Guizhou's chili chicken and delectable hot sauce

Chili chicken is popular throughout the Central Highlands, and both Hunan and Chongqing (Sichuan) have their own delicious versions. 

My favorite, though, comes from Guizhou. It is not as spicy as the other two, but I find the flavor much richer.

The secret to Guizhou’s famous chicken dish is soaking dried chili peppers until they are soft, and then grinding them with ginger and garlic into a creamy paste that the locals call ciba lajiao, or “mochi chili.” 

Ciba is a rice paste that is used throughout the south for snacks, sweets, and as a starch, and this sauce probably got its name because it too is thick.

Ciba lajiao

The following recipe gives you extra sauce that can be refrigerated for some other dish. (Try it in a quick stir-fry or braise with either bean curd or pork, or as a dipping sauce for jiaozi with a dash of soy sauce and/or vinegar.) Do keep your eye on it, though, as I found that guests tend to snag the jar once they've tasted the sauce.

The soaking of the chilies tames much of the heat and turns them mellow, and then a slow turn in hot oil with other aromatics magically turns this into something truly special.

A second secret to perfect Guizhou-style chicken is using bone-in meat that you chop into bite-sized pieces. The Chinese believe—and I agree with them—that the meat on the bones is the sweetest, and having to deal with the bones forces me to linger over this dish and appreciate all of the many layers instead of wolfing it down.

Chili chicken

This recipe will give you a medium-hot chicken dish. What this means is that you should not be alarmed at how hot the sauce initially is, because the heat of the chilies calms down as the sauce is cooked. However, this heat can be increased or decreased as you wish.

Chili chicken

Guìzhōu làzĭ jī 貴州辣子雞

Guizhou

Serves 4

Guizhou ciba chili sauce (makes about 1 cup):

1 cup dried Thai chilies

Warm water as needed

¼ cup peeled, coarsely chopped garlic

¼ cup peeled, coarsely chopped ginger

1 teaspoon sea salt

Freshly-ground black pepper

1 cup fresh peanut or vegetable oil, divided

Grind the aromatics

Chicken and marinade:

Half a whole fryer

2 tablespoons rice wine (Taiwan Mijiu)

2 or more tablespoons Guizhou ciba chili sauce (see recipe above)

2 tablespoons soy sauce

¼ cup cornstarch

½ cup or more peanut or vegetable oil (used all right if it smells fresh)

Sauce:

2 or more tablespoons Guizhou ciba chili sauce (see recipe above)

2 teaspoons sugar

2 tablespoons soy sauce

¼ cup water

1 medium leek or 3 green onions, trimmed and cut into 1-inch lengths

 

Whirled into a paste

1. Start this recipe the day before you plan to serve it. First make the sauce: Rinse the chilies, remove the stem ends, and place them in a medium work bowl. Cover the chilies by about 2 inches with warm water and let the soak for at least 12 hours and up to 24, or until the chilies have softened completely. (If you are in a hurry, pour boiling water over them instead.) Drain the chilies in a colander, discard the water, and shake them dry.

2. Place the softened chilies in a mini food processor fitted with a metal blade (or blender) and add the garlic, ginger, salt, about 10 grinds of black pepper (or to taste), and ½ cup oil. Pulse these together to form a coarse paste, scraping the sides down as necessary.

Chopped bone-in chicken

3. Pour the rest of the oil into a cool wok and add the chili paste. Slowly cook the chili paste over medium heat, stirring often, until the chilies have turned from red to a mahogany hue; this should take about 30 minutes. When it is ready, the garlic will taste mellow and there will be a yellowish foam on top of the sauce. Cool the sauce to room temperature, and then refrigerate it in a closed glass jar.

4. Clean and dry the chicken. Use a heavy cleaver to chop the chicken into bite-sized pieces no larger than 1-inch square. (Even the breast meat should be trimmed down, as this allows the marinade’s flavors to penetrate the chicken well.) Place the chicken in a medium work bowl, toss with the rice wine, chili sauce, and soy sauce. Marinate the chicken for 2 hours or so. Drain off and discard any liquid and then toss the chicken with the cornstarch.

Fry chicken in batches

5. Place a wok over high heat, and when it is hot, add ½ cup oil and swirl it around to coat the inside. Add a handful of the coated chicken and toss it in the hot oil until it has browned. Remove the chicken to a clean plate but leave the oil in the wok. Repeat with the rest of the chicken until all have been cooked, adding more oil as needed.

