Eight treasure spicy jumble

Wuxi is known for its rich foods, tastes that double up and fold back on each other until they coalesce into a whole. And that is as it should be, for as it is located in the lush reaches of the Yangtze River in the eastern province of Jiangsu. With a world of ingredients to choose from, located as it is between river and sea, mountains and farmlands, Wuxi must be the kind of place that foodies think of when asked to consider heaven. 

Even the locale is exotic: the city is cut in half by Lake Tai, and the Grand Canal that links Beijing with the south runs through Wuxi. An ancient settlement that is probably thousands of years old, it has developed a culture and a sensibility that reaches out and beckons to all who hunger for something more.

Pressed bean curd

And part of that hunger, of course, centers on its foods. The most famous dish here is the obsession-worthy Wuxi Spareribs, which turns ribs from barbecue fare into something eligible for the most refined banquet. Other local pork dishes rate up there with the spareribs as the stuff of dreams, and even the Wuxi way with steamed gluten makes this vegan ingredient something that carnivores learn to covet.

There is one dish, though, that is a devious balance of textures, flavors, and colors, a concoction that the locals call "eight treasure spicy sauce" (babao lajiang). I've exchanged the "sauce" for "jumble" here, since this isn't really a sauce at all. Instead, it's a choreographed layering of different meats, vegetables, and ideas.

If you are a vegetarian, though, you can still make this dish; just substitute some of the meatless suggestions for the flesh. And if you are more adventurous than most -- and have access to some good Chinese butchers -- you can be highly traditional and incorporate duck gizzards and pork tripe, which are not there for their flavors, but to satisfy that incessant Chinese desire for interesting texture.

Whatever way you prepare this, it will be tasty. Just remember to substitute equivalent things, such as matsutake mushrooms for the chicken. That way the balance remains unchanged. And you are certainly should not feel constrained by the number "eight." Add or deduct to fit your tastes, and view the amounts of the ingredients here as merely a template. I have had some meatless versions that were quite good, and which used fried salted peanuts to add a savory note and some fresh chilies to spark up the flavors, while braised gluten rounded out the meaty textures.

Flash-fried shrimp

But what I've settled on here is very much in keeping with the way it is made in Wuxi, and the traditional grace note on this dish is what I think makes this sublime: some flash-fried shrimp. This works on so many levels that it is truly impressive: the light pink adds some necessary color, the gently sweet shellfish contrast beautifully with the dark seasonings, and they are so fresh that they spark all sorts of exciting notes on the palate.

When you prepare this dish, try to keep everything in about the same size, which are cubes about half an inch all around. The only exception would be the Chinese ham, which is very salty and hard, and so needs to be cut into tiny bits so that they can wend their way into each bite.

Two kinds of sauces are used here: bean paste and hot bean paste. The bean paste -- doubanjiang -- is a very savory condiment that is in many ways like miso. It is fermented and full of those xianwei or umami flavors that boost the taste of whatever they touch, and the soybeans in the mix add a nice bit of texture.

It is often confused with the other sauce, because their names are so similar. However, hot bean sauce -- la doubanjiang -- is mainly about chilies. It too is quite salty, but the heat it generates is the overriding characteristic. Add both of these to your dish in increments, as they can easily overpower whatever it is you are cooking, but if added in just the right amount, they tease the taste buds and satisfy all sorts of hungers.

Ingredients

Eight treasure spicy jumble  
Babao lajiang 八寶辣醬
Jiangsu
Serves 4 to 6 as part of a multicourse meal

2 tablespoons Chinese ham, skin removed
1 cup fresh or frozen bamboo shoots, defrosted
2 large fresh Chinese mushrooms, stemmed
2 squares pressed, marinated bean curd (lu doufu gan, see second picture and Tips)
1 cup cooked chicken
1 cup frozen green soybeans (edamame), defrosted (see Tips)
2 tablespoons dried shrimp (see Tips)
Boiling water as needed
4 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
1 to 2 teaspoons bean sauce (doubanjiang, see Tips)
1 to 2 teaspoons hot bean sauce (la doubanjiang, see Tips)
3 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
1 teaspoon sugar
2 tablespoons fresh peanut or vegetable oil
Sprinkle of sea salt
1 cup shelled and cleaned shrimp (rock shrimp particularly good here), cut into half-inch pieces and drained (see Tips)

Hot sauce in spoon and not hot in jar

1. First prep some of the ingredients. If the ham is very hard, steam it for about 10 minutes, and then chop it finely (into pieces that are about an eighth of an inch). Cut the following into half-inch dice: bamboo, mushrooms, pressed bean curd, and chicken, and place them in a bowl along with the green soybeans. Place the dried shrimp in a small bowl and pour boiling water over them; after about 10 minutes, drain and chop them coarsely. 

