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.

Red fermented bean curd "cheese" -- at last!

Before I say anything more, let me make one point: this is the most absurdly delicious fermented bean curd (aka tofu cheese) that will ever, Ever, EVER pass your lips.

Period.

I've had an indiscreet love affair with the stuff called nanru for nigh on three decades now, and most of the commercial versions are pretty good when used to make cheesy scarlet sauces for chicken or pork shank. No matter who produces it, these dishes have always turned out perfectly for me. So, if your only desire is for tofu cheese that makes the grade in sauces, then there's really no need to go to the trouble of making a batch at home.

Newly packed jar of nanru

But, if you want to taste something in its natural state that is beyond your wildest imagination, then have I got a gift for you. After 6 months of fermentation, with only occasional tastes along the way, I recently opened up the jar that had waited so patiently for my attentions and discovered ambrosia, so I soon devoured it with singular pleasure and instantly regretted deeply that I hadn't made a couple gallons of this brined wonder last March.

The magical transformation that took place in that jar is hard to relate, for bits of the cubes actually sparkled on my tongue! Fermentation was still going on in there, and as I scooped bits of the nanru into my mouth, tiny bubbles of carbon dioxide exploded on my taste buds, and that is one reason why this is the best recipe ever.

The flavor was absolutely incredible, too. Deep wine aromas accompanied each little bite, the red rice clinging to the custardy tofu and tinting it a beautiful scarlet, and each piece was spangled with darker maroon spots that were the inoculant rice causing all of this action in my mouth. I had added bits of sugar to the jar over the months, feeding the yeast, and was rewarded when the nanru was finally ripe enough to enjoy.

My late mother-in-law used to make the white form of fermented bean curd -- doufuru -- when she lived in Taiwan, and the process she relied on was pretty much the same as Andrea Nguyen described in her seminal work, Asian Tofu: squares of fresh, firm tofu are left to mold for a couple of days, tossed in salt and flavorings, and then covered with rice wine. Nature and time takes care of the rest, converting what looks for all the world like it should be avoided like the plague into a food of incomparable texture and flavor.

Golden yellow spores & blotches

But Andrea said one thing in my book that make me perk up my ears. As if throwing a gauntlet on the floor in my general direction, she noted that she had "attempted to make red fermented tofu but to no avail."

Hm, I thought, that is a challenge if I ever saw one. The thing is, Andrea probably hadn't yet encountered Fujian's Red Wine Lees, which are the key component of nanru, so her statement is more than understandable. But since I always have a fat jar of red wine lees hiding somewhere in the dank, dark recesses of my fridge, I knew that there was only one thing to do: substitute a healthy scoop of the red lees and a good dollop of its amber liquid in place of plain rice wine.

And it worked. And I'll show you how.

Making any kind of fermented bean curd is nothing less than an act of faith. I mean, look at the mold-covered square to the upper right. It looks dangerous, like it could cause severe gastric distress, if not death. So I appreciate you following me this far down the garden path. Your faith will be rewarded!

Andrea's "3S" achieved

You will find when your tofu hits the perfect state of moldiness -- what Andrea called the "3S criteria": slime, splotches, and stink -- that the bean curd actually smells pretty good, at least to my nose. There really was more of a bread-like, yeasty bloom in the air, and when I sampled one of the moldy squares (yes, I am insane), it tasted like a soft Camembert. There was nothing disgusting about it, although my husband left the room as he noticed me happily licking my fingertips.

Here is the recipe, one that more or less follows Andrea's wonderfully precise directions that she says were influenced by the work by another great lady, Florence Lin's Chinese Vegetarian Cookbook (note: this book is also completely brilliant), as they give the bean curd just the right environment to mold perfectly. The brine, of course, is my own, and is a result of lots of guesswork and good luck and memories of what my mom-in-law told me.


