I love the sound of crunch in the morning...

Popular all over the coastal north, these breakfast rolls probably are most beloved in the port of Tianjin. These offer all sorts of pleasures, both in terms of flavor and texture. A slight sweetness offsets the tang of the chili sauce, but these form little more than a gentle background for the main attractions: a chewy crêpe-like wrapper, a crunchy fried cruller, a fried egg (see the vegan option below), and a crispy leaf of lettuce. 

Perfection — even early in the morning — can easily be achieved.

Ready to roll

Tianjin breakfast rolls

Jiānbǐng guǒzi 煎餅果子

Tianjin, Beijing, & Hebei

Serves 4

  

Wrappers:

⅔ cup Chinese or Korean flour (or two-thirds all-purpose plus one-third pastry flour)

⅓ cup mung bean flour

¾ cup cool water, or as needed

Peanut or vegetable oil

Wheat & mung bean flours

The rest:

1 Chinese cruller (youtiao), fresh or frozen

1 teaspoon sesame oil

1 tablespoon chili sauce (page TK)

1 tablespoon sweet wheat paste

½ teaspoon sugar

4 large eggs, optional

1 green onion, finely chopped

4 large leaves lettuce (something crunchy like romaine is good)

Edges curling up

1. Mix the flours together in a large (1 quart, or so) measuring cup. Use a whisk to stir in enough cool water—about 1 cup—to form a thick, pancake-like batter. Let the batter rest while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.

2. Cut the cruller in half lengthwise and crosswise so that you have four pieces. Heat it in a 300°F oven (a toaster oven is perfect) until it is crispy.

3. Heat the sesame oil in a wok and add the chili sauce, sweet wheat paste, and sugar. Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding whichever more ingredient you want to emphasize. Scrape the sauce into a small work bowl.

Chinese cruller

4. Set a nonstick flat pan over medium heat. When the pan is hot, dip a paper towel in some of the oil and wipe it all over the inside of the pan. Gently stir the batter and pour ¼ of it into the pan (about ⅓ cup batter), swirling the pan around with the other hand so that the bottom becomes evenly covered. Adjust the heat as needed to slowly cook the wrapper. As soon as the top is more or less set and the edges start to curl up, crack an egg on top, use your spatula to break it up and spread it over the wrapper, sprinkle on ¼ of the green onions, cover the pan, and continue to slowly cook the wrapper. When the egg is set, flip it over for a couple of seconds to cook it through, then flip it back over, and brush ¼ of the sauce over the top. Place a lettuce leaf and one piece of cruller on top. Remove the wrapper from the pan and roll it up like a burrito. Serve this one immediately and start to work on the other three. These can be sliced in half or quarters, if desired.

Tip

An egg is traditionally added to these wrappers, but vegans can omit it. Instead, sprinkle the green onions on the batter before it sets so that they stick to the pancake. 

Tianjin's lacy potstickers

Potstickers have become commonplace at Asian and fusion restaurants in the States, but most patrons of such establishments have no idea that the dumplings they’re scarfing down are pale shadows of the little masterpieces made in places like Tianjin.

A city on the Bohai Sea, Tianjin serves as Beijing’s seaport. Cooks in this seaport do fantastic spins on northern Chinese foods, borrowing many ideas from such sources as its large Muslim population and turning them into delicacies like these filled pasta that are beloved by China’s cognoscenti.

Potstickers in Tianjin are amazingly good partially because the ethereally light wrappers are handmade and also because the filling is so juicy and flavorful that only a touch of dipping sauce is needed. 

Contrast this with the potstickers served up in most Chinese joints outside of China, which are usually little more than previously frozen pork dumplings with boring fillings and leaden skins. These commercially made things have little to recommend them, and I avoid them like the plague.

... & with a lacy edge

Once you’ve eaten handmade guotie (or wor tip as they’re called in Cantonese), you will fall in love, too, with thin pasta that melts in your mouth, acting as little more than a gossamer hankie on three sides for the juicy, flavor-packed pork hiding within. But, as with all great potstickers, the greatest draw are its bottoms crusted a golden crunchy brown.... 

