A soup made of silk, or so it seems

The beautiful mushroomy object known as the silver ear fungus can be utterly amazing when done right, and distinctly weird when not. 

To be honest, I never really liked it much, since it tended to be crunchy (not in a good way) and as close to annoying as an ingredient can get without being totally obnoxious.

One day, though, an older Chinese friend from Zhejiang told me that there was a simple secret to making it, for it turned these dried, plastic-looking balls into ethereal silk. I asked what it was, and she said, “Soak them for three days, change the water every day, and then slowly poach them for about eight hours.”

I went home and did just that. 

Simple, yet divine

And she was right on the money.

Since then, I’ve proudly been a silver ear devotee, as well as something on the order of a amateur silver ear pusher, as I’m always trying to turn people on to this. And that’s why I’m here today, talking about something you might not have ever heard of, and on the off chance that you have, you were most likely never quite impressed and and have been wondering what the fuss was all about.

Silver ears are eaten for their texture and texture only, as they are completely bland. However, no one ever cooks them correctly, which leads to that aforementioned annoying crunchiness. These need time and patience to make their innate beauty shine, for when soaked and slowly poached into submission, they are breathtakingly wonderful.

Those plasticky, brainlike objects eventually evolve into fluttery bits that melt on the tongue. Really, in their final form, silver ears end up as little more than whispers floating around your mouth, which is why things like small cubes of pear and ruby little wolfberries are needed to ground this elegant dessert soup to the earthly realm. Plus, the silver ears release a soothing thickener into the liquid that thickens it almost like cornstarch, but it's more like fairydust than your average binder. I know I'm being obtuse here, but once you try this you will understand.

You should know, too, that this fungus is considered therapeutic and filled with collagen. I don’t know if that’s right or wrong, but it’s the reason why it is often wrapped up in pretty gift boxes and foisted on elderly Chinese folks as presents. My mother-in-law used to receive them on a regular basis from well-meaning people, and that meant that at least a couple of boxes in turn got foisted onto me whenever we visited, as she didn’t know how to cook them correctly and wasn’t ever that interested in the kitchen to begin with. Back then I was just as confused as anyone about what to do with them, so I’d try in turn to foist them on somebody else or just toss them out when they finally got buggy or decrepit looking.

But that is all in the past. Now I revel in these things and hope you will, too.

Once you master this simple soup – which is slightly sweet, rather than savory, and therefore meant to be served at breakfast, in the afternoon, or after a heavy dinner – you should expand its possibilities into other avenues. Try it in light yet fresh fish or chicken or meatless soups, places where it can weave among the other ingredients, stay visible through the use of clear broths, and have its satin texture amplified or contrasted by the right accompaniments.

For example, a Chinese-style mushroom soup would be a great home for some silver ears, or a clear chicken stock with barely poached shreds of chicken breast, threads of fresh ginger, and a splash of Shaoxing rice wine.

Fully soaked silver ears

Silver ear fungus is a distinctly Chinese ingredient known by lots of pretty names, including xuě’ěr 雪耳, or “snow ear,” in Chinese, as well as jelly fungus in English. Pur­chase it from Chinese dried-foods stores, herbalists, and busy grocery stores. Look for large, unbroken heads that are not too white; whiteness means they were bleached. Store silver ears in a sealed plastic bag, where they will remain in good shape for a very long time.

Sweet pear soup with silver ears

Yíněr tiánlí tãng 銀耳甜梨湯

Shanxi and all over China; therapeutic cuisine

Serves 8 to 10

2 large heads silver ear fungus

3 quarts (3 l) boiling water

1 piece of rock sugar about the size of a large egg

Trim the bases

2 teaspoons ginger juice

3 tablespoons wolfberries (aka gouqi or goji berries), rinsed

2 tablespoons osmanthus blossom syrup, or ½ teaspoon sea salt

1 large Chinese pear of any variety, peeled, cored, and cut into small dice

Fresh lemon juice to taste, optional

1. Start this recipe at least 4 days before you wish to serve it. Rinse the silver ears and place them in a large work bowl. Cover the fungus with at least 2 inches (5 cm) of cool tap water, adding more water as needed to keep the silver ears submerged, and either refrigerate or keep in a cool area of the kitchen. Change the water twice a day for 3 days. On the second day, you can trim the silver ears by placing them in a col­ander set in the sink for easy cleaning. Use a paring knife to trim off the hard cores and any dark yellow spots, then separate the heads into individual petals (they do not have to be the same size), being sure to rinse off any detritus you find.

