Sichuanese smoked ribs

This last time I visited Chengdu, I was fortunate enough to have lunch with some of the ranking members of the retired Sichuanese chef’s association, Chuānlăo huì 川老會. We talked about my book a bit, but what I really wanted to ask them was what Sichuanese food was all about. Had it changed much? What were the classics? What did they think about current food trends in Chengdu? Things like that.

One of the biggest surprises—for me, at least—was that they were more than a bit miffed that everyone thought that Sichuan’s foods were always hot and numbing. “Nothing could be further from the truth,” one master chef told me. He pointed out that while street foods like noodles might be heavily seasoned, the finer dishes rarely were.

As always, with anything that concerns China, this has a whole lot to do with history. Sichuan does not have a single, time-honored family of cuisines like, say, Shandong or Guangdong. Sichuan has indeed been around for a very long time, but massacres and epic disasters have required massive infusions of immigrants over the centuries, and each wave brought with it their own culinary traditions.

Remove the membrane

For that reason you will eat endless variations here on everyday Hui Muslim foods, with their intensely creative takes on pastas and breads and goat and beef. Sichuan beef noodles, for example, is a kissing cousin to what you’ll find at a roadside stand in the Northwest, just with a bit more chile oil tossed in. Guangdong plays a major role in the banquet dishes here, as well as in fried rice and the wontons known as chāoshŏu 抄手 that are so beloved throughout this province.

But one of the truly unsung forefathers of classic Sichuanese dishes has to be Jiangsu. One bite of these tender and incredibly tasty ribs and you’ll taste the connection. But at the same time, these are a bit more hairy-chested and intense than what you’d find in the more nuanced recipes of Jiangsu.

The inspiration for this recipe came from an old cookbook I dug up in one of Chengdu's lovely used bookstores. Fermented rice wine lees, fresh ginger, and lots of green onions work their magic deep down inside the meat, while just the right amount of sea salt and a good spoonful of ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns lends the meat a welcome edge of perfume. Smoke, though, is what sends these ribs over the edge into utter perfection.

 

Your dry rub

Serve these as an appetizer before a fine Sichuan-style dinner, as a bar snack with beer or something decidedly stronger and fully flavored (I recommend a Boulevardier cocktail, which is a Negroni, but bourbon is tossed in instead of the usual gin), or simply as a main entrée with some greens.

This might look fussy, since you need to cook the ribs in three steps, but most of this consists of waiting around. You can do as I do and make these over three or more days, which turns these into something even easier than seems possible. Plus, these are also excellent when made ahead of time. Just cover the ribs and microwave on high for a minute or two to return them to their full glory.

Sichuanese smoked ribs

Chuānshì xūn páigŭ 川式薰排骨

Sichuan

Serves 4 as an appetizer or bar snack, 2 as an entrée

Pork and marinade:

1 side pork ribs of any kind (about 1 to 1½ pounds | 450 - 600 g)

½ cup | 120 ml fermented rice lees (laozao)

1 finely chopped green onion

2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger

1 teaspoon five spice powder

2 teaspoons toasted ground Sichuan peppercorns

2 teaspoons sea salt

Deep fry the ribs for texture

The rest:

1½ cups water | 360 ml water

2 cups | 470 ml peanut or vegetable oil

¼ cup | 55 g sugar

¼ cup | 8 g dry tea leaves of any kind

¼ cup | 50 g dry rice of any kind

1. Pat the ribs dry. Flip the ribs over so that you can see the underside with the bones. Use a paper towel to grab one corner of the fine membrane covering the inside of the ribs, loosen it with a paring knife, and then peel it off—it should come off in more or less one big sheet. If not, pluck off the stubborn bits.

2. Mix the fermented rice lees, green onion, ginger, five spice, Sichuan peppercorns, and salt together, and then rub this all over the ribs, paying particular attention to the meatier, thicker bits. Place the ribs in a resealable bag and refrigerate for at least 2 hours and up to 24.

3. Starting at the widest end, cut the side of ribs into groups of 3 or so ribs. As you get to the smaller end, use your judgment to figure out whether you want to cut between 3 ribs or 4—the point is to make these pieces pretty even. Whatever you do, don’t cut them into single ribs, as these will dry out too fast.

