Bean curd with pine flower preserved eggs

As the year winds down and 2016 finally comes to an end, All Under Heaven continues to hang out with some really great books. I still can’t believe that this is happening, but here you go:

Epicurious has my book up there with goddesses like Dorie Greenspan, as well as friends like Jeffrey Yoskowitz. Each and every one of these books is now on my Must Have List. I can think of fewer honors that make me happier than sharing a shelf with these great food writers. Please buy their books!

Check out Munchies - it's always good

Munchies reproduced my Mapo Doufu recipe on its website. If you are wondering what to cook for dinner this week, look no further. I am so proud of this truly authentic and very flavorful rendition of a Chengdu classic.

Public Radio station WBUR just published “7 Recipes from Resident Chef Kathy Gunst’s Favorite Cookbooks of 2016.” It shortlists only four titles, but Chef Gunst goes on to note, “If you, or anyone on your list, love Chinese food, this is your book.... The charming illustrations were drawn by Phillips and even though there’s not a photograph in sight, her writing and very clearly written recipes will make you want to cook your way through China, and this book.”

I ask you, could you find better company to be in?

Eat Your Books is having a cookbook giveaway, and that book is All Under Heaven! This contest ends on January 12, so hurry on over, become a free member of Eat Your Books (it is SO worth it!), and join the fun.

And finally, the wonderful Marc Schermerhorn gives All Under Heaven two thumbs up on his blog, Baketard, where he posts my beloved recipe for Dry-Fried Chicken Wings and talks about cooking from the book with his friends, who gave the book super high points: 

Marc's wings

“Recently I invited a group of friends over to explore the book that in my opinion is THE cookbook of the year, Carolyn Phillips’ comprehensive tome on Chinese cookery, All Under Heaven: Recipes from the 35 Cuisines of China. I have a large cookbook library, and Chinese cookbooks, both from the US and around the world, are the second largest section in my collection -- second only to Italian. None of my books come close to covering the breadth of Chinese cuisine explored in Carolyn’s book. Not even close. This book blew us all away. We made 10-12 dishes together, and Every. Single. Dish. Was amazing. Every one! We always rate dishes between 1-10. Nothing was less than a 9. That never happens.” 

And then he says, "You want this book. Trust me. This is THE book of 2016, IMO." Thank you, Marc, for such a great Festivus present!

*  *  *

Today we have a classic East China appetizer – another incredibly simple yet dazzling combination from the Yangtze River area. 

Back in the early 1980's, the one place my husband and I could always count on to do this dish right was a wonderful mid-priced restaurant in downtown Taipei, Fùxīngyuán 復興園. We became such regular customers there that, as soon as we walked in the door, the cook would prepare this dish just the way I liked it — with an extra egg — and it would be set on our table only sec­onds after we’d been poured hot tea.

Snowflake patterns under the shell

Generally referred to as simply pidan doufu, or bean curd with preserved eggs, this dish relies on the quality of the ingredients, the perfect ratio of bean curd to egg, and the proper execution of the tangy sauce that tops it. The bean curd must be the soft, custardy type, and the preserved eggs should be of the pine flower (songhua) variety, meaning that crystalline patterns have formed under the shells.

Preserved eggs get a bad rap because of their appear­ance and the touristy names associated with them: “thousand-year-old egg” or “century egg” or even “mil­lennium egg.” The fact is, they’re not at all old, and they should be enjoyed while they are relatively fresh because they will dry out if left out for too long. When opened, the whites will have turned a clear, dark amber, and the yolks will be runny and grayish green but taste remarkably buttery.

A long-time favorite

I once was at lunch with a good American Chinese friend in Taipei. She had her young daughter in tow, and of course when the pidan were served, the daughter was horrified at having black eggs plunked in front of her. I grabbed a big wedge, stuck it in my face, and made all sorts of yummy sounds before saying, “Ooooh, Jello eggs...” She bought it, and proceeded to devour what remained on the plate.

And that, my friends, is marketing. Happy holidays!