(read the rest here on Zester Daily)

The corn thimbles of Hebei

My late mother-in-law hailed from Tianjin, and although she never lived there after fleeing the invading Japanese in the late 1930's, her palate had been molded by North China's way with food. After marrying in Kunming and then traveling around the country with the children and her Air Force pilot husband, she settled in Taiwan in 1949 before finally making the U.S. her home.

Nowhere, though, was she able to find the food she longed for, and it must have been awfully hard to never taste the flavors of childhood again.

Unaware of this at first, I started to ask her about what she used to eat just because food tends to be on my mind a whole lot. Reminiscences started to flow out, and I was captivated. She was not a terribly good cook, but she loved to dine almost as much as I do, and her taste memories were always right on target. 

Ready for the steamer

One of the things she missed the most were the little corn thimbles called wowotou'er. There is no direct translation for this word, which makes me think that it might be Manchurian, like another Beijing snack called aiwowo. Corn, of course, came from the New World, and from what I understand from all the books I've referred to, wowotou'er were probably first made from millet flour, or mizifen. 

Millet has a nice stickiness that you will notice if you have ever made millet porridge. But cornmeal can prove to be a little difficult to shape into something like these thimbles. 

That led me to add just a bit of flour to up the stickiness factor, plus some sugar to heighten the corn flavor and a touch of baking powder and salt to lighten the dough. The balance now is just right. 

Later on, I made other thimbles out of such things as chestnut flour, which is even sweeter than corn; my mother-in-law demolished them with glee. 

These thimbles are often made as fist-sized cones for peasant style meals. But I like them smaller, ones that can be enjoyed in two or three bites, something like what used to be served in the imperial Qing palace.

So, these are fit for a king, or an emperor, or even a homesick mother-in-law.

The right consistency

Corn thimbles 
Wowotou'er  窩窩頭兒  
Tianjin

Makes about 12 and serves about 3 or 4 people

1 cup cornmeal (not coarse ground, as for polenta)

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

2 teaspoons sugar

½ teaspoon sea salt

6 tablespoons filtered water, plus more as needed

1. Set aside an hour or so the first time you make these; this will give you enough time to practice and redo them a couple of times. Set up a steamer, and line a steamer basket with either a square of damp muslin or a sheet of steamer paper. Turn the steamer on with the covered basket on it so that the inside of the steamer gets hot and moist; steam the basket and liner this way for at least 10 minutes while you prepare the corn thimbles.

Shaping a thimble

2. Mix the flour with the baking powder, sugar, and salt. Add the 6 tablespoons water and mix it into the dry ingredients. Squeeze a piece of dough in your fist; if it forms a cigar shape easily without crumbling, it's ready to go. If not, dribble in just enough water to do this (see Tips). Do note that you probably will need to add a bit more water later on as the cornmeal starts to absorb it, so keep some water nearby.

3. Put a walnut-sized piece of dough in one hand and shape it into a ball. Take the forefinger of the other hand and insert it into the ball to form a thimble shape. Smooth the outside into a cone or dome, whichever you prefer. Sit the thimble right-side up on your work surface; if it crumbles or looks less than steady, pop it back into the dough and try again. Repeat until you have formed a dozen or so wowotou'er. 

4. Place the corn thimbles on the hot muslin or steamer paper. Cover and steam for about 30 to 40 minutes so that the cornmeal cooks completely through. Remove the wowotou'er from the steamer. You can serve them immediately or freeze them for later (see Tips).

Tips

The water content of cornmeal and flour can vary, so it's difficult to give a precise amount here. 

Japanese style steamer paper

Add only as much water as you need at first, and then sprinkle in more as you go along to keep the dough moist and supple. If you happen to add too much water, just add a bit more cornmeal. 

Steamer liner paper is great to have on hand if you do much steaming. It's very cheap and you don't have to bother with washing steamer liners. Plus, it's relatively nonstick. Get a package in the housewares section of a Chinese market.