 

In the smoker

4. Set a trivet or a steamer basket inside your pressure cooker. Add the water and any remaining marinade to the pressure cooker, arrange the ribs on the trivet or steamer basket, lock on the top, and pressure cook on high for 25 minutes. Remove from the heat, release the pressure, and remove the lid. (If you don’t have a pressure cooker, place the ribs on a trivet in a wide pot, cover, and cook on the stove for about 90 minutes, or until tender, adding more water as needed.) Cool the ribs down until they are warm or room temperature.

5. Pour the oil into a wok and set it over medium-high heat. When the oil starts to shimmer, slide the cooked ribs into the oil so that they don't spatter. Fry only as many as will easily fit without crowding. Brown them on both sides before removing them to a plate.

6. Prepare your smoker. Scatter the sugar, tea leaves, and rice in the bottom of your smoker. Set it on your stove, cover it, raise the temperature to high, and as soon as smoke is streaming out of the valve, remove the cover and arrange the ribs on the rack over the smoking fuel so that they touch each other as little as possible. Cover the smoker, reduce the heat to medium-low so that the fuel doesn’t turn sour or bitter, and smoke the ribs for about 10 minutes. Remove the smoker from the heat, wait about 10 to 15 minutes, and then take off the cover. Cut between the bones and either eat immediately (highly highly highly recommended) or at room temperature. Serve pickles or something tart on the side to really add zing.

Luscious Hakka-style ribs

I was sorting out my pantry yesterday and came across a huge cache of the pale green mustard greens called meicai, or “plum vegetable.” It was like Christmas had arrived early for me, and I knew exactly what I wanted to have for Sunday dinner.

As we’ve discussed earlier, there are two types of meicai: the chunky pastel heads of mustard that hail from Hakka territory (called Huìzhõu méicài 惠州梅菜) and the dark, deeply seasoned, and chopped variety from Shaoxing in Zhejiang province (Shàoxīng méicài 紹興梅菜). Both are absolutely delicious and for some reason rarely available in Chinese restaurants around here, so I’ve come to hoard them away for whenever I get this particular craving.

Split heads of Hakka meicai

Hakka-style meicai generally is sold out of open cardboard boxes on old Chinatown streets, its salt-flecked leaves beckoning you to grab some. You can also find it in Chinese supermarkets, where it will usually be vacuum-packed in plastic bags, with a brine substituted for the loose salt. Either way is good, but the packaged ones taste less salty. Adjust the seasoning accordingly.

We used to eat rich pork and chicken dishes seasoned with these cured mustard stems at a place called “Overpass Restaurant” (Tianqiao fandian) near the government center in Taipei. It was staffed by a cluster of grumpy old Hakka men who seemed to never really care whether there were customers in the place. Food steamed away on a huge stainless steel box by the front door, and the threadbare décor could best be described as Tenderloin on a Bad Day. But my husband adored that place because it offered the kind of dishes his father excelled at creating.

Hakka meicai

A small, ancient crock of chicken soup would invariably be ordered, its top coated with an inch-thick layer of chicken fat. Underneath would lie a whacked up chicken seasoned with ginger, green onions, salt, and whatever coated the inside of those ancient crocks. The bird itself was so tender it would fall apart with the most delicate nudge, and all of its juices had long ago been surrendered to the soup, so the meat and skin acted more as sponges for all of those homey flavors.

I would always vote for some sort of pork dish, preferably with meicai, and this could be the more common pork belly, but I’ve always had a deep love for ribs. Something about its combination of meat, tendons, and fat makes this one of the most remarkable cuts of all, and if it happens to be seasoned with meicai, well, life doesn’t get much better.

Divvy up the ribs

This recipe is absolutely packed with flavor. It has all of the Hakka ingredients that I love: fresh pork, preserved vegetables of some sort, and a rich, dark seasoning. The coating I prefer for most Hakka and Southern Fujian recipes is sweet potato starch, which supplies a nubbly surface to the meats and turns into a delicately chewy coating as it steams. We have nothing like it in the West, so pick up a bag next time you are in a Chinese market. It’s the perfect breading for fried chicken Taiwanese style, too: just marinate the chicken, coat it like the pork here, and you’re ready to go.