Bean curd with pine flower preserved eggs

Sōnghuā pídàn dòufŭ 松花皮蛋豆腐

Hubei and Jiangxi

Serves 4 to 6

2 or 3 preserved eggs

1 block (14 ounces / 400 g) soft bean curd (see Tips)

2 tablespoons Sichuan pickled tuber

1 green onion, green parts only

2 tablespoons coarsely chopped cilantro

½ teaspoon sea salt

Get a good brand from Taiwan

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon pale rice vinegar

1 teaspoon black vinegar

¼ cup / 60 ml toasted sesame oil

1. Peel the eggs, rinse them gently to remove any tiny bits of shell, and slice them into thin wedges.

2. Bring a small saucepan half full of water to a boil and slip in the block of soft bean curd; bring the water to a boil again and then discard the water and carefully rinse the hot bean curd under cool tap water. Drain well and place on a cutting board. Cut the bean curd lengthwise in half and then cut it crosswise into thin pieces (⅛ to ¼ inch / 3 to 6 mm wide). Use your knife to gently lift up the fragile slices and fan them out on a rimmed serving plate. Arrange the sliced eggs on top.

Sichuan pickled tuber from my grocer's bin

3. Rinse the pickled tuber and chop it very finely. Thinly slice the onion greens. Scatter the pickled tuber, green onion, and cilantro over the top of the eggs. Boil the salt, sugar, vinegars, and sesame oil in a wok over high heat until they bubble furiously, but not so long that the sugar burns; taste this mix­ture and adjust as necessary, then drizzle it over the greens to wilt them. Serve slightly warm.

Tips

You can use either “soft” or “extra-soft” bean curd here. But keep in mind that although the extra-soft kind will taste very good, it might look messier, as it tends to fall apart easily.

The bean curd is quickly blanched in this recipe to gently firm it up (so that it’s easier to slice) and to remove any scent of the packaging.

My go-to brand

Use care when selecting the eggs and the bean curd. Get soft, organic, non-GMO bean curd (aka, doufu or tofu). The taste is so much better. And the eggs should preferably be from Taiwan, which tends to make good quality preserved eggs with tender whites and creamy centers. Poor quality ones will be rubbery on the outside and hard on the inside. 

Check to see that the packages says that "no lead" was used. Unleaded would - in a perfect world - refer only to gasoline. But unfortunately some unscrupulous manufacturers stoop to horrible practices in making their preserved eggs. Good ones do exist, though. This one in the photo with the yellow packaging has always served me well, and I usually find those "pine flowers" underneath the shell. 

January soup for the stomach and the soul

Hubei is so speckled with still bodies of water that it is known as "the land of fish and rice." And the name is apt, for fishing is a major part of Hubei culture and fish is featured at almost every meal. But another important resource is harvested in those ponds, as well: lotuses.

Pink lotus blossoms cover the lakes and ponds of Hubei in high summer. Their leaves are gathered around this time and used as scented wrappers for pork and chicken or desserts. Also harvested are the heavy green pods filled with ivory seeds that can be found inside the flowers. These pods are soft and delicate when fresh and starchy when dried. The greatest harvest of all, though, happens after the leaves have died and the cold winds send the plants into hibernation. This is when the long, white rhizomes are dug up.

Harvesting these rhizomes is backbreaking work. The roots are hidden under many feet of thick cold, gray mud, and the workers have to gently feel around with their feet for the roots, and then pull them out without breaking them. The most prized rhizomes are the fat, long, juicy specimens that taste just like a meaty vegetable. They are delicious in this hearty soup, which is best served in late autumn or winter, the peak of the lotus root season.

Lotus, Chinese yam, & wolfberries

So, only go shopping for lotus roots when it's cold out, as that is when these will be fresh and juicy. Look for fat rhizomes 2 to 3 inches wide with as little bruising as possible. They should feel heavy, which tells you that they were harvested recently. Chinese markets will often sell these in long, unbroken lengths of three or four rhizomes, and if I see them proudly displayed that way, I can never resist, because this shows real pride in their produce.

Feel the roots all over for signs of squishiness, which signifies rot. You want these rock hard, and if you gently rap on them with your knuckles, you should be rewarded with a satisfying thump. Store them in plastic bags in the fridge with a paper towel if they are at all wet, and that will help preserve their quality. Remove the skins with a potato peeler, pare off the hard nubbins on both ends, and then clean out the long holes, using a chopstick to dislodge any dirt. However, if you did your job well and selected prime lotus roots, you probably won't find any mud squirreled away in there. 

Get plump specimens for the pot

In this version I’ve added another cold weather favorite, Chinese yams, or shānyào 山藥. These are weirdly wonderful vegetables that are delicious raw, when they are crisp and sweet. They're also great cooked, which turns them soft and more vegetal. The Chinese revere them as highly nutritious any way they are prepared, and they are touted as having anti-inflammatory properties, good for the skin, and so forth. They’re low in starch and sugar, too, which makes them great for folks on diets.

