Cheesy cookies

When I lived in Taiwan those eight wonderful years, I became happily acquainted with China’s love for cookies. Chocolate chip cookies and brownies were not yet common and in fact became objects of great desire for me, along with cheesecake and artichokes – in other words, anything unobtainable possessed a definite allure for every expat I knew. (Case in point: during my first year there, I once had to bring a load of Oreos to an American nun friend in Hong Kong to satisfy her cravings, but that is another story for another time.)

However, none of that mattered in the long run because a wonderful cookie culture already existed. The best came out of the local Shanghainese and Cantonese bakeries, and what I discovered was that I was a complete sucker for the combination of a sweet cookie with savory edges. The Sea Moss Sandies we looked at a couple of weeks ago are a good example.

In fact, one of the hallmarks of southern cooking in China is the juxtaposition of sweet against salty. Chaozhou in particular has a deep love for this delicate balance, as can be tasted in such divine steamed dim sum as Fun Gor (fěnguǒ 粉粿), which have lightly sweet wrappers made out of translucent wheat starch and a savory jumble of toasted peanuts, pressed bean curd, salted radish, and things like that hidden inside.

When we lived in Taipei, I came to look forward to strange flavor combinations that always managed to turn into addictions for me. A lovely example of this is crushed peanut brittle with cilantro or the large night-market spring rolls that were actually Chaozhou popia. The locals call these rùnbǐng 潤餅, and they were made by filling a huge wrapper like a burrito with things like shreds of char siu pork, carrots, fried shallots, bean sprouts, and a sprinkling of sweet ground peanuts.

The not-so-secret ingredient

Another personal addiction is this cookie. Here, the main seasoning is cheesy courtesy of fermented bean curd, which is called nanru in South China and dòufǔrǔ 豆腐乳 most other places. It possess a slight funk that I find delightful in such a surprising place as this. Think of it as a brilliant combination of cookie and cracker, like chewing a shortbread cookie and a Cheez-It at the same time, but only better.

The Cantonese bakeries always made these as rather hard cookies, but I’ve come to prefer these light, not-too-sweet confections that beg you to wolf down way more than is sensible. These would be a sophisticated treat for a cocktail party, and yet kids find them as irresistible as I do.

Nanru cookies

Nánrǔ xiǎobǐng 南乳小餅

Guangdong

Makes 6 to 7 dozen (1-inch) cookies

1 cup (2 sticks) softened butter, salted or unsalted

¾ cup sugar

3 cubes fermented bean curd cheese (nanru)

1 large egg, at room temperature

2½ cups all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking soda

2 teaspoons double-acting baking powder

¼ teaspoon baking ammonia, optional

¼ cup white sesame seeds

 1. Start this at least 3 hours before serving to give the dough time to chill. Place the softened butter and sugar in a food processor fitted with a metal blade and whirl them around until the butter becomes light. Add the fermented bean curd cheese and egg, and then process the mixture for a couple of minutes until the cheese is fully incorporated and the butter is once again smooth.

Ready to chill

2. Toss the flour, baking soda, baking powder, and baking ammonia together in a medium work bowl. Add this to the food processor and pulse these together until the dough forms a clean ball. Remove the dough to a plastic bag and chill it for a couple of hours.

3. Place a rack in the middle of the oven and heat it to 350°F. Line 2 baking sheets with Silpat or parchment paper and pour the sesame seeds into a wide bowl.

Roll the dough in sesame

4. Use a spoon to break up the dough, and then form it into balls about ¾ inch in diameter. As you roll them in your hands, the dough’s surface will become a bit tacky, and this will allow the sesame seeds to stick to the dough; if your hands or the kitchen are not warm enough, wet your hands before rolling the dough. Drop each ball into the sesame seeds to coat only one side, and then place them 1 inch apart with the seed sides up on the lined baking sheets; you’ll end up with about 3 baking sheets’ worth of cookies. Bake these 1 sheet at time for 11 to 13 minutes. When done, the cookies will puff up, be a golden brown on the bottom, and there will be some cracks in at least some of them. Immediately remove the cookies from the hot pan and let them come to room temperature. Store in an airtight container or freeze.

Cheesy chicken from Anhui

It took me a long time to figure out where this dish originally came from, possibly because I have had all sorts of versions over the years. 

First guess: Guangdong, because they do make some wonderful fermented bean curd (doufuru) down there, but when that wasn't correct, I figured it had to be from Jiangsu because of their famous pork hock in a cheesy sauce, but even that wasn't right. So down the list I went until I hit that obscure cuisine that tends to be the motherload of all sorts of delicious jackpots: Anhui.


