Chicken livers and scallions chez Huang

This dish blew my brother-in-law away years and years ago. It even got me an offer to cook at his hotel. I didn’t take him up on it, but still. It’s that good.

Most dishes that feature stir-fried liver are going to be all about technique, and this is no different. You will, of course, start out by getting yourself some really quality chicken livers, preferably free-range and organic. The reason? Chemicals linger in an animal’s liver, and so you want to dine on something healthy.

Over the years I’ve developed a great technique to flush out anything that might linger in even the happiest chickens on earth because no matter what lengths that farmer may have gone to, you are still going to have to deal with their blood and bile.

So, what you do is cut them into pieces not much more than ¾ inch or 1.5 cm all around. This opens up the livers for the cleaning process, and it also ensures that you will be able to quickly fry them without drying them out. Second, you marinate the rinsed livers in mild rice wine, which leaches out any impurities while suffusing them with flavor.

My secret

These are stunningly good as a simple main dish, but any leftovers are also excellent on toast the next day, sort of like Chinese pâté. You might find yourself making a double batch just because of this…

Chicken livers and scallions chez Huang

Huángjiā cōngbào jīgān 黃家蔥爆雞肝

Shandong

Serves 4 as an entrée, 2 as a main dish

Livers:

Around 12 ounces | 300 g fresh or defrosted chicken livers (see headnotes)

¼ cup | 60 ml mild rice wine (Taiwan Mijiu)

Add the cornstarch

Sauce:

2 tablespoons mild rice wine (Taiwan Mijiu)

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

2 teaspoons sugar

3 cloves garlic, finely minced

¼ cup | 1 ounce cornstarch

The rest:

½ cup | 125 ml fresh peanut or vegetable oil, plus more as needed

1 bunch scallions, trimmed and cut into 2-inch | 5 cm lengths, whites and greens in separate piles

1 tablespoon regular soy sauce

Toasted scallion whites

1. Use cool tap water to rinse off the livers in a colander and pat dry. Remove any tough membranes, clotted blood, or mushy bits. Cut the livers into pieces approximately ¾ inch | 1.5 cm pieces all around. Put these in a small work bowl and cover with the rice wine. Marinate for at least half an hour and up to a day. Rinse the livers again with cool water and drain in the colander.

2. Place the rice wine, soy sauce, sugar, and garlic in a small work bowl. Gently toss in the livers and cornstarch so that no lumps of cornstarch are visible.

Frying up the livers

3. Have a slotted spoon ready to do your stir-frying, as well as a serving dish. Set a wok over medium-high heat and add ½ cup | 60 ml oil. As soon as the oil begins to smoke, add the scallion whites and stir-fry them until they are slightly toasted. Remove them to the serving dish. Fry about a third of the livers and sauce at a time over medium-high heat. Shake the wok to loosen them, and then flip them over. As soon as no more blood appears on their surface and the outsides are a dark brown (but the insides are still pink), remove them to the serving dish. Repeat with the rest of the livers and sauce, adding small drizzles of oil as needed.

4. Pour out any extra oil from the wok and add the scallion greens. Stir over medium-high heat until they are barely wilted. Toss in the scallion whites and fried livers. Fry these very quickly, as you just want to get them to know each other without overcooking them. Sprinkle the tablespoon of soy sauce over the livers to give their surfaces a final dash of flavor, fry them for only a couple of seconds more, and then serve.

Utterly delicious steam-fried buns from Shandong

When I was a student in Taipei back in the late 70’s, I became somewhat of a connoisseur of street foods and snacks. 

As I got to know the city better, I discovered that tiny restaurants had been carved out of little spaces between shops in the downtown area’s side streets and alleys, and, in my humble opinion, this was where most of the best eating was to be found. These foods were always simple, just a few specialties of the house, and so they were usually things that had been made day-in day-out for decades by the same folks. They had their recipes down pat, and it showed.

Shandong delight

These lovely snacks called shuijian bao were on my regular Must Eat menu and are beloved in their native Shandong, as well as in Beijing and Shanghai. The filling is always meat - and usually pork - flavored with ginger, green onions, and other seasonings. Also, the bread wrapper is thinner than that of most baozi, is slightly chewier, and it boasts a toasty golden bottom. Crispy on the bottom, soft on top, and juicy in the center, these are marvels. 

