Putting the tsal in salsa

Momo and buuz are two very, very iconic dishes of (respectively) Tibet and Mongolia. No discussion of China's many cuisines would be complete without including both a mention and a recipe.

That being said, the following recipe is a bit of a change-up on these traditions. This all started when I was reading the food memoirs of the wonderful writer Liu Zhenwei and came across his discussion of shumai in a chapter on Inner Mongolia. 

Mr. Liu noted that the restaurants “Gufengxuan and Maixiangcun in Guisui, Suiyuan [part of present-day Inner Mongolia] are without a doubt number one in the world... the shumai of Guisui in fact have fillings of beef and lamb, with the addition of mushrooms, large scallions, and minced ginger.”

Now, that might already sound pretty good, but there’s nothing particularly innovative there, no ingredients that make the imagination go wild. But read on: “The skins used to wrap the ‘shumai’… are rolled out extremely thin, and after they have been steamed, they appear translucent, reflecting the brown of the filling, with a circle of white folds on top.”

Tibetan salsa!

These shumai have skins therefore that are much more elegant than what we have become accustomed to seeing on momo, buuz, and the shumai of the rest of China. (If you would like to make the traditional momo and buuz that are much heftier and more filling, see the Variations at the end of this recipe.)

And so I went to work trying to re-create these delicate steamed packets of long ago. In the process of fooling around with my food (a practice I heartily endorse), I used hot stock instead of cool or warm water to make the wrappers. 

The results are ethereal.

One more thing: I became excited all over again when I started putting two and two together and came up with eight. The reason? Tibetans make a dipping sauce out of tomatoes, fresh chilies, green onions, garlic, salt, and cilantro. To a dyed-in-the-wool Californian, that was nothing less than a recipe for salsa. 

And the Tibetan name for this salsa? Tsal.

Go figure.

Steamed lamb or beef dumplings

Momo and Buuz

Tibet, Mongolia
Makes 36 dumplings and serves 3 to 4

Filling:

1 pound ground lamb (or beef), preferably at least 20% fat

1 tablespoon finely minced ginger

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

5 green onions, trimmed and finely minced

¼ cup finely chopped celery

¼ cup finely chopped cilantro

3 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil

2 tablespoons unsalted stock

2 teaspoons sea salt

4 large mushrooms, finely chopped

2 teaspoons cornstarch

 

The delicate variation on a theme

Dough:

1½ cups Korean or Chinese noodle (high gluten) flour, plus extra flour as needed

5 tablespoons boiling hot, unsalted chicken stock, strained

Tibetan salsa (tsal):

3 or 4 ripe red tomatoes

1 fresh red chili pepper (as hot as you like), finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, finely minced

2 green onions, trimmed and finely chopped

¼ teaspoon sea salt

1 tablespoon fresh peanut or vegetable oil

Small bunch cilantro, coarsely chopped

1. Start this recipe at least 4 hours before you want to serve it to give the filling time to chill. Mix together the filling ingredients and stir them rapidly in one direction until they are light and fluffy. Cover the container and refrigerate.

2. While the filling is getting cold, make the dough by placing the flour in a medium work bowl; use chopsticks to mix in the boiling chicken stock. As soon as it forms clumps, empty the dough out onto a smooth surface and knead it until it is smooth and bouncy, only adding flour if it is truly necessary, although the dough should not stick to your hands or the board. Cover the dough and let it rest for at least 20 minutes.

3. Next, make the salsa by chopping the tomatoes into ½-inch dice. Place these in a small work bowl. Add the chili pepper, garlic, green onions, salt, and oil. Toss the salsa, cover, and refrigerate until serving time, and then stir in the chopped cilantro; taste and adjust the seasoning.

4. Roll the dough out into a rope 36 inches long and cut the dough into 36 even pieces. Toss these lightly with flour and then roll each piece out into a circle about 3 inches wide. Divide the filling into 36 pieces and add one piece to the center of the circle. Gather the edges up in a frill so that the dough is puckered and pressed together over the top of the filling in a curved seam. Repeat with the rest of the dough and filling until done.

