Fig leaf ice cream chez Huang

I’ve always been fascinated by two things in this recipe: the startlingly seductive flavor of fig leaves (which is Italian) and the use of cornstarch (which is Chinese, as well as from other parts of the world too, if we’re being honest).

Ok, three things: This can be a totally vegan ice cream and still be incredibly delicious.

Cornstarch here acts like egg yolks usually do in an ice cream: it makes the texture smoother, it miniaturizes the ice crystals, and it provides a satisfyingly creamy texture. 

My husband grew up on a series of military compounds in Taiwan, as his father was a colonel in the air force. J.H. has always had a pronounced sweet tooth, just like his father, and so ice cream of sorts was a more or less regular treat when he was a kid. 

The thing is, you couldn’t find ice cream in a store, and no one had ice cream trucks or, of course, ice cream makers, but what they did have was stores that would freeze your ice cream. You just had to provide the mix.

My husband remembers riding on a bicycle with his father and carrying two large tins filled with whatever Mom had whipped up. It sometimes was a mixture of powdered dry milk (a gift of the Americans then stationed on the island) boiled up with cornstarch and sugar to make a simple ice cream base, very similar to what we have here today. At other times soymilk or fruit juice took the place of milk, but cornstarch was always involved because that’s what gave the frozen dessert heft and texture. 

We're talking about amazing fragrance

Sometimes it was nothing more than sugar water cooked with cornstarch when the cupboards were empty. But with four little kids always craving something cold and sweet hanging around the house, his mother really couldn’t go wrong, no matter what she made. 

Freezing the ice cream was another thing altogether. It depended upon pure brawn and lots of experience. The liquid was poured into large pans set over ice (and probably salt, like an old-fashioned ice cream maker), and then this was stirred constantly with big spatulas until it froze up. Then the ice cream was packed back into the tins and rushed home by bicycle to feed the hungry hordes.

I have to point out that I have no idea why people don’t use cornstarch in their ice creams. Take one taste and you’ll agree. This is like silk, and it is less heavy, so you can eat more. Yay.

I’ve been entranced with the idea of fig leaves in ice cream for decades, ever since I first read about it in an old cookbook. I mean, fig leaves under a hot sun smell amazing. There are notes of vanilla, coconut, even nuts in there. You can toast them first, if you like, to get a (duh) toastier flavor, but it’s not necessary. 

I was visiting my friend Cynthia in Santa Rosa yesterday, and she shared some of her Brown Turkish figs topped with Humboldt Fog cheese, which pretty much sent me over the moon. And then I stepped out into her yard, checked out the tree, and went gaga over their bounty. 

Brown Turkish fig leaves

I took some cuttings, which I hope will eventually turn into little trees of my own. But what happened - my story does have a point, I promise - was that I trimmed off the leaves and left them on the kitchen counter. And it was like I had opened a spice drawer... their aromas became more insistent and seductive the longer they dried. And so I had to do something wonderful with them, and of course that involved dessert.

The milk and the sweetener in this recipe are open to interpretation. Today I used cashew milk and nut cream to emphasize the lightness of this figgy aroma and also to play off of its inherent nuttiness. Dairy works perfectly, as does pretty much anything reasonable. 

For the sugar I like agave syrup, again because it has a lighter flavor than honey, but also doesn’t make my mouth sour like sugar tends to do, and I do love the slight caramel tone that it gives the ice cream. I’ve toned down the sweetness, naturally, but you can amp it up. 

Add toasted coconut or nuts, if you like, or sprinkle the ice cream with something like reduced balsamic vinegar, saba, or even melted fig jam. Serve it with fresh or broiled or grilled figs. The possibilities are endless, really. Just be sure to do this before the first cold winds turn the fig leaves yellow. And get yourself a friend with a fig tree or two.

You can even make this vegan!