I figured that they were little more than baozi that had been pan-fried, but, as I tried over the years to re-create them, I discovered that a secret was involved. A sweet old gentleman from Shandong's capital city of Jinan (if I remember correctly) made my favorites. He ran his own little hole in the wall as a one man operation, wrapping the baozi, steam-frying them, selling them, bussing the tables, and doing the washing up all by himself. He sold nothing but shuijian bao, and he must have amassed a mint over the years, because his were the best and he had a steady stream of happy customers. Goodness knows what he did with the money because the greasy spots on his walls never changed, but no one cared - we were just there for the food.

Crunchy, toasty bottoms

His freshly-wrapped baozi were placed on a round, oil-slicked iron griddle that had probably been around since the day he started the business, so big and black and shiny that nothing ever stuck to it. He’d pour boiling water from an aluminum tea kettle over the buns, slap a tall lid over them, and let them steam until a steady crackling sound informed him that it was time to remove the cover. The bottoms of the baozi would then fry to an aromatic crust, and I would be standing there with all his other fans, cash in hand, ready to snag them the moment they left the griddle.

It took me many years to figure out the secret, because every recipe I’ve tried called for regular steamed bread dough, and this always left a sticky, undercooked pocket at the top. I tried adjusting the heat, reducing the size of the shuijian bao, increasing the steaming time and water, and so forth, but nothing worked.

And then enlightenment happened: I made hot-water dough — just like for steamed jiaozi — and added a yeast mixture to that. Perfection first time around. What happens is that the flour becomes partially cooked, and so the steam just needs to puff it up a bit. That, my friends, is the secret.

Make extra and freeze them. They go very fast.

Steamed-fried buns

Shuǐjiān bāo 水煎包

Shandong, Beijing, and Shanghai

Makes 24 baozi

Wrappers:

3 cups Chinese flour (or 2 cups all-purpose and 1 cup pastry)

2 cups boiling water

2 teaspoons yeast

2 tablespoons sugar

⅓ cup warm water

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 cup (or so) Chinese flour for kneading and shaping

Filling:

2 small bundles cellophane noodles (fensi)

Warm water, as needed

1½ pounds ground pork (15% fat) or dark turkey meat, chilled

1½ cups chopped green onions

6 tablespoons finely minced ginger

1 large egg, lightly beaten

¼ cup fresh peanut or vegetable oil

3 tablespoons regular soy sauce

¼ cup mild rice wine

1½ teaspoons sugar

Freshly ground black pepper

1½ tablespoons cornstarch

Spray oil

Oil for frying

Boiling water, as needed

1. Dissolve the yeast and sugar in the warm water. Use a stand mixer equipped with a dough hook to stir the boiling water into the flour. Knead the dough with the mixer until it is smooth and shiny, adding more flour as needed. Lightly dust a flat surface with some flour and turn the dough out on the board. Knead the dough for about 5 minutes. When it is as soft and supple as an earlobe, clean and dry the mixing bowl and rub a bit of sesame oil around the inside. Place the dough in the bowl and toss it around a couple times to coat it completely. Cover and let rise until it is about double in size. Punch it down and let it rise once again until double in size. Divide the dough into 24 even pieces, roll these into balls, and flatten them. Make 4-inch baozi wrappers by flattening the balls and then rolling the discs out from the center toward the edge, which will leave a little bump in the center. Cover the wrappers with a damp towel or plastic wrap.

Fensi with meat

2. While the dough is rising, soak the cellophane noodles in the warm water for around 10 minutes, or until they are soft and pliable. Drain the noodles well and then chop them very finely.

3. In a medium work bowl, mix the chopped cellophane noodles with the rest of the filling ingredients. Stir the filling in one direction until the meat is light, fluffy, and a bit sticky. The filling can be covered and chilled if you are not using it right away. Divide the filling into 24 even pieces and roll these into balls.