5. Grease 2 steamer baskets and place them over boiling water for around 5 minutes to warm them up. Arrange as many shumai in the baskets as fit comfortably without touching, stack and cover the baskets, and steam them for around 15 minutes. (Do this in two batches, if necessary.) Serve immediately with dark vinegar for dipping.

Variations:

Triangular momos

Momo. To make momo, double the amount of flour and add enough warm filtered water to form a soft dough. Knead and let it rest, and then cut the dough into 36 pieces. Roll each piece out into a circle about 3 inches wide, and then form a triangular packet by bringing the edges at 0°, 120°, and 240° together in the center and then sealing the seams (see the photo to the right). Steam as directed above and serve with the sauce.

Buuz. To make buuz, double the amount of flour and add enough warm filtered water to form a soft dough. Knead and let it rest, and then cut the dough into 36 pieces. Roll each piece out into a circle about 3 inches wide, and then make an oval packet by pinching the top seam together in a braid pattern. Steam as directed above and serve without a sauce.

The butter tea of Tibet & Mongolia

This is very much like the tea that is enjoyed in Tibet’s high altitudes and on Mongolia’s frigid steppes. (Sorry, couldn't find any yak or horse milk at Whole Foods.) 

Fat is both a necessity and a pleasure in both Tibet and Mongolia because of the cold, which is one of the reasons why butter is floated on the top of the local milk tea.

To take the place of some of that butter, I use whole cream instead of milk, and this way the fat does not separate. I then add just a little touch of butter's extra salty goodness since I live in sunny California and know that I really do not need another helping of fat in my diet. However, nothing beats the taste of premium butter, so I use one of my favorite brands to lend the tea that requisite zing. 

If you would prefer to have more of a “barny” taste here, try using whole goat milk and a good helping of goat butter. 

I tend to put more tea leaves in the brew—around 6 tablespoons—because I enjoy a really bitter edge. However, the amount of tea, water, butter, and cream you use is, of course, a matter of tasting and adjusting the amounts until you hit that sweet spot. And speaking of sweet, you can sneak in a bit of sugar to your cup if you have a sweet tooth; it’s not kosher, but if no one is looking…

Tea with boortsog (next recipe)

In Tibet, this tea is usually foamed up with a churn, much like the Mexican molinillo that is used to make hot chocolate, while in Mongolia the milk is foamed by repeatedly lifting up ladlefuls high over the pan and pouring it back in. This is pretty much the same concept as India’s “pulled tea” (teh tarik), where it is poured back and forth between two containers.

I've found that I can go high tech with a blender, though, and have a hot cup of butter tea with no muss, no fuss.

The butter tea of Tibet & Mongolia
Boeja and Suutei tsai

Tibet, Mongolia
Makes about 6 cups 

¼ cup (or so) Chinese fermented compressed tea (pŭ’ěr 普洱 or tuóchá 沱茶), broken up into smallish pieces
6 cups freshly-boiled filtered water, plus extra as needed
1 tablespoon to ¼ cup best quality salted butter

A pinch of sea salt

1 cup heavy organic cream

1. Place the tea in a saucepan, cover it with boiling water, and let it soak for about 3 minutes to loosen up the tea leaves; strain out and discard the water. Cover the tea leaves with 5 cups boiling water, bring the tea to boil, and then lower the heat to a simmer. After about 10 minutes, strain the tea into a blender.

2. Cut the butter into small pieces and add it to the tea along with the salt and cream. Blend the tea, starting on low and gradually increasing the speed to high in order to make the tea foam. Serve the tea in small bowls, preferably wooden. 

Tuocha and pu'er

Tips

Compressed tea can be found in Chinese tea shops and grocery stores. Pu'er (also sometimes written pu erh or pu ni) is usually fermented black tea, although sometimes you can find it in its green form, which is milder and equally delicious. Pu'er comes in flat discs, hard-edged bricks, and also crumbled up. Tuocha tends to be bowl-shaped. 

Both of these teas are aged, and the older they are, the more expensive they become.

