In search of the elusive amber tamale, plus a short story on Life & Thyme

(Note: In addition to the recipe and blogpost below that will help you celebrate the Dragon Boat Festival in style on Thursday, June 9, here is a link to a story I wrote and illustrated for Life & Thyme. It talks about how I was finally able to breach the yawning gap between my forbidding Chinese mother-in-law and a very young [and impossibly white] me. It has nothing to do with the Dragon Boat Festival, but oh well...)

Early in my marriage, I noticed that my Chinese husband became increasingly excited as Dragon Boat Festival approached, spending more time than usual haunting his favorite delis. He was, as I soon found out, stalking the elusive amber tamale. 

A gorgeous amber tamale

Unlike all the other varieties out there — including burrito-sized ones from Hunan with massive centers of braised pork or sweet bean paste, delicate Suzhou versions with date paste and pine nuts, or some simple Beijing rice parcels speckled with boiled peanuts — these were not on everyone’s radar, and so his anxiety would increase the longer the hunt took until he had finally tracked down someone who not only sold them, but made them with the requisite pillowy texture.

The first time I tried amber tamales (that’s my name for them, as the Chinese one, “alkali tamales,” or jiănzòng 鹼糉, is just not very appealing), I was bowled over. For one, they were semitransparent and a beautiful golden color very much like, well, amber. Second, they were cold and topped with some plain sugar. Third, the tamale itself had no filling... it was rice and nothing else. And finally, it was unexpectedly delicious. (By the way, the character for "tamales" can be written as either 糉 or 粽 - they mean the same thing.)

Much like my other favorite type, the one made with sticky rice flour and an assortment of savory things called bănzòng 板糉, this was a specialty of the Hakka, those latecomers to South China who seasoned the food of their neighbors with the ancient flavors of the North China Plain. Even now, jianzong are an integral part of Dragon Boat Festival ceremonies among the Hakka, as they are offered with other seasonal gifts to such deities as the Earth God (Tŭdìgōng 土地公). 

It's tamale time!

Be that as it may, I never really noticed them until I got married, and I probably would never have gotten around to eating one so early in my life if my husband and father-in-law were not dedicated amber tamale fiends. But to their credit, on a hot summer’s day it would be difficult to find something more satisfying to munch on than these little guys sometimes called jiănshuĭzòng 鹼水糉 sprinkled with sugar or honey for a simple snack.

The amber tamale also has a unique flavor courtesy of the alkaline water it simmers away in for around four hours, one that tastes slightly sulfurous, and so it is an acquired taste. Once I realized that it smelled a lot like an egg yolk, my brain stopped protesting, I lifted up my fork, and I took up the amber tamale habit with a passion.

Those first couple of years I found that the best ones were sold in Taipei’s South Gate Market, a food emporium packed to the gills with small stalls selling dried goods and large delis bustling with ladies who turned out some of the finest Chinese snack foods I have ever eaten. Watching them enfold raw rice into stacks of bamboo leaves was also an eye-opener for me because before then I never could get a grip on the secrets to wrapping them perfectly so that they looked beautiful and had the requisite bouncy texture in the center. But one day I stood there for close to thirty minutes, surreptitiously watching their every move while poking around in the bins out front and learned their moves.

Make the cone

As good as those store-bought ones were, making these you at home will give you the chance to taste these at their best. The problem is that most people turn jianzong into hard little nuggets with dry, powdery centers, and that just misses the whole point of these delectable bundles of joy.

The key is to wrap the raw rice so that there is just enough room for it to expand, turning these from raggedy looking parcels into familiar plump balloons. Some people put a green or red bean filling in these, but I like mine like this: plain and delicious.

Amber tamales

Jiănshuĭzòng 鹼水糉

Hakka

Makes 24 tamales

Zongzi:

Use folds to enclose the rice

2½ cups round sticky rice (yuán nuòmĭ 圓糯米)

1½ tablespoons baking soda

24 large, dried bamboo leaves (zòngyè 糉葉)

Large pot of boiling water

Butcher’s twine or dry grass ties

Garnish:

Dark brown or granulated sugar, honey, or osmanthus blossom syrup (guìhuājiàng 桂花醬)

1. Start this the day before you are planning to make the zongzi and two days before you want to eat them. Rinse the rice in a large sieve, drain, and then place in a large work bowl. Toss the damp rice well with the baking soda, cover, and let it sit overnight on a kitchen counter.

2. Either the night before or the day of, soak the bamboo leaves in very hot water, swishing them around now and then so that all of them get evenly soaked. Soak the dry grass too, if you are using it.