Do note that I have used whole ribs here, which is a bit wrong, I admit, but I picked up this meat at Trader Joe’s, which doesn’t offer to cut up meats for their customers. And, I don’t happen to have a band saw in my kitchen, so I reasoned that this was more a matter of aesthetics than anything else. It definitely doesn't change the flavor one whit.

Sweet potato starch

If you can get your butcher to cut up the ribs for you, great. If not, these still will send you to heaven and back again.

Steamed ribs and meicai Hakka style

Kèjiā méicài zhēng páigǔ 客家梅菜蒸排骨

Hakka

Serves 6

  

Pork:

1 side of trimmed pork ribs, about 2½ pounds

2 tablespoons regular soy sauce

1 teaspoon ground toasted Sichuan peppercorns

1 teaspoon sugar

¼ cup mild rice wine (like Taiwan Mijiu)

¼ cup sweet potato starch or cornstarch, plus more as needed

½ cup peanut or vegetable oil

Fry up the ribs

The rest:

14 (or so) ounces Hakka-style meicai (preserved mustard greens)

Warm water, as needed

¼ cup thinly sliced fresh ginger

1 bunch green onions (around 6), trimmed with both the whites and greens cut into ½ inch pieces; reserve the greens of 1 onion for a garnish

¼ cup mild rice wine

1 tablespoon dark soy sauce

2 tablespoons light soy sauce

2 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil

1. At least 4 hours before you plan to serve this, start by cutting up and marinating the meat. You can use whole ribs or have your butcher cut them crosswise into small (2-inch) pieces. Cut the ribs between the bones so that each piece is surrounded with meat. Place these in a large resealable plastic bag and toss them with the soy sauce, peppercorns, and rice wine. Close the bag and keep it in a cool place, squishing the meat in the marinade now and then, so that the ribs become fully seasoned. Marinate for at least 30 minutes and up to a day or so. A longer marinade will give you a much more flavorful dish.

Remove the cores

2. While the meat is marinating, rinse the meicai in warm water to dislodge any sand. I usually do this in a bowl so that I can see any grains that settle on the bottom. When the vegetable is clean, rinse it once again. Gently squeeze the meicai dry and cut out any cores at the base. Slice the vegetable crosswise into ½ inch or so pieces. Then, soak it in warm water for around 30 minutes to soften it up a bit and release the extra salt. Drain the meicai, squeeze it dry with your hands, and refrigerate it if you are not using it within an hour or two.

3. Have a steamer set up and a heatproof bowl that can fit easily inside it.

Nubbly surface from the special starch

4. Pluck the ribs out of the marinade (most of which will have been absorbed, but reserve any that remains for Step 5) and place them in a large work bowl. Add the starch and toss so that each piece is evenly coated, adding more starch as needed. Place a wok over high heat, and when the iron is hot, pour in the oil. Swirl the oil around to coat the bottom of the wok, and when a chopstick inserted in the oil bubbles all over, carefully add some of the ribs to the hot oil so that you don’t get splashed – I find that the best way to do this is to use chopsticks and gently slide them into the oil from less than an inch away. Add only as many ribs as will fit loosely into the oil so that they fry quickly and do not stick. As the ribs turn golden brown, remove them to the heatproof bowl. Repeat with the rest of the ribs until they are all browned. Discard any leftover starch and strain the oil into a small, heatproof bowl.

5. Pour the strained oil back into the wok, place it over high heat, and add the ginger and all of the onions, except for the garnish. Toss these around for a minute to release their fragrance before adding the meicai to the wok. Continue to toss these until the vegetables are dry and the ginger is starting to brown, about 5 minutes. Reduce the heat to medium. Add the reserved marinade and the rest of the seasonings and stir-fry the greens until most of the liquid has been absorbed. Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed, and then pile this on top of the ribs.

Fry the vegetables

6. Cover the bowl with foil and steam over high heat for around 3 hours, or until the meat is very tender. Add more water to the steamer as needed. (This dish can be made ahead of time and steamed for another 30 minutes to heat it up, which will only improve the flavor.)

7. Just before serving, remove the foil, pour out the juices into a heatproof cup, and invert the bowl onto a rimmed plate. You can defat the juices and drizzle them over the top along with chopped onion greens, or just save it for later. Serve with a stir-fried green vegetable like bok choy and lots of hot rice or steamed bread.