Transformation complete

2. Rinse the silver ears once again in a colander and then place them in a slow cooker, if you have one, or in a 4-quart (4 l) pot with a heavy bottom. Add the boiling water, return the water to a boil, and then cover and simmer very slowly for 6 to 8 hours, until the silver ears are completely translucent but have not started to break apart. About 1 hour before they are done, add the sugar, ginger juice, wolfberries, and osmanthus blossom syrup. The soup may be made ahead of time to this point and refrigerated; just heat it up before proceeding to the next step.

3. When the silver ears are soft and tender, remove the insert from the slow cooker or the pan from the heat. Add the pears to the hot soup, then taste the soup and add lemon juice or more sweetener if you wish. Serve the soup hot, or let it cool to room temperature, chill it, and enjoy it cold.

Sugar snap peas, Calvin Lamborn, & North China

Noodles are one of my go-to delights, no matter where I find myself on the planet, or even in my own neighborhood, for that matter. 

Something about hot pasta just makes me happy. That must be one of the main reasons I so love the foods of North China, because they come up with some of the most inventive, satisfying, and easiest ways to delight both my mouth and my stomach without breaking the bank.

Today’s recipe shows just how carefree and delicious this habit has become for me. Just to give you a bit of background, I happen to adore what the Chinese call “tossed noodles” (bànmiàn 拌麵), while my husband is a sucker for soup noodles. I try to be fair in the kitchen and give him his favorites on a regular basis, but whenever it’s up to me or I’m left to my own devices, it will be tossed noodles for sure. The reasons for this are simple: The textures become more focused that way, since nothing is swimming around in a broth, so neither the pasta nor the toppings need to fight for my attention. And second, some sort of rich, savory sauce coats each strand to different degrees, so every mouthful is a bit different.

Chinese pasta

This classic home-style recipe is probably from Hebei (the province surrounding Beijing and Tianjin) or Shanxi. It’s definitely not restaurant food, but rather something you would enjoy at a little mom n’ pop stand or at your grandma’s. The ingredients are all cheap, and you can play with the ratios and even sub out one thing for another without wrecking the beauty of this bowl of noodles.

It probably started out as a Hui Muslim dish, but over the years this has morphed into something more distinctly Han Chinese, for you have pork here instead of beef or lamb, soy sauce and rice wine driving the flavor profiles, and lots of green vegetables to add crunch and color. This is food cross-pollination at its finest.

About those vegetables: String beans are traditionally the veggie of choice here, but today you will instead see sugar snap peas given some very special attention. I selected them for three reasons: they are in season now, they are so sweet and crispy that for my money they work even better as the crunchy element in this dish, and most important of all, I had the chance to meet the lovely man who bred the sugar snap pea, Calvin Lamborn.

Sugar snap peas

We came across each other over an array of Turkish food at the Terroir Symposium in Toronto a couple of weeks ago, and I was bowled over by how nice he and his son, Rod Lamborn, turned out to be. The elder Mr. Lamborn is a renowned plant breeder who has specialized in snow and snap peas, and as they are two of my very favorite vegetables, this was a real delight for me. Plus, he gave me a pen that I will always treasure.

Thank you, Calvin, for creating something truly amazing, and thanks to Jim Poris of Food& (formerly Food Arts) for making sure great people like him were properly honored at Terroir. What a treat.

Me & Calvin Lamborn

Tossed noodles with snap peas and pork

Tiándòu bànmiàn 甜豆拌麵

Hebei and Shanxi

Serves 2 to 3 as a main dish

4 ounces/100g pork belly

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

2 tablespoons mild rice wine (Taiwan Mijiu)

8 ounces/230g/2 cups sugar snap peas (see Tips)

1 quart/1l boiling water, as needed

3 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorn oil, or plain peanut or vegetable oil

3 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

2 green onions, trimmed and chopped

2 dried Thai chiles, seeded and crumbled, optional

5 ounces/140g (or more) fresh noodles (see Tips)

 

Marinated pork belly

1. If you start this dish a day ahead of time, the pork will take on an almost cured flavor from the marinade that I really like. Remove any skin on the belly and slice it thinly against the grain into pieces about an inch wide. Toss the pork with the soy sauce and rice wine, cover, and refrigerate for at least 20 minutes or up to a day or so.

