the peeled taro and cut the baby ones in half or quarters, while the mature taro should be shaped into cubes that are also around 1 inch / 2 cm all around.

Chewy fried ginger!

3. Set a wok over medium-high heat and pour in the sesame oil. Sprinkle in the julienned ginger and stir the ginger constantly to toast it to a golden brown, adjusting the heat as necessary. Remove the ginger to a small work bowl. Return the oil to high heat and slide in the duck and green onions. Fry them all over so that they too are a golden brown. Pour in the rice wine, coconut milk, and a can full of boiling water, and then add the taro. Bring the liquid to a boil and then reduce the heat to maintain a bare simmer. Cook the duck uncovered until the taro is creamy, which may take from 15 to 30 minutes, depending upon the quality and age of the taro. Taste and adjust the seasoning with a bit more salt, if needed. At this point the sauce should have the consistency of heavy cream, so reduce it if necessary. The dish may be prepared ahead of time up to this point and refrigerated. Heat the dish through again before serving, of course.

4. Turn on your broiler. Scrape everything into a heatproof 4 cup / 1 liter casserole. Set it about 2 inches / 5 cm from the broiler. Keep a close eye on the dish, and remove it as soon as the top is covered with golden leopard spots. To serve, sprinkle on the green onions and then the coconut flakes and fried ginger. This is great with steamed rice of any kind plus a green vegetable stir-fried with little more than garlic and salt.

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.

Five cup duck: a Guangxi delight

When I came across mention of this recipe, I became obsessed. Five Cup Duck. It had to be delicious.

And you know what? I was right.

The reason for my rapt attention is a) I love duck, b) I love Jiangxi's Three Cup Chicken, and c) I really wanted to know what the five cups were. Jiangxi's most famous dish has a cup each of sugar, soy sauce, and oil, and it is certainly wonderful. And here Guangxi -- which shares no borders with Jiangxi but nonetheless is not that far away -- was one-upping that province with a total of five mysterious ingredients.

When I finally found a recipe, it seemed good but not quite yet divine. 

It was on the right track, though. Instead of soy sauce, it called for salt water, and the other two ingredients were vinegar and rice wine, making this another entry in the Chinese pantheon of sweet and sour dishes. 

Fry the honey-coated bird

However, the duck was merely chopped up and quickly fried in this mixture. That is not how I like my duck. The best red meats are always slow-cooked in my book. Think of how heavenly and tender pork and lamb and beef and, yes, duck get when they are gently poached or braised or roasted. This gives the muscles time to relax, the moisture to  meld with the meat, and the flavors to penetrate every last morsel.

So I've taken Guangxi's traditional banquet dish and updated it, giving it more flavor, more depth, and a whole lot more succulence. And do you want to know what the best part is? The duck gets even better by the second day, when it's had a chance to sit in those jelly-like juices and turn into a quivering mass of perfection. 

This recipe is so good it's unreal.

But what you really have to understand is that this is a very easy dish to make. The only thing you have to do is prep a cleaned duck and then fry it to tighten and flavor and degrease the skin. Then you just plop it in the braising liquid and let it simmer very very very slowly for a couple of hours.

Cantonese white liquor

This frying step is genius. First, you smear honey all over the toweled-off bird and then fry every inch of the skin. You'll notice the skin tighten up like a drum as it shrinks in the hot fat. And, as the honey on the skin turns a deep mahogany, the fat underneath the skin will eke out into the wok, releasing all sorts of incredible aromas. If you don't do this frying step, the skin will be flabby, and all of the duck fat will drown your braising liquid. Like I said, it's a brilliant technique for braising poultry. 

Now back to the braising liquid. The traditional recipe calls for a cup each of sugar, salt water, rice wine (you can tell this is city food by all the sugar and wine!), oil, and rice vinegar. What I've done is reduced the sugar by a quarter, used a Cantonese white liquor that is rice based but packs a terrific wallop, substituted a mixture of balsamic and cider vinegar for the Chinese rice vinegar that I am still very wary of, and added a fistful of sliced ginger to both season the meat and erase some of the duck's innate gaminess. 

For the vinegar, I went for a really nice balance of sweet and tart by using half balsamic and half cider vinegar. (Bragg's is one cider vinegar that I heartily recommend.) This provided me with what is almost an almost identical ringer for a good dark Chinese vinegar, and it's one I'll be using in a lot more recipes, too.

Ginger in the braise

If you like a sweeter sauce, you'll be able to add more sugar later on when the duck's done. And if you prefer a tarter one, dribble in some vinegar just before you serve it.

One thing that makes this braised duck different from just about any other Chinese duck is the lack of herbs and aromatics. The original recipe didn't even have ginger in it, which is highly unusual. Most braised duck recipes from Shandong down through the Yangtze River valley out to Fujian and over in Sichuan all call for a grab bag of medicinal herbs that not only flavor, but also add to the restorative properties of a duck dish. You, of course, can add whatever you like, or you can even eliminate the ginger, if you want to be completely traditional.

This is perfect as is, served whole at the table so that guests can pluck off pieces. No cutting is needed, as it will fall apart with little encouragement.

What's more, it is incredible as a topping for the soft rice noodles that Guangxi revels in. So, if you do have friends over for dinner, try to squirrel away a few pieces of the duck for the next day. Or, if you are as in love with duck as I am, make two ducks and revel in your brilliant foresight over the next couple of days. A recipe for these noodles is down below.