2. Heat the 4 tablespoons oil in a wok over high and add the ham. Quickly stir-fry the ham for a few minutes to cook it through, and then add the bowl of bamboo, mushrooms, pressed bean curd, chicken, and green soybeans. Stir-fry these over high heat until the bamboo is cooked but still crisp. Add the bean sauces to taste, as well as the rice wine and sugar, and toss to mix well. Taste and adjust the seasoning. (This dish can be prepared ahead of time up to this point.)

3. A few minutes before serving, reheat the jumble if necessary. Then, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons oil over high heat and add just a small sprinkle of salt. When the oil starts to smoke, add the shrimp and flash-fry them over the highest heat until they are pink and barely done. Pour them over the jumble and serve, with a soup spoon tucked into the dish so everyone can help themselves.

Tips

Pressed bean curd is called doufu gan 豆腐乾, or "dried bean curd." This is merely bean curd that has had most of its moisture pressed out. It is an ivory white and is sold in vacuum packs in the refrigerated section of Chinese grocery stores. Lu doufu gan 滷豆腐乾 is marinated; instead of white, the skin of these squares is brown, and they have a light soy sauce flavor. Whichever kind you buy, keep the unused squares in the package and enjoy them within a few days of opening the package.

Fresh, green soybeans are available almost exclusively in the frozen foods section. Try to locate ones that are organic, as so many soybeans are genetically modified, or GMO. Also, look inside the clear window on the package to make sure that the beans look fresh and are not either dessicated or embalmed in frost.

I like to get my dried shrimp from Taiwanese producers or at Chinese herbal shops and dry goods stores. Look for shrimp that are whole, rather than crumbly, and you don't want any that are bright orange; natural dried shrimp are a gentle peach color. One thing nice about buying them at an herbal or dry goods store is that you can smell and even squeeze them if the shopkeeper is feeling generous. They should smell sweet and slightly fishy, and the best ones have a suppleness that allows you to bend them, which means they are fresh. Store them in a closed jar or resealable bag in the fridge, and they will keep for many months.

Hot bean sauce (or paste) is a specialty of Sichuan, so I try to find jars from Pixian 郫縣 (also written 郫县), the place where the best of these sauces are made. Lots of imitators are out there now, so search around for a brand of la doubanjiang 辣豆瓣醬 that you like. One I often buy is in a half-circle shaped jar (on the left in the Ingredients photo) made by Qiao Niang Fang in Sichuan.

For regular bean sauce, or doubanjiang 豆瓣醬, try some of the Taiwan products, like Master brand, which also makes other good Chinese sauces. This one is has the title "fermented bean sauce," a red lid, and yellow beans on the label (on the right in that Ingredients photo).

Wild-caught shrimp are infinitely better than farmed, since much of the farming is done in underdeveloped areas with questionable levels of cleanliness. Remember, shrimp are bottom dwellers and eat decaying things, so if your shrimp are coming from a densely populated area, you can imagine what they are dining on. Frozen shrimp are often quite good. Just defrost them and make sure that the sandy intestine along their back in removed, as well as any shells or legs.

When an eel is not an eel, or Buddhist slight-of-hand in the kitchen

Freshwater eels are an exciting delicacy along China's eastern seaboard, and they are particularly beloved in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces, which host a network of waterways and a long tradition of aquaculture. 

Freshwater eels are different from their saltwater brethern. For one thing, they are a whole lot smaller, usually little more than half an inch in diameter and around a foot long. They also have a much more delicate flavor and texture, which is probably one of the reasons why they are so beloved in the gourmet ghettos along the Yangtze.

Right now, though, we're going to look at another one of those gustatory bits of artifice that the Chinese are so well-known for. It's not only a boon for those who are too squeamish to deal with a fistful of slithering water creatures, but also for those who prefer an entirely meatless approach to dining. 

Welcome to a mushroom dish that probably started out in a Buddhist temple or a restaurant that catered to Buddhists: Crispy Vegetarian Eels. 

Temple food often relies on mushrooms for a variety of impersonations. You'll see certain types of plump white 'shrooms masquerading as shrimps, small dried shiitakes plumped up and asked to perform as snails, and long elegant strands of enoki mushrooms cavorting as crabmeat. Do they taste exactly like what they are supposed to be imitating? Not really, but that's the point. They are used to divert the mind from forbidden cravings while satisfying yearnings for delicious tidbits like Mom or that restaurant around the corner used to make. It's my very own personal suspicion that Buddhists aren't big believers in miracles perhaps because there's so much magic happening in the temple kitchens.

