Yunnan's ham & wild mushrooms come together

Yunnan has one of the most varied assortments of flora and fauna in China. This includes a delicious array of mushrooms that grow wild in the rainforest. Many of these, like porcini and morels, are prized by the best cooks in Europe, while others have yet to have even their names properly translated into English.

I like to make today's recipe with as much a variety of the best mushrooms as possible. The different flavors and textures breathe sensuous life into something that becomes more than a mere bowl of soup. Fat slices of porcini rub up against nubby morels, which curl around the feathery maitake (hen-of-the-woods)... and so on. Each mouthful contains a whole range of pleasures to be slowly savored.

Parma ham & ginger

And while the wild wealth of the highlands is featured here, one also gets a taste of Yunnan’s great ham. Along with the hams of Rugao (Jiangsu) and Jinhua (Zhejiang), the ham known as Yuntui (Yunnan ham) is also referred to by the city most closely associated with its creation, Xuanwei. It is also the most prized of all China’s many dry-cured meats.

At present, true Chinese hams cannot be purchased in the United States. Until the day arrives when this beautiful charcuterie makes its way into our markets, substitutions will have to do. One of my favorites is a good Parma ham or prosciutto. They go perfectly with all of those chewy mushrooms; another possibility is Hunan-style charcuterie.

Enjoy this in cool autumn or spring weather when the best mushrooms are on display. If none are available, use good dried mushrooms in their stead. This is more of an outline than a recipe, as it should celebrate the seasons and the mushrooms.

Luscious

Yunnan ham and wild mushroom soup

Yěgū Yúntuĭ tāng 野菇雲腿湯

Yunnan

Serves 8 generously

2 tablespoons rendered chicken fat

2 tablespoons finely julienned peeled ginger

3 to 6 tablespoons (depending upon how salty and flavorful it is) finely julienned Parma ham, prociutto, or other dry-cured ham

6 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine

2 quarts chicken stock, salted or unsalted

2 cups (or so) assorted fresh mushrooms (wild ones best), or rehydrated dried mushrooms of any kind plus their soaking liquid

4 or more pieces of bamboo pith fungus, soaked until soft in hot water

Sea salt to taste

Freshly-ground black pepper

1 tablespoon sugar, or to taste

1 teaspoon good rice vinegar, optional

Garnish:

3 to 6 tablespoons finely chopped Parma ham, prociutto, or other dry-cured ham

A few sprigs of green onion or cilantro

1. Heat the fat in a 4-quart pot and add the ginger. Slowly brown the ginger over medium heat and then add the ham. Stir the julienned ham around in the fat to release its fragrance, and then immediately pour in the rice wine, bring it to a boil, and then add the stock. Bring the stock to a full boil and then lower it to a simmer.

Use the best 'shrooms

2. While the stock is simmering away, clean the mushrooms. Cut them or tear them into pieces that are bite-sized: about ¼-inch wide for porcini, morels, and other thick mushrooms, or into separate “feathers” for maitake, oyster, and other stemmed mushrooms. If you are using rehydrated mushrooms, cut them into slightly smaller pieces since these will be chewier; strain their soaking liquid and add it to the stock.

3. Add all of these mushrooms to the stock. Simmer the soup for about 20 minutes, or until the thickest mushrooms are tender. Taste and adjust the seasoning with salt, pepper, and sugar. If you would like a slight edge to the flavors, stir in the rice vinegar just as you take the soup off of the heat; stir in the chopped ham, as well. Chop the green onions or cilantro and garnish the top. Serve immediately.


Tips

Bamboo pith fungus (zhusheng or "mushrooms") are only available dried. While most Chinese markets carry them, the best are found in dry-goods stores or herbal shops. 

Packaged bamboo pith fungus

Look for places that offer them loosely packed so that you can see each piece. Bags that are tightly stuffed will often only have nice ones on the outside, while the inside will be full of broken pieces that are of little use. The absolute best ones will be around 6 inches long, white, and still a bit supple.

To prepare bamboo pith fungus, soak them in warm water until soft. Trim off the hard bases and the frilly tops. Carefully rinse the webbed but fragile lengths clean of any debris, and then cut the crosswise into pieces.

Why eat these? They have a wonderful but subtle fragrance that permeates lightly seasoned soups like this. Their texture is also delightful: slightly crunchy with the feel of raw silk rubbing against the tongue. Highly recommended.