You just don't hear much about Anhui style cooking (except on this blog, perhaps, as I admit quite freely that I am smitten with their way with food). And that is a crying shame because even though few people have ever eaten Anhui dishes outside of its borders, this is where many of East China's most famous dishes were created, like lion's head casserole. (Jiangsu and Shanghai lay all sorts of claim to this meatball dish, and to be fair, they have some pretty incredible variations that make it one of the best pork concoctions of all time.)

Daxi style doufuru

But I digress.

Chicken cooked in a sauce seasoned with fermented bean curd really does have a cheesy edge to it, very rich and creamy, especially when a really great fermented bean curd is used. Although there are supermarket shelves loaded with all sorts of different kinds -- spicy, stinky, red, white, what have you -- my favorite is now a homemade one that uses Fujian's red wine lees.

I really like the way that it turns into a velvety blanket for whatever is being cooked. The taste is not harsh the way that some of the brine-packed doufuru tend to be, and the sauce the little squares are packed in is every bit as tasty as the bean curd itself.

Over the years, I've played around with this classic a bit, so it might not be quite as authentic an Anhui dish as it used to, particularly because I have added some of that beautiful Fujian red wine lees not only for the depth of flavor, but also for its brilliant color. 

Putting this dish together takes less than 30 minutes from fridge to table, and all you need is some hot rice and a stir-fried vegetable. Fit for company or family, this is sure to be an instant favorite.

Lovely red from the wine lees

Chicken in fermented bean curd sauce  
Furu ji 腐乳雞  
Anhui
Serves 4 as part of a multicourse meal, or 2 as a main dish

4 chicken thighs, preferably organic and free range (see Tips)
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
6 thin slices ginger, minced
4 green onions, trimmed and cut into 2-inch lengths
3 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
¾ cup water
2 squares Fermented Bean Curd, or to taste
2 tablespoons Fujian's red wine lees
Sugar or soy sauce, if needed
Handful of cilantro, chopped

1. Rinse the chicken thighs and pat dry. Cut off any extra fat or skin and save it for something else. 

2. Heat the oil in a wok or frying pan over medium heat. Add the ginger and lay the chicken on top. Fry the chicken on one side until golden, and then flip the thighs over. Toss in the green onions. 

Doufuru and red wine lees

3. When both sides of the chicken are golden brown, add the rice wine, water, fermented bean curd, and red wine lees. Bring the sauce to a boil and then lower the heat to a simmer. Cook the chicken until just done (about 20 minutes for bone-in thighs, 15 minutes for boneless), and then raise the heat under the pan to quickly reduce the sauce. Taste the sauce and adjust the seasoning, if needed, with some sugar and soy sauce. (I don't use any extra seasoning, but since not all doufuru are created equal, feel free to play with the flavors.) Toss in the chopped cilantro and serve.

Tips

Use organic, free-range chicken, if at all possible.

Different cuts can be used instead of thighs, if you like. Wings are great, or you could chop up a whole chicken and double or triple the sauce ingredients, depending upon the size of the chicken.

This dish can be made ahead of time and then heated up  just before serving.

Jiangsu's cheesy pork

Without a doubt, the Jiangsu style dish that captivated me completely at first bite was this one. Furu tibang was from then on my idea of celebration food, and if I could have convinced anyone to stick candles in it, this would have been my idea of the perfect birthday cake.

Pork hock is not a cut of meat that is eaten much around here in the States, especially with the skin on. But this incredibly soft bundle of meaty joy is so good precisely because it has that terrific layer of pork skin holding everything together until the last minute, at which point it thoughtfully dissolves into almost a porky custard. 

I have tried making this dish with other cuts of meat, like pork shoulder and so on, and they are okay, but not the stuff of dreams. If pork hock is really and truly beyond the scope of your butcher, you definitely need to find yourself a new purveyor. In the meantime, buy a piece of pork belly with the skin on - half meat and half fat is a good ratio - and you'll still be in good shape.

The best part of the pig

Whenever you can, as always, use pork that's been raised humanely and naturally. The flavor just isn't the same with factory pork. In fact, I was so disgusted by the stuff we bought after we came back from Taiwan that I almost never ate pork for years until people started offering the good stuff. 