Fig leaf ice cream chez Huang

Huángjiā wúhuāguŏyè bīngqílín 黃家無花果葉冰淇淋

Taiwan Military Families cuisine crossed with Italian traditions

Makes about 1 quart | 1 liter

8 fresh or dried fig leaves, washed and stems removed

2 cups | 500 ml milk of any kind (dairy, nut, or coconut)

3 heaping tablespoons | 30 g cornstarch

2 cups | 500 ml cream of any kind (dairy, nut, or coconut)

Good pinch of sea salt

½ cup | 125 ml agave syrup, or other sweetener to taste

1. Place the fig leaves in a heavy saucepan and add the milk. Bring the milk almost to a boil over medium heat. When bubbles form along the edge, remove the pan from the heat and cover it for at least 15 minutes. Taste the milk, and if you want a stronger flavor, let the leaves steep longer. Strain out the leaves and discard them.

2. Put the cornstarch in a pitcher or bowl and slowly stir in the cream with a whisk so that you don’t have any lumps. Whisk in the infused milk, salt, and agave syrup into the cream, and then return this to the pan. 

Heat the leaves in your milk

3. Set the pan over medium heat and stir the bottom constantly with a whisk to prevent lumps from forming and the bottom from burning. When the mixture is almost ready to boil, it will have thickened up and have the texture of sour cream. Taste and adjust the seasoning with more sugar or salt or whatever else you want at this point.

4. Pour the thickened mixture through a sieve into a heatproof bowl or pitcher and let it cool down completely, and then refrigerate until cold. It will form a skin on top, but that’s all right – this will disappear when it’s churned.

5. Freeze the mixture in an ice cream maker. Remove it to a freezer-safe container and freeze it for a day or two to develop its flavor. Serve with whatever sounds good. 

A taste of the simple life - savory peanuts and gluten

I fell in love with this dish the first year I lived in Taiwan. I’d find it on the dinner table of the Chinese family I boarded with as an easy appetizer or as the perfect side for congee. But even way back then, people did not whip this up at home, as it was so much easier to simply buy it at just about every corner store.

And that’s the way I enjoyed it for years. But then I decided to try making it myself, and I have to tell you, the difference is night and day. Instead of the heavy sweetness and general softness of the canned version, this homemade recipe has a lovely spectrum of flavors and textures that hit all my buttons just right.

I’ve tossed in black mushrooms for a terrific xianwei undercurrent, some fresh ginger to back up the flavors with a touch of heat, and then lots of warm spices to amplify the comforting nuttiness. The result really is delicious.

Simmer the nuts and shrooms

This dish might have originally hailed from Shanghai or Zhejiang due to the fried gluten balls, soy sauce, and rock sugar. It seems that this was then turned into a classic side dish by Taiwan’s military families, who have given the island a wonderful range of homey dishes called juancuncai 眷村菜 (literally "military dependents' village foods"). 

Back in the day (we are talking about the early 1950's here), these villages were rather impoverished, as even the officers lived in very simple barracks that looked like old motels. A hallway ran down the center of the place where my husband's family lived, and each household had front doors that opened up on this. The balcony in the back was covered with corrugated steel and used as a makeshift kitchen. No running water back then, so my husband and his father had to haul water up the stairs in buckets that would be poured into the family cistern.

Small grocery stores run by retired soldiers would sell supplies like fresh produce, as well as steamed breads (mantou) and the deli dishes known in Shanghai as péntóucài 盆頭菜 ("basin foods"). Prepared by either the soldiers' wives or local aunties, these savory preparations literally were sold in aluminum basins and covered with window screen mesh. Then, someone had the bright idea of making this simple concoction even easier by canning it, and most folks never turned back.

Rock sugar always makes things better

I recommend, though, that you do. Consider this yet another one of those template recipes, a guideline that you start out with and then hone to fit your own taste buds. The peanuts and fried gluten are the perfect backdrops for experimentation. Do try this traditional take first, though, as it’s a classic.