I usually get the disc form which is easier to crack apart than the bricks, but I find the loose-leaf compressed teas lacking in flavor, so I never get those. I like to crumble up the tea myself and store it in a tin, which makes it more convenient to use. Keep this tea, as all teas, in a dry. airtight container.

Where Tibetan history & potatoes intersect

Tibetan food has been influenced by many cuisines over the centuries, located as it is at the edge of one of the great ancient Asian crossroads. I say "edge" because that is a very important concept when it comes to Tibet, the true hermit land for most of the last millennia.

You see, the Silk Road never made it through Tibet. This enormous and arid place is circled by a natural barrier consisting of the Earth’s highest mountains to the west and south, while the Kunlun and Nanshan Ranges to the north tack Tibet firmly to China at the edge of the vast Gobi. And so, the Silk Road split off into northern and southern routes that bypassed the massive ring of peaks around Tibet’s great central plain.

Because of this unique terrain, Tibet remained hidden for most centuries. Before this, Tibet's people had a fearsome reputation as warriors who had conquered parts of China and both Nepal and northern Burma. But then Buddhism wound its way north from India and over the narrow passes into the heartland of Tibet, and its gentle teachings softened this warlike people to such a remarkable degree that by the tenth century they had closed themselves off behind their mountain passes, and few non-Tibetans other than Chinese officials were thereafter allowed into their hidden world.

Yukon gold wedges

And so, while traders and explorers were kept from stepping foot into this mysterious land – a preference that was underscored in spite of pacific Buddhist creed by executing trespassers with little mercy – the Tibetan people sent their own traders down the winding passes into their neighbors’ territories to obtain whatever ingredients could not be locally grown or made.

This story is a roundabout way of introducing why there are so many warm Indian spices here, for the fragrance of India hovers over many of Tibet’s most beloved dishes.

Rather than using generic curry powder, the people of Tibet often mix together these spices individually to lend unique aromas to each recipe, employing whatever seasonings best complement the main ingredients. And, like good Indian cooks, the spices are first lightly fried in oil or butter to deepen the flavors and release their fragrance. Fenugreek in particular needs to be toasted in warm oil or butter to remove its bitterness and allow its aroma to bloom.

In this beautiful dish of curried potatoes, we see three more imports, but this time around they are from the Americas: potatoes, tomatoes, and chilies. It is hard to imagine Tibetan food without this New World trifecta, but the Tibetan people have adopted them and made them integral components of their local cuisines to such a remarkable degree that they seem almost native to the Himalayas.

Tibetan curried potatoes 
Shogog khatsa

Tibet
Serves 4

Vegetables:

1 pound thin-skinned potatoes, like Yukon golds

Filtered water as needed

½ large onion or 1 small onion

4 cloves garlic

1 Roma or other meaty tomato

Tibetan comfort food

¼ cup peanut or vegetable oil

1 teaspoon finely minced fresh ginger

3 dried Thai chilies

Curry:

1 tablespoon peanut or vegetable oil

½ teaspoon fenugreek seeds

3 tablespoons butter

1 teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon ground turmeric

½ teaspoon ground cumin

3 tablespoons filtered water

1. Rinse the potatoes and then cut them into wedges that are about ½ inch on the outside. (You don’t have to peel them unless you want to.) Place them in a medium saucepan and cover with water. Bring the water to a boil over high heat and then lower the heat to a gentle simmer; cook the potatoes until they are cooked through but not falling apart, about 15 to 20 minutes. Drain in a colander and cover with a clean tea towel to keep them warm.

2. While the onions are cooking, cut the onion into ½-inch or so dice and lightly mash the garlic cloves. Cut the tomato in half and squeeze out most of the seeds before cutting the flesh into ½-inch or so dice. Heat the oil in a wok over medium heat and add the ginger, chilies, onion, and garlic. Fry these gently until they just begin to brown, then add the tomato and continue to cook these together until the tomato is soft. Place these vegetables (but not the potatoes) into a small food processor or blender and puree them.

3. Rinse out and dry the wok; heat the oil and fenugreek seeds in it over medium heat until the seeds have turned a nut brown. Add the butter, paprika, turmeric, and cumin, and gently fry these spices together until they smell wonderful. Pour in the water and the puree, mix these together, and then fold in the potatoes. Gently warm the potatoes in this sauce until heated through. Serve hot.

