LOOKS LIKE AN ANGRY PRIEST

Some creatures are just almighty dang ugly. You wonder how they EVER find love. Fortunately, such is NOT the case with the stone dog duke. Which is a profoundly nasty looking beast, but never-the-less very much beloved. Adored even.

Sebastiscus tertius

Per Wikipedia:

"Sebastiscus tertius är en fiskart som först beskrevs av Vladimir V. Barsukov och Chen, 1978. Sebastiscus tertius ingår i släktet Sebastiscus och familjen kungsfiskar. Inga underarter finns listade i Catalogue of Life."

Translation: Sebasticus tertius are a type of fish first described by Vladimir V. Barsukov and Chen in 1978. Sebasticus tertius are of the genus sebasticus, taxonomic family of the redfish. No subspecies are listed in the catalogue of Life.



["UkkariKG" by Izuzuki - http://www.izuzuki.com/. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:UkkariKG.jpg#/media/File:UkkariKG.jpg
Sourced from Wikipedia.]

It's a scorpion fish. And it tastes good.

The Chinese name is 石狗公 ('sek kau kung'). Not surprisingly, it can be found in some restaurants in Chinatown. It can be poached in broth with tofu and carrots, steamed, or even deep-fried and served with hot peppers and cilantro. It is also served red-braised.

煮石狗公 、蒸石狗公 、炸石狗公 、或紅燒石狗公。

It is often not mentioned in the English language menu, but listed on the wall. Reason being that white people are unimaginative eaters, and usually scared to try anything new.

The poisonous spines are easily cut off before cooking.
The flesh is mild, yet somewhat rich.
Holds up very well.




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SIMPLE CHINESE, FOLLOWED BY A LOBSTER

The past half year has been in some ways a feast of solitude. Good food, cooked as I like it, without worrying about other people's tastes and dietary peculiarities, in between nibbling snacks in Chinatown.
Given that I am a middle-aged single man, this is easy to manage.
I buy many of my ingredients in Chinatown, primarily because such things as sparklingly fresh seafood and streaky pork (五花腩 'ng faa naam') are not commonly available elsewhere, and non-Asian supermarkets and groceries never stock bitter melon, long beans, mustard stalks, or lactuca indica (A菜 'ngaa-choi').

The other reason I get my food in C'town is because I tend to cook sort of Chinese a lot of the time. Also Dutch or Dutch-Indonesian, slapdash Indo-Chinese, and due to prolonged exposure, Indian.
But in the last half-year, mostly Chinese.

[The recipes linked below will eventually end-up cross-posted on my food-blog (Cooking with a Lizard, but I haven't gotten around to that yet. It's been updated to the first of this year, but not further.]

You might enjoy revisiting these food essays.
Or telling me how wrong my recipes are.
Feedback is always appreciated.

And if you have dishes that you want to tell me about, please do.
On reading what's below, you'll know what I go for.
Feel free to surprise me; I like surprises.



焢肉
HONG BAK VERSUS... HONG BAK; A FUKIENESE QUANDARY
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/09/hong-bak-versus-hong-bak-fukienese.html
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 02, 2014
A traditional dish among the Fujianese (福建人) in South-East Asia. Fat-layered pork sealed on one side, slow-braised to perfection with soy sauce, sugar, and a splash of sherry or rice wine. As the fragrance rises, you remember favourite aunties and the meals that they prepared.


炒臘腸涼瓜
BITTER MELON TO LOVE
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/08/bitter-melon-to-love.html
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 2014
Probably the easiest way to prepare bitter melon. I myself am inordinately fond of bitter melon, but there are a few people who can't seem to bend their buds around the taste. Very sad for them.


滬式上湯獅子頭
LION HEADS IN SOUP
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/08/lion-heads-in-soup.html
THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 2014
Large meaty balls in broth. Very Shanghai, very Hong Kong. At its simplest it is profoundly old-school and tastes of home, but if you doll it up it is also festive. Very satisfying.