Make baozi

4. Lightly grease a baking sheet with spray oil. Working on one baozi at a time, place a ball of filling in the center of a baozi wrapper and pleat the wrapper over the filling. (It's all right if there are a few tears or open spots on top for shuijianbao, as they won't leak.) Place the filled baozi on the baking sheet and cover with plastic wrap. Repeat with the rest of the wrappers and filling until you have 24 baozi. These can be made ahead of time and frozen at this point — they will not have to be defrosted first and will require about the same amount of cooking time. Let the baozi rise for around 20 minutes.

Steam-fry the buns

5. Place a large, well-seasoned, flat frying pan over medium heat. When it is hot, film the bottom of the pan with enough oil that it runs around freely. Return the pan to the heat and arrange the baozi in the pan so that they around ½ inch apart, as they will rise some more as they cook. (The buns will have to be cooked in a couple of batches.) Pour in enough boiling water so that there is around ¾ inch in the bottom of the pan. Immediately cover the pan closely and cook the baozi until the steam no longer emerges from under the lid and you can hear the sound of the oil popping. 

Delectable

6. Remove the cover carefully and pointed away from you, as water might drip down, hit the hot fat, and explode. Gently shake the skillet and use a flat spatula as necessary to carefully loosen the buns, and then continue to fry them until their bottoms are a golden brown. Jerk the pan as they crisp up to loosen the buns, and then turn them out so that the crispy bottoms are on top. Serve immediately.

Bean curd fit for an emperor

This cooking method called guota (“to collapse in a wok”) is native to Shandong and describes ingredients like fish, meat, vegetables, and bean curd are layered up into small packets.

A charming idea such as this stood little chance of remaining a local secret, and although it most likely was created in the capital city of Jinan back during the Ming dynasty, it gradually made its way to Shanghai, Tianjin, and Beijing, where it appeared on the Qianlong emperor’s table in the mid-Qing dynasty.

A recipe that has been around as long as this one has will naturally have many variations. We have had this served to us in Muslim-style restaurants as a sort of omelet with slices of tofu suspended inside, for example, and these are a lot like dishes of comfort food.

To my mind, though, nothing can beat this version, which tastes like a touch of the great seaports of Shanghai or Tianjin thanks to the dried shrimp roe. 

Speckled with roe and scallions

Also, the bean curd slices are fried in simple yolk robes that turn crispy and light, but which are then simmered in stock and rice wine into luxurious pillows, making them look and taste like just the thing an emperor would want set before him.

Pan-fried bean curd

Guōtā dòufu  鍋塌豆腐

Shandong
Serves 4 to 6

1 block firm bean curd

½ teaspoon sea salt

1 cup (or so) peanut or vegetable oil

3 tablespoons regular flour

2 large egg yolks, lightly beaten with 2 teaspoons water

2 tablespoons fresh peanut or vegetable oil

2 teaspoons dried shrimp roe

2 green onions, trimmed

1 tablespoon finely minced fresh ginger

2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

½ cup chicken stock, salted or unsalted

Fresh firm bean curd

Sea salt to taste

4 leaves romaine or other crispy lettuce, optional

1. Cut the bean curd in half lengthwise and then cut it into 8 even slices, which will give you a total of 16 slices. Lay the slices flat on a dry tea towel and sprinkle them with the salt. Give the bean curd about 30 minutes (and up to 2 hours in a cool kitchen) to release most of its moisture. Pat the tops of the slices dry before you proceed.

2. Pour enough oil in a wide skillet to completely cover the bottom to a depth of about ¼ inch. Place the skillet on medium heat. While the oil is slowly heating up, pat the flour on all sides of the bean curd slices and then dip them completely in the egg yolks before gently laying them down in the hot oil so that they do not touch (you probably will have to do this in two batches); the oil should immediately bubble up around the slices and the egg batter should puff up without browning too quickly, so adjust the heat accordingly. When they are golden brown on the bottom, flip them over gently and let them brown on the other side. Remove them to a rimmed plate.