6. To make the sauce, return the wok to medium heat and add the chili sauce. Stir it around in the hot oil to release its fragrance, and then add the cooked chicken. Toss in the sugar, soy sauce, and water, and turn the heat up to high. Cook the chicken quickly until the sauce has reduced. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Finally, add the leeks or green onions and toss these together with the chicken only until the greens wilt. Plate and serve immediately.

Pickled red chilies: a taste of central China

Before I leave Guizhou's remarkable cuisines on my trip around the rest of the country's foods, I want to introduce one condiment that is both beautiful and delicious: south-central China's Pickled Red Chilies.

As with so many easily canned items, this condiment can often be found on a Chinese grocery shelf. And many of them are quite good. But none are as stunning -- or as tasty -- as the ones you can make yourself.

Now is the time when fresh red chilies are at their peak (at least around here), so I've put up a couple of jars which might be able to see me through to next summer. Why make your own if storebought are available? Well, if you have ever tasted homemade pickle chips or chutney, then you know the answer: flavor.

Fresh Thai chilies

When you have a jar of pickled whatever made from truly fresh ingredients, they taste a couple thousand times more wonderful than anything a commercial processor can make. Plus, you can pick exactly the ingredients you like, mix up aromatics that suit your palate, and play with the salt-sugar-vinegar ratios until the wheels come off.

And that's what I did. I was wandering around a really huge Chinese market in San Francisco's new Chinatown in the Richmond district, poking through the veggie displays and feeling very uninspired when I noticed net sacks full of Thai chilies. To call these chilies red is sort of an understatement. These were the true scarlet of fire engines, and I immediately knew what they were destined to become.

One thing that has tended to bother me about many commercial pickled chilies that they are so one-note. There's intense heat, of course, but not a whole lot of flavor other than that. So, what I did was add some Sichuan peppercorns for their fresh piney aroma, some star anise to bring a relatively undefinable spicy note to the brine, and then put some Chinese brown slab sugar in the mix to make this not completely sour, but more pleasant and aromatic.

The results are delicious... and gorgeous.

Chinese brown slab sugar

This is a truly simple recipe, one you can pretty much put together while watching an old movie or a ballgame. If you have sensitive skin, wear disposable gloves and resist the temptation to rub your face, as you will feel the pain for quite some time.

Plain old jars left over from something else can be used here. Just wash the jars and lids carefully, sterilize them in the dishwasher or with boiling water, and let them air dry.

The aromatics in here can be played with to your heart's content. This is just a guideline, and a loose one at that.

Like red fingertips

Pickled red chilies Guizhou style  
Qianshi pao honglajiao 黔式泡紅辣椒  
Guizhou
Makes about 1½ pints

8 to 10 ounces fresh (or frozen) red Thai or Serrano chilies

4 cups filtered water

1 piece slab brown sugar, or 2 ounces piloncillo or other light brown sugar

1½ ounces sea salt (about 7 ½ teaspoons)

2 whole star anise

1 teaspoon Sichuan peppercorns

1½ tablespoons white liquor (gaoliang, maotai, or any other high proof Chinese white liquor)

1. Clean and sterilize three half-pint jars and lids, or one 1-pint and one half-pint jar. Have 2 or 3 plastic spoons cleaned and ready. If you are sensitive to chilies, prepare a pair of disposable gloves to wear while you are working with the chilies.

2. Wash the chilies and pat dry. Remove the stem ends by pulling them off and trim away any less than perfect parts. Pack the chilies into the prepared jars so that they are vertical, with the cut sides up as much as possible (see Tips).

3. Pour the water into a very clean saucepan and add the sugar, salt, star anise, and Sichuan peppercorns. Bring the water to a boil, cover, lower the heat, and simmer until the sugar and salt are dissolved. Remove the pan from the heat and let the brine come to room temperature.

My humble invention

4. Pour the brine over the chilies, and distribute the whole spices more or less equally among the jars. (If you’re using three jars, do this by pulling some of the petals off of the star anise.) The chilies will float to the top of the jars, so to keep them submerged, hold a plastic spoon up against a bottle where it curves in toward the screws and then break the handle off so that it is a little bit longer than that area. Gently bend the handle and slip it into the jar so that it snaps open just below the curved area and thus holds down the chilies. If the spoon end fits into one of the jars, use that, too.

