Chili goop so good it's addictive

I recently made a big batch of this rich, gravelly paste and packed it up into little jars so that I could give it to some good friends who are chiliheads like me. And also like me, they devoured it with pleasure.

Flaky Hunan-style chili paste is one of my absolute favorite things to have around the kitchen. It smells terrific, the nutty and spicy aromas acting as some sort of potent pheromones as far as I am concerned.

And the taste… a light heat, a gentle chewiness, a subtle saltiness, and an amazing depth of flavor makes this a great, basic chili concoction that goes with just about everything short of cheesecake, and now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it would be good there, too.

Welcome to my addiction

Even though this is from Hunan, it is not incredibly hot. Rather, the coarse, relatively seedless dried chilies create a warm base that vibrates gently on the tongue. This contrasts perfectly with the chopped fermented black beans, which serve to tantalize the taste buds through their salt and that savory, meaty flavor the Chinese call xiān 鮮 (and what the Japanese refer to as umami).

Binding them all together is another ingredient, one I have come to positively adore: toasty tea oil. Pressed from the seeds of the camellia that produces actual tea leaves, kŭcháyóu 苦茶油 (literally, bitter tea oil) is a nutty amber liquid that is used throughout the south-central provinces of Hunan and Jiangxi for cooking and tossing with pickles. Not every Chinese grocery store carries it, but I usually locate it in a place that carries lots of Taiwanese goods.

Taiwanese tea oil

And that is another point: get the Taiwanese product, which (to my mouth, at least) tastes unadulterated. It’s not especially cheap—around $6 for about 600 ml.—but it is worth it.

Tea oil also has a very high smoke point, making this great for deep- and stir-frying. Again, that gentle nuttiness also acts as an extra layer of seasoning, so I use this to fry lightly flavored ingredients where it can shine.

Strangely enough, though, it holds its own against the dried chilies and fermented black beans here. I think this is because it is so totally different in flavor from the other two ingredients that it hits some different sensory receptors. Or maybe it’s just me.

Just a warning, but if you end up loving this as much as I do, you will find yourself eating the goop as is, or else loading enough of it on your food that it's a bit embarrassing. I will make scrambled eggs, for example, and drown them in this delicious crunch, those full flavors finding the perfect partner in the soft yellow curds on my plate. My husband tends to butter his toast at moments like this and just raise his eyebrows at my obscenely-laden eggs. To each his own, I guess.

Chop the beans

So, you can see that I am an addict for the goop in this recipe, and because of that you will find a very large ratio of solids to oil here. If you want more oil in order to turn this into a mingyou, add another ½ to 1 cup of oil to the recipe. Store it in the fridge if you don’t plow through it as fast as I do. Mine never gets old enough to turn stale.

Hunan-style chili paste

Xiàngshì làjiàng  湘式辣醬

Hunan
Makes 1½ cups

1 cup fresh oil, preferably tea oil, but any flavorful vegetable oil will do

1 cup coarse Korean chili flakes with very few seeds

½ cup fermented black beans, rinsed and coarsely chopped

1. Pour the oil into a cold wok. Add the chili flakes and black beans. Turn on the heat to medium or a bit higher and cook this trio, stirring every once in a while as they start to bubble.

Nirvana in the making

2. When the chili flakes start to brown and the oil is a deep red, stir pretty much constantly to keep the flakes from burning. It is very important that you toast the chilies and black beans long enough for their characters to change: for the chilies to turn from slightly sour and soft to toasty and crunchy, and for the beans to become chewy and release their aromas into the oil, and therefore into the chilies. 

3. After about 15 minutes, when the flakes are a very dark color and taste very nutty, remove the wok from the heat. (Be careful not to let them burn.) You will know they are ready when they sound gravelly as you stir them; plus, they will smell insanely delicious. Scoop the oil and solids into a bowl or a clean jar, let them come to room temperature, and cover; refrigerate or can them for longer storage.

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.