Five cup duck Guangxi style 
Guangxi wubei ya  廣西五杯鴨
Guangxi
Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal, 3 to 4 as a main dish

1 whole duck, as natural as possible
3 to 4 tablespoons honey
Frying oil as needed
1 cup Cantonese rice white liquor (Shiwan mijiu) or other rice wine
½ cup balsamic vinegar plus ½ cup cider vinegar, or 1 cup unseasoned rice vinegar
1 cup fresh peanut or vegetable oil
1 cup filtered water, plus more as needed
2½ teaspoons sea salt
¾ cup sugar
2 inches fresh ginger, thinly sliced

Cut up whole duck

1. Clean the duck and pat dry. If the head, neck, and feet are attached, cut them off and reserve, if you like, as well as any giblets, such as the liver, gizzard, and heart. Remove any large pieces of fat around the top and bottom openings; save the fat for something else (see Tips). Cut off the tips of the wings (the last joints) and reserve. What you should end up should look like the photo on the right: 

2. Use a sharp paring knife to poke tiny holes in the skin over the heavy fat deposits, which usually are around the neck and by the thighs; this will help the fat escape as it melts. Rub the honey all over the outside of the duck body so that it is fully coated. 

3. Heat a cup or so of frying oil in a wok over medium high heat until a chopstick inserted in the oil immediately bubbles all over. Carefully add the duck and fry it on all sides until it is golden brown. Don't try to rush this process, so adjust the heat so that the duck slowly fries and doesn't burn. Be careful of the liquid that will collect in the duck as it cooks; these juices will spatter when they hit the hot oil, so have a spatter screen or lid ready to protect you whenever you turn the duck over.

4. Have either a large sandpot or crockpot ready; it should be just large enough to snugly hold the duck, about 5 cups sauce, and the trimmings, if you want. When the duck is a golden brown all over, drain off all the oil from the bird and place it in the pot breast side up. Add the rest of the ingredients to the duck, as well as any trimmings (such as the fried head, neck, and feet, plus the raw gizzard and heart), and also about a cup more water (if needed) so that the duck is almost submerged. Cover the pot, bring the liquid to a boil, and then lower it to the lowest possible heat. Braise the duck very slowly for a couple of hours until it is absolutely tender. (The time will depend upon the duck, your heat source, how hot the heat is you're using, and the type of pot you use.) You won't need to flip the duck over in the sauce. If you are planning to add the liver, cook it for about 15 minutes in the pot, or until it is just cooked through.

5. Cool the duck in the braising liquid until it is cool, then cover the pot and chill it overnight in the liquid; if you wish, you can remove everything but the bird itself before chilling it, and either eat or discard these pieces. (You may also serve the duck immediately when it is still hot; just carefully lift it out of the liquid onto a platter while using two spatulas to transfer the very delicate duck.) Just before serving, remove the duck from the cold braising liquid, place it on a heatproof rimmed platter, and steam for about 15 minutes until heated through. The braising liquid can be strained and reduced over high heat until it is syrupy, and then used as a sauce; adjust the seasoning at that point.

6. Serve the duck whole on a platter with a pitcher or bowl of the reduced sauce on the side, and allow your guests to pick the duck apart.

Heavenly leftovers

Guangxi style duck soup with thick rice noodles 
Suancai yarou fenli tang  酸菜鴨肉粉利湯 
Guangxi
Serves 1 person as a main dish

This dish is more of a throw-together than an actual recipe. What you mainly need are the following:

A handful of fresh or frozen thick rice noodles (see Tips)
A handful of pickled vegetables of some sort (see Tips)
Some leftover duck and sauce

1. Boil the noodles for a couple minutes in a pot of boiling water to cover until they float but are still chewy; drain the noodles and reserve the water.

2. While the noodles are cooking, chop up the pickles to whatever size you like. Taste one, and if it is too sour, rinse the pickles in boiling water until they're as mild as you like (see Tips).

Pickled long beans

3. Shred the duck and remove any bones. Cut the skin into bite-sized pieces. In a small pan, heat the leftover duck in the sauce. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

4. Place the noodles in a large bowl. Arrange the pickles and duck on top, and then dribble the sauce over the noodles. Add as much of the hot noodle water as you like. Enjoy an easy dinner with no guests around.


Tips

Ducks are usually available frozen and the quality varies widely, so get one from a reputable butcher.

I like mine with all the body parts attached, as they add flavor and body to the braising liquid. But, if this makes you squeamish, get one that's already been trimmed.

Most Chinese ducks will have the tongues, hearts, and livers removed, since these are delicacies and so can be sold at higher prices.

Thick fresh rice noodles

Duck fat should be rendered simply because it is utterly delicious. Period. Hoard it like gold and use it whenever you want to show your love.

The oil the duck was fried in will have a delicious flavor, too, if you used good, fresh oil to begin with. Be sure to strain and reserve this oil, using it up over the next week to scent eggs, vegetables, and other mild-flavored ingredients.

Use any kind of pickled vegetable you like, such as spicy pickled mustard stems (zhacai), pickled mustard greens (suancai), or these pickled long beans. Anything is good as long as it has a slightly sharp bite to counteract the richness of the duck.

Frozen thick rice noodles are called fenli 粉利 if they're from Guangxi or mitaimu 米台目 if they're from Taiwan. They are increasingly becoming more available here in California in the frozen sections of larger Chinese supermarkets. If none can be found, dried rice noodles of any kind will work just fine.