蝦醬蒸五花肉
SHREDDED GINGER, SHRIMP PASTE, AND PORK
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/07/shredded-ginger-shrimp-paste-and-pork.html
WEDNESDAY, JULY 16, 2014
Streaky pork simply steamed. The pig is a marvelous animal. No wonder every one's fondest memories taste like pork. And ginger. And shrimp paste.


茶葉蛋
CHINESE TEA EGGS
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/07/chinese-tea-eggs-cha-ye-dan.html
TUESDAY, JULY 15, 2014
Boiled eggs. What could be easier? And why are you actually buying those, when you could make them at home? Soy sauce, dried orange peel, star anise......


海味或乾海產 -- XO醬
XO SAUCE -- WHAT AND WHEREFORE
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/07/xo-sauce-what-and-wherefore.html
SATURDAY, JULY 12, 2014
Not so much a condiment as a cooking ingredient. And not at all precious and rare, despite the hoopla. Make a batch at home, rather than buying an expensive and tiny jar.


魚香茄子
FISH FRAGRANCE EGGPLANT
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/06/fish-fragrance-eggplant-imagine-what_20.html
FRIDAY, JUNE 20, 2014
Home-cooking, Szechuanese style, as Hong Kong people imagine it, and Chinatown restaurateurs provide in many convenient locations.
But why eat out, when you could eat in?


蠔仔煎蛋
HOKKIEN OYSTER OMELETTE
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/06/hokkien-oyster-omelette.html
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 04, 2014
A favourite snack of Fujianese people, especially in Singapore and Penang. But also popular as late-night munchies in Taiwan.
Almost a cliche, but a good one.


避風塘炒蟹
HELL FOR CRUSTACEANS
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/06/hell-for-crustaceans.html
SUNDAY, JUNE 01, 2014
Typhoon Shelter Crab: a very Hong Kong specialty, and one of the must tries of your visit. If you go to Hong Kong. Otherwise, make it at home. First time, for yourself; you're experimenting. Second time, for your wife or girl-friend; that's why you experimented first.


HACHEE
DUTCH HASH
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2014/05/dutch-hash.html
THURSDAY, MAY 22, 2014
That doesn't look Chinese, does it? It isn't. What it is, is a very nice simple Netherlandish stew. Profoundly a taste of somewhere else, even exotic, here in the New World.



Well now. To finish with something very Cantonese, about as totally Cantonese as it can possibly get, here's lobster:


薑蔥龍蝦
GINGER SCALLION LOBSTER
['geung chung lung-haa']

One lobster, about two pounds.
Quarter cup chicken stock.
Quarter cup cornstarch.
Quarter cup sherry.
One TBS oyster sauce.
Half a Tsp. freshly ground pepper.
Half a Tsp. salt.
One thumb of ginger, peeled and slivered.
Half dozen scallions, cut diagonally.
A few drops sesame oil.

Oil as needed.


Mix sherry, soy sauce, and one tablespoon corn starch in a bowl and whisk smooth. Add chicken stock and set aside.

Dump lobster headfirst into a cauldron of boiling water, and cook for about three of four minutes more after it returns to a boil.
Remove, rinse under cold water. Drain.

The head may be removed and cleaned to decorate the serving platter, OR chopped in half and whacked, cleaned of some of the weird stuff inside as you see fit, and treated the same as the remainder of the beast. 
Some people like sucking on the head.

Twist off tail and claws. Using a heavy cleaver split tails in half along the length, then across into large chunks. Whack each part of the claws to expose the meat.
In a large bowl, dust the lobster pieces well with the cornstarch and the salt and pepper, tossing to coat.

Heat one or two cups of oil in a large wok till almost smoking. Slide in the lobster pieces and fry till pale golden and barely crisp. Remove and drain in a sieve over a metal bowl.

Decant almost all the oil, and heat what remains till almost smoking. Add ginger, scallions, and stirfry fragrant. Return lobster to pan and stir to mix. Re-whisk the sherry and cornstarch mixture, and pour into the pan. Once the glaze thickens, add a few drops of sesame oil and slide everything onto a platter.