2. Trim and string the peas as needed and cut any long ones in half so that they are about the same size. Bring the water to a full boil in a pan and toss in the peas. Stir them around, and when they turn a bright green and have just barely lost their raw taste, scoop them out into a colander set in the sink, but leave the water in the pan, as you are going to use it to cook your noodles. Rinse the peas quickly with cool water to stop the cooking and let them drain.

Green onions - the North's favorite

3. Set a wok over high heat. Swirl in the oil and add the garlic, green onions, and optional chiles. Toss these around for a few seconds to release their fragrance and then add the pork and any leftover marinade. Stir-fry the pork until it loses all its pink color, which will just take a few minutes. Remove the wok from the heat.

4. Bring the pot of water to a full boil again and then sprinkle in the noodles so that they do not clump together. Stir them gently until the water comes to a boil again, and then reduce it to maintain a simmer. While the noodles are cooking, set out however many noodle bowls you need near the stove, along with a Chinese spider or slotted spoon. When the noodles have cooked to your liking, use chopsticks and the spider or spoon to transfer them to the wok, and then discard the water. Immediately return the wok to high heat and add the blanched peas. Toss these together until the sauce comes to a boil. Taste and adjust the seasoning, and then divide the noodles among your bowls. Serve hot.

Tips

Heaven

You may use snow peas or tender string beans here, if you like.

The traditional pasta for this type of dish is freshly pulled noodles, or lāmiàn 拉麵, but feel free to sub in whatever you like or whatever is available or whatever looks good. I would recommend fresh pasta over dried here, as its texture will be a bit softer and luscious.

Garlic that will improve your life by 1000%

One of the highlights for me whenever we’ve sat down for a northern Chinese hotpot dinner has always been the tawny brown heads of sweet pickled garlic that were plunked down with the plates of pickled cabbage and boiled peanuts. Fixed this way, the garlic evolves from bitingly hot to mellow and sweet, with the vinegar and salt providing cleansing edges. I like my garlic exotically dark, so I use very dark brown sugar and a tasty but cheap balsamic vinegar, which also lends a lovely tang to the little cloves.

But the real prize in this recipe is the vinegar that emerges from this process. Nothing, but nothing can equal this vinegar. It has everything you could ask for in a sauce: sweet, sour, salty, garlic, and all of them in perfect balance. This one ingredient I prize so much that I never give it away, hoarding it like a miser and serving it dribbled over tidbits only when I'm certain that it will be appreciated. Selfish? Oh yes indeed. But completely sensible. Wait until you taste it; you'll understand.

Like so many of China's greatest culinary masterpieces, this is understated, simple, and requires only a modicum of ingredients and preparation. But also like quite a few of my favorite dishes, this does require patience. These lovely heads of garlic have to settle quietly into the sweetened and gently salted vinegar for a couple of months - or even longer if you can bear it - before they surrender their fire and become mellow enough to eat just the way they are. Then and only then do you pluck out a sweetly drowned head of garlic, surreptitiously licking your fingers, and squeeze a lovely clove out of its jacket and into your mouth. 

If you find this as intoxicating as I do, consider preparing a batch every three months or so and have jars continually mellowing away in the pantry or on the shelf. I label my crocks and so put them into regular rotation. As summer draws near, you still will find plenty of use for them, since the luscious sauce is great in salads and drizzled over things like fresh, flavorful tomatoes. I'm getting hunger pangs just thinking about a still warm Brandywine tomato, sliced into wedges, lightly salted, and oozing with this loveliest of vinegar sauces.

A note on the ingredients: I tend to use a good, cheap balsamic vinegar here for a couple of reasons. I haven't been too happy with the taste of lots of the Chinese vinegars I have tried; they seem raw and yeasty, rather than tasting of rice wines that have been nudged over into the realm of delicious tartness. However, there has also been a bit of concern lately over the amount of lead that has found its way into balsamic vinegars, so do your research. 