To prepare the wowotou'er for freezing, put the cooled corn thimbles in a single layer on a small sheet, freeze them until solid, and then store them in a resealable freezer bag. To reheat the frozen corn thimbles, just place them with or without defrosting in a lined steamer and steam until heated through.

The garlicky little fish of Tianjin

Yellow croaker, or "yellow fish" (huangyu) in Chinese, is a great fish to get to know. The flesh is firm, the flavor is delicate, and it's a classic variety that suits so many of North China's seafood dishes. It used to grow wild off the cold shores of China, but overfishing has depleted these natural resources to the point where most yellow croakers are farmed. I have remained a bit wary of China's offerings, but have enjoyed Korea's farmed and frozen ones for over 20 years.

Recently I came across a new type of croaker that is only about four inches long and -- wonder of wonders -- completely boned through the back, so there are no little bones to fiddle with, not to mention no scales, guts, fins, or heads. The work has all been done, and all you have to do is defrost them. 

What I've made here is a dish my late mother-in-law used to love: croakers braised with lots of garlic. She used to call this type of cooking ngao in her native Tianjin dialect, but in Mandarin it is simply ao, or "braising." Tianjin is in Hebei province and serves as Beijing's major port on the Yellow Sea, so it's not that far from Korea as the crow flies, so to speak.

Frozen farmed fish from Korea

The fish are gently fried in oil until brown on both sides, and then garlic and the whites of green onions are added, along with some light soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, salt, and water. The fish simmer away in this simple sauce until the water has evaporated; a loud sizzling tells you that they are about ready. Just taste and adjust the seasoning, toss in the onion greens, cover them with a lid, and remove from the stove. The remaining heat in the pan wilts the greens, and the dish is done.

This dish is all about balance. There is just enough salt, vinegar, sugar, and oil in there to form perfect harmony. The vinegar is especially important because it tempers the fishiness, and then sugar cuts the tartness, while the salt wakes up the taste buds, and the oil mellows everything out. Lots of garlic is called for, but because it is cooked so slowly, its natural pungency turns into a gentle sweetness.

How the yellow croaker got its name

Although other areas of China would call this suanban yu, in northern China the "ban" is softened with that ever-present "er" sound, so it should be pronounced suanba'er yu. This name simply means that the fish is cooked with garlic slices.

Serve this with steamed rice so that you can enjoy every drop of the sauce, and have maybe a simple stir-fried vegetable and a fuss-free soup on the side. Dinner will be ready in under half a hour.

Garlic fish of Tianjin
Suanba'er yu  蒜瓣兒魚 
Tianjin

Serves 3 to 4 as a main dish with sides

10 to 12 small (4-inch) boned yellow croakers
10 cloves garlic, peeled
3 green onions, trimmed
3 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
3 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons light rice vinegar
½ teaspoon sea salt
2 tablespoons filtered water

1. Defrost the fish, lightly squeeze the water out of them, and pat them dry (both inside and out) with paper towels. 

Onions and garlic

2. Trim off the hard ends of the garlic, as well as any green shoots inside the cloves, as they are bitter. Thinly slice the garlic. Cut the white parts off of the green onions and slice into half-inch pieces. Slice the green leaves on an angle into 1-inch pieces.

3. Heat the oil in a flat skilled over medium-high until the edges of the pan are hot. Carefully add the fish to the hot oil. (If the pan is already hot before you add the fish, they usually won't stick to the pan.) Lightly shake the pan to keep the fish loose, and adjust the heat so that the fish brown gently. Turn them over with a spatula, add the sliced garlic and the whites of the onions, and shake the pan again. As soon as the bottoms of the fish are golden, don't disturb them any more, as they might start to fall apart. Carefully pour off all but a tablespoon of the oil.

4. Add the rice wine, soy sauce, sugar, vinegar,  salt, and water to the pan. Bring the liquid to a boil and allow the fish to simmer uncovered until the sauce has evaporated and the oil starts to sizzle. Sprinkle the onion greens on top, remove from the heat, and cover the pan. Let it sit for a couple of minutes to wilt the onions. Serve hot or warm.