Remember: rice and Sriracha hot sauce with everything, plus Oolong tea or Pu-Erh for clarity and harmonious digestion, followed by a pipe full of matured Virginia tobacco, or a cigar.

If you really want to go total Chinatown, have a bowl of "old fire soup" (老火湯 'lo fo tong') alongside the meal. Blanch some meaty bones plus chicken and lean pork (瘦肉 'sau yiuk'), rinse, and dump in a pot to simmer with a slice of ginger and a carrot. Tonifying herbs if you wish, and know how to use them. Use plenty of water, the broth should be light in flavour and clear. Simmer for several hours on a low flame, adding liquid as needed. A few minutes before you need to serve it, add watercress or pre-soaked wood ears, plus maybe a little cilantro. It is not a hefty dish, but merely a pleasing liquid accompaniment. Done well, it is a fundament, as much as the rice and the tea.




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DOUBLE HAPPINESS: MUI CHOI KAU YUK AND SUEN CHOI PAAK YUK

Over the past few weeks I've casually discussed Chinese food on this blog, and mentioned several tasty things of an odd nature. Odd, that is, to the ethnicities one might snidely call "uncomplicated-American".
Late yesterday I woke up with a start and realized that the one dish which is guaranteed to repel diet-conscious office types AND moronic football fans in equal measure is mui choi kau yuk; fatty pork and salt cabbage ("plum vegetable").

It is delicious, evocative of good things, home-style, and luxurious.
A necessary element in your life.


MUI CHOI KAU YUK 梅菜扣肉
Fatty pork with salt cabbage.

One pound pork belly meat.
Quarter to half cup mui choi (梅菜), or slightly more.
Three cloves garlic, slivered.
Several slices of ginger, slivered.
Two TBS soy sauce, plus a little extra.
One TBS rice wine or sherry.
Half TBS sugar.
Small pinch five spice powder.

Coarsely chop the mui choi, then rinse it in a sieve to remove sand. Dump it in a bowl of cold water and let it soak for an hour. Drain, then rinse, drain and rinse again. This removes the salt used to preserve it.
Set it aside.

Wash the hunk of pork belly, pat it dry with a paper towel. Use a fork to pierce the skin, then rub it with a little extra soy sauce and the pinch of five spice powder, and set it aside for half an hour.

In skillet or wok sear the chunk of pork belly on the skin side till crispy-brown, then colour it all over in the hot grease that will have rendered. Remove pork from pan.
Drain most of the grease (which can be saved or discarded, as you choose), and parch the mui choi, adding the slivered ginger and garlic half-way through. The purpose is to concentrate flavours slightly, not to fully cook the vegetable matter at this stage.

Put the pork belly in a heavy enameled sauce pan OR a clay pot, distribute the mui choi around it, and add the two tablespoons of soy sauce, the sugar, and the sherry. Put it on heat, and when it reaches boiling temperature, cover it, slip a heat absorber underneath, lower the heat to barely alive, and let it gently cook for three or four hours till the pork is quite tender. Check it occasionally to avoid scorching, and to spoon some of the liquid over the meat. Add water if necessary.

When it is done, remove from heat, and cut the pork belly chunk into finger thick chopstickable slices -- this can be done while leaving it in the pot -- dump some chopped cilantro on top, and serve.

[A slightly different version of this dish is here: mui choi kau yuk.]


Fatty meat with cabbage is typically a winter delight, sure to please friends and family if they are sensible people, and quite utterly horrifying to most suburbanites.

So, to expand your repertoire with a dish in the same earthy vein, which is also superb and yummy, here's a recipe for a northern Chinese favourite which is nearly as popular among southerners nowadays.
Both dishes should be accompanied by rice.
Plenty of steamed rice.
And chili paste!


SUEN CHOI PAAK YUK 酸菜白肉
Sour cabbage and white-cooked pork.