5. Pour a half tablespoon of the white liquor into each half-pint jar, or 1 tablespoon into the pint jar. Cover the jars loosely so that gases can escape, wipe clean the jars, and label them. Place the jars in a cool, dark place so that they can ferment. They will be ready as early as two weeks later, but they improve with age. Check the jars occasionally to ensure that the chilies remain submerged. If any mold happens to form, remove it, wipe down the inside of the jar with a paper towel dipped in white liquor, and add a bit more of the liquor to the jar.

6. When the chilies are just like you like them, store the jars in the fridge.

Tips

Fresh red chilies are best at the beginning of autumn when they have just been harvested, but they often are available at other times of the year. Check with your greengrocer or farmer’s market.

Frozen Thai chilies are often sold in Chinese markets, and can be of very good quality. Just defrost them and use them right away, since they will rot quickly if not processed.

Have a couple of plastic spoons at the ready the first time you try this method of holding down the chilies, as sometimes they break at awkward times. I’ve found that those without ridges along the edges are more flexible. Of course, forks, knives, and sporks can be used, too.

Doesn't get better than this

White liquor helps keep mold from forming and also flavors the chilies.

I have taken a bit of liberty with this recipe, adding Sichuan peppercorns, star anise, and sugar to the recipe, as I like the subtle flavor vibrations these cause. If you want more traditional pickled chilies, leave them out.

Other aromatics can be added, of course, in addition to or instead of what is already here. Ginger, garlic, black peppercorns… they all add nice layers.

Place the chilies with the pointy ends down so that any air or fermentation in the chilies will not be trapped, but will rather rise to the top of the jar.

Rice "doufu" of Guizhou

We've been spending a bit of time down in south-central China now -- aside from that short detour into moon cakes, of course -- and after all this time you might be wondering, do they eat rice with these foods?

The answer is yes, but more specifically it tends to be sticky (glutinous) rice, and even more specifically, it is most likely going to be something made out of rice paste.

Rice paste doesn't sound incredibly delectable in English. But once you taste it, though, you'll agree that it is intensely inventive and hands-down delicious. All throughout this area, and even up into southern Fujian and Taiwan, rice paste is king. These are the places where you can dive into freshly-made thick rice noodles, dried thin rice noodles, crepes, and filled balls of cooked rice paste (ziba). 

Calm, cool & delicious

Only in certain areas like Guizhou, though, will you find today's dish: Rice Doufu.

If you are familiar with and love mochi, this is going to be right up your alley. But unlike Japanese mochi, which is invariably sweet, Chinese ziba and other rice paste dishes are almost always savory. Not only that, but they can be served cold or hot, with sauces or plain, and either spicy or not.

Even better, I have a new way to make these that is so simple, you can put them together  in mere minutes.

It took me about a week to figure this out, because every mention of Rice Doufu invariably had the same directions: 1 part rice flour to 3 parts water, mix part of the water into the rice flour to form a slurry, boil the rest of the water, then mix the slurry into the boiling water, cook until thick, and pour into a mold.

Well, that doesn't work. Or at least, it never worked for me. I ended up with burned gunk on the bottom of pans, gloppy concoctions that looked more like library paste than anything else, and a whole lot of frustration.

Cooling rice paste

And so I tried something different.

Over 20 years ago, a Taiwanese friend gave me a recipe for microwave mochi, and as I hadn't made it in years, I'd forgotten all about it. But suddenly this memory poked its way out from some hidden recess in my brain. And it works. In fact, it's amazing.

This takes all of the guesswork out of the process, and you have only one dish to clean up. Just read the recipe through and count on success the first time around.

The paste is poured into a pan that has been rinsed out in cool water, which helps keep it from sticking. I use either a regular loaf pan or an 8-inch cake pan; both work equally well. Cover the cooled paste with plastic wrap and chill overnight. Flop the cold rice paste out on a cutting board, slice it into squares or dominoes, and arrange these on a plate. Drizzle a sauce over the top. Dig in.

Right now it's Indian summer around here. It's the dog days of fall when the weather is scorching, what the Chinese refer to as the "autumn tiger" (qiu laohu). Something cool and topped with something spicy and tart for dinner wakes up my appetite like nothing else. See if you don't agree.

