Dried orchid blossoms

The name alone of this dish is enough to make me smile. In Chinese it’s simply “dried orchid blossoms,” with no other clues as to what is involved. Does it look like an orchid? Or taste like a flower? Or even possess a single petal? Nope.

What this is is a uniquely delicious dish with the most marvelous texture, something that I’ve never found in any other bean curd creation. The secret lies in the fancy knife work, which actually is not at all fancy once you get to know the secret.

We used to buy plastic bags of this when we strolled around downtown Taipei. Certain shops were known for their braised dishes – called lŭwèi 滷味 – and this is a code for the soy sauce marinade. Just about any protein can be turned into luwei, including meats, poultry, eggs, gluten, and bean curd, and the key to making something special lies in a) how the protein is prepared and b) what goes into the marinade.

Up close you can see the beauty

Soy sauce really is the common denominator, and the other usual suspects are ginger, green onions, spices like star anise and cinnamon, rice wine, and sugar. Meats and birds tend to be blanched before they are tossed in the pot, while eggs are hardboiled and peeled, but gluten and bean curd often have unique little steps added to the procedure. This makes complete sense when you think of how many Buddhist vegetarians and vegans there are in China and how Chinese people love to eat, so something had to be done to make meals delicious even if they are meatless.

The luwei braise

Case in point: Dried Orchid Blossoms. They really are nothing more or less than pressed bean curd, those leathery little squares that honestly have little flavor on their own. But with the proper preparation – as here, of course – they turn into something amazing. Again, the key is knowing how to cut these into intricate latticework, as they become not only beautiful, but this opens up each morsel to the hot oil, which in turn puffs the bean curd up into a glorious sponge.

The marinade is open to interpretation. Use whatever spices and aromatics you like. Make it spicy, make it mild, make it how you want. If you are a strict Buddhist, leave out the wine and aromatics. Whatever you do, be sure and add a bit of sweetness to the mix, as this plays well off the slightly sour taste of the bean curd.

I heartily recommend making this a day or two ahead of time, if you can stand the wait. The flavors deepen as the squares soak up the marinade, and each bite becomes memorable. So, make more than you think you want. No matter how much you make, you will end up wanting every last bit, believe me.

Intriguing shapes, delicious all around

Dried orchid blossoms

Lánhuā gān  蘭花乾

Jiangsu

Serves 8 to 12 as an appetizer or snack

Bean curd:

24 ounces | 680 g pressed white bean curd (dòufŭgān 豆腐乾), at least ¾ inch | 1.5 cm thick

Boiling water, as needed

Frying oil, as needed

Marinade:

¼ cup | 60 ml regular soy sauce

1 tablespoon dark soy sauce

¼ cup | 60 ml mild rice wine

Around 1 tablespoon rock sugar, plus more to taste

1 stick cinnamon

2 star anise

3 cloves garlic, peeled and lightly smashed

5 slices fresh ginger

4 green onions, trimmed but left whole and tied into knots

Parallel chopsticks, vertical cuts

To serve:

2 green onions, trimmed and finely shredded, optional

Chile sauce of any kind, optional

1. Cut the squares apart, if needed. Place the pressed bean curd in a pan and cover with boiling water. Bring the water to a full boil, dump everything into a colander set in the sink, and then place the squares on a clean tea towel to dry off.

2. To shape the dried orchids, first find a pair of chopsticks that are about one-third the thickness of the bean curd. Place a chopstick on either side of one of the squares. Make vertical cuts from the top down to the chopsticks about ¼ inch | 0.5 cm  apart. Turn the square over and place the two chopsticks at a right angle to each other and set the square inside. Starting from the inside corner of the angle, make diagonal cuts down to the chopsticks again about ¼ inch | 0.5 cm apart. When you reach the middle, turn the square 180° so that the uncut portion sits against the chopsticks, and then continue to cut this area on the diagonal. Once you are done, if you gently pull on either end of the square, it will open up into an accordion. This is called the “coir raincoat cut,” if you’re interested. Repeat with the rest of the squares until done.

Perpendicular sticks, diagonal cuts

3. Set a wok with about 2 inches | 5 cm of frying oil over medium-high heat. Slide 2 of the opened squares into the oil, making sure that they do not touch. Fry them on both sides until they are light brown and hard to the touch, which will take about 7 minutes. While they are frying, use your chopsticks to pull on them at each end to open them up, which will turn the squares into lacy rectangles. Remove them to a 2-quart | 2-liter saucepan. Repeat with the rest of the bean curd until all are fried.

4. Add the rest of the ingredients to the pan and add boiling water almost to cover. Bring the pot to a full boil and then lower to a slow simmer. Cook the bean curd uncovered for about 2 hours, gently tossing them now and then. Turn off the heat and let this sit covered overnight. They are best if refrigerated for a day or two so that the flavors really seep in, and they keep for at least a week in the marinade. To serve, cut the rectangles into ½ inch | 1 cm wide strips and serve with chopped green onions and chile sauce, if desired.