Peanuts and fried gluten

Huāshēng miànjīn 花生麵筋

Taiwan Military Families and the lower Yangtze River area

Serves 8 as an appetizer or side dish

1 cup (6 ounces/170g) raw shelled peanuts

1 big handful of dried black mushroom stems (see Tips), or 3 dried black mushrooms

Water, as needed

3 slices fresh ginger

2 whole star anise (see Tips)

½ stick cinnamon

1 teaspoon whole Sichuan peppercorns

2 tablespoons/30ml peanut or vegetable oil

1 tablespoon (or so) rock sugar

3 tablespoon/45ml oyster sauce (or oyster-flavored sauce for a meatless version)

1 tablespoon/15ml dark soy sauce

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

1 big bag (7 ounce/200g) of small fried gluten balls (see Tips)

1. This will be ready in two days from beginning to end (most of that spent just waiting around, truth be told). Start this recipe by rinsing the peanuts and mushrooms, placing them in separate bowls, and covering them by at least an inch with cool water. Let them soak overnight.

The collapsing gluten balls

2. Before you begin cooking, first rinse off the peanuts in a colander and place them in a 2 quart/2 liter pan. Reserve the mushroom soaking liquid and either rinse the mushroom stems or, if you are using the whole mushrooms, rinse them off before slicing them into thin pieces. Add the mushrooms and strain the soaking liquid into the pan, and add enough water to cover the peanuts and mushrooms by an inch.

3. Add the ginger, star anise, and cinnamon to the pan. Place the peppercorns in a mesh ball or teabag and add them to the pan, too. Bring the pan to a boil over high heat and then lower the heat to maintain a gentle simmer.

4. After about 15 minutes, add the oil, sugar, oyster sauce, soy sauce, rice wine, and gluten balls – you probably will have to add the gluten balls in increments, as they start out huge, but then collapse as they soften, so add enough to fill the pan, cover, simmer for a few minutes, and then add some more until you’ve added the whole bag.

5. Bring the pan to a boil again over high heat, and then reduce it to a slow simmer. Cook until the peanuts are soft but not mushy and the gluten is silky. Allow everything to come to room temperature before chilling it overnight, as this will give the nuts time to absorb all of the flavors. Serve this dish as either a bar snack or as a side with bland but delicious things like steamed rice or congee.

Tips

I’m a serious collector of mushroom stems. Fresh or dried, whenever I use Chinese black mushrooms (which are very similar to Japanese shiitake), I remove the tough stems and dry them out in a strawberry box set out on the counter for this very purpose. When the stems are completely dry and are as hard as wood, they get tossed into a jar and stored in the pantry. This is an amazing resource for deep sauces like the one we have here, for stocks, and for whenever you want to add a serious flavor boost to your soups. For more refined dishes, strain out the stems before you use the stock; otherwise, as with here, keep the stems in if you have a good set of teeth, as they can be a bit chewy, but I think divinely so.

Fried gluten balls

If you are in a hurry, or just don’t have all these spices, toss in five-spice powder to taste. Start with a teaspoon and work up until the flavors hit your sweet spot.

Fried gluten balls come in two sizes: big and small. The big ones are used in such Shanghainese dishes as this. Try to get the small ones for this recipe, though. They will usually be found in Chinese grocery stores that cater to Taiwanese and newer Chinese immigrants. The gluten balls are called miànjīnqíu 麵筋球 and should be around 1 inch/2cm in diameter. 

This bag of gluten balls will be alarmingly large, but don’t worry, as the puffs will collapse into small wisps in the sauce. Check the expiration date on the bag – old frying oil always tastes like old frying oil no matter how hard you try to fix it – and store them in the refrigerator.

Sesame noodles. Seriously yum.

I have adored this simple street food ever since I took my first bite at a little stand on Nanhai Road, just a block or so away from work. It was a very simple affair — just fresh noodles tossed with little more than toasted sesame paste, plus a dash of black vinegar, sugar, and soy sauce — but I always luxuriated over this quiet, solitary lunch.