Warning: may cause cravings

As for the sugar, my hands-down favorite is the extremely dark brown sugar that you can buy in some Korean markets. This sugar is soft and moist and tastes like molasses, and it works wonders here.  Finally, I have read that Chinese garlic is unclean, full of pesticides, and often sold at such outrageously low prices that American farmers can't compete. So, if you worry about things like I do, buy heavy, firm, plump heads of garlic that are organically grown, and you'll find that the flavor just cannot be beat. I take this one step further and plant the biggest cloves so that I have nice green shoots to cook with in the cooler months, as well as more heavy, firm, plump, organic heads to harvest later on.  

Win win.

Sweet pickled garlic cloves 

Táng suàn  糖蒜 

Shanxi

Makes 8 heads of pickled garlic

Special equipment:  

1-quart jar or crock

A plate that fits easily inside the mouth of the jar or crock

Garlic and brining liquid:

8 large heads of fresh garlic

½ cup sea salt

6 cups hot water

Marinade:

3 cups balsamic vinegar

2¼ cups dark brown sugar

1 cup water

2 tablespoons dark soy sauce

1. Clean the heads of garlic, but don’t break them apart.  Peel off most of the outer layers of the garlic skin, leaving only a layer or two over the garlic cloves.  Carefully scrub the root end and cut off as much as possible without cutting into the cloves or breaking the heads.

Organic American garlic

2. Dissolve the salt in the hot water and let it cool.  Place the garlic in the cool salt water and let them soak for about 24 hours to remove some of the harshness and to make the garlic as clean as possible.

3. Place the vinegar, sugar, water, and soy sauce in a medium saucepan and bring to a boil, and then stir it until the sugar dissolves.  Allow the marinade to cool down to room temperature.

4. Remove the garlic from the salt water and place them in the clean jar or crock without rinsing the salt water off.  Pour the cool marinade over them, place the plate on top of the garlic to help submerge them in the marinade, and cover the container.  Lightly stir the garlic every day or two for a week and then store the garlic in a cool place for about 2 weeks before using.  Taste a clove of garlic to see whether its flavor is sweet and relatively gentle.  As soon as the garlic is pickled to your liking, pack the garlic in small jars or plastic containers and store them in the refrigerator; they will keep a long time that way.

Just in time for the holidays: easiest sweet potatoes ever

Taipei can be daunting. Back when we lived there, part of me would dread the heavy layer of gray clouds that draped themselves over the city basin from early November to at least early April, with only the occasional downpour to alleviate the monotonous weather. 

Comfort could always be found in the local food, though, which is why the other part of me could hardly wait until winter came. 

The street vendors in particular would do a brisk business during those long months selling piping hot treats to commuters and shoppers, who would buy these goodies as much to warm their hands as to fill their mouths.

One of my go-to guys when I was even more frozen than usual was the old Shanxi gentleman who would roll a heavy concrete barrel down the street that was configured to make a constant clacking sound as he pushed it around. 

The barrel was shaped sort of like a traditional tandoori oven, and it served much the same purpose: it was a portable little kiln. Hot charcoal covered the bottom and vibrantly orange sweet potatoes were hung by hooks around the rim; they would slowly bake into a tender lusciousness as their bottoms roasted over the slow fire and the skins turned a crispy black. 

Techniques like this show better than any history book how the Silk Road both changed China's cooking and pollinated local cuisines with concepts from both South and Central Asia. In fact, if you do happen to look at a map, you can see how the northern province of Shanxi has Inner Mongolia above it and Beijing a short distance to the east, with the thousands of miles of the Silk Road spreading out westward toward Central Asia.

Smells like candy

Lucky for us, Shanxi had made its way to Taipei via its roasted sweet potatoes. We would buy a couple of these gems, which the sweet potato man would wrap in newspaper before dropping them into a plastic bag. The newspaper was a godsend, because it acted as both a cushion against the fierce heat that the potatoes would radiate for at least a few minutes, and also as a sponge for any juices that dribbled out.

Yes, these were juicy potatoes, two words that you probably never thought you would see in the same sentence.

When cooked properly, the potatoes will ooze with juices that will first caramelize and then burn, making the house smell like cotton candy. It doesn't really matter whether you take them out covered with their natural caramel or allow the juices to turn black; it's all a matter of personal taste. If you remove them while the caramel is still brown, it will form sugary strings just like real caramel, and that is a treat in and of itself. But if you wait for a bit longer, the caramel may turn black, but the potatoes become even juicier. Can't decide? Eat half at the caramel stage and half at the black... the best of both worlds! 