These are quite beautiful every step of the way. Here's a glimpse of them frying:

Train station omelet rolls

Tomorrow is the first day of the Year of the Pig, and to celebrate, here's an old favorite of ours.

There’s nothing unusual about these omelet rolls, except for the fact that they are closest I've ever gotten to the porky nirvana I used to enjoy in a crappy little restaurant tucked into an alley next to the Taipei train station. 

That place is long gone, but I've been on the elusive trail of the right ingredients for the past 30-odd years.

What was it that made those omelet rolls so mouth-watering? Well, to start with, the pork filling was so juicy that great care had to be taken whenever we attempted to bite into them, because serious dribbling usually ensued. The pork was seasoned so perfectly that my taste buds would almost stand up and march through the eggy wrapper in a frantic search for more of that well-seasoned ground pork.

The pork itself probably came from what the Taiwanese call “black hair pigs,” the variety generally acknowledged to be of the highest quality and have the best flavor, much like what you get here from organic boutique ranchers. But Taiwan back then was an island jam-packed with pork aficionados, and pork was in just about every local dish. 

The thin omelet that wrapped up those long ground-pork logs were done with a deft hand and a good attention to heat and timing, because they were invariably supremely tender, yet able to stand up to being used as wrappers.

Braise with black mushrooms

I can’t fail to remember the mesmerizingly delicious poaching broth – that too was a serious piece of culinary art right there; what had started out as a simple broth had been enhanced by who knows how many days or weeks or years of stewing more and more omelets, their juices and seasonings seeping out and adding even more flavor to the broth. 

And finally, the omelet roll was always served with a good dribble of their insanely good sauce made of dark soy sauce, rock sugar, and other seasonings. That deeply caramel sauce was just sweet enough and just salty enough to gild this perfect lily.

No wonder I was never able to forget it.

My late father-in-law used to make small omelet purses for his New Year’s Eve banquets, and the fillings were a mixture of ground pork and fish. However, just in time for holiday cooking, these are more like the ones we came to love in that rattrap of a restaurant next to the train station. Be prepared, for this is serious home cooking.

Braised pork omelet rolls

Qīngdùn dànjuăn  清燉蛋捲

Mix the filling with your hand

Jiangsu cuisine

Serves 6

Filling:

8 ounces | 225 g best quality ground pork with 15% fat, or ground dark turkey meat

1 tablespoon regular soy sauce

3 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

4 leaves Chinese cabbage, blanched and finely chopped

2 scallions, trimmed and chopped

3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

2 tablespoons minced fresh ginger

Omelets:

5 large eggs

2 teaspoons cornstarch

Peanut or vegetable oil, as needed

Sauce:

4 fresh or dried black Chinese mushrooms, the dried ones soaked overnight

Mushroom soaking liquid, if using dried mushrooms, strained

Thin omelet wrapper

2 cups | 500 ml unsalted chicken stock or water

6 slices fresh ginger

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

¼ cup | 60 ml Shaoxing rice wine

1 tablespoon rock sugar

1 scallion, trimmed and sliced into a thin julienne, for garnish

1. This is best if you prepare it ahead of time so that the omelets can wallow in the sauce, but freshly made is good, too. Place the pork on a cutting board set on a wet washcloth. Smack the pork with the backs of two heavy knives, scraping the meat up and turning it over as needed, until the pork is light, fluffy, and sticky. Scrape the meat into a work bowl. Use your hand to mix in the soy sauce and rice wine until they are fully absorbed, and then mix in the cabbage, scallions, and ginger, squishing any lumps of pork as you go.

2. Lightly beat the eggs until broken up and then whisk in the cornstarch. Set a wok over medium heat and swirl a teaspoon or so of oil around the bottom. Add a third of the egg mixture into the wok and swirl the wok so that the egg spreads out into a wide omelet. Fry only until the top of the omelet is no longer wet. Tip the omelet out onto a plate. Repeat two more times so that you end up with 3 omelets.

3. Remove the stems from the mushrooms and slice the caps. Place the sliced mushrooms, the mushroom soaking liquid, ginger slices, soy sauce, rice wine, and rock sugar in a wide pan and bring to a boil over high heat. Lower to a simmer.

A filled roll

4. While the sauce is simmering, make the filled omelets: Lay the omelets with the browned sides down on a work surface. Divide the filling in three and spread a third over each omelet. Roll each omelet up halfway, fold in the ends, and then continue to roll it up like a carpet.

5. Set the wok over medium heat. Add about a tablespoon of oil and swirl it around. Add one filled omelet with the fold side down and gently fry it on both sides to set its shape. Remove the omelet to the sauce and repeat with the other filled omelets.

