A full moon custard for the Moon Festival

My first year in Taiwan, I was more than a bit confused by the Moon Festival. Called the Mid-Autumn Festival (Zhongqiujie) in Chinese, this lands in the exact middle of fall according to the lunar calendar, a date that according to our Western calendar just barely makes it into the beginning of autumn. 

So, first of all, the end of September or early October didn't seem like the middle of anything. And the celebrations were so foreign to my tastes... just wandering around in the evening, enjoying the full moon with a stuffed pastry. Okay, I did understand the pastry part (who wouldn't?), but looking at the moon was just weird to me back then. I had rarely even noticed the moon before Taiwan, except of course when it did something particularly remarkable, like disappear in an eclipse.

But that is one of the things I love about Chinese culture: the appreciation of everyday miracles. Like the moon. 

Eggs, beautiful eggs

Now she's part of my life in so many ways, and I always know exactly what phase she's in. (And yes, the moon is most definitely a girl. I'll get to that later.) I like to look for her whenever I get up at night, checking to see how she's doing and enjoying her most when she's round and full and bathing the hills with a white light. 

The Chinese believe that you can see the face of Chang'e there, who secretly tasted her husband's elixir of immortality and then fled his wrath by escaping to the moon. Others see an osmanthus (sweet olive) tree when the dark areas are at the top of the moon. And of course there's the rabbit pounding out more of that elixir in a mortar, which is why rabbits are part of the Moon Festival celebrations, too, and you'll see them scampering over wrapping paper, boxes of the Chinese filled pastries known as moon cakes, and prancing on depictions of the moon.

There's not a whole lot of other foods traditionally associated with the Moon Festival, but I'd like to change that. This one in particular should be a big hit: the poetic Clouds Covering the Mid-Autumn Moon. Based on a recipe from one of my absolute favorite Cantonese food writers, Jiang Xianzhu, this is a deliciously simple way with eggs that even kids will love. You can make this as simple or as fancy as you like, tailoring it to fit your menu and your guests.

Ms. Jiang recommends topping this with just light soy sauce, some warmed-up oil, and a sprinkling of both thinly sliced green onions and some cilantro. And the eggs are quite good that way. But I like to tinker with the classics, and have found that this is the perfect canvas for a wide variety of embellishments.

One of the best uses either chopped flower mushrooms or tiny dried shrimp. You can, of course, use diced poultry or meat, fresh shrimp, or whatever else strikes your fancy. But little in life brings such consistent pleasure to my palate as those flower mushrooms, and I never seem to get enough funk on my plate, so those teeny shrimp are a close second place.

This coming Monday is the Moon Festival. So, steam a bowl of these gloriously silky eggs for a late dinner, take it by a window or sit out on the porch, and spoon in these luxurious eggs while smiling back at Chang'e.


Clouds covering the mid-autumn moon 
Yun gai Zhongqiu yue 雲蓋中秋月 
Guangdong
Serves 6 to 8 as part of a multicourse meal, 2 to 3 as a main dish

The luscious silky texture

Eggs:
4 large, really fresh, organic, free-range eggs
2 cups cool filtered water
1 teaspoon sea salt

Sauce:
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
3 soaked flower mushrooms or 3 tablespoons tiny dried shrimp
3 tablespoons oyster sauce
2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
1 green onion, trimmed and thinly sliced

1. Place a trivet in a wide pot and fill the pot with just enough water that it is about an eighth of an inch below the top of the trivet; this will keep the eggs silky by not overheating the bottom of the dish. 

Steam the dish with a covering

2. Beat the eggs lightly and add both the water and salt. Beat them a bit more and then pour the liquid through a strainer into a shallow heatproof 4-cup dish with a rim. Cover the dish with foil and place it the trivet. (This foil will keep the water and steam out of the eggs, as this will also help with the texture.) Cover the pot and bring it to a boil, and then immediately lower the heat so that it barely simmers. Steam the eggs for about 10 to 12 minutes. Check to see whether the eggs are done by lifting up the edge of the foil; gently shake the dish to make sure that the center is solid. However, don't overcook the eggs, as they will get bubbly and spongy around the edges

3. While the eggs are steaming, prepare the sauce. If you are using the mushrooms, trim off the stems and cut the caps into a fine dice. If you are using the shrimp, place them in a strainer and rinse them with cold water to remove most of the salt, then wrap them in a paper towel to sop off the moisture.

4. Heat the oil in a wok over medium-high heat and add either the mushrooms or shrimp. Adjust the heat as needed, stir-frying them gently so that they barely brown and crisp up. Add the oyster sauce and rice wine, stir a few times, and taste, adjusting the seasoning as needed. Pour the sauce over the steamed eggs and sprinkle with the onions. Serve immediately, allowing your guests to spoon the eggs onto their rice.

The five flavors, plus two more, plus a pumpkin soup

The traditional Chinese view on foods is that there are five flavors: salty, sour, sweet, bitter, and spicy. That pretty much covers all of the flavors... or does it? 

Recently there has been a lot of print about a sixth flavor that the Japanese call umami, a sort of meaty and savory taste that good mushrooms impart. But I would like to offer two others that also have quite a following among Chinese foodies, and these are xian (freshness) and chou (funky).