One package of North-East style sour cabbage (東北酸菜).
Scant pound of fatty pork.
One or two enoki clumps, trimmed and sliced.
A small handful of dried tofu sticks.
Two TBS rice wine or sherry.
A few thick slices of ginger, slivered.
One or two garlic cloves, slivered.
Two chopped scallion.
Half TBS chili paste.
A pinch of five spice powder.
Drops of sesame oil.
Drops of tabasco.
Cilantro.

Rinse and drain the sour cabbage, chop it coarsely. Scrub the lump of pork, brown it on the skin side to form a nice dark crust, then dump it in a pot of boiling lightly salted water along with some of the scallion and ginger, and simmer it for two hours. Take it out and let it cool.

Soak the tofu sticks till soft, drain, and cut into long chunks.

Heat a little oil in wok or skillet, gild the ginger and garlic to aromatize. Add the scallion, soon followed by the chili paste, then the rice wine or sherry to sizzle. Dump this into a roomy clay pot or enameled stew-pan, with the five spice powder. Add the tofu sticks, cut enoki, and the cabbage, with water to cover and a splash of the pork simmering liquid.
Cook for about ten minutes.

Slice the now cooled and fully cooked pork into thickish slices, add to the pot, with more liquid; the soupiness of the dish will be part of the pleasure. Cook another five or ten minutes.

Dash in a little sesame oil and tabasco, cilantro on top, and serve.



NOTES:

Pork belly, or 'fatty pork', is usually called ng-faa naam (五花腩 five flower pork brisket) in Chinese markets. The layers of intense fat and reddish lean meat alternate beautifully, and you should select what suits you. Bear in mind that there is supposed to be a balance, which is what makes it so versatile and delicious.

Plum vegetable (梅菜 'mui choi') is a small brassica preserved with salt.
I usually buy the canned version.

Five spice powder (五香粉 'ng heung fan') is made of star-anise (八角 'baat gok'), fennel seed (小茴香 'siu wui heung'), cassia bark (肉桂、玉桂 'yuk gwai'), fagara pepper corns (花椒 'faa chiu'), and cloves (丁香 'ding heung').

Enoki (金針菇 'gam jam gu') are thin pale yellow mushrooms that are sold in lumps growing from a single spore-clump. You don't need much in 酸菜白肉 as they are included merely for a bit of contrast. Wash them first, trim off the base, and just dump them in.

Dried tofu sticks (腐竹 'fu juk') are strips of the congealed skin that results when boiling soy milk, collected and hung up to dry. This product absorbs flavours most marvelously, is highly nutritious, and adds a very enjoyable textural element to stews.

Sour cabbage (酸菜 'suen choi') is a common type of pickled cabbage, tangy and slightly sour. After a brief blanching, the halved or quartered vegetable is packed into brine with a weight on top and left to ferment for at least three weeks. It can be eaten raw but is usually combined with fatty meats, which is a particularly good combination; the two items balance each other.
Available in vacuum sealed packs of around a pound, also larger packs of a kilo. Buy the smaller packs -- 200 grammes to 300 grammes.
North-Eastern style sour cabbage (東北酸菜 'tung paak suen choi') is stronger in taste, and has some chili added for oomph.


Sambal, or chili paste (辣椒醬 'laat chiu jeung') is the one indispensable substance that you should have on hand at all times. Mashed hot peppers with a little salt, maybe a touch of vinegar or lime juice added. Rather than making it yourself, simply purchase a jar of it in C'town or the Tenderloin, and stick it in your refrigerator. It is surprising how fast it disappears;
I think the raccoons are stealing it.

If you plan on visiting England it might be wise to actually make some of it yourself to pack in your carry-on luggage: fresh habaneros, ground toasted dried Thai birdseyes or chile d'arbol for a bit of bulk, salt, vinegar, and oil. The last three in equal measure, just enough to make it smooee, but not gloppy. The salt and vinegar will preserve it for at least several weeks, and the inclusion of habanero makes it hot enough that your hosts may not even notice that you slipped a tiny little smear onto your plate to assist you in downing their fine cuisine.



慢慢食 ('maan maan sik': bon gusto).