Mix water & rice flour

Guizhou's rice doufu 
Mi doufu  米豆腐  
Guizhou
Serves 4 to 6 as an appetizer or side dish

3 cups sticky (a/k/a glutinous) rice flour (= 1 box of Mochiko sweet rice flour)
3 cups cool filtered water

1. Start this recipe the day before you want to serve it so that it has time to chill. Pour the rice flour into a large heatproof bowl, preferably a large measuring cup with a handle that will protect your hands. Stir in the cool water, smashing any lumps you come across.

2. Place the bowl in your microwave and microwave on high for 4 minutes. Stir the mixture thoroughly. Microwave again on high for 4 minutes. Stir. The paste should be thick and malleable at this point. Take a taste; if you detect any raw flavor, microwave it again for another minute or two. (If you do not have a turntable in your microwave, cook the paste for a minute at a time, stirring after each blast.)

Mochiko flour: my favorite

3. Remove the bowl from the microwave. Rinse out an 8-inch square cake pan or a regular loaf pan with cold water. Use a silicone spatula to scrape the hot paste into the pan. Rinse the spatula with cold water and use it to smooth down the surface. 

4. Let the paste come to room temperature. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. Empty the pan onto a cutting board. Slice the rice paste into squares or dominoes. 

5. Arrange the rice dough on a serving platter. Top with whatever sauce you like. (Something like what is poured on the Mung Bean Jelly of a few posts ago is perfect, or you can fry up some shredded pork with sweet peppers seasoned with soy sauce... just about anything would be good.)


Tips

Soak the cooking bowl and spatula in cool water for a while. This will loosen the paste and make cleanup a whole lot less painful. 

If your knife is sticking to the paste while you're slicing it, wash the knife clean and rub sesame or peanut oil over the dry blade, repeating this step as necessary.

Store any leftover rice doufu in the refrigerator covered. It will stay perfect for at least a couple of days. If it starts to change color or leak lots of water, toss it.

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.

Cool, calm & delicious: Guizhou's spicy mung bean jelly shreds

Throughout south-central China, there is a common thread of deliciousness that weaves in and out of the local cuisines. Much of it has to do with the heady seasonings -- garlic, green onions, vinegar, and chilies in all their various manifestations -- but there are also themes that repeat and reappear under various guises.

One of these is mung bean jelly. Now, its English name is not one that would inspire drooling in even the most hardened foodie... that is, unless that person knew mung bean jelly by its Chinese name: liangfen. 

Is it good? Well, to put it bluntly, if I were planning my last meal on Earth, chances are very good that liangfen would be heading up the menu. 

Naked liangfen

What liangfen does is act as a cool, smooth, silky vehicle for an array of fireworks. When you put a bit of perfectly sauced liangfen in your mouth, the jelly provides chilly bland counterpoints and quiet pauses between all of the excitement in the sauce and garnishes. 

You find this in other great dishes, so it's a principle that runs through all great cuisines, an idea that is certainly worthy of contemplation:

Consider what a bowl of Bolognese sauce would be like without some pasta to back it up... delicious as that ragu might be, it would be simply overwhelming on the palate. The most refined vinaigrette loses its sparkle if there are no salad greens to offer cool respite. A bowl of hot fudge sauce without a scoop of vanilla or (my favorite) homemade ginger ice cream to soften the heavy blows of the chocolate's one-note sweetness quickly becomes cloying.

So, the liangfen acts as the neutral color in this palette. But just as a painting looks to white to give calm to a sea of colors, so does liangfen ground the dish and offer equilibrium.

I am going off the deep end with this. I am fully aware that this is becoming an paean to a weird square of jiggly bean glue. However, this passion will become understandable once you take a taste.

Korean mung bean powder

It's close to impossible to buy liangfen in the market, although some Korean and Chinese delis have started offering it around here. The problem is that the liangfen can't sit around too long before it loses its delicate texture and turns hard. What you want are gentle pillows on your tongue. So how to remedy this aching desire? 

What else? Make it yourself.

Don't worry; this is a super simple thing to do. Mung bean powder is just mixed with water and boiled for a minute, and then the translucent paste is cooled until it turns opaque. And voila, liangfen. The sauce will take -- at the most -- 5 minutes of actual work. The optional garnish of fried soybeans offers crunch and requires some soaking and frying, but if time is limited, that's okay, the liangfen will still be stunning. 