Fried & crispy

3. Pour all of the oil out of the skillet, wipe it clean with a paper towel, and add the fresh oil. Over medium heat, sprinkle in the shrimp roe and move it around in the oil until it starts to bubble and darken, at which point add the green onions and ginger. Stir these together for a few seconds to release their fragrance, and then pour in the rice wine and stock. As soon as the sauce boils, arrange the fried bean curd slices in the sauce, preferably in a single layer. Turn the slices over once.

4. While the bean curd is simmering in the sauce, clean and wipe the platter. If you are having company over for dinner, slice the lettuce in a thin chiffonade (very thin pieces) and place these on the platter; a home-style meal can omit the lettuce. As soon as the sauce has been almost completely absorbed, arrange the bean curd slices attractively on top of the lettuce. Scrape any sauce and aromatics on top of the slices and serve.

Tips

Of course, if you are vegetarian, just omit the shrimp roe and adjust the salt levels to compensate.

Steamed breads

When I really started getting serious about cooking Chinese food, some of the first things I mastered were the steamed breads and buns of North China. The reasons were simple: I had been making bread for years and years, so yeast dough posed little terror for me. And maybe even more important, my husband grew up on these, so he'd get all misty-eyed whenever I threw some dough into the steamer, especially if there was some milk powder mixed in, just like he used to have them when he was a kid.

There's really no trick to these versatile little breads: this is straight-up bread making, only the dough is formed into little buns that are cooked in a steamer instead of formed into loaves. If you have a heavy-duty mixer with a dough hook, life becomes even simpler. And, once you master this basic recipe, you can then do all sorts of interesting things with it by changing the color and flavor, layering sesame paste or green onions in it (huājuǎn, or flower rolls), decorating the top of a big bread wheel with Chinese dates, filling the buns with sweet or savory stuffings (bāozi), kneading in green tea powder or nuts and grains, baking or frying them rather than steaming... the possibilities are endless, but over the next few months I'll do my best to make a dent in this delicious repertoire.

Shandong is the renowned center for steamed breads, and it bears its mantle well. I got to enjoy some of its many varieties when I lived on the outskirts of Taipei, as every morning a retired old soldier from Shandong would bike down my alley, singing out “Baozi mantou!” His bike was incredibly rusted and squeaky, and so I could hear him a few minutes before he hit my alley, giving me just enough time to get some cash together and rush outside. Sweet Mr. Liu would greet me with a big grin and shout out “Taitai!” (Madam) when he saw me, and his bike would lurch to a stop with a huge squeal.

Ready for kneading

Without even needing to hop off, he would turn around and fish into the wooden crate jerry-rigged behind his seat, peel back the clean white cloth that kept his steamed breads warm and fresh, and would count out into a plastic bag whatever I wanted that day: tan sweet mantou, plain white breads, the round buns filled with pork, and the triangular ones stuffed with red bean paste. I loved them all, and he would always throw in an extra one for good luck.

One day when I got back from a vacation, I ran out to buy some of his mantou and baozi as usual, and found that he was quite upset. “Where were you?” he asked, almost tearfully. “I thought you were mad at me!” And that was the way it was with all of my lovely food people; if I didn’t show up for three days, I’d get an earful the next time around.

Who needs Jewish guilt when you can have the Chinese version?

Plain steamed buns 
Mántóu 饅頭 
Shandong

Makes 12 to 16 buns

2 teaspoons yeast

2 tablespoons sugar

1¼ cups warm filtered water

3 cups good quality Korean bread flour, plus ¼ cup for kneading (or, 2 cups all-purpose organic flour mixed with 1 cup pastry flour, and ¼ cup all-purpose flour for kneading)

2 tablespoons milk powder, optional but good

1 teaspoon sea salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

Toasted sesame oil as needed 

Kneaded & shaped

1. Start this the night before, if you can, as this gives the dough time to develop more flavor as it rises in the fridge. If not, start at least 4 hours before you want to serve the mantou. Place the water in a measuring cup and sprinkle on the yeast and sugar. Give the yeast time to wake up and foam, about 20 minutes; if it is not foamy by that time, the yeast is too old and you’ll have to buy a new batch (see Tips).

2. Pour the flour, milk, salt, and the yeast mixture into the bowl of a stand mixer (see Tips for doing this by hand) with a paddle attachment. Mix the ingredients together until it forms a dough, and then switch out the paddle attachment for a dough hook. Knead the dough with the mixer until it is smooth and shiny, adding more flour if necessary.