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CANTONESE INGREDIENTS: A SHORT LIST OF ESSENTIALS

When a Cantonese person yearns for Chinese food, there is a very great chance that he or she is NOT thinking of the stuff most people associate with Cantonese restaurants. By the same token, the tourists walking down Stockton Street and marveling at the various comestibles being sold there won't consider purchasing those queer ingredients, because while they have eaten at Chinese restaurants, they've never actually tasted any of those items.

At least not deliberately and consciously; many white people just don't associate such things with food.

Yet to a Cantonese person, these substances are the hallmark of their cuisine, and all of them are familiar presences in the larder. They are absolutely essential. It is what makes a Chinatown foodstore a must-visit destination.

Like Belgian food, Cantonese cuisine is marked by the freshness of the main ingredients. But the crisp tastes will be extended or augmented with substances that your Walloon or Fleming will probably not know.


THE CANTONESE LARDER

蠔油 hou yau: Oyster sauce.
A condensed extractive of oysters with starch and soy sauce, used to dollop over freshly cooked vegetables, or as an ingredient in stir-fry sauces with splashes of rice wine and superior stock. According to a commercial which ran on the Chinese channel back in the nineties, it's essential on your fried eggs or steak. Probably also good with French Fries, and I'll have to try that one of these days.

鹹蝦醬 haahm haa jeung: Shrimp paste.
A gloop composed of ground fully fermented salted shrimp, which is used in small amounts to add a savoury briny flavour to many vegetable dishes, but is also excellent if you are cooking fatty pork chunks.
Add shredded ginger and perhaps a sliced hot chili before putting the dish in the steamer.

乾貝、江瑤柱 gon pui, gong yiu chü: dried scallops.
These are soaked before adding to soups, stews, or rice porridge. Excellent, and quite nutritious. They increase flavour.

腐乳 fu yü: fermented tofu.
Seldom eaten by itself, but often used as a rub on meats prior to roasting. The flavour is hard to describe, though some people have claimed to detect a cheesy quality. Fatty meats especially benefit.

豆豉 dau si: salted black beans.
Usually available in a cardboard canister. Moistened and partially mashed before adding to stir fries or steamed dishes. You probably are familiar with this, but it's worth your while to acquire the basic 'raw' product in C'town, rather than spending six bucks for a bottled product that promises "authentic Chinese taste" at a gourmet yuppie market.
It's a lot cheaper, and it keeps nearly forever.

臘腸 laap cheung: sausage.
Varies types are available, including versions with liver and duck. The most common type is simply chopped fatty pork in a narrow casing. A few slices with your eggs, or scattered into a simple stirfry or stew, or just dumped in the rice before steaming. Not a lot is used at one time.
Contributes a lovely porky-winy aroma.

鹹魚 haam yü: salt fish.
There are various kinds available. Some types are first sautéed, then simmered with other ingredients to make a stock (such as in Won Ton Soup), others are soaked and steamed to eat with rice, and some are condimental, meaning that they are either cut into thick slivers or slices, or crushed and soaked, before being added in small dosage to dishes during preparation.
Steamed pork patty with salt fish (鹹魚蒸肉餅 haam yü jing yiuk beng) is a classic. Three to five thick slivers arranged on top of flattened ground pork, with finely slivered ginger, steamed for ten minutes. Delicious! It's also good with eggplant, or various squashes and gourds.

臘肉 laap yiuk: preserved meat.
Most often the kind encountered is belly pork, with soy sauce, wine, and nitrates added as preserving agents, partially dried. Flattened duck is in the same category, as are some other items. Cut it into chunks and steam it with your rice, or experiment by adding small quantities to vegetable dishes. It's more than just a flavouring, it's "added value".

鹹蛋 haam daan: salted eggs.
Duck eggs soaked first in brine, then packed in charcoal sludge and aged. These must be steamed before use. A combination I particularly like, which can be considered a heart attack on a plate, is steamed fatty pork chunks combined with the whole yolks. So deadly, but so good.