Me, I just like them, and so into the pot they go.


Lotus root, Chinese yam and pork rib soup
Lián’ŏu shānyào páigŭ tāng  蓮藕山藥排骨湯
Hubei
Serves 4 to 6 generously

About 1 pound pork back ribs or pork neck 
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
2 inches fresh ginger
3 or 4 green onions, trimmed
2 quarts boiling water, plus more as needed
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine, divided
Sea salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
1 hefty lotus root (around one pound, about 6 x 3 inches)
1 (one pound or so, about 6 x 2 inches) Chinese yam
¼ cup wolfberries (aka gouqi or goji berries), optional

Fry the riblets

1. Start this recipe at least a day before you want to serve it. Have your butcher slice the ribs or neck into 1-inch pieces. Pat the meat dry. Heat the oil in a wok over medium-high until it starts to smoke, and use tongs to lower the meat into the hot fat. Brown the meat on all sides and then remove them to a large (4 quart or so) sandpot or stockpot.

2. Brown the ginger in the wok and then add it to the pork. Add the green onions (leave them whole) and cover the ribs with the boiling water. Pour in ¼ cup rice wine before bringing the pot to a full boil. Lower the heat to a gentle simmer. Cook the pork uncovered for around an hour, or until the meat is tender. Let the pot come to room temperature, and then keep it in a cool place overnight.

Simmer the soup for 30 minutes

3. The next day, skim off the fat, if you like, and discard the limp cooked onions. Add more boiling water to the pot to bring it up to its original volume, heat the soup to a boil, add the salt, pepper, and sugar, and adjust the seasoning as desired.

4. Peel the lotus root and roll cut (see Tip) it into pieces about an inch wide. If you see any mud at all inside there, wash it off carefully. Peel the Chinese yam and cut it into pieces about the same size as the lotus root chunks. Add the lotus root, Chinese yam, and optional wolfberries to the soup, and bring it to a boil again before lowering the heat to a simmer. Cook the lotus roots until tender, about half an hour. Stir in the 2 tablespoons rice wine and a bit more boiling water, if desired. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Portion out the soup into large individual bowls and serve hot.

Tip 

Hard vegetables like carrots and lotus roots are often roll-cut, which gives them a nice range of textures in one bite: soft along the edges, but firm in the center. To do this, hold one end of the vegetable firmly against your cutting board and use this same hand to rotate it as you slice it on an angle with the other hand. What you are aiming for here are slightly triangular wedges. There's no need for accuracy, so just practice away until you get the hang of it. 
  

Pearl meatballs the Hubei way

This beautiful dish incorporates all of the unique tastes of Hubei: we have here sticky rice, pork, fresh fish, and sweet water chestnuts combined in flavorful little packages. 

Most people who write of this dish present it as a straight pork meatball covered with rice, and those are fine in their way. But you have to remember that much of Hubei is water world, a lushly green paradise filled with the rivers, lakes, and streams that end up deeply coloring the cuisine.

And so, that is why you find fresh fish and water chestnuts in the mix. 

These are intensely clever touches that let you know someone put a whole lot of thought into this emblematic dish from Xiantao in central Hubei, right on the delta where the Han and Yangtze Rivers meet.

In olden days this town was known by another name, when it was famous for “the three dishes of Mianyang” (Miǎnyáng sānzhēng 沔陽三蒸) that included these pearl meatballs, rice crumb pork, and the pale meatballs known as zhēngbáiwán 蒸白丸, which are pretty much the same as this recipe minus the rice coating.

If my memory serves, a variation on this dish might have been the first real Chinese dish I ever prepared as a kid (Chun King canned chow mein notwithstanding). I seem to remember the recipe coming out of one of my mother’s hausfrau magazines, perhaps Woman’s Day or Good Housekeeping.

Yup

It looked a lot like the porcupine meatballs that were making the rounds of the suburbs in those days, minus the tomato sauce of course, and they were my first glimpse of what genuine food from China might someday taste like, albeit made that day with canned water chestnuts, supermarket pork, and whatever passed for rice in those days; might have been Uncle Ben’s for all I know. 

Fast-forward a decade, and there I am in Taipei, eating real pearl meatballs and finally understanding what the fuss was all about.