Xianwei is the flavor of, say, a fresh snow pea just plucked from the vine. Imagine biting into it and savoring that explosion of life upon your tongue. The closest flavor would be "sweet," but this is a different taste altogether, one that the Chinese simply call "fresh." (Note: xianwei is the noun and xian is the adjective.)

In fact, a sought-after response to a refined dish is to hear a gourmet exclaim either  "Hao xian!" (so fresh!)  or "Hao xianmei!" (so fresh and delicious!). What that happy sigh means is that the innate flavors of the chicken or fish or vegetable were honored and allowed to shine. 

In a xian dish you can really taste the ingredients, and the ingredients are of such high quality that nothing but the barest seasoning is needed. For example, if you have just picked an ear of sweet corn, the best way to enjoy it is to run into the house, plunge it into a pot of boiling water to just barely take the raw edge off, and then slather it with the best butter and good salt before devouring it on the spot. 

Baby dried shrimp, or xiapi

Chou is the aroma of ripe cheese, anchovies and sardines, and things like that, and although it is usually translated as "stinky," that is a pejorative that warns people to stay away when there really is a whole lot to love. Funk is not a flavor that is sufficiently appreciated in the United States, but that is no reason to avoid learning to savor the world of funky foods, especially the Chinese take on this seventh flavor. 

Chinese cuisine abounds with funk: there are salted fish, dried oysters and shrimp, and fish sauce, as well as China's vegan version of cheese, which we know as bean curd or tofu. Some tofu is fermented and brined to become doufuru, a particularly cheesy condiment that the Shanghainese in particular have learned to use with sweet abandon, as well as other kinds of bean curd that are allowed to mold and take on funky flavors of their own.

Anhui has a beloved tofu called mao doufu, or hairy bean curd, because the bean curd is allowed to grow long strands of a pale gray, hair-like mold that lends its own brand of funk to the bean, much like blue molds are injected into certain cheeses to form Roquefort. And, just like the French adore their ripe cheeses, connoisseurs in China delve into funky dishes with delight. There is a firm appreciation of both xian and chou especially in this province's cuisine, as can be seen in today's dish, fresh pumpkin soup with crispy dried baby shrimp.

The shrimp fried to a golden brown

This is a delectable study in contrasts. The bright orange winter squash is sweet and fresh and meaty. The stock is bursting with warm layers of ginger and green onions and a dash of fish sauce for an almost imperceptible suggestion of the sea, but the soup is barely seasoned because a good hit of salt is provided by the final garnish: baby dried shrimp that are fried until crunchy, golden, and delicious.

Dried shrimp are a terrific way to add meaty layers of flavor to your cooking, and most Chinese stores will have them in a huge variety of quality and sizes. This recipe calls for the pale baby shrimp that the Chinese call xiapi, or shrimp skin. The skins are extremely thin - almost nonexistent, really - but when fried they become crispy and fragrant.  They are also intensely salty, which is why the soup should not be salted beyond that restrained dash of fish sauce. The fried shrimp are added to the soup just before serving, and they will keep their delicate crunch for about 5 minutes after they are added to the soup, giving diners plenty of time to savor all the textures and flavors in this soup.

If you are not inclined to use dried shrimp and fish sauce here, you can turn to fried green onions as the garnish the soup and a dash of light soy sauce to add a savory level to the stock.


Fresh pumpkin soup with crispy dried baby shrimp 
Xiapi nangua tang  蝦皮南瓜湯 
Anhui
Serves 4 as part of a multicourse meal, or 2 as a main dish

Dried shrimp:
¼ cup baby dried shrimp
1 cup vegetable or peanut oil

Cook the squash until tender

Soup:
1 pound winter squash (pumpkin, butternut, or other orange-fleshed squash), peeled and seeded
2 tablespoons sliced fresh ginger
2 green onions, white parts only, sliced
¼ cup Shaoxing rice wine
6 cups filtered water
1 tablespoon fish sauce
2 teaspoons sugar

Garnish:
2 green onions, green parts only, thinly sliced
2 teaspoons roasted sesame oil

1. Heat the oil in a wok over medium high heat until the oil shimmers; drop a shrimp in the hot oil, and if it immediately begins to sizzle, add about half of the shrimp to the oil and toss gently until the shrimp are a golden color. Be sure not to overcook them, since they are like nuts and will continue to brown and crisp up as they cool. Use a slotted spoon to remove the fried shrimp to a small plate and repeat with the rest of the shrimp.

Sprinkle on shrimp before serving

2. Cut the squash into cubes about an inch square. Pour out all but 1 tablespoon of the oil in the wok. Heat the oil over high heat, add the ginger and the white parts of the green onions, and stir until you can smell their fragrance. Toss in the rice wine and let it explode in the oil before adding the water, fish sauce, and sugar. Bring it to a boil, add the squash cubes, and then reduce the heat to a gentle simmer. Cook the soup until the squash is tender. Taste the soup and adjust the seasoning as needed, but don't add any more salt or fish sauce.

3. Serve the soup with the fried shrimp and green onions on top, along with a drizzle of sesame oil.