皮蛋、松花蛋 pei daan, song faa daan: "skin eggs".
Dark-hued preserved eggs, which have been cured by covering them in wood ash, clay, quicklime, and dried rice chaff, then stored for several months. The alkalinity of the packing sludge eventually changes them considerably. They can be eaten as is, but are frequently added to tofu, or steamed with beaten fresh eggs, or even combined with vegetables and meat. Very commonly used to make preserved egg and lean pork rice porridge (皮蛋瘦肉粥 pei daan sau yiuk juk), which is wonderful comfort food.

酸菜 suen choi: pickled cabbage.
No, this isn't similar to kimchi. The vegetable is first briefly blanched, then packed into brine with a heavy weight on top. It can be eaten raw after fermentation, but is most often paired with fatty meats. Stirfried pork and suen choi, for instance, or noodles with suen choi and pork shreds. Many possibilities. It adds a sourish note to dishes in which it is combined with other ingredients.

蝦米 haa mei: dried shrimp.
Soaked before use, added in small quantities to steamed or stewed vegetable dishes. It's just a minor amount of protein, but contributes a pleasant seafoody touch. Dried shrimp can also be briefly roasted then added to stock to up the flavour.

梅菜 mui choy: plum flower salt vegetable.
The absolutely essential ingredient when making steamed streaky pork with salted cabbage (梅菜扣肉 mui choi kau yiuk). Hawaiians know this as 'kau yoke'. It is usually available in small cans. Drain, rinse, and parch before adding it to stews. Do not use a whole heck of a lot.


Other things with which you are undoubtedly already familiar are soy sauce, vinegar, and chili paste. Rice wine OR sherry are likewise essential, and a tiny pinch of sugar added to many dishes makes a surprising difference.

Also buy five-spice powder.



咸魚蒸肉餅 HAAM YÜ JING YIUK BENG

One pound ground pork.
One TBS cornstarch.
Half TBS soy sauce.
Half TBS sherry or rice wine.
Half TBS cooking oil.
A little ginger, minced fine.
Pinch of ground white pepper.
Pinch of sugar.

ALSO: Three to five quarter inch thick slices of salt fish, soaked to soften.

Mix everything except the salt fish and ginger together, and let this stand twenty to thirty minutes. Then flatten it onto an oiled plate, arrange the salt fish on top, and add the ginger. Steam until done, about ten minutes or so.

Dump some cilantro over it, and serve.


You can cut it, but usually diners simply break off pieces with their chopsticks or a serving spoon.

With plain white rice, a small bowl of clear meat and vegetable broth, and one or two simply cooked vegetable dishes, this is a very satisfying and extremely Cantonese home style meal.
Than which there is little finer.



NOTE: the clickable label 「真好食」 underneath this post will bring up a whole collection of essays about Chinese food. The label 「菜譜」pulls up recipes. If you have any comments, feedback, or corrections to suggest, I would love to hear from you.



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IT USED TO HAVE A DIFFERENT NAME!

The warning signs are all there: desperate female buskers with flyers and menus trying to drag you in off the street, a menu entirely in English, loads of confused German and Italian tourists, dimsum in the EVENING, décor that screams "kitsch", and prices far more suited to a snooty French restaurant out in Bumpattyville, the suburbs.
Maybe Modesto or Vacaville.
Not Chinatown.

Nah, I am not going to name the restaurant.
Primarily because I don't want to get sued.

The Chinese name still attached to the building from many years ago states 'New Apricot Perfume', and there's an advert for roast suckling pig.
Which dates back to the sixties; they haven't done that in ages.

Again, I will not mention what it's called in English. Readers with half an ounce of common sense, even if they are monolingual, will internalize the omens and flee before the food comes.
If they ever set foot inside.


However, reading about it on a popular rating site for disgruntled diners provided a deserved hoot.

I present quotes below, veritable paeans of dispraise.


GOT RIPPED OFF, FELT VIOLATED

Worst restaurant I have probably eaten at.
We were told they were out of spoons.
This place needs to be shut down.

This turned out to be a bad experiment.
Everything was covered in grease.
I was born yesterday.