Pearl meatballs

Zhēnzhūwán 珍珠丸

Hubei

Makes 3 to 4 dozen meatballs (depending upon size), serving about 6 to 8

Meatballs:

2 cups long-grain glutinous (sticky) rice, rinsed and soaked at least 2 hours

8 ounces chilled fatback (or firm belly fat or other solid, unrendered pork fat), divided

Fresh water chestnuts

4 water chestnuts (fresh or frozen and defrosted), peeled and coarsely chopped

8 ounces chilled ground free-range pork (15% fat)

6 ounces chilled, boned, skinned flatfish of any kind, coarsely chopped

1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh ginger

2 large eggs

1 teaspoon sea salt

Lots of freshly-ground black pepper (or to taste)

2 green onions, trimmed and coarsely chopped

1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine

3 tablespoons cornstarch

Dipping sauce:

¼ cup any kind of chili sauce

Soy sauce and black vinegar to taste

1. Drain the rice in a sieve set in the sink while you prepare the rest of the ingredients. Have a basket steamer set up (metal works best here for cleanup) and spray the trays with oil.

2. Cut the pork fat into very small cubes and place half of it in a small work bowl with the water chestnuts. Place the other half in a food processor fitted with a metal blade, along with the ground pork, fish, and ginger. Process the meat mixture for a couple of minutes, scraping it down as needed, until you have an even, fine paste. Add the eggs, salt, pepper, green onions, rice wine, and cornstarch, and process again until they are fully incorporated and the filling is light and fluffy. Empty the filling into the bowl with the water chestnuts and fat, and then mix these together by hand. 

In the steamer

3. Put the rice in a wide, shallow bowl and place it on your work space next to the meatball mixture. Use a metal spoon to scoop up about 2 tablespoons of the meat and shape it roughly into a ball before dropping it into the rice. Repeat this a couple of times until the top of the rice is about half covered with meatballs. Then, pick up a meatball and roll it around in the rice; place it in your cupped hand and then roll it around in your hand to shape the ball. Pat on more rice if there are bald spots, and then place the finished meatball in an oiled (preferably metal, so it doesn't stick) steamer basket. Repeat with the rest of the meatballs until done, setting them about an inch apart so that they do not stick to each other. (This will probably take 3 or 4 baskets to finish.)  If you have extra rice after finishing the meatballs—and you most definitely will—use it to make some Congee or toss it in soup for a quick lunch.

4. Steam the meatballs over high heat for around 10 to 15 minutes, or until done. Serve hot with the dipping sauce. They can be served right out of the steamer baskets, if you like; the best way to do this is to steam all of the meatballs ahead of time, cool them on a baking pan (they can be refrigerated for a day or two, as well), and then placing the cold meatballs in the steaming baskets so that they barely touch before steaming them until hot.

Bean curd with preserved eggs Hubei style

Here is yet another one of those incredibly simple yet dazzling combinations from the Yangtze River area, and this also has to be one of my favorite things to eat... but only if it’s done right, as they do in Hubei province.

The one place we always could count on for the best version was a wonderful mid-priced restaurant in downtown Taipei right near book store alley. Fuxingyuan was an unpretentious yet perfect beacon for East Chinese food. We became such regular customers that as soon as we walked in the door, the cook would prepare this dish just the way I liked it – with an extra egg – and it would be set on our table within seconds after we’d been poured hot tea.

Generally referred to as simply pidan doufu, or bean curd with preserved eggs, this stunning contrast in black and white relies completely on the excellence of the ingredients, the balanced ratio of tofu to eggs, and an unobtrusive yet tangy sauce topped with simple greenery. 

Of supreme importance are the bean curd, which has to be the soft, custardy type (nen doufu, or tender tofu), and the eggs, which in the most perfect of all worlds are the kind called songhua, or pine flower, because of the crystalline patterns that form under the shell and tell you that this is one perfect egg, as the whites will be perfectly tender and the yolks just the right balance of solid and smoosh. (There's no guarantee whether you'll end up with pine flowers... it's sort of the luck of the draw, but celebrate if you do.)

Hot sesame oil notching up the flavors

This egg has a bad rap because of its appearance and its touristy names: “thousand-year-old,” “century” or even “millennium” egg. 

I mean, really. They’re not at all old and in fact should be enjoyed while they are relatively fresh, as the eggs dry out if left to their own devices. I call them preserved eggs because of how they are made: fresh duck eggs are coated with a combination of quicklime, ash, clay, salt, and rice hulls, allowed to rest for a couple of weeks or months while the chemicals work their magic, and when opened, the whites will have turned a crystal-clear dark amber, while the yolks are a runny grayish-green.