Red fermented bean curd "cheese" 
Nánrŭ  南乳
Northern Fujian
Makes about a pint

1 square (13.5 ounces, or so) extra-firm fresh bean curd (see Tips)
1½ tablespoons sea salt
3 tablespoons Red Wine Lees (the solids)
½ cup wine left over from the Red Wine Lees, or a neutral rice wine (see Tips)
½ cup water
Sugar

1. Wash your hands and cutting board and everything else so that there is absolutely no oil or contamination. 


2. Cut the bean curd in half horizontally and then into pieces that are more or less square. Lay a tea towel (something with a smooth weave, rather than terry cloth) in a clean rimmed pan on your kitchen counter and then place the bean curd squares on top of the towel so that they don't touch. Lay other towel on top of the squares, place a smaller pan on top of that, and the weight the whole thing down with 2 to 3 pounds of cans, pans, or whatever. This will gently squeeze most of the moisture out of the bean curd. The squares will feel relatively dry after a couple of hours. 

A tiny masterpiece

3. Have a rimmed glass baking pan ready that is (as always) super clean. Place the squares in the pan so that they don't touch each other, as this gives each side more of a chance to grown mold. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and use a toothpick or skewer to punch about 10 holes in the plastic so that the gases can escape.

4. Place the pan in a warm place away from breezes (an unheated oven is handy), and wait about 3 days until the bean curd is covered with yellowish spots, looks very moist, and has a yeasty smell (see Tips). 

5. Carefully clean a 1-pint jar and lid, and then rinse them out with boiling water; turn them upside-down and let them air dry; prepare two new bamboo skewers for handling the bean curd. Place the salt in a small bowl and put the Red Wine Lees in the bottom of the jar. One-by-one, lift each cube of the bean curd up with a very clean bamboo skewer, roll it lightly in the salt, and then ever-so-gently place it in the jar so that it lies fairly flat and doesn't break apart (see Tips). 

6. When all of the bean curd has been placed in the jar, pour the wine and water into the jar and twist on the lid loosely so that gases can escape as the bean curd ferments. Label the jar with the date and place it in the refrigerator. After about a month, add a tablespoon of sugar to the jar and then lightly reseal and return it to the fridge. After another month, add another tablespoon of sugar. By the third month, take a very clean spoon and taste the sauce; if it still needs a bit more sugar, add it. 

7. By month 5 or 6, your fermented bean curd "cheese" will be ready. Always use a very clean spoon to remove the squares, recover the jar, and return it to the fridge. It will keep for a very long time, and the sauce can be used again in your next batch or in some dish that calls for red fermented bean curd, such as the ones mentioned at the top of this page.

Tips

Use extra-firm tofu here, not firm or anything softer. The reason for this is that it will become incredibly soft as it molds, and extra-firm has been the only type (in my experience, at least) that keeps its shape relatively easily. Don't worry, though... the fermented result will have the consistency of custard.

I always recommend organic, non-GMO bean curd. Soybeans are one of the most heavily messed-with crops, and the big pesticide companies are turning them into tiny images of Frankenstein's monster. Corn, soy, and anything that is made with them should always be non-GMO (not genetically modified) for your health and for the planet's. End of speech.

If you don't have any of the wine left over from your Red Wine Lees expedition, use a neutral-flavored rice wine like Taiwanese rice wine (mijiu), as Shaoxing's flavor will fight with that of the Fujian lees.

The time it takes for the bean curd to mold perfectly will vary according to your kitchen temperature. Check on it daily, and when it's ready, proceed immediately.

If some of the squares break apart as you pick them up, don't despair. Just place them in the center of the jar where no one will see them. Push your perfect squares up against the glass, though, as shown in the second photo from the top... they look beautiful that way.

How much sugar you use depends on two major things: the flavor of your Red Wine Lees and your own palate. The sugar will also help feed the yeast and form those delightful bubbles, but don't overdo it. When it tastes exactly right, stop.

A final note on how to enjoy this nanru, as a couple of readers asked quite sensibly, "If I'm not supposed to throw it into some pork or chicken dish, how do you want me to eat it?" To which I reply, "Savor it like a great cheese." 

Good nanru is most traditionally served as a side dish with congee (rice porridge), and I love it that way. But even better is when a single cube is placed on top of a bowl of freshly steamed rice (get the best you can) or slathered inside of a split mantou (plain steamed bun). You see, just as with soft Western cheeses, nanru benefits from this contrast with starchy sweetness and welcomes a bit of blandness to play against its salty pungency.

Of course, if you are a serious addict like me, you might find yourself nibbling on a spoonful while staring mindlessly out the window, licking bits off of the spoon, letting them dissolve in a shimmer of bubbles on your tongue and lips, and then going back for more until, with little warning, the jar is empty.