3. When you are ready to wrap the tamales, lay a large tea towel on a table and place the bowl of now very yellow rice there, along with a spoon, the twine or soaked grass, and a pair of kitchen shears. (Here is a video I made for instructions on filling and wrapping these.)

4. Next, wash the leaves by carefully sponging off both sides and then rinsing them. The edges of the leaves are sharp, so don’t cut yourself. Drain the leaves, pat them with a towel, and then wrap them in a clean towel so that they do not dry out.

Ready for the pot

5. Use your shears to trim off the stem end of the leaves, as well the point. Use only leaves that have no splits or holes; put any damaged ones to the side, as these can act as bandages (more on that later).

6. Now comes the fun part: wrapping the zongzi.  Hold a leaf at both ends with the shiny side toward you, and then curl the leaf around to make a cone in the center. Here is the first key to success: make sure that there is a little fold at the bottom of the cone that you can bend over, as this will seal in the rice. Scoop about 3 tablespoons of the rice into the cone, and then lightly fold the ends of the leaves over the cone. At this point comes the second key to success: lightly shake the tamale; if it rattles and no rice comes flying out, the wrapping is just right, but if you don’t hear the rice bouncing around, then the wrapper is too tight and you need to loosen it.

7. Wrap twine (or grass) around the center of the zongzi maybe 3 or 4 times, but not too tightly. Imagine that you are tying a string around a baby’s wrist, but you don’t want it to fall off: that is how tight/loose you want it. (The rice will swell up quickly in the boiling water, so don’t worry about the shape too much at this point.) Leave about 10 to 12 inches of twine or grass hanging off of the zongzi so that they can be eventually bundled together, and that’s it. Now do the same with the rest of the rice and leaves. If any of the leaves split, you can cut a piece of the broken ones off and insert it inside of the cone to act as a bandage. You should end up with 20 tamales, give or take.

Chilled & ready to eat

8. When all of these parcels have been wrapped and tied, bundle them in groups of 5 by tying the ends of the string or grass together into a knot. Then, gently lower these bundles into the pot of boiling water; the water should cover the tops of the zongzi by a few inches, as the rice will absorb the water. Reduce the heat to a gentle simmer and cover the pot. Slowly cook the zongzi for 4 hours, adding more boiling water as necessary, and then drain them into a colander. Cool them completely, wrap in a plastic bag, and chill overnight.

9. To serve, unwrap a zongzi or two per person and arrange these on individual plates. Offer any of the garnishes (or all of them, if you are feeling particularly generous) to your diners. These can be eaten with chopsticks, but I’ve found that forks work particularly well here.

(This article originally appeared in more or less the same format in Cleaver Quarterly in 2014)

Flavorful brined eggs

Brined eggs, or "salty eggs" (xiandan) as they are known in Chinese, are a staple throughout much of China, as this was a great way to preserve eggs in the days before refrigeration. But it's not only preservation that has made them popular: they can taste truly wonderful.

China's spotty record with monitoring its food supply means that it's not too wise to buy many of the more problematic Chinese products (including eggs), and although Taiwan's have so far not caused any problems, it's still impossible to find organic brined eggs or even relatively fresh ones. The solution? Make them yourself!

Raw brined yolks are solid

We adore brined eggs in our family, and we use them not only as a side dish for congee, but in other favorite dishes, as well. A steamed Taiwanese ground pork patty with pickles just isn't the same without some salty yolks studding the top, and since any extras are subject to first-come-first-serve, these dinners end up being wolfed down in record time so that dibs can be placed before anybody else gets a chance.

Salty egg yolks are prized inside of baked Chinese pastries like mooncakes, where their sandy, savory, and even buttery flavors contrast perfectly with the sweet red bean paste. They are the perfect golden prizes to snuggle inside of Hakka tamales, and they lend a mysteriously cheesy flavor to the stir-fries that are described as "golden sand" (jinsha). 

We first encountered this last style of cooking when we visited Shanghai, and it was so popular that we were served it at almost every dinner. Now that the memories of golden sand overload have faded, we have come to enjoy it once more. 

The yolks turn a brilliant hue

Traditionally, brined eggs are made with duck eggs, the large shells turning an even lovelier shade of blue during their weeks in the salt water. But since duck eggs are relatively hard to find, I've substituted large organic and free-range hen eggs; the taste is very similar to the genuine item, except for the fact that duck eggs tend to be a bit oilier. 