3. Lightly dust a flat surface with some flour and turn the dough out on the board. Knead the dough for about 5 minutes; when it is as soft and supple as an earlobe, clean out the mixing bowl, dry it thoroughly, and rub a bit of sesame oil all over the inside. Place the dough in the bowl, turn the dough over a couple of times so that it is completely coated, cover it with plastic wrap, and let the dough rise either on the kitchen counter for a couple of hours or in the refrigerator for about 8 hours, or until the dough is at least double in size. Check to see that the dough is ready by inserting two of your fingers deep into the top of the dough; if the holes remain after a minute or two, the dough is ready to be punched down. Smack it with your fist to break all of the bubbles in the dough, cover it again, and let it rise again until double, this time on the kitchen counter, since the dough will be easier to work with if it isn’t cold.

4. Sprinkle the baking powder on top of the dough and turn the dough over on top of the powder so that the baking powder is completely enclosed in the dough. Turn the dough out onto a flat surface and knead it again for a few minutes, dusting the dough with a bit more flour as needed to keep it from sticking. Prepare enough 2 x 2 inch wax paper squares, flattened cupcake liners, or Chinese mantou doilies for the number of mantou you are planning to make (i.e., 12 to 16).

Fully risen

5. Roll the dough out into a long rope, either 12 or 16 inches long. Use a knife or pastry scraper to cut the dough into 1-inch pieces of equal size. You can leave the dough in brick shapes or decorate them with knotting or slicing or pinching; see the top photo for one idea. Place each piece of dough on one of the prepared pieces of paper. Cover the dough with a clean tea towel and let the mantou rise until they are double in size. While the dough is rising, prepare a double basket steamer and bring the water to a full boil under the steamer, giving the steamer baskets the chance to heat up thoroughly before the mantou are added. Place the mantou on their papers in the steamers so that they are an inch apart. Stack and cover the steamer baskets and steam them for around 15 minutes. Then, turn off the heat and let the steamer cool down for another 10 minutes, which helps keep the mantou puffy.

6. Serve while hot, or let the mantou come to room temperature. They can be refrigerated in a plastic bag or frozen; to reheat, simply steam them again until heated through. (This is preferable to microwaving them, which tends to make them tough.)

Tips

Korean bread flour works best here; regular all-purpose is all right, but makes the mantou a bit less tender, so mix in pastry flour to give it just the right amount of gluten.

Some whole wheat flour can be added (as in the picture at the top) to give it extra flavor and color.

Buy yeast at a busy store and check the expiration date. Then, store it in the fridge. If you don't make a whole lot of bread, buy small envelopes of yeast as you need them.

To make this by hand, follow the directions for Silver Thread Rolls up to Step 2.

The post where a pork shank ascends to heaven

This luscious mound of boneless pork defies you to find the least bit of grease in it. Like all other great variations on braised pork shank that Chinese people have reveled in over the ages, this is a study in reductions: The fat and skin are reduced to quivering layers of jelly that disappear on the tongue. The tendons are reduced to barely gummy layers between the pillowy meat. And the sauce is reduced to a delectable syrup that clings to every cranny.

Popular throughout Shandong and Beijing, for the longest time the pinnacle of braised pork came from an old Beijing restaurant that has been around in many incarnations for a long time: Tianfuhao. As with so many of China’s legendary dishes, what is sold in this store today does not match its fame, but a story is attached that explains the shop’s long existence…

A young man from Shandong named Liu Fengxiang arrived in the capital and found himself at a small shop in the Xidan district run by a man from Shanxi. It sold pork braised in the northern manner, and Liu was hired to help out. However, business was never any good, as it was very small with few customers, so the man from Shanxi left for good, leaving Liu to run the place by himself.

Massage honey onto the skin

Later on, Liu was purchasing some supplies at the market when he happened to see an old store sign in an antiques shop. On it were three characters – tiān fú hào 天福號, or the shop blessed by Heaven – written in the powerful calligraphic style of Yan Zhenqing, so he bought it for his own place and changed the name of his store to Tianfuhao. Lo and behold, it was as if the old sign did indeed bring divine blessings with it, for passers-by recognized the stunning calligraphy and must have felt that this was a place with both history and status, so business improved dramatically.