Tips

The most important steps to this ingredient have to do with toasting the spices. The fenugreek has to be toasted first, as otherwise the seeds will be hard and bitter.

Fried onions are always good

At the same time, you have to keep a close eye on the ground spices to keep them from burning. I do this by never raising the heat above medium and stirring the spices almost constantly. As soon as they are toasty and fragrant, I remove them from the heat.

A wonderful book about Tibet and the people who tried to ferret their way into this hidden land – “secret agents and soldiers, adventurers and fortune hunters, missionaries and mystics” – is Peter Hopkirk’s Trespassers on the Roof of the World (Tarcher, 1982).

Stellar Tibetan meatballs

Out in what one writer calls “China’s great back beyond” – the arid lands stretching from Mongolia in the north to Tibet in the vast southwest – leafy vegetables are in short supply, grazing lands are seasonal and sparsely covered with hardy grasses, and the meats are pretty much limited to lamb and mutton and goats, mainly because sheep and goats will eat just about anything as they are herded from one grazing ground to another by nomadic families. 

What that means is that folks in Tibet are pretty good when it comes to turning these animals into some spectacular dishes.

Another wonderful thing that has made Tibetan food into a hidden treasure is its historical relationship via the Karakoram Pass with its Kashmiri neighbors to the south. 

This can be seen very clearly here in the lush, warm spices that are first browned in oil to release their fragrance… fenugreek (see the top photo) and turmeric are not found anywhere else in China as individual flavorings (rather than in ready-made curry powder), and they are one of the many reasons the foods of Tibet are so unique.

If you enjoy gardening, try sprouting some fenugreek seeds in a small pot... the seedlings smell astoundingly like maple syrup!

Shabril

Tibetan meatballs in a yogurt sauce 
Shabril

Tibet
Serves 4 to 6 

Meatballs:

1 pound ground lamb or goat

½ teaspoon whole fenugreek seeds

4 teaspoons peanut or vegetable oil

2 medium onions, chopped

½ teaspoon powdered turmeric

4 cloves garlic, chopped

4 teaspoons finely chopped fresh ginger

4 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil

Veggies and sauce:

12 large Chinese black mushrooms, stemmed and sliced

Spices & onion in the oil

12 red radishes, sliced

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

½ cup filtered water

1 cup full fat yogurt

2 green onions, trimmed and finely chopped

1. Place the ground meat on a cutting board and use a cleaver or knife to chop it again until it is fine and fluffy; form these into 12 small meatballs. Place the fenugreek and oil in a wok or frying pan and heat over medium-high until the seeds turn a toasty brown. Add the onions and tumeric and cook them, stirring frequently, until the onions are browned. Remove the onions to a work bowl and add the garlic, ginger, and remaining oil to the wok. Stir these around over the heat to release their fragrance and add the meatballs. Fry the meatballs while swirling the wok around so that they brown all over. Scoop them out and place them in the bowl with the onions.

2. If you have lots of oil floating around in the bottom of the wok at this point, pour off all of it except for a light film. Toss in the mushrooms and radishes, and quickly fry them until the mushrooms are lightly browned. Add the soy sauce and water to the wok, and use this to deglaze the caramelized juices at the bottom of the wok. Return the meatballs and onions to the wok, bring the sauce to a boil, and then cover and reduce the heat to medium-low. Simmer the meatballs with the vegetables for about 15 minutes.

Radishes brighten up the dish

3. Bring the wok to a full boil and then remove it from the heat. Stir in the yogurt and adjust the seasoning. Pour the meatballs into a serving dish, sprinkle with the chopped green onions, and serve.

Tips

Get really good quality lamb here; goat is great, too, if you can find it.

Fenugreek and turmeric can be found in better Western-style grocery stores, but I like to get mine from busy Indian markets where I can savor all of the aromas and find something new to eat. 

Be sure to not let the sauce boil again once you have added the yogurt, as this will cause the sauce to break into white globs.

Serve this with rice or griddle breads to soak up all the luxurious sauce.