One thing nice about making your own brined eggs is that you can use any variety of egg you like and also can flavor the egg whites, something I've never seen done by other Chinese cooks.

That is why you'll find that no commercial eggs are ever seasoned with anything but salt. However, when they are homemade, they can have their egginess edged with herbs, wine, and aromatics. In the recipe below, I've layered my eggs with ginger, star anise, Sichuan peppercorns, dried chilies, Shaoxing rice wine, and lots of garlic. The resulting brined eggs have a remarkably well-rounded flavor that will make anyone a convert.

Brined eggs are super easy and require only a few minutes of preparation. Then, the eggs just sit in a cool spot for a couple of weeks. How long they will take to become fully brined depends upon the size of the eggs and the heat of the room, but any egg that isn't quite ready can be easily incorporated into your morning scramble.

Savory and easy eggs

Homemade brined eggs
Xiandan 鹹蛋  
All over China

Makes 1 dozen

1½ cups sea salt
6½ cups boiling filtered water
12 large fresh eggs, preferably organic and free range
1 inch fresh ginger, thinly sliced
2 whole star anise
1 tablespoon whole Sichuan peppercorns
3 dried chilies
3 whole garlic cloves, slightly smashed
2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

1. Clean a tall, 2-quart jar and its lid. Find a disposable plastic lid (like from restaurant takeout or a plastic yogurt container) that is about the same diameter as the jar; wash it carefully and drain.

2. In a large pitcher or bowl, dissolve the sea salt with the 6½ cups boiling filtered water. Allow the water to cool down completely to room temperature before proceeding. (You don't want to cook the eggs at this point; they must be brined while they are raw.)

3. Gently lower the eggs one by one into the jar; toss out any that are cracked and use others egg, if you have extra. Add the ginger, anise, peppercorns, chilies, garlic cloves, and rice wine to the jar, and then fill it up with the salted water to about 1 inch from the top; toss out any extra salt water.

Plastic lid in the jar

4. Squeeze the plastic lid into the jar so that it holds down the eggs and keeps them submerged in the brine. It's all right if the lid is at an angle, as the only thing that matters is that the eggs are under the water. 

5. Cover the jar and place it in a cool place. Check one egg after about 3 weeks by cracking it into a bowl. The yolk should be hard and a dark orange, while the white will be clear and very salty. If the egg is cured enough, remove the rest of the eggs from the brine and store them in a closed container in the refrigerator until you want to use them; they are best within a couple of weeks. If they haven't cured completely, continue to brine the eggs, testing them every couple of days. 

 6. Eggs that are not to be eaten within a couple of weeks should be hard boiled. To hard boil these eggs, just prick the round end of the shell with a pin or tack, place in a pan of cool water, and bring to a boil over medium high heat. (Doing it this way will reduce the chance of the shells cracking.) Simmer the eggs for about 10 minutes, cool, and peel when you want to eat them.

7. You can keep the brine and use it again; just store it in the fridge. Or, make a new batch with different flavors. This brine is so cheap that you can afford to be wasteful here!

Celebrate Dragon Boat Festival with Hakka tamales

I can never remember Dragon Boat Festival until it is upon me, and this year was no different. So, since today is the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, Happy Dragon Boat Festival!

The reason I can't remember this day must be because there's no clues around here like there were in Taiwan, where for weeks leading up to the Big Event, ladies would perch in public markets and outside their shops on folding chairs while assembling their own version of the Chinese tamale. 

Rice tamales are part of the Dragon Boat celebration, and in the month or so before this summer festival – one of the three most important holidays in the Chinese year along with the Lunar New Year and the Moon Festival – shops in Taiwan (and most other places in China, for that matter) are full of an enormous variety of these lusciously filled wrappers. (Here's a video I made for Zester Daily on how to wrap a tamale.)

Chinese tamales

I was a bit confused when I first ran into the Chinese version of the tamale.  As a California native, I had devoured many a Mexican version from an early age and have always been extraordinarily happy whenever I’ve found a good tamale on my plate. But these… these were totally different.  

First, the wrappers were bamboo leaves rather than corn husks.  Second, the corn masa I was used to had been supplanted by sticky rice. And finally, the seasonings were totally different – there were soy sauce and ginger in there instead of cumin and chilies, and the sweet ones were filled with sweet bean paste rather than raisins.  But curiosity and hunger quickly overcame any misgivings I might have had, and by the time the first wrappers had been licked clean, I had decided that these were worth some serious attention. 