As with any other shop of this kind where food has to be both made and sold by a skeleton crew, the pork was cooked at night so that there would be something to sell the next day. One night, Liu’s son was tending the stove, and he fell asleep while the pork shanks were bubbling away on the stove. When he woke up, the meat was just on the verge of falling apart, so his father salvaged the pork the best he could and readied it for the day’s customers.

It so happened that a high-ranking official in the corrections ministry passed by and bought one of those overcooked shanks to dine on that night. But instead finding complaint with the meat, the great man enjoyed its supreme tenderness and the way that the fat had left only a gentle robe of moistness around the trembling pork. The next day, he returned for more, praising Tianfuhao’s product to the skies.

The Liu family improved upon the recipe using this newfound knowledge until they felt it was at last perfect. And then one evening, just as they were about to close, that same official rushed in and told Liu Fengxiang that he had to make the best shank of his life that night because the official was going to present it to the Dowager Empress the next day. Elated and terrified, Liu knew that if she were to take a liking to his pork shank, his fame would be secured, so he made an array of his most famous dish that he tweaked as he went, so that he would have a variety to choose from in the morning.

Browned from honey & frying

Palace eunuchs appeared before noon, and Liu presented them with his carefully prepared pork shanks for the Dowager Empress’s lunch. Her response was to send some people to Tianfuhao that afternoon with a request for him to deliver more directly to the Forbidden City. And later on the old lady granted Tianfuhao with a warrant to supply its meats to the imperial household on a daily basis, a blessing indeed from on high.

Nowadays, Tianfuhao sells only braised pork shanks that are cooked in large vats, not slowly steamed in a slightly sweet sauce. It is that slow steaming that makes all the difference in the world, as it completely changes the texture of the pork. The meat gradually absorbs the layers of spice and caramel and wine, becoming a savory sponge offering little resistance to the teeth. Pork shanks are full of long tendons, but when cooked this way, they too dissolve into soft suggestions against the tender meat.

But it is the skin that is a revelation, for steaming allows it to render almost all of its fat while preserving its shape, and so you are left with a pillowy puddle that melts on the tongue and seems somehow many levels removed beyond merely sinful, a sort of glimpse at sensual nirvana.

Why do I go on and on about Tianfuhao here? It's because I served this shank the other day to some friends from Beijing, and they became positively rapturous about that heavenly little mound of meat, immediately recognizing it as being in the old style of Tianfuhao. We laughed as we dug in, shoving slithering slivers of juicy meat and pillowy skin into our mouths between sips of warm huadiao rice wine, enjoying one of the supreme pleasures of North China's many fabulous cuisines, a dish that makes me look forward to cold weather outside and the joy of having a handful of friends inside gathered around my dining table. 

Ready for the steamer

Rock sugar pork shank 
Bīngtáng zhǒuzi  冰糖肘子 
Beijing

Serves 4 to 6

1 pork shank (about 3 pounds with bone in and skin on, see Tips)

1 tablespoon fennel seeds

1 stick cinnamon

1 tablespoon whole Sichuan peppercorns

2 inches fresh ginger, smashed with a cleaver

2 green onions, trimmed and lightly smashed

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

¼ cup Shaoxing rice wine

Filtered water as needed

1 tablespoon honey

½ to 1 cup frying oil

2 tablespoons rock sugar

2 teaspoons cornstarch dissolved in 2 tablespoons filtered water

2 to 3 green onions, trimmed and cut into thin julienne, as garnish

The bone & the boned

1. Start this at least 2 and preferably 3 or more days before serving. Rinse the pork shank and pat dry, but leave the skin on, as this will be intensely delicious by the end of the recipe. Use tweezers to remove any hairs; a chef’s blowtorch is useful for burning off anything that is stubborn. There are two ways to proceed with the bone: You can either leave the bone on the shank and remove the bone in Step 3, or you can use a thin boning knife to remove the bone from the raw meat. Place the shank in a medium saucepan and cover it with boiling water. Bring the water to a boil over high heat and then lower it to a simmer; cook the shank for about 10 minutes, dump out the water and scum, and rinse the shank thoroughly. Rinse out the saucepan well and place the shank back in there.