Once we had made our purchase, we would make a beeline for Star Cafe, a beat-up lounge in downtown Taipei where writers liked to hang out, eat Russian pastries, and argue over cups of coffee. It's been said that the First Lady at that time, Chiang Ching-kuo's Belarusian-born wife Faina (Chiang Fang-liang), had a standing weekly order at the place. Star Cafe was decidedly bohemian and was hardly the kind of cafe where Madame Chiang could ever personally set foot, so the pastries were always delivered to the First Lady's residence, while folks like us would go there to catch up on gossip and watch the likes of a certain local poet and infamous roué trying to sneak one of his bare feet under the bottom of a young female admirer.

After shouting out an order for coffee, we would tear into these potatoes just about as soon as we sat down, since the aroma would be practically killing us by then, and we would wallow in the orangey pillows that burst out of the potato skins. This simply is great snack, and so it is one of the many things I had to reproduce once we had left Taipei.

Caramelized juices

The good news is that these are astoundingly easy to make at home. Only one ingredient and one baking pan are needed. That's it. I use my toaster oven since it makes this dish even more cheap and economical, but a regular oven will do, especially if you are planning to cook more than your toaster oven will hold. Be sure to get the red type of sweet potato (sometimes called a yam, but I'm not going to get into that argument), preferably the Garnet variety, which is especially sweet and moist. Store your sweet potatoes in a very cool, dry place with absolutely no moisture around them, which is why you should remove them from any plastic bags or wrapping when you get home, as otherwise they will sweat and get moldy.

Eat these roasted potatoes hot as soon as they come out of the oven with an equally hot beverage like tea or even a bowl of sweet fermented rice soup, or serve them along with a roasted bird. I feel a bit silly giving a recipe for this, since it is so straightforward, but here you go.

The skin is yummy, too

Roasted sweet potatoes

Kǎo hóngshǔ 烤紅薯 

Shanxi

Makes as many as you want

Red sweet potatoes, preferably on the thin side and of the same size so that they cook evenly

1. Heat your oven to 375 degrees F. Scrub the sweet potatoes well (since you'll probably end up at least nibbling on the skin). Cover a baking sheet with foil for easy cleanup if you want. Trim off any soft or bruised areas, but you don't need to prick or oil the skin. 

2. Place the potatoes on the baking sheet in a single layer with a bit of space between them. Bake for 60 to 90 minutes (depending upon your oven and the size of the potatoes), until the potatoes are squishy soft and either have caramel oozing around them or the caramel has burned to a crisp. Serve as hot as possible with no adornment necessary.

  

Magical mystery treat of the cold North

I dare you to guess what this recipe is for just from the photo on the left. It took me a long time to first figure out what they were, then to nail down where they came from, and then finally to ferret out how they were made.

But here's a hint: Few people would think of oats when they consider the foods of the cold Chinese north, but in the region between northern Hebei and Shanxi and then up north into Inner Mongolia, the flour from oat groats (youmian) is turned into some very interesting things.

Take this bread-like creation, for example. It is visually spectacular, with tiny rolls of the oat dough clustered together in a steamer basket. They look just like a honeycomb or wasp’s nest. But looks aside, these are also quite tasty.

Sweet & nutty cylinders

This area of China has historically been rather poor, and so the humble oat is sometimes called upon to lend substantial cheer to a relatively empty table. 

I was astounded, though, by how utterly delicious and satisfying a simple meal of these rolls are when accompanied by nothing more than some julienned cucumbers and a bowl of chili oil (this recipe is strongly recommended here).  

Honeycomb rolls also are the perfect accompaniment to lamb soup; simply dunk the rolls in the soup as you go or drop one into the soup before scooping it up with some meat and broth. Since there is no gluten in oat groats, they will crumble into mush if left to their own devices in the hot soup, so drop in one at a time.

Preparing oat groats this way is called “thrice cooked” (三熟 sānshóu), as they are first toasted, then blanched, and then finally steamed. The toasting brings out their sweetness, and as you dry-fry them in a wok, they will swell and gently pop, sort of like popcorn. 