Mushrooms disguised as Cantonese geoducks

Fall is mushroom season around here, and the Chinese markets are offering some terrific varieties that deserve to be better known. One of my favorites is the "king mushroom" that until very recently I didn't really know what to do with. I knew it tasted great, but texturally something was missing. 

The king mushroom seemed like a rather thuggish member of this usually graceful family - coarse and unaccommodating and more than a bit tough - but that was until I figured out what the problem was: it just wanted to be shaved into long, thin slices. Once that was done, the mushroom was transformed. It no longer behaved badly, but rather turned into a vegetable diva ready to take on whatever character I wanted it to.

Mushroom dominoes

And what I wanted it to do was turn from mushroom into seafood.

I'm more than a bit of a fan of the Cantonese way with those rather intimidating clams known as geoducks (pronounced gooey-ducks, but don't ask me why; the Chinese call them the much more descriptive "elephant trunk clams," or xiangbibang). 

When you have a Cantonese chef who does seafood right, the "trunk" part of the clam is peeled and sliced into paper-thin wisps that are barely blanched before being laced with a light sauce. They are ethereal when cooked this way, the texture becoming downright delicate and tender.

But geoducks can be expensive, and no matter how delicious they are, it seems awfully wasteful that most of the clam is just tossed in the garbage.Which is why I love this new way to have my clams and eat them too and not feel guilty in the least.

Plus, this is one very cheap dish to make, and I have to say, the clam-like flavor is astoundingly realistic. I've prepared it here as a cold appetizer that performs equally well as a refreshing snack to be served alongside beer. Even better, you can do all of the work ahead of time, as the mushrooms only get better as they marinate away in the fridge.

Whole king mushrooms

Be forewarned, though, that these are not strictly vegetarian, as Vietnamese fish sauce is used to turn the mild flavor of the fungi into clams. If you can't use fish sauce because of allergies or other restrictions, maybe try some fermented bean curd brine (doufuru) instead to add that bit of funk; it won't be completely convincing, but then again it's not supposed to be.

As for king mushrooms, the Chinese name for these is xingbaogu, or "almond abalone mushrooms," which is another name I cannot explain away. You may find Pleurotus eryngii called such things as "king oyster mushroom" or other labels; the best way to determine what it is to recognize it by shape, as it's pretty unique, like a flat-topped bowling pin.

To store king mushrooms, keep them in a dry paper bag in the refrigerator; they will last quite a few days that way as long as they don't have enough heat or moisture to rot. Trim off any soft or brownish spots before wiping them with a moist paper towel.

King mushroom appetizer disguised as geoducks 
Su liangban xiangbibang  素涼拌象鼻蚌
Guangdong

Simmering mushrooms

Serves 6 to 8 as an appetizer, or 3 to 4 as a side dish

2 fresh king mushrooms, each about 5 to 6 inches long
Boiling salted water
2 tablespoons Shaoxing rice wine
2 tablespoons Vietnamese fish sauce
Half a grapefruit or 1 Meyer lemon, plus more grapefruit or lemon juice as needed
Cilantro or shaved green onions as garnish

1. Cut each mushroom in half across the middle so that you have 4 round pieces around 3 inches long. Slice each piece lengthwise as thinly as possible.

2. Bring a pot of salted water to a boil and add the mushroom slices. Let the pot come to a boil again before lowering the heat to a gentle simmer. Cook the mushrooms 15 to 20 minutes, or until they are tender and slightly translucent. Remove the mushrooms to a small work bowl with a slotted spoon and reserve the mushroom water for soup stock.

3. Toss the mushrooms with the rice wine and fish sauce. Cover the mushrooms and chill for at least a couple of hours and up to about three days.

Cooked slices looking clam-like

4. Peel and section the grapefruit or lemon, removing all of the skin and pit, as well as the membranes the cover each section. Divide the citrus juice sacs into small pieces.

5. Drain the mushrooms and discard the marinade. Arrange the slices on one or more serving plates. Sprinkle the mushrooms with the grapefruit or lemon juice sacs; taste and add more juice as necessary to have a slightly tart edge to the dish. (The amount of juice will depend on how flavorful the fruit is.) Decorate the plate or plates with sprigs of cilantro or shaved green onions. Serve chilled.

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.