I do realize that encountering an egg with this sort of coloration the first time around may be startling.  But you’ll find that the whites are actually very much like a gentle aspic, while the creamy centers have a gently yolk flavor with a rich, buttery undercurrent. 

Light refracting through the "white"

A lot of times, eating strange things requires a leap of faith and logic. For example, one time I was having lunch in Taipei with an American friend, Janet, and her young daughter. The little girl was at that very finicky stage, and she immediately was very grossed out by our serving of pidan doufu. So I suggested to little Katie that this was egg jello; to my surprise, she bought it and then just dove in like she ate it every day. 

When we lived in Taiwan, old-fashioned grocers would have at least one big brown urn near the door with yellow dragons running around it, and inside would be these eggs. They were sold still encased in those hard little coffins of nubby clay, and I would wash them off under running water before peeling off the bluish speckled shells, hoping that I’d be rewarded with pine blossoms for my effort. And when I was, there would be three eggs that night.

Bean curd with pine flower preserved eggs 
Sōnghuā pídàn dòufŭ 松花皮蛋豆腐 

Hubei
Serves 4 to 6 as an appetizer

2 or 3 preserved eggs (see Tips)

1 box soft bean curd (see Tips)

Boiling water

1 to 2 tablespoons Sichuan pickled tuber (zhacai)

1 green onion, green leaves only

2 tablespoons coarsely chopped cilantro

½ teaspoon sea salt
1½ teaspoons sugar

1 teaspoon rice or apple vinegar

1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar

Elegant & soothing

6 tablespoons toasted sesame oil

1. Peel the eggs, rinse them gently to remove any tiny bits of shell, and slice them into thin wedges.

2. Bring a small saucepan half full of water to a boil and slip in the soft bean curd; bring the water to a boil again, then discard the water and carefully rinse the hot bean curd under cool tap water. Drain it and place the square on a cutting board. Cut the square lengthwise in half, and then cut it crosswise into thin pieces (about an eighth to a quarter of an inch wide). Use your cleaver to gently lift up the fragile slice and fan them out on a rimmed serving plate. Arrange the sliced eggs on top.

3. Rinse the pickled tuber and chop it very finely. Thinly slice the green onion leaves. Scatter the pickles, green onion, and cilantro over the top of the eggs. Put the salt, sugar, vinegar, and sesame oil in a wok over high until they bubble furiously; taste the sauce and adjust seasoning, if necessary, and then drizzle this over the greens to wilt them. Serve slightly warm.

Tips

Avoid pidan from Mainland China, as I have always found them hard and tasteless. They definitely would work better on a ping pong table than on a dining table. 

Some Taiwanese eggs

Taiwan's pidan are often incredibly good, with the egg whites whisper tender and the yolks soft and runny and dark, rather than the tough ochre centers of Mainland eggs. The brand I've come to enjoy the best packs the eggs in a little yellow cardboard egg crate. They say there's no lead in them and they taste clean. 

I store these eggs in the refrigerator and try to use them within a couple of weeks. Of course, always use common sense when you're dealing with preserved or any other kind of eggs: smell them when you crack them open and look the eggs over carefully. Preserved eggs should not smell like much of anything before you cut them open, since the whites are very bland.

Pidan should also look solid and not have any questionable liquid running around in them, as that's a sign of spoilage. Do keep in mind that if these eggs hang around too long, even with refrigeration, they can dry out. 

So, keep them chilled, and if you haven't dealt with them for a while, open one up the day before you plan to serve them. And if you are a lover of Congee like I am, serve them sliced into wedges in your rice porridge with some crunchy Fried Peanuts – the perfect breakfast or late night snack whenever it's cold outside.

Strangely beautiful

Buy non-GMO, organic bean curd whenever you can. You can use either “soft” or “extra soft” tofu here, but while the extra soft kind will taste very good, it might look a mess, since it tends to fall apart at the merest suggestion of pressure.

That's why the bean curd is quickly blanched in this recipe: to both gently firm it up a bit on the outside, which makes it easier to slice, and also to remove any scent of the packaging.

If you don't have or can't find zhacai in your area, anything crunchy and tart will do, like the Pickled Long Beans we looked at recently.

Different areas of China make their own versions of this classic. In Taiwan, for example, the egg is often served whole on top of a square of tender bean curd, and then either pork floss (rousong) or shaved dried bonito (katsuobushi, which suggests lingering Japanese influence there) are cascaded on top, often with a healthy drizzle of oyster sauce all around instead of the vinegar and hot oil.