An old Beijing breakfast

Breakfast is simply exciting in China, no matter where you are. It’s always been my favorite meal of the day no matter where I happen to find myself, and when I get to a breakfast heaven like Beijing or Taiwan, things just don't get much better in my book.

Part of the reason for my passion for Chinese breakfasts is the simplicity of it all. You generally are presented with an unadorned meal that is well made, and - according to your appetite or personal feelings on the matter – you can dress it up with lots of chile paste or vinegar or garlic, or you accept it as is and enjoy a milder version.

Making this a balanced & delicious meal

Another reason is the incredible amount of creativity that goes into these offerings. In South China it might be made out of something like rice paste or steamed rice, but in the North, steamed breads and pastas are the kings of breakfast. Plain steamed breads (mantou), filled steamed buns (baozi), and flower rolls (which are steamed bread dough rolled up around a thinnish filling of some sort) are at one end of this spectrum, while plain flour noodles or wrappers get called into play for everything from filled jiaozi dumplings to pot stickers to noodles soups.

It seems that most of these flour-based dishes originated in Central Asia somewhere before traveling into North China along the Silk Roads and setting root all along China’s far west and upper regions. Records show that although China made do with some sort of native wheat, a much finer strain was introduced long ago from the Fergana Valley, an area that is now divided between what are nowadays known as eastern Uzbekistan, southern Kyrgyzstan, and northern Tajikistan.

These foreign origins can be seen in the character for wheat: mài 麥, which has the character lái 來 (to arrive, to come) over a pictograph of a wheat kernel. Pretty cool, eh? Now you can see why I love this language so much...

Homemade wrappers are easy

Anyway, back to breakfast: Here is a delicious and surprisingly easy way to greet the day that shows those Central Asian roots in another couple of ways. First, there's lamb, which is the meat of choice out among Beijing's Hui Muslims (although you can sub in another favorite - beef - or even go with American dark turkey), and second, there are the carrots that were also brought to China via the upper Silk Roads that snaked across the length of Asia.

One delicious technique here in particular is worth learning: Lots of seasoned water is whipped into the meat. Sichuan peppercorns are whirled with plain old water and then the spices are strained out. This water in turn lends a subtle, piney, faintly numbing background. It doesn't seem possible, but a whole cup of water is easily absorbed by this pound of ground lamb. This results in a much lighter filling and a satisfying puddle of juice in each bun. I’ve also included directions for mincing the meat again with your Chinese knives, as this amplifies its lovely texture. It’s optional, and just so you know, even if you skip this step, these will taste fantastic.

Chop, chop, chop

Try this for breakfast or as a snack with some soy milk, millet congee, or even a cup of coffee. Make extra and freeze them for an even easier treat later on.

Beijing-style steamed lamb buns

Lăo Běijīng yángròu bāo 老北京羊肉包

Beijing

Makes 16 (4 inch/10cm) baozi

Wrappers:

1¼ cups/295 ml warm water

2 teaspoons yeast

2 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon salt

2½ cups/ Chinese flour, plus extra for kneading and shaping

2 teaspoons peanut or vegetable oil

2 teaspoons baking powder

Filling:

1 pound/450g ground lamb (about 20% fat)

1 cup/235 ml water

2 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorns

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

2 tablespoons/25g sweet wheat paste

6 tablespoons/80g toasted sesame oil

¼ cup/50g peanut or vegetable oil

1 teaspoon sugar

2 carrots, grated (about 1 cup/200g)

2 green onions, trimmed and finely chopped

½ bunch cilantro, trimmed and chopped

2 tablespoons finely chopped ginger 

Let the yeast foam up to prove it's alive

1. First make the wrappers: Dissolve the yeast and sugar in the warm water. Allow the yeast to expand for about 10 minutes; if it is not foaming at this point, discard and get some fresher yeast. 

2. Stir the flour and salt together in a large work bowl. Use chopsticks or a wooden spoon to mix in the yeast solution until flakes form. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured smooth surface, and then use a pastry scraper in one hand and your other hand to scrape and knead the dough. When it is elastic and no longer sticks to the board, check the texture: a pinch of the dough should feel like an earlobe. Form the dough into a ball. 

Steamer paper makes things conveninent

3. Clean the work bowl, dry it, and lightly oil both the bowl and the ball of dough. Transfer the dough to the bowl, cover it tightly with some plastic wrap, and place in a warm place to rise until double in size. Punch down the dough and fold the edges in on the ball. Cover the bowl again and let it rise until it is once more double in size. 

4. Turn the dough out onto a clean, smooth work surface and sprinkle with the baking powder. Lightly knead the baking powder into the dough, cover the dough with the plastic wrap and let it rest for around 10 minutes. 

5. Lightly dust the board and roll the dough into a long, even strip 16 inches long. Form the wrappers as shown here. Line two Chinese basket steamers with either steamer paper or cupcake liners; spray the cupcake paper with oil. Set the baskets and cover over a pan of boiling water for a couple of minutes to heat them through, and then turn off the heat.