The culinary rabbit in the hat

Take Crispy Vegetarian Eels as an example. Based on a hugely popular eel dish from Wuxi in Jiangsu province (see the post on Wuxi Spareribs from a couple of months ago), fresh shiitake mushrooms provide a silky chewiness and a brown/tan appearance that mimics the eel perfectly, plus their lovely woodsy flavor shines through the delicately sweet and sour sauce. Bits of ginger and garlic punctuate each bite. Fresh green onions provide a beautiful contrast in color and add a nice herbal zing. And the third level of color and texture is provided by fried cellophane noodles, those wiry pieces of mung bean paste that explode into what looks like Styrofoam but taste rich and faintly nutty. It's a perfect combination. (A note to purists: wine, ginger, garlic, and onions are all forbidden in very strict Buddhist regimes, so this recipe is one for more casual vegetarians.) 

 Anyway, how do you get from mushroom to eel? The secret lies in a pair of kitchen shears and a few minutes of your time. First remove the stems from the mushrooms and save them for your stockpot. Then, cut around the cap in a quarter-inch coil, going all the way around the cap until you hit the center. It's all right if the strip breaks in parts (eels break up too, for that matter), but do your best to have at least a good number of long strips so that the deception works.

These veggie eels are great either as a starter or as one of your main courses, and are good any time of year since fresh shiitakes are grown in the dark and so have no idea of the seasons. 



Crispy vegetarian eels
Su Wuxi cui shan  素無錫脆鱔  
Zhejiang
Serves 6 as an appetizer, 3 to 4 as part of a multicourse dinner

12 large, fresh, meaty shiitake mushrooms
1 bunch dried, thin cellophane noodles (mung bean noodles or fensi)
Fresh peanut or vegetable oil as needed
1 green onion, trimmed and chopped
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped
1 teaspoon garlic, finely chopped
2 tablespoons regular soy sauce
1 tablespoon Shaoxing rice wine
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon ketchup
1 tablespoon dark vinegar
1 green onion, green part only, sliced in thin julienne
1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil

1 teaspoon toasted white sesame seeds

1. Clean the mushrooms and remove the stems. Use a pair of kitchen shears to cut each cap into a long strip about 1/4 inch wide, starting at the edge and going around the cap until you reach the center; it's all right if some of the strips break.

2. Place the bundle of cellophane noodles in a dry paper bag and break apart the bundle into individual noodles; this will keep them from flying around the room, and having them in separate strands will also give them a better chance to puff up evenly.

Dried cellophane noodles

3. Place a rimmed serving platter next to the stove, as well as a Chinese spider or slotted spoon, some wooden or bamboo chopsticks for frying everything, and a baking sheet covered with a few sheets of paper towels. Combine the rest of the ingredients (except for the julienned green onions, sesame oil, and sesame seeds) in a small bowl and place it next to the stove.

4. About 15 minutes before you want to serve them, heat about 3 inches of oil in your wok over medium-high heat until a chopstick inserted into the oil immediately is covered with bubbles. Add the mushrooms to the hot oil and fry them until they are slightly hard all over. Remove them to the serving platter, turn down the heat under the oil to medium-low, and gently fry the mushrooms until they are crispy. Remove them again to the serving platter and turn the heat under the wok back to medium-high.

5. Fry very small handfuls of the cellophane noodles - they will puff up quickly, so you need to work quickly, too. As soon as the bottom of that handful has puffed up, flip it over with your chopsticks and the spider or slotted spoon, and when both sides are a fluffy white and no plastic-looking pieces of uncooked noodles can be seen, remove all of the noodles to the paper towels to drain. It's all right if they tan ever so slightly, but you don't want them to turn brown or burn, so adjust the heat as needed. When all of the noodles have been fried, drain off all of the oil except for about 2 tablespoons.

6. Heat the wok back up to medium-high and add the sauce. Stir-fry it until the sauce smells great and is slightly thickened. Take a little taste and adjust it as necessary - you want a savory sweet and sour tang that isn't too heavy in either direction. Toss in the fried mushrooms and stir them into the sauce until they are well coated.

7. Immediately wipe the serving platter clean, make a nest of the fried noodles on the platter, and pour the coated mushrooms in the center. Decorate the top with the sesame seeds and then the julienned green onions, and finally sprinkle the sesame oil over the mushrooms. Serve with a flourish.