And try to use the hock from a front leg, which is what is called the tipang in Chinese; those from the rear legs are called zhouzi, which can be used in a pinch, but they're a lot bigger. These smaller tipang cuts have a special place in the hearts of Chinese diners because they are tender, have the auspicious shape of money bags, and are just darned cute. I mean, look at this boned tipang on the right... I think it's almost cuddly.

Which leads us to today's recipe: Pork Hock in Fermented Bean Curd Cheese.

A few columns ago I talked about fermented bean curd cheese, so if you are unfamiliar with this ingredient, go back and take a peek. The other exotic ingredient in here is Fujian's red fermented rice, or hongzao. You can find this in well-stocked Chinese groceries, usually in the refrigerated section, but if it's not available, use fermented rice and add a bit of beet juice if you want the traditional seductive red hue. (I'll give the recipe for authentic red fermented rice in an upcoming column for all of you home brewers out there.)

Turned into culinary magic

This is really a special occasion dish, but it's also terribly easy to make. And, even better, you should prepare this at least a day or two in advance so that the pork has a chance to soak in that cheesy sauce and become even more succulent. The best garnish for this dish is another Shanghainese specialty, flash fried pea sprouts. These are best in the spring and early summer, so gather ye pea sprouts while ye may.

Pork hock in fermented bean curd cheese 
Furu tipang  腐乳蹄膀 
Jiangsu

Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal

Pork:

1 pork hock with the skin on
2-inch piece of fresh ginger
4 green onions, trimmed
2 whole star anise

Sauce:

4 squares red fermented bean curd
4 tablespoons sauce from the fermented bean curd
½ cup Fujian style red fermented rice (hongzao)
3 tablespoons light soy sauce
1½ cups Shaoxing rice wine
Boiling filtered water as needed
2 pieces of rock sugar about the size of walnuts

Start boning from the smaller end

1. If your butcher can't bone the pork hock without splitting it up the side (and I can't believe how many times they do that even though I tell them not to), bone it yourself because it's not that hard:

2. Use a long thin blade to work around the bone on the thin end of the hock, and then flip it over and start cutting the meat away from the bone on the thick end. As you can see from the picture down below, the bone isn't round, but has a deep indentation on one side. So, cut away from the bone carefully, keeping it in one piece as much as possible. If any small bit fall out, stuff them back inside. Pick over the skin and either pluck or burn off any hairs. (Don't worry about the ink marks, as they'll disappear later on as the meat cooks.)

3. Place the boned hock in a medium saucepan and cover it with water. Bring the water to a boil and then simmer the meat for about 10 minutes to remove any impurities. Dump out the water, rinse off the hock, and pat it dry with a paper towel. Rinse out the saucepan and pat it dry, as well.

An easy sense of accomplishment...

4. Return the hock to the saucepan. Smash the ginger with the side of a cleaver and toss it and the whole onions into the saucepan. Add the star anise, fermented bean curd, sauce, red fermented rice, soy sauce, and rice wine, and then pour in enough boiling water to cover the pork. Bring the pot to a boil and then lower it to a simmer. Slowly cook the pork for 2 to 2½ hours, or until a chopstick can be poked into the thickest part of the hock without any resistance. The sauce should have reduced by about a half at this point. Remove and discard the ginger, onions, and star anise.

5. Place the hock in a large heatproof bowl with the skin side down. Pour the sauce over the pork and add the rock sugar. Steam the pork for another hour or so until the meat is extremely moist and tender. (Steaming it instead of continuing to cook it on the stove protects it from falling apart.) Pour the sauce out into a smaller saucepan, taste and adjust the seasonings, and reduce it to about ¾ cup. (You can cool the pork and sauce off at this point and either store them together in the refrigerator, or freeze for longer storage. To reheat the pork and sauce, just steam them until the pork is hot all the way through.)

6. To serve, drain the sauce off of the pork and then place a rimmed plate over the bowl; flip the bowl over onto the plate. Pour the sauce around the pork and garnish it with a wreath of the flash fried pea sprouts. Serve with lots of hot steamed rice.

Guangdong's stir-fried water spinach with bean curd "cheese" and chilies

Milk has only made a small incursion into Chinese cuisine, so you won't find many traditional dishes based on butter or milk. 

There are, of course, a few exceptions like yak butter tea in Tibet, the dried milk "fans" that are incorporated into a few luscious Yunnan dishes, and the delicious "fried milk" concoctions on Guangdong's Pearl Delta area, but all in all, soybeans have almost always taken the place of the noble cow, providing China with a vegan type of milk, as well as both fresh bean curd (called doufu or tofu) and the cheesier version known as doufuru, literally "bean curd milk."