  

7. To prepare the filling, you can first chop the ground meat again with two Chinese knives as shown on the right until the color becomes paler and the meat feels pasty. Scoop the meat into a medium work bowl. Grind the water and Sichuan peppercorns together in a blender until the spice is pulverized, and then pour the liquid through a fine strainer; discard the solids. Use your hand to gradually mix the water into the meat, which should easily absorb every last drop. Use your hand to mix in the rest of the ingredients until the filling looks even. This makes about 4½ cups/1000 ml filling.

  

The meat will absorb the seasoned water

8. Fill the wrappers as directed here, using around ¼ cup/32g per bun. Place the buns either in the warmed up steamer baskets to rise for at least 15 minutes, or arrange them on a baking sheet lined with plastic wrap and immediately freeze them. (Store frozen buns in a resealable freezer bag and steam for an extra 5 minutes or so.) To cook the fresh buns, set the baskets over rapidly boiling water and steam them for 15 minutes. Turn off the heat, but allow them to stay covered in the baskets so that they do not deflate easily. Serve hot. Leftovers can be re-steamed for around 10 minutes.

Tip

Don't use whole wheat flour here, as it is too coarse to hold the juicy filling. You can add a bit (maybe a quarter of the total amount), but you really need the elasticity provided by white flour here. Believe me, I've tried.

A Beijing Hui Muslim classic: beef shanks & eggs

Beijing’s Hui Muslim dishes are without a doubt some of my favorite in the region. Much of this has to do with the creative ways in which every bit of an animal is used. In the West, we tend to toss out the less popular parts of an animal, but that is not the case in China. Not only are Chinese cooks frugal – which they most definitely are – but they also appreciate the intriguing textures that the heart, stomach, and shin have to offer.

These variety meats are the kind of things that every single Beijing-style Muslim eatery I’ve ever eaten in offers. If they are a small, family-run place, they will display them right in the front window, the same way Cantonese delis hang ducks and pigs near the sidewalk. The flavors are rich and savory, and based on a spice-infused marinade that is colored by soy sauce and slightly sweetened with rock sugar.

Edible stained glass window

Depending on what time of day it is and how hot it is outside, we might have a plate full of cool, braised liver, tendons, heart, tripe, and so forth to start off a meal. Or perhaps a breakfast sandwich of tender, braised shin shaved into paper-thin slices and packed into a sesame-paste biscuit, or shaobing. Dinner might include some eggs, bean curd, and thick seaweed cooked in that same braising liquid, as well. Alongside this, we would usually order some millet porridge and a plate of stir-fried greens.

Beef shins are a cut of meat that really deserves your love. They’re cheap, nothing but completely edible, and are ribboned with thin tendons that turn into translucent, tender codas between the gorgeous meat. I mean, look at that photo above and tell me that isn’t drop-dead beautiful.

These shins will be soft and as relaxed as a kitten when they are raw – see the photo below. As soon as they hit hot water, though, they will shrink up into tense little balls and stay that way, so don’t worry about crowding your pan at the very beginning. This shrinkage is due to the tendons, which will become incredibly hard at this point and only dissolve into a delectable gumminess after a slow braise.

Raw tendons

I get my beef shins at a Chinese market in Oakland that sells them in sets of six or so in plastic bags, so that is what I’ve gotten used to as my basic measure. However, there’s nothing stopping you from dividing the recipe in half or less, or even multiplying it a couple of times for parties. Be sure a make the braised eggs with this fabulous sauce after you pluck out the beef – they are just as delicious as the shins.

Braised beef shanks and eggs
Lŭ níujiàn, lŭ dàn 滷牛腱、滷蛋

Beijing
Serves 8 to 12

Beautiful beautiful beautiful

6 boneless beef shins 
Water, as needed
½ cup thinly sliced ginger 
4 green onions 
6 tablespoons regular soy sauce 
4 star anise 
½ stick cinnamon 
1 tablespoon fennel seeds 
2 teaspoons Sichuan peppercorns 
¼ cup rock sugar, or ½ piece of brown slab sugar 
2 dried Thai chilies, optional 
1 piece cured tangerine peel, optional 
1 cup rice wine, optional 

12 to 18 small to medium eggs, boiled until firm (see directions below) and peeled

To serve:

Thinly sliced green onions

Toasted sesame oil

1. Place the shins in a wide pot, cover them with water, bring the water to a boil over high heat, lower the heat, simmer the meats for about 10 minutes, and then dump out the water. Rinse the scum off of the meat and the pan.

2. Return the meats to the pan, and add all of the ingredients up through the optional rice wine, as well as enough water to cover the meats. Bring the pan to a boil and then lower the heat to a simmer. Cook the shins until they can easily be pierced with a chopstick, about 3 hours. You can also make these in a pressure cooker: braise on high for about an hour. Remove the shins to a bowl, cool, and then refrigerate them for easier slicing.

Ready for the braise

3. Add the peeled eggs to the strained sauce. Bring the uncovered pan to a boil, reduce the heat to low, and slowly simmer the eggs for an hour or two, adding only as much water as needed to keep them more or less submerged. Cool the eggs and sauce to room temperature and let them sit in the sauce for at least two days so that the flavors really permeate the eggs.