Pour slurry into boiling water

Restaurants usually pour lots of sauce over the dish, and you can, too, if you want to make a spicy statement. It's quite pretty when there is a luscious red pool of chili oil surrounding the pure white liangfen, but it's certainly not mandatory. This all depends on what you like and how hot your chili oil is. The amount given in this recipe is just enough to gently coat each strand and provide a nice kick, but adjust, add, or subtract to your heart's content so that you end up with something that makes your mouth sing.

One thing especially nice about this particular recipe for liangfen is the texture: it is exactly soft enough to provide sensuous mouth feel, yet solid enough that it doesn't break apart easily. Cut it into ribbons as thick or as thin as you like. I prefer them on the thin side so that there is more contact with the sauce, but this is a personal preference.

A note about Fried Soybeans: do try these. They are delicious all on their own, but can easily be tarted up with some sea salt, chili powder, ground roasted Sichuan peppercorns, or whatever makes you happy. Offer them as bar snacks or cocktail nibbles, with a little spoon for your guests to scoop them up. Or use them to top bowls of noodles or add a bit of variety to texturally bland dishes; these little guys are always ready to add pizzazz. 

Immediate translucence

By the by, the gentle cuisine of Beijing also has a liangfen draped with a subtle sesame paste sauce instead of being lashed with chilies. Both are delicious, and both the northern and the southern versions are perfect for hot weather, stimulating weary appetites and making a meal much more of a sensuous experience that you might have thought possible.


Guizhou-style mung bean jelly 
Guizhou liangfen 貴州涼粉 
Guizhou
Serves 4 to 6 generously as an appetizer

½ cup mung (green) bean powder
3 cups filtered water

1 tablespoon fermented black beans (douchi)
1 tablespoon filtered water
2 teaspoons finely chopped ginger
2 teaspoons finely chopped garlic

Chilled block of liangfen

½ cup (or more) Chili Oil (including the crumbly bits)
1½ teaspoons regular soy sauce
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 to 3 tablespoon roasted sesame oil
1 green onion (green part only), finely sliced
A few tablespoons Fried Soybeans, optional (recipe below), or coarsely chopped Fried Peanuts

1. Prepare a square 4-cup pan by rinsing it out and setting it next to the stove along with a silicone spatula; also prepare a shallow bowl of cold water that is large enough to hold the pan, as this will be used to quickly cool down the jelly. 

2. Mix the mung bean powder with ½ cup water to form a smooth, thin slurry. Bring the rest of the water to a boil over medium heat in a wide saucepan or very clean wok. Stir the water with a whisk while you pour the bean mixture into the water. Continue to stir the mixture as it quickly thickens and bubbles; regulate the heat to maintain a gentle bubbling. Cook the mixture for a minute or two until it is glossy and translucent. Use the silicone spatula to scrape the mixture into the square pan. Shake the pan to settle the paste and then set the pan in the shallow bowl of cold water. When the mixture has cooled down to room temperature, remove the pan from the water and place the pan in the refrigerator for about an hour, or until it turns into an opaque jelly.

3. Turn the pan upside down on a very clean cutting board and slice the jelly into thin pieces; you can use a wavy-bladed knife to make it fancy, if you want, as in the picture at the very top and to the right. (If the top surface of the jelly is at all tough, cut it off and discard it.) Then, cut these pieces into thin ribbons. Arrange the ribbons on a rimmed serving platter or wide bowl; keep the jelly cool.

"Serving suggestion"

4. Coarsely chop the fermented black beans and place them in a clean wok with the tablespoon of water. Bring the water to a boil and stir the beans around in it to form a thin sauce. Then, add the ginger and garlic to the beans, mix them up quickly, and then add the chili oil, soy sauce, vinegar, and sesame oil. Quickly bring the sauce to a boil, taste, and adjust seasoning; feel free to make it saltier with more soy sauce or sweeter with a dash of sugar or or tarter with more vinegar or spicier with a whole lot more chili oil. Pour the hot sauce over the cool jelly ribbons, garnish with the green onions and optional Fried Soybeans, and serve as an appetizer or first course. To eat, toss the liangfen with the toppings and sauce.