But doufuru neither looks nor smells like milk, and I can't figure out why anybody would give it that name. It looks sort of like feta cheese and generally has a similar tang from the brine it is soaked in. 

What it tastes like, though, depends where it was made. Fujian province has a gorgeous ruby doufuru that is made with its local red wine yeast. Taiwan has a creamy, sweetly savory version from Sanxia that has whole soybeans and rice grains gracing the sauce. Guangdong has a couple of very funky versions, as well as some others spiked with chili or made rather mild. You get the point. They are all good in their own way as long as you think of them as cheese rather than bean curd.

Stalks of water spinach

So how do they make doufuru? My late mother-in-law said that she cut fresh bean curd into cubes and then set them out where they could mold. (Much like cheese, doufuru needs mold to perform the necessary alchemy.) After the cubes were nice and hairy, they were packed in jars and both  Shaoxing rice wine and a brine flavored with Sichuan peppercorns were poured over them to stop the decay and start the process of turning the bean curd into a cheese of sorts. 

Doufuru can be used as a condiment with congee or spread on fresh steamed bread (where it tastes particularly cheesy), or it can be used in a sauce. The absolutely most divine recipe comes from Shanghai and turns a boneless pork hock (front upper leg) into a trembling pyramid that is not in the least bit fatty, but rather is meaty and soft and buttery and, yes, cheesy. I'll post that recipe, too, before long.

But today I want to provide a recipe for my vegetarian friends and for those of you who want to try a really good vegetable dish. This one comes from Guangdong, down on the southeast coast of China, where Hong Kong dangles like a beautiful earring. 

Where kongxincai got its name

The vegetable is an exotic one called "water spinach" that some markets label as "ong choy," but which the Chinese call "hollow vegetable" (kongxincai). One look at the photo on the right and you'll understand the source of its name. It is a member of the morning glory family, and when allowed to flower, its blooms are white with deep purple throats that would be good enough reason to grow them even if the plant wasn't so tasty.

Water spinach can be found in most Chinese groceries during the warm months, and it has a very pleasant flavor that isn't quite like spinach. The stems are always eaten along with the leaves, but they need to be cooked a bit longer than the leaves. The best way to do this is to rinse the water spinach carefully, trim off the stem ends and any stems that feel tough, and then cut across the bunch where the leaves start to grow more thickly, because the stems at that point will be pretty tender. Then, cut the stems into 2-inch lengths and fry them first until they turn a bright green, and then add the leaves - which have also been cut into 2-inch lengths - to the wok for a quick fry until they barely wilt.

This recipe calls for chilies, but if you'd rather have garlic in there, go right ahead. There's no set rules, and the flavor will need to be adjusted depending upon what you like, what you are serving this with, and what kind of doufuru you are using. Think of this more as a general template rather than a set-in-stone recipe...

Stir-fried water spinach with bean curd "cheese" and chilies 
Furu kongxincai  腐乳空心菜 
Guangdong

Your ingredients

Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal


20 ounces water spinach (around 3 fistfuls)
2 to 3 cubes doufuru, plus a few spoonfuls of the brine
3 tablespoon fresh peanut or vegetable oil
10 thin slices of peeled fresh ginger, minced finely
1 chili pepper, diced
Splash of rice wine
1 teaspoon roasted sesame oil
Sugar, light soy sauce, or more doufuru, if needed

1. Wash the water spinach carefully and trim off the ends, as well as any tough stems. Cut the bunch in half where the leaves start to grow more thickly and the stems are tender. 

2. Cut the stems into 2-inch pieces and put into one pile; cut the leafy stalks into 2-inch pieces and set in another pile. Place the doufuru in a small bowl with the brine and mash it with a fork.

Separate the stems from the leaves

3. Heat the oil in a wok over high heat until it starts to smoke. Add the ginger to the oil and quickly stir-fry it until it begins to brown. Add the diced chili and toss in the water spinach stems in the hot oil until they turn a brilliant green, and then add the leafy stalks; stir-fry the leaves quickly until they barely wilt. Pour the mashed doufuru into the wok and use the rice wine to rinse out the bowl into the wok. Quickly toss everything together and taste, adjusting the flavor with more doufuru or a dash of sugar or soy sauce if needed. Sprinkle the sesame oil over the vegetables and serve hot.


Note: Water spinach is best on the day it is cooked, so try to finish it up at this meal.  Leftovers can be sneaked into fried noodles, omelets, and fried rice, but it's still at its crunchy best right after it is cooked.