Raw oat groats

The directions take longer to read than actually making the rolls, especially once you get the hang of it. I use two 6-inch wide dim sum steamer baskets made out of bamboo; the honeycomb rolls fit perfectly in there and also look gorgeous.

Oat honeycomb rolls

Yóumiàn tuīwōwō 莜麵推窩窩 or Kǎolǎolǎo 栲栳栳

Shanxi, Mongolia
Serves 4 to 6

2 cups organic oat groats (see Tips)

1¾ cups boiling filtered water

1. Place the oat groats in a dry wok and toast them over medium-high heat, stirring them with a wok spatula, until they start to pop and are gently toasted. Pour the toasted groats into a mixing bowl and let them cool down to room temperature.

2. Grind the groats in a blender or food processor until very fine; do this in two or more batches if necessary. Put the groat flour into a heatproof bowl and stir in the boiling water. When a dough has formed, knead it on a smooth surface until it becomes smooth.

Toast the groats

3. Next, form the little rolls. Break off bits of dough to form balls about an inch across. Cover any dough you are not working on with a damp towel or some plastic wrap. Have two small dim sum steamer baskets ready. Working on one piece at a time, roll these balls into cigar shapes and then use a rolling pin to roll them out to an approximately 6 x 2 inch rectangle. Cut the rectangle in half lengthwise (giving you two strips about 6 x 1 inch in size). Roll each strip up into a cylinder and place them cut-side down in the steamer basket. Fit the rolls right next to each other, as they will not expand as they steam. Repeat with the rest of the dough until all of it has been shaped and packed into the steamers (see Tips).

4. Stack and cover the steamer baskets and place them on a saucepan filled with a couple inches of water. Steam the honeycomb rolls for about 15 minutes and serve immediately.

Tips

The four shaping stages

Oat groats are not the same as oatmeal. They are oat berries and can be found in health food stores or online.

The rolls can be fitted fairly tightly in the steamer baskets since there is no leavening and so the rolls will not swell up. However, these rolls will stick to each other as they cool off, so I usually serve one basket at a time and keep the other one covered and slowly steaming. 

If you have any leftover dough, form these into little “fish” that can also be steamed: cut the dough into thin 3-inch strips and then roll them so that the middle is fat and the ends are tapered. Steam these just like the honeycomb rolls.

Chinese ratatouille without the mouse

You know you have a great culinary idea when it pops up all on its own on both sides of the world. Such is the case with this dish, which of course is not called ratatouille in Chinese, but rather “braised eggplant.” That is one very prosaic name for one very delicious way with heat-loving vegetables.

This dish features the produce that is beloved throughout China's northwest region: eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes. And, like ratatouille, this has garlic to brighten the flavors. But, instead of olive oil and marjoram, the Shanxi version features sesame oil and Sichuan peppercorns.

Also unlike the French take on this dish, the eggplants are deep fried to caramelize them and give them a rich flavor. This may appear to be not only too much of an effort, but also a huge waste of oil. 

Eggplants, peppers & tomatoes

But the eggplants when prepared this way turn creamy inside as the hot fat sears the cut edges, and they won’t mush up as the ratatouille cooks, either. 

Instead, because the final dish is cooked so quickly once the eggplant is fried to a deep brown, each vegetable retains its individuality. Although eggplant soaks up oil when given the slightest chance, it will pool into the edges of the dish once it is completed, so you can pour it off, if you like.

I have always loved ratatouille and even lived off of it for months when I lived by myself in Taipei; it was sort of a comforting taste of the West after a stressful day of working and studying. I would use leftovers in omelets, in sandwiches, in salads… I never seemed to tire of it. And now with this Shanxi version, I have fallen in love all over again.

Chinese ratatouille 
Huìshāo qiézi 燴燒茄子

Shanxi
Serves 4 to 6

2 pounds Chinese or Japanese eggplant

Oil for frying

8 ounces sweet or mild peppers (see Tips)

5 to 6 ounces ripe tomatoes (see Tips)

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

½ teaspoon ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns

1 garlic clove, thinly sliced

2 teaspoons regular soy sauce

½ cup chopped cilantro

Roll-cut eggplant

1. Rinse the eggplant and pat very dry (see Tips). If the eggplants are more than an inch thick, cut off the caps and slice the eggplant down the middle before cutting them into fat triangles about an inch wide. Heat at least 4 inches of oil in a wok over high, and when a chopstick inserted into the oil is immediately covered with bubbles, carefully slide about a quarter of the eggplant into the hot oil (see Tips). Stir the eggplant occasionally, and when it is a dark brown all over, use a Chinese spider or slotted spoon to remove it to a medium work bowl. Repeat with the rest of the eggplant until all of it has been fried.