Each region in China seems to have its own take on the tamale, which is generally called a zongzi.  Huzhou cooks make elongated tamales with either long pieces of seasoned pork loin or a thick baton of sweet red bean paste.  My husband and late father-in-law have always been partial to the translucent, amber tamales called jianzong, or alkaline tamales, that often don’t have any filling and but rather have been cooked with baking soda for hours, which changes the rice into a sticky confection that is absolutely fantastic when served chilled in a pool of honey.   

The wondrous Hakka tamale

My favorite, though, has always been this savory Hakka-style tamale. Instead of rice grains, these are made out of rice dough, much like Chinese rice balls or Ningbo rice cakes or Japanese mochi.  Inside each of these zongzi are boiled peanuts, bits of soy-infused mushrooms, fried shallots, pressed beancurd, lots of seasonings, and a precious salted duck egg yolk, which supplies the perfect balance to the other textures and flavors. 

The first one I ever had was made by the mother of a coworker at the National Museum of History, an incredible place where I learned so much over five wonderful years while disguised as a translator.  It so happened that one summer this coworker gave me one of these little guys out of the heavy plastic bag she was carrying; I unwrapped it, took a bite, looked up delightedly, and asked for the recipe.  Ha, she said smugly, shaking her head.  Then I turned on the charm.  Refused once again.  Wheedling was attempted, but I was told with a smirk that this was a family secret, so there. 

Coat the rice dough ball with oil

Thus began my hunt for the perfect Hakkanese tamale.  Fortunately for me, this wasn’t much of a family secret after all, and a much friendlier Hakkanese grandma soon not only told me how to make them, but even sat me down and showed me how, and now I offer the recipe to you.   

So there.

Hakka-style tamales  
Kejia banzong  客家粄粽  
Hakka

Makes about 24

Wrappers:

24 large dried bamboo leaves (zongye), plus a couple extra in case some of the leaves split
Very hot water for soaking

24 long pieces (12 inches or more) of dried grass ties (zongxian), or kitchen string

Marinade:

5 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 teaspoon five spice powder

Wrap the dough around the filling

Filling:

7 shiitake mushrooms, fresh or dried (soak dried mushrooms overnight in cool water until plump)
3 gluten batons (mianjin 麵筋 )
12 dried Chinese toon leaves (see note below), optional
1 dried soy skin (fupi 腐皮)
6 pieces pressed bean curd (doufugan 豆腐乾)
4 teaspoons white sesame seeds
2 cups peanut oil
½ cup boiled peanuts (see note below)

⅓ cup fried shallots (youcongsu 油蔥酥 , homemade or storebought)

Rice dough:

18 ounces glutinous rice flour (Mochiko sweet rice flour is a good brand)
3 ounces all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon sea salt

Curl the leaf & make a fold at the bottom

2 cups filtered water

Final touches:

12 raw yolks from Brined Eggs cut in half, or 24 whole salted egg yolks
Peanut oil

Sweet chili sauce (storebought)

1. (First watch the video so that all these steps make sense.) Wash the bamboo leaves carefully, not only to remove all of the dirt and dust, but more importantly to avoid being cut by any sharp edges on the leaves; if you have delicate skin, consider using rubber gloves for this.  After the leaves have been washed thoroughly, cover them in very hot water, along with the grass ties, if you are using them.  Let them stay in the water until you are ready to use them.

2. Mix the marinade ingredients together in a saucepan.

Wrap leaf into a cone

3. Remove the stems from the mushrooms and cut the caps into ½-inch cubes.  Cut the gluten batons lengthwise into four strips, and then cut the strips into ¼-inch dice.  Place the mushrooms and gluten in the saucepan along with the marinade ingredients and bring to a boil, then lower the heat to a very gentle simmer.  Slowly braise the mushrooms and gluten while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

4. If you are using toon leaves, rinse, wipe dry, and crumble then into a small bowl.  Crumble the soy skin as well into smallish pieces into another small bowl.  Cut the pressed beancurd into ¼-inch dice and set aside in yet another small bowl.  Dry-fry the sesame seeds in a wok over medium heat, stirring constantly, until they are just turning gold and smell wonderful; remove them to a large bowl.

Place the filled dough in the leaf

5. Heat the peanut oil in a wok over medium heat until it begins shimmer.  Add the crumbled toon leaves and stir them quickly in the oil to separate the leaves; after only about 5 or 10 seconds, remove the leaves with a slotted spoon to a large bowl.  Sprinkle the soy skin into the hot oil and stir-fry until it puffs up, then remove it with a slotted spoon to the large bowl.  Add the diced pressed beancurd to the hot oil and stir-fry for 3 or 4 minutes until the edges of the bean curd begin to brown, and then remove all of the bean curd to the large bowl.  Use a slotted spoon to scoop the mushrooms and gluten out of the marinade (reserve the marinade) and add them to the wok, stir-frying them for a few minutes until the gluten begins to barely brown. 