Over the years I have messed around with this quite a bit, as I found it to be another one of those basic templates that ought to be tinkered with until you find your sweet spot. Peanut butter found its way into the mix to provide another layer of nutty creaminess and more complexity to the flavors. Garlic soon lent its fragrance, as did homemade chili oil with lots of goop, which can make this taste very similar to Sichuan’s Dan Dan Noodles (dāndānmiàn 擔擔麵). Like stone soup, this just gets better as more delicious things get added.

Heat up the nutty sauce

Sesame noodles

Májiàng miàn 麻醬麵

Taiwan Military Families and Beijing

Serves 4

2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil, or 2 tablespoons chili oil plus goop

2 tablespoons toasted sesame paste

2 tablespoons peanut butter, crunchy or smooth

1 or more cloves garlic (I like 2), finely chopped

1 green onion, the white and greens finely chopped and in separate piles

1½ tablespoons regular soy sauce

1 tablespoon dark vinegar

1 teaspoons sugar

Boiling water, as needed

8 ounces dried wheat noodles of any kind

1. First make the sauce: In a wok, mix together the sesame oil (or chili oil and goop), sesame paste, peanut butter, garlic, onion whites, soy sauce, vinegar, and sugar. Heat this slowly while stirring until the sauce is slightly cooked through, then taste and adjust the seasoning.

Toss and serve

2. Boil the noodles in a quart or more of boiling water until they are barely done. Transfer the cooked noodles to the wok. Toss the noodles until they are all well coated, adding some of the hot pasta water as needed to keep them from clumping up. (To be honest, this will take more water than you expect the first time around.) Divide the noodles among the bowls, sprinkle on the onion greens, and serve hot. I like to offer small bowls of the pasta water on the side as a simple soup that can be used to further thin down the sauce as needed.

Tip

This makes an amazing breakfast if you toss a fried egg or two on top. Make the sauce ahead of time, and you'll be able to put this together in a minute or two. 

Stir-fried grilled breads

This is the type of food my husband grew up on in Taiwan. Living as an Air Force brat in a series of military enclaves, the foods he ate were designed with an eye to comfort and economy.

North China unarguably had the strongest influence on this fusion cuisine called juancuncai (literally, "military compound dishes"), as can be seen in the seemingly endless bowls of pasta that come out of these kitchens. 

Pork is the main meat, although chicken and fish find their way into others, and many more are virtually meatless apart from a subtle touch of the sea, as in Napa Cabbage with Dried Shrimp.

Breakfast, lunch...

My favorites were always the pasta dishes simply because they were so remarkably inventive and invariably delicious. I would often escape from the museum if stewed tilapia was on the staff lunch menu and head out for a little stand down the road where an elderly Mainlander and his Taiwanese wife would not even ask me what I wanted. 

Like a regular at the corner bar, they knew what I was there for, and before I knew it, a small bowl of hot noodles tossed with toasted sesame paste and seasoned with a touch of soy sauce and sugar would be placed in front of me along with a little saucer piled with blanched celtuce leaves. 

It was all I needed, and afterwards I would take a walk through the nearby botanical gardens to watch the turtles and dragonflies dart among the swaying lotus leaves while cicadas sang overhead. It was a magical way to spend my 90-minute lunchtime.

Laobing

As I broadened my radius of reliable restaurants, those small haunts that offered juancuncai always stayed at the top of my list. And one of the best imaginable meals had to be this, stir-fried grilled breads. 

The pasta were in fact thin, freshly-made thick crepes called làobĭng 烙餅 that had been cut into strips before being stir-fried with vegetables and maybe a bit of pork or eggs. Nothing fancy, but it was Heaven on Earth, as far as I was concerned.