2. While the eggplant is frying, prep the rest of the ingredients: Rinse the peppers, pat them dry, remove the caps, and shake out all of the seeds. Cut the peppers into pieces about the same size as the eggplant. Cut the tomatoes into the same size, too.

3. When all of the eggplant has been fried, pour the oil out of the wok into a heatproof container. Add the sesame oil to the wok and sprinkle on the ground Sichuan peppercorns and garlic. Stir-fry these on high for a few seconds to release their fragrance, and then add all of the eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes. Stir-fry these quickly until the tomatoes and peppers start to wild, and then add the soy sauce. Toss these together, and then taste and adjust the seasoning. Toss in the cilantro and serve.

 

Shanxi ratatouille

Tips

Use whatever kind of mild peppers you like and which are looking good. Anaheims are great here, as are sweet banana peppers.

Try to use the ripest, tastiest tomatoes in the market. If it is winter or spring, cherry tomatoes will be a good bet, and if even those look and taste iffy, spring for a can of whole tomatoes; San Marzano canned tomatoes are very good.

Make sure that your eggplants are wiped very dry, as even a drop of water will explode in the hot oil.

Use more garlic and ground Sichuan peppercorn if you want to emphasize these flavors.

Rockin' on the Silk Road

Some foods, once you hear of them, are simply are too wonderful to ignore, and Rock-Grilled Flatbread definitely falls into this category. How many breads do you know of that are cooked directly on stones? And they look so cool once they are done, with deep welts and bubbles rippling over the surface... a true showstopper.

These crackers – and that is what you actually end up with here – are simply delicious. Flavored with gentle suggestions of fennel and Sichuan peppercorns, they are easily broken into halves or quarters. I especially enjoy the flakiness; this is provided by the gentle rising power of a single egg combined with an easy method for first forming a flaky dough before mixing in the water, as well as a quick steam bath.

Thin, crispy Rock-Grilled Flatbreads are most often seen in the street markets of Xi’an in Shaanxi province, but they are also so commonplace there that they can be bought in supermarkets. However, as in both Henan and Shanxi provinces, some people make them into true breads that are larger and thicker; these end up as more traditional soft flatbreads with that rounded waffle pattern, and they are cut into wedges before serving (see the next post).

Form the dough into flakes first

The Chinese name for this bread is shizi mo because shizi means “rocks” and mo is the northern Chinese word for all sorts of pastries and breads. 

Of course, since these have been around a long time – they look like the happy results of experimenting with a campfire somewhere on a desert trail – shizi mo have many other names, such as 石頭餅 shítou bĭng (rock breads), 河卵烤 héluǎn kǎo (river egg [i.e., rock] bake), and 餑餑饃 bōbōmó (pastry bread).

Some people add milk to the bread instead of water, or let the dough ferment, or grill it on the coals by shoveling more hot rocks on top of the bread. (I will show this second way of cooking Rock-Grilled Flatbreads in the next blog post, and include a variation on the size of rocks used and flavors, too, as this is too good and weird a recipe to discuss only once.)

This is one of those ancient, delicious treats that offer all sorts of ways to make and enjoy it. (My current favorite: using it to scoop up hummus drizzled with lots of harissa, making this a sort of Silk Road jaunt from North China to the Levant on one plate.)

Beautiful & delicious

Crispy rock-grilled flatbreads 
Shízi mó 石子饃 
Henan, Shaanxi, Shanxi

Makes 10 large, crisp breads

2 teaspoons fennel or anise seeds

1 teaspoon ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns

1 teaspoon sea salt

4 cups Chinese flour

1 teaspoon sugar

1 large egg, beaten

¼ cup fresh peanut or vegetable oil

1 cup plus 3 tablespoons (or so) cool, filtered water

Spray oil

Water as needed

1. Before you start making the dough, set up your pan on the stove and place a layer of clean, smooth, rounded rocks on the bottom (see Tips). Have the cover nearby, as well as a pair of tongs and a plate for the finished crackers.