6. Reduce the heat under the pan to low and simmer the omelets uncovered, being sure to gently turn the omelets over now and then. Taste the sauce after about 15 minutes and adjust the seasoning as desired. When the sauce has reduced to about ½ cup | 125 ml, remove the pan from the heat. Cut each omelet into attractive slices and arrange on a serving plate. Drizzle the tops of the omelets with the thickened sauce and sprinkle with the sliced scallion.

Perfect Jiangsu lion heads

An iconic dish of the entire Jiangsu area, each town seems to have its own take on how to season and present these giant, juicy meatballs. 

Fried green onions add a lovely toasty layer to the dish and excellent depth to the sauce, turning into blackish strips that melt on the tongue.

The mung bean sheets are a personal favorite because I love the silky touch of the fěnpí. 

If you are looking for something carnal to serve, this is it.

Red-cooked lion heads

Hóngshāo shīzitóu 紅燒獅子頭

Jiangsu cuisine

Serves 4 to 8

Fried green onions and míngyóu:

1 bunch green onions, trimmed

½ cup | 125 ml peanut or vegetable oil

 

Fried green onions

Seasoned water:

1 scallion, trimmed and chopped

2 tablespoons chopped ginger

6 tablespoons | 90 ml water

Meatballs:

1 pound | 500 g good quality ground pork (see Tips)

1 large egg, lightly beaten

2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

2 teaspoons regular soy sauce

¼ teaspoon sea salt

8 fresh or frozen water chestnuts, or 5 ounces | 150 g jicama, peeled and finely chopped

2 tablespoons ground raw rice (see Tip)

Stock:

¼ cup | 60 ml green onion míngyóu (above)

1 quart | 1 liter unsalted chicken stock

6 thin slices ginger

1 tablespoon regular soy sauce

2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

2 teaspoons rock sugar

The rest:

8 ounces | 250 g napa cabbage, trimmed

3 mung bean sheets (fěnpí)

Boiling water, as needed

2 teaspoons mushroom seasoning 

2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

 

Peeled & unpeeled water chestnuts

1. First make the fried green onions: Chop the green onions into 1-inch | 2-cm lengths and put them in a wok with the oil. Fry these together over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the onions are browned and toasty. Strain out the onions and place them in the bottom of a large (6- to 8-cup) sandpot or covered casserole. Set aside ¼ cup | 60 ml of the green onion míngyóu (a seasoned oil that literally means “bright oil”) for Step 3 and use the rest for something else, like the TK on page TK.

2. Next, prepare the seasoned water: Place the green onions, ginger, and water in a blender and whirl these together until the ginger is pulverized; scrape down the sides a couple of times to get everything liquefied.

3. Place the pork on a cutting board and smack it with the backs of two heavy knives, scraping it up and turning it over again and again, until the meat looks pale and sticky. Place the meat in a medium work bowl and use your hand as a paddle to beat in the seasoned water and then the egg, soy sauce, rice wine, and salt until the mixture is light and fluffy. Pick up handfuls and energetically smack the meat mixture back into the bowl to lighten it even further. Mix in the water chestnuts and rice.

4. Set a wok over medium heat and swirl in the míngyóu. Wet your hands and scoop out about one-eighth of the pork mixture form it into a ball. Toss it back and forth between your hands like it was a baseball and you’re warming up for a pitch, as this will make it even more tensile. Shape it into a ball before sliding it into the hot oil. Do this again with 3 more meatballs, so that you are frying half of the mixture at a time. Brown the meatballs all over until they have a crunchy crust, and then place them in the sandpot. Repeat with the rest of the pork mixture in order to have 8 fat meatballs. Strain the oil in your wok into a bowl and use it for something else, like a stir-fry.

 

Beat stuff in with your hand

5. Add all of the stock ingredients to the sandpot, cover, and bring the pot to a boil. Reduce the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook the lion heads for about 2 hours with the lid slightly ajar so that steam can escape.

6. While the sandpot is cooking away, thinly shred the napa cabbage. Place the mung bean sheets in a wide pan and cover with boiling water. By the time the water has cooled, the fěnpí will translucent and soft, but still chewy. Drain. If it hasn’t fallen apart into strips, tear or cut them up into pieces not much larger than 4 inches | 10 cm. Layer the softened fěnpí into the sandpot and add just enough boiling water to come halfway up the sheets. Add the mushroom powder, rice wine, and cabbage. Cover the sandpot and simmer for around 15 minutes so that the vegetables barely cook through and the sheets absorb the rich flavors of the stock. Serve hot. Use tongs to serve the fenpi, as it is pretty slippery.

Tip

Grind raw rice in a food processor or mortar until about the size of sesame seeds. Or, get “broken jasmine rice,” which already is busted up into small pieces from the milling process.