6. At this point, drain the oil out of the wok and then return all of the contents of the bowl to the wok along with the peanuts, shallots, and about 4 tablespoons of the reserved marinade.  Stir them over the heat for about 5 minutes to combine them and heat them through; remove the wok from the heat and set it aside until the filling ingredients have cooled down.

Fold top over to enclose dough

7. In a large bowl, mix together the rice flour, all-purpose flour, and salt, then add the water about ½ cup at a time, stirring the water into the flour until a dough has formed.  Knead the dough in the bowl until it is shiny and forms a firm ball.  Divide the dough into 24 pieces and roll each piece into a small ball; set aside.

8. Drain the bamboo leaves and wipe them dry with a tea towel; select the 24 nicest leaves and reserve any extras, as well as broken or split ones, on the side.  Stack the leaves up and cover them with the tea towel so that they remain soft and supple.  Drain and rinse the grass ties, if you’re using them, and place them under the towel as well.

And then tie it securely

9. Before you wrap the tamales, you need to add the filling to the rice dough balls.  Cover a baking sheet with a piece of plastic wrap or wax paper.  Then, take one of the little balls, make an indentation in it with your thumb, and then quickly shape the ball into a cup.  Add about 1½ tablespoons of the filling to the cup along with either a half or whole salted yolk, if you want.  Close the dough over the filling and gently roll the dough between your hands to return it to a ball shape; it’s quite all right and perfectly expected if some of the filling pokes out; just try to keep it in a general ball shape.  Place the filled ball of dough on the plastic wrap or wax paper.  Repeat this with the rest of the dough and filling until you have 24 filled balls of dough.

10. Now comes the fun part.  Pick up one of the bamboo leaves and notice that there’s a shiny and a rough side.  Lightly coat the shiny side of the leaf with some peanut oil (dip a paper towel or the tips of your fingers in the oil and then smear it over the leaf).  Bring both ends of the leaf together to form a small, curved funnel, making sure that the funnel part has about ¼ inch of a fold at the bottom so that it doesn’t open up -- note that this is the secret to tying the perfect zongzi, because otherwise the filling will just work its way out of the leaf.  Place one of the filled balls in the funnel area, and then fold the leaves over the funnel covering all of the seams and enclosing it completely. Wrap the ends of the leaves around the funnel, and then gently wrap one end of a grass tie or piece of kitchen string around the tamale to secure it.  

An old tiger sachet for the Festival

11. This is a lot easier than it sounds, and after you’ve made a few tamales, this will go very quickly.  Don’t worry if you mess up a leaf; either use another leaf (that’s what the extras are for) or patch the split part with a piece of broken leaf.  And don’t get concerned if the dough balls get smooshed in the process; this doesn’t affect their flavor at all, and they will still look great when they’re unwrapped.

12. When all the tamales have been wrapped, tie them together in bunches of 4 to 6 by taking the long ends of the grass ties or string and knotting them together; this will make it easier to remove them from the steamer.  Bring the water in your steamer to a full boil and place the tamales in the steamer and steam over high heat for about 10 minutes, and then lower the heat to medium and steam for another 20 minutes, or longer if you wish.   

13. Let the tamales cool until they are barely warm or even room temperature before unwrapping; this will help them keep their shape and not stick to the wrappers.  Serve as is with some storebought sweet chili sauce on the side for dipping.  You can store the tamales in the refrigerator for about a week or freeze them for a longer period of time; just steam them for about 15 minutes (30 minutes for frozen ones) and let them cool down again before serving. 

Notes

Tender toon leaves on our tree

Toon leaves: These are called xiangchunye 香椿葉 in Chinese (Toona sinensis or Cedrela sinensis) and when fresh and tender are mainly used in Anhui style cuisine; you can sometimes find these in the frozen section or in jars. However, the older dried leaves are a popular ingredient for some Hakka style dishes, but I've rarely seen them outside of Taiwan. Your best bet is to grow one yourself or find someone who does. If a Chinese friend has one, see if you can dig up one of the suckers that these rangy trees send out. 

Boiled peanuts:  These are really easy. Just cover the skinned peanuts with water and soak overnight. Then, cook them until tender; this takes about an hour, more or less, depending upon the size and freshness of the peanuts.