Roll out the spice-flecked dough

2. Grind the fennel seeds in a small food processor until they are a fine powder (see Tips). Empty the ground fennel into a medium work bowl and add the ground peppercorns, salt, flour, and sugar. Toss these together and then mix in the egg and oil to make a flaky dough. Pour in the cool water and stir this in to make a soft, supple dough, adding tiny dribbles of more water as needed to get the dough to come together. Knead the dough on a smooth surface for about 5 minutes; you should not need any more flour while kneading unless you added too much water, as the dough should be fairly tensile at this point, yet not in the least sticky or wet. Cover the dough and let it rest for about 20 minutes.

3. Cover the pan containing the rocks and place it over medium heat to warm up the stones while you roll out the dough.

Lay the dough on the hot rocks

4. Cut the dough into 10 even pieces. Form each piece into a ball and then use a Chinese rolling pin to roll each ball into a circle about 7 or 8 inches in diameter. (It doesn't matter if the circle looks more like an amoeba, as cooking the dough on the rocks will hide its actual shape.) Splash the pebbles with some water, and if the drops immediately hiss and evaporate, hold your hand about an inch above the rocks: your hand should feel very warm, but not hot (see Tips). Spray the rocks lightly with some oil and lay one of the flat pieces of dough loosely over the rocks so that it drapes over and around the stones. Pour in 2 tablespoons of water around the dough and immediately cover the pan. As soon as the steam slows down, use a pair of tongs to lift up the edge of the cracker; when it is done, it should be nicely browned in spots – sometimes even a bit charred, which is all right – and the dough will look dry rather than opaque. At this point turn the cracker over and cover the pan again for about a minute so that the dough is completely cooked (see Tips). Remove the cracker to the prepared plate and repeat this step with the rest of the dough, spraying the rocks as needed if the dough begins to stick.

5. The crackers can be served immediately or allowed to come to room temperature before being sealed in a plastic bag and stored in the refrigerator. Heat the crackers, if you want, in a 250°F oven for about 5 minutes, or until heated through.

Tips

Use whatever size rocks you like, from ½-inch to a bit more than an inch wide. The main requirement is that they be hard and smooth.

Small & smooth river rocks

Clean the rocks by scrubbing them under running water, place them in a colander, and then set them in the dishwasher whenever you are about to run a load; use hot water, if at all possible. Otherwise, wash the rocks carefully in a colander with soap and water, rinse thoroughly, and then boil them in plenty of water for 20 minutes or so.

If you don’t have a cache of nice pebbles hanging around your house, look for them in craft stores and aquarium supply places; nurseries often have them, but only in enormous bags.

Use a pan here that doesn't have a nice patina, as the dry heat will ruin it. I haul out my trust old smoker for this, as it is about 10 inches wide and is used to being abused with only dry heat.

Be sure and use a pan with a cover; this, forming the dough into oily flakes first, and the use of steam were my discoveries, as I tried to find a way to cook the dough evenly while promoting the formation of flaky layers. Here's to the mother of invention!

Supreme flakitude

Small amounts of spices can be hard to grind no matter how tiny your food processor is, so add some of the flour from the recipe to the processor (a couple of tablespoons should do it) to help move the fennel into the processor blades efficiently.

The amount of water used here may vary slightly according to how dry the flour is, the weather is, and so forth, so use the recommended amount and then only sprinkle on a bit more if the dough doesn't come together easily or is too stiff. You want the dough to become just soft enough that it can be kneaded without adding any more flour, and after it is rested you should be able to roll it out as is, with no additional flour necessary.

Stove temperatures are very different, so adjust the heat underneath your pan to keep the stones hot, but not too hot. Covering the pan as you warm up the rocks helps to lock in the heat quickly, but if you can’t hold your hand comfortably over the rocks an inch away, they’re probably overheated. In this case, simply move the pan off of the burner and let it cool down for a few minutes.

When the bottom side of the flatbread is done, you probably will still see some darker and shinier areas (especially on the edges) that tell you that more cooking is needed. Flip the bread over so that the uncooked areas are nudged up against some rocks, cover, and grill for another minute or two until the entire bread is cooked through.