Fried soybeans 
Zha huangdou  炸黃豆
All over China
Makes 1 cup

1 cup organic dried soybeans
Peanut or vegetable oil as needed (used okay if there's no smell to the oil)

1. Soak the soybeans overnight until they are plump. Drain and rinse them thoroughly, and then pat the beans very dry with a towel.

2. Place the beans in a medium to large saucepan and cover with cool oil. Bring the oil to a simmer over medium heat,  reduce the flame to low, and mix the beans now and then as they slowly cook. You will need to keep a close eye on the beans as they cook, since the oil will foam up as the water evaporates from the beans. As soon as the foaming begins to settle down, keep an even closer eye on the beans, because they are finally beginning to brown. Once the beans are a light golden brown, drain the beans in a sieve over a heatproof bowl. 

Wonderfully crunchy

3. Return the oil to the saucepan and turn the heat up to medium-high. When the oil starts to shimmer, carefully pour the beans back into the oil and fry for a minute or so until the beans are a nut brown and actually taste nutty. Drain the beans once again and let them cool before eating. (If serving them as a snack, salt them while they are hot. If using as a topping, no salt is needed.) They will crisp up as they cool. Store in an airtight container.


Tips

The best mung bean powder that I've found is sold in Korean grocery stores. It is labeled either "green bean starch" of "green bean powder" or "mung bean powder" or a variation on one of these. Most of the brands seem comparable insofar as quality and price is concerned.

Use a very clean wok (or pan) when making liangfen, as any blackened bits in the wok will be scraped up and mar the perfect beauty of the jelly.

A wire whisk of any kind is great for quickly mixing the paste, as it cuts down on lumping. The silicone spatula is perfect for scraping out the jelly and getting every bit.

Store any leftover jelly in plastic, refrigerate, and use by the next day.

The best soybeans are found in good health stores with a fast turnover. Old soybeans get hard and musty, so buy them at a busy place.

Foaming beans in oil

The beans are fried twice (refried beans!): the first time to evaporate the water and then cook the beans, and the second time to crisp them up. As you fry them the second time, you'll hear lovely popping noises that tell you that the beans are exploding and becoming almost popcorn-y.

Soybeans are the traditional garnish for this dish in both Guizhou and Sichuan, but Fried Peanuts are delicious, too. Just chop the peanuts coarsely so that they cling to the liangfen and sauce, instead of rolling around at the bottom of the dish.

The milder side of Guizhou: a tomato-ey chicken dish

Just about all cuisines with a reputation for spiciness (read: searing chilies) have a Jekell and Hyde personality, I'm coming to believe. Everyday dishes are hot as hell and are pooled in red oil, or at least that is the case with Hunan and Sichuan and even Mexican cuisine, to just name a few. But when it comes to having folks over for dinner, these chilies tend to be tucked away in favor of mild, delicately seasoned dishes with gentle textures. 

It's all about finesse, I suppose. It's sort of like changing out of your jeans and very comfortable tee shirt into a silken number with a string of pearls. The object is to not only make the dinner formal and to entertain the guests, but also the mark it as a fancy occasion.

The main ingredients

Guizhou is no different. When it comes to banquets, the foods tend to be more liberal in the protein department, and the seasonings are anything but hot. Like today's dish, the satiny Chicken Slices with Tomatoes. Nothing screams in here. It's all very understated and subdued, but at the same time it is incredibly tender and flavorful.

Traditionally, this dish is made with thinly-sliced chicken breasts, but as I've said before, I'm a bit of a sucker for dark meat, especially in stir-fries, since thigh and leg meat stay juicy and springy, while white meat tends to dry out. Other than that, this dish is pretty much straight from Guiyang, the capital city that lies in just about the exact center of Guizhou province.

Tomatoes are given the haute cuisine treatment here in the manner of Escoffier: they are peeled, seeded, and cut into tiny dice so that when the dish is done, you're left with more of an impression of tomatoes than any actual chunks. 

When cooked this way -- very quickly, mind you, not stewed -- the tomatoes practically dissolve into the chicken and form a smooth sauce delicately tinted red. But the flavor remains fresh and bright, the essence of tomato enveloping every morsel.

Peeled tomato

The secret to this is the "velveting" technique so beloved in Chinese stir-fries: thin slices of meat are wrapped in a mixture of egg white and cornstarch, which both protects the protein and forms a truly velvety coating that is neither thick nor obvious. 