2. Cover the pork with enough boiling water so that it is submerged by at least an inch. Bring the pan to a boil over high heat and then reduce it to a simmer. Slowly cook the shank uncovered for about 1½ hours, adding more boiling water as necessary, at which point the pork should be tender and there should be a layer of fat on top of the liquid.

3. Turn off the heat and carefully remove the pork from the liquid; set it aside on a plate to cool down until it is easy to handle. At that point, if the bone is still in the meat, twist it until it comes loose and then pull it out; discard the bone. Defat the braising liquid and then pour it through a strainer to remove all of the solids. (The shank can be made ahead of time up to this point, and both the meat and sauce should be refrigerated separately.)

4. Wipe the shank dry with a clean paper towel. Warm the honey until it is runny and then smear it all over the skin (but not the meaty end). Warm the oil over medium in a tall pan with as small a base as possible (one that is about an inch wider than the shank is perfect), as the oil is going to explode all over the place if you are not careful. When the oil is hot enough to form bubbles on a chopstick, use long metal tongs to add the shank skin-side down into the oil and then immediately cover the pan with a spatter screen. Carefully turn the shank over in the oil as it brown until all of the skin is the color of maple syrup, adjusting the heat as necessary. Remove the pan from the heat. When the spattering dies down, use tongs to remove the shank to a heatproof bowl that is large enough to hold both it and a cup or so of liquid.

Torching off some hairs

5. Prepare a steamer that is deep and wide enough to comfortably hold the bowl with the pork shank. Tie the fennel seeds, cinnamon, and Sichuan peppercorns in a cheesecloth bag or tea ball, and then add them along with the ginger, soy sauce, and rice wine to the pork shank. Place the sugar and a few tablespoons of filtered water in a stainless steel pan and heat it over high, swishing it gently as needed, until it caramelizes, and then add this to the liquid. Pour a cup or so of the strained braising liquid over the pork, reserving the rest for something else. Steam the pork for about 2 hours over medium heat, adding more water to the steamer as needed. Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding more rock sugar, soy sauce, or wine if you want. Turn the pork over and let it steam another 2 hours, and then turn off the heat and let the pork cool down in the sauce. Cover the bowl and refrigerate overnight or up to a couple of days.

6. Steam the pork for about another 2 hours before serving. Remove the shank to a serving bowl. Pour the sauce into a small saucepan and adjust the seasoning a final time. Bring the sauce to a bowl, lower the heat to medium, and stir in the cornstarch slurry. Cook the sauce while stirring constantly until it is thick and glossy. Pour this over the shank and garnish with the julienned green onions. I like to serve the hot pork with a small sharp knife on the side so that guests can admire it whole before someone slices it into wedges. Grab some of the skin while you can, as it will induce moans of pleasure, and the pork should be a rosy pink with luscious layers of melted tendons that are sticky and in perfect contrast to the juicy, flavorful meat.

Tips

Buy the absolute best pork you can find. The skin should cover the entire shank, and the fat should be an even layer.

Heritage pork is, as always, my favorite, since it has great flavor and the pigs have been raised with care. Second – though close – is good free-range, organic pork.

Steamed into submission

It might be very difficult to find good pork shanks in a Western butcher shop, so cultivate a relationship with a professional butcher who buys whole pigs and so can save you the bits you want.

The shanks are sometimes sold already boned, which is all right; this might lessen the cooking time, so keep an eye on it during the last 2 hours and adjust the heat and cooking time accordingly. Butchers like to just slice it up the side, since carefully removing the bone by cutting at either end takes a bit of time and finesse. If you do have a shank that is cut up by the butcher, do not despair, as it will taste equally good.

Make this a few days ahead of time, if you wish, as the rest will only improve the flavor of the meat. Steam it as directed for 2 hours before serving. 

Cooking the pork without any salt at the beginning is key to keeping the meat tender.