Nowadays, I much prefer this with fresh black mushrooms to pork, but it’s all a matter of taste. If you don’t have that many mouths to feed, cut the recipe in half, but I recommend you make all of the breads and freeze the extras.

Stir-fried grilled breads

Chǎobĭng 炒餅

Taiwan’s Military Families & North China

Serves 4 to 6 as a main dish

Roll out the breads

Grilled breads:

2 cups Chinese bread flour (or 1⅓ cups bread flour and ⅔ cup pastry flour), plus more as needed

1 teaspoon sea salt

¾ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water

The rest:

6 grilled breads (from the above recipe)

4 ounces fatty pork or 10 large Chinese mushrooms (fresh or rehydrated)

4 tablespoons soy sauce

2 tablespoons rice wine (Taiwan Mijiu)

1 small bunch (12 ounces, or so) garlic chives

1 pound mung bean sprouts

½ cup (or more, as needed) peanut or vegetable oil, divided

2 tablespoons finely julienned ginger

4 large eggs, lightly beaten

2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil

1. To make the grilled breads: Place the flour and salt in a medium work bowl and make a well in the center. Pour in just enough boiling water into the flour that it forms flakes when stirred into the flour and all of the water is absorbed into a soft dough. Empty the dough onto a smooth surface and knead it until smooth, adding more flour as necessary to keep it from sticking. When it is as soft as an earlobe, cover the dough and let it rest covered in plastic for about 20 minutes.

Marinate

2. Divide the dough into 6 even pieces and roll each piece into a ball before flattening these balls with the palm of your hand. Roll each flattened ball out into an even. The best way to do this is to use a Chinese rolling pin in one hand and to turn the circle with the other; roll the circles out into flat discs that are around 7 inches wide. Keep the dough covered when you are not working with it. (The wrappers can be prepared ahead of time up to this point and frozen on plastic wrap; be sure and separate each wrapper with plastic to keep them from sticking, and then pack them in a freezer bag.)

3. Heat a seasoned yet unoiled cast iron frying pan over medium heat. When the bottom is hot, add one wrapper and slowly cook it on one side until the bottom is spotted brown and the top starts to puff up. Adjust the heat as needed to get the breads to puff up and brown easily. Turn the bread over and briefly cook it on the other side, then transfer it to plate under a clean tea towel so that it steams slightly. Repeat with the rest of the breads until all are cooked. Cut the breads into strips about ½-inch wide before covering them again with a towel.

Garlic chives

4. Slice the pork against the grain into thin pieces and then crosswise into matchsticks; if using the mushrooms, remove the stems and slice the caps into thin pieces. Place the pork or mushrooms in a small work bowl and toss with both the soy sauce and rice wine. While the pork/mushrooms are marinating, prep the vegetables: Trim off the bases of the chives, rinse the stalks, and then cut them crosswise into ½-inch lengths; shake these dry in a colander. Rinse the bean sprouts in another colander and shake dry.

5. Place a wok over high heat, and when it is hot, add half of the oil plus the ginger. Drain the pork/mushrooms and reserve the marinade, and then add the pork or mushrooms to the wok. Stir-fry the pork until it turns white or until the mushrooms are slightly browned, and then toss in the chives and bean sprouts. Continue tossing these over high heat in order to sear the vegetables. When the bean sprouts are still crisp but do not taste raw, scoop the vegetables and meat out into a clean work bowl.

Sliced omelet

6. Return the wok to the high heat and add the remaining 3 tablespoons oil. Swirl the oil around in the wok and then add all of the eggs. Tip the wok this way and that to form a large omelet. Turn it over to briefly cook the other side, and then remove to a cutting board. Slice the omelet into ½-inch strips.

7. Add the sliced breads to the hot wok and toss them without adding any extra oil, as this will crisp them up a bit. When they are hot, toss in the vegetable mixture and eggs, as well as the reserved marinade and sesame oil. Taste, adjust the seasoning, and serve.