My favorite way of doing this is by first tossing the meat (or in this case, chicken) slices with cornstarch and salt so that every surface is dusted. Then I add the egg white, which turns the starch into a batter when mixed around into the meat. It's really simple, yet it's simply magic.

A handful of very thinly sliced green onions flavor the dish, but to make them even more subtle, only the whites are used. This way they disappear into the background. You really never notice them visually or otherwise, because they melt into the tomatoes.

Tomatoes are relative newcomers to China, of course, but they've become a welcome ingredient in just about every region. Called fanqie (barbarian eggplant) in the South and xihongshi (Western red persimmon) in the North, they made their way to China through Europe in the Ming dynasty. The first known reference to them is in a 1621 book called Chunfangpu, which calls them "barbarian persimmons" (fanshi), and this is a delightful suggestions that the two modern Chinese names for tomato must have branched off of this early moniker.

The author of this book was not at all impressed with tomatoes, though. "Eaten raw they scratch the throat of man," he declared, so it is possible that old wives' tales about these "love apples," as they were known in Europe, accompanied these innocent fruits into China.

Nowadays, according to Chinese traditional medicine, tomatoes are believed to relieve summer heat, reduce phlegm, increase salivation, relieve thirst, improve the stomach, and help digestion. If that wasn't enough, tomatoes are also said to cool the blood, calm the liver, act as a diuretic, and reduce blood pressure.

But I am of the opinion that they just plain taste wonderful, especially at this time of year when they are at their peak. See if you don't agree...


Chicken slices with tomatoes 
Fanqie jipian 蕃茄雞片 
Guizhou
Serves 4 to 6 as part of a multicourse meal, or 2 to 3 as a main dish

12 ounces boneless, skinless chicken meat
2 tablespoons cornstarch
½ teaspoon sea salt
1 large egg white

Pepper and egg white in the chicken

½ teaspoon (or so) freshly ground pepper

8 ounces meaty tomatoes (Roma or other non-juicy, flavorful, red variety)
Boiling water
2 green onions, trimmed (white parts only)
3 to 4 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon regular soy sauce
1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil or mingyou

1.  Remove any large tendons and pieces of fat from the chicken. Cut the meat against the grain into thin slices not more than 2 inches in length. Place the chicken in a medium work bowl and toss with the cornstarch and salt, then mix in the egg white and pepper to form a thick batter.

2. Cut a small cross into the skin on the blossom end of each tomato. Place the tomatoes in a heatproof bowl and cover with boiling water. Let them sit for a few minutes until you see that the skins can be easily peeled off. Rinse the tomatoes in cold tap water and remove the skins. Cut each tomato in half along the equator and gently squeeze out the seeds and juice. (You will use only the flesh of the tomato in this recipe.) Cut the flesh of the tomatoes into small dice.

3. Thinly slice the white ends of the green onions and measure out the rest of the ingredients.

Add veggies to the chicken

4. Heat the wok on high, and when the wok starts to shimmer, add 3 tablespoons of oil to the wok. Swirl it around to coat the inside of the wok and add the chicken. Use chopsticks to toss and break apart the chicken into separate pieces as it cooks. 

5. When most of the chicken looks white and is starting to brown in areas, toss in the tomatoes and sliced onions; if you need a bit more oil to keep the chicken from sticking to the wok, dribble it in around the edges to heat the oil up before it enters the fray. Toss the chicken and tomatoes together, and when the juice from the tomatoes starts to thicken, add the sugar and soy sauce. Continue to quickly cook the chicken, and as soon as the meat is done, sprinkle the sesame oil or mingyou over the chicken, toss once again, and serve.

Tips

Fleshy tomatoes like Romas work best because there is less waste from the juice. You can use the juice in stocks, of course; just strain out the seeds. 

Organic, free-range chicken is recommended for flavor and health, and also just because the birds have a happier life. Use the fat, skin, and bones from the chicken for something delicious.

Have all the ingredients prepped and measured for this dish. It is slightly time-consuming to trim and slice the chicken, as well as peel and seed the tomatoes, so have these all done before you fire up your wok.

This makes an excellent main dish for family, Just ladle the chicken over some steamed rice and add a green vegetable. Your loved ones will thank you.