4. To serve, slice the shanks crosswise (against the grain) into really thin slices. Fan these out onto a plate or a bowl of hot noodles. Cut the eggs into wedges. Drizzle them with a bit of the sauce, if you like, or simply a bit of toasted sesame oil and a sprinkle of green onions. 

How to correctly boil eggs

Prick the round ends with a sharp pin or tack, as this gives that bubble of air inside the shell an escape route and so prevent the eggs from cracking.

Braised eggs - tan down to the yolks

Place the eggs in a pot of warm water, and bring the water to a boil over high heat, stirring the eggs very often as they come to a boil so that the yolks become centered in the whites. Lower the heat to a simmer and cook them for about 8 minutes. Dump out the water, cover them with cool tap water, and then peel them when they have cooled down.

Whenever you make hard-boiled eggs for recipes like this, look for two things: the smallest eggs possible, and eggs that are not too fresh. Smaller eggs absorb the sauce’s flavors faster, while older eggs are easier to peel. Also, if you gently stir the eggs as they are coming to a boil, you will keep the yolks centered in the still-soft whites; once the water barely comes to a boil, the whites will have set and you can stop stirring. Never boil the eggs at full blast, though, as this will make the whites tough. A gentle simmer is enough – they will also be cooked in the sauce, so there’s no need to overdo it. When cooking hardboiled eggs, keep the lid off, otherwise pressure will build up in the pan and the egg whites will have a honeycomb texture.

China's greatest unknown cuisine: Anhui

Today I'm moving west from the incredibly wonderful dishes of Jiangsu and Zhejiang to another of the Eight Great Cuisines of China, Anhui. 

Of all the eight cuisines, Anhui's has remain the most elusive and mysterious, and just about no one I've met outside of Anhui has an inkling of what this cuisine is like. 

However, some of my best friends over the years have hailed from Anhui - or at least their parents did - and even if they don't have a clue about how to make even a single Anhui-style dish, they are such great people that I was excited about exploring the culture and the foods that had nourished their families throughout the centuries. 

Generous to a fault, invariably happy to be alive, and dedicated to eating well, these friends over the years have made my life richer that I could have ever believed possible, and I think it has a lot to do with the fantastic food of Anhui!

With my new goal firmly in mind, I snapped up every Chinese-language Anhui cookbook I could find. Now, after having made a number of Anhui's dishes, I am nothing less than flabbergasted that not a single Anhui-style restaurant existed in Taipei when I lived there in the seventies and eighties.  And that is saying something, because in that metropolis of dedicated foodies just about every other cuisine, major and minor, had at least a handful of restaurants or storefronts there and a loyal coterie of customers. Let me just note for the record that people have really, really, really missed out on something special, and I am going to do my best to change that.

Huangshan

Smoked poultry, game, and fish are beloved here, as well as domestic and wild beasts cooked with a rich wine lees sauce or a delightful handful of fruits and sugar. Combining meats with fruits and nuts and herbs and spices has resulted in some dishes that cause deep pangs of hunger from their aroma alone.  

Right now I'm enjoying the aroma of Anhui's most famous poultry dish, Fuliji Poached Chicken, gently simmering away on the stove downstairs.  This is an organic whole fryer coated in maltose, fried to a mahogany brown, and then braised for hours in a rich stock flavored with a shelf full of exotic herbs and spices. 

The whole house smells edible at this point. The result is a chicken that is incredibly moist and flavorful, the skin deliciously soft and lean, and the meat so tender that it falls off the bone if you look at it too hard. The recipe for that will follow shortly, as will ones for Braised Chicken Legs in a Spiced Caramel Sauce, Walnut Pork, Fluffy Shrimp "Noodles," Maofeng Tea Smoked Fish, and Cilantro Beef, and many more, in addition to a my normal off-topic sidetracks where I talk about some of the other dishes I'm currently cooking.

Fuliji Poached Chicken (see next blog entry)

So why does Anhui have such a great cuisine? Everyone I've asked has said the same thing: Anhui was the home of some of China's great traders and merchants, and all that wealth allowed them to eat quite well.  Anhui is actually two very different areas: the north is part of China's great plains, so its foods tend to be more that of the nomads, with their pastas and breads, a reliance on beef and mutton, and the dishes that a cold climate fosters. 

Southern Anhui hugs the Yangtze River with its more temperate climate, rich fields, and bountiful resources, and so the dishes here are very much like the eastern cuisines of its neighbors, Jiangsu and Zhejiang. When people lump China's cuisines into four regions, Anhui's is invariably considered an eastern cuisine, which in a way is fair, since its greatest dishes do come from the south, and in a final note the mountainous regions of southern Anhui are also home to gorgeous  Huangshan, one of China's five great mountains.

Please join me in this culinary excursion to China's last great unknown cuisine, one that has opened my eyes and taste buds to some truly remarkable dishes.
 
Map courtesy Wikipedia Commons.
Huangshan photo courtesy china.org.cn