Tasted like bathwater & old chicken.
I am a Chinese and eat dim a lot.
Our server seemed hostile!

Not worth the emotional effort.
And the food was terrible!
It's an abomination.

The food was underwhelming.
How unfortunate for this.
Completely awful.

Disgusting & overpriced.
It was really dry, too.
I ended up sick.

Etc.


You will kindly note that I have grouped these quotes in sets, as if a perverse form of poetry. Which they actually are. These are inspired folks writing from the heart. Or the bowels.

All of the descriptions make it seem like a fascinating place for dinner.
And I couldn't help noticing that very many of the furious customers were, in fact, in a position to know better.
They were Chinese.

I hate to admit it, but I am tempted to send some people I know there.
Just for fun.



Maybe I should eat there first.
So as to be entirely fair.
At least sporting.



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SMILE WHEN YOU EAT THAT

The other day my apartment mate and I were discussing the dishes that white people eat. On which, as you might suspect, I am an expert. What with being white and all. The person I share my apartment with is an old friend who is not white.

She understands Chinese food solely and entirely in Cantonese terms. Anything that is not from Lingnaam is, by definition, not really Chinese. Especially not that weird stuff sold to white people in Hunanese and Szechuanese restaurants.

In a way, she is right.


General Tso's Chicken (左宗棠雞 'jo jung tong kai', 左公雞 'jo gung kai') was invented in New York sometime in the seventies.

Sesame Chicken (芝麻雞丁 'ji maa kai ting') has an indistinct gloop sauce inspired, more or less, by sweet and sour pork and almond shrimp.
Both of which are typically American.

Kung Pao Beef (宮保牛肉 'gung pou ngau yiuk') is far more a fascinating immigrant adaptation of Szechuanese ideas than derived from any actual Szechuan recipe. And, without a healthy does of fagara pepper (花椒 'faa chiu'), it cannot be really called 'kung pao'. It's a great vehicle for garlic and ginger in a sweet dark sauce, though.


There are several other "Chinese" dishes widely served throughout the United States that would baffle and amuse immigrants from the Central Kingdom, and I do not even have to mention chop suey sandwiches or egg foo yong casserole to make that point.

Nevertheless, she is also wrong. Many of the ghastliest most popular Chinese dishes in America were invented by her people, and a very Cantonese slapdash culinary cynicism is evident in the composition.
Sweet-tangy sauce, simply cooked main ingredient, crunchy substances added for excitement, and something salty. Cover all the bases and even the woolly tribals in the hills will like it. In very many cases, Hunanese and Szechuanese "cuisine" is cooked by Cantonese folks catering strictly to Anglos. Without them, American Szechuan and Hunan food would not exist.
Both of those terms on a signboard usually are admissions that perhaps they can't cook exceptionally well, and dare not pretend to serve decent Cantonese fare.
"Let some other group get the blame, I'm just trying to pay my rent."

It's good honest food, usually simple and well-made, but it just isn't anything many Cantonese would choose if there was a real Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood.

A restaurant in San Francisco Chinatown that is staggeringly popular with tourists serves only "Szechuan-Hunan" food, has far higher prices than anything nearby, offers nothing the locals would eat, and employs only Cantonese-speakers.
No, I shan't mention which one it is, because I like the cooks. They've got a sense of humour.
Which, indeed, they need to work there.


A sense of humour is an essential personality trait for Chinese restaurateurs.


That, and quick thinking.


CHINESE DINING IN THE HINTERLANDS

At some point in the life of every Chinese eatery in a remote part of the world (Mississippi or Oregon, for instance) a Cantonese family will come in, and once they realize that is NOT a real restaurant despite the brightly lit sign outside, their depression and despair will be utterly heartrending.
There is massive disconsolation.

"I thought that we were going to have food! Why are we here? What is the meaning of life? They serve kung pao! Oh woe, the universe is a cold and heartless place! I wanna go home!"

The smallest members of the party start looking like their puppy died.

They were SO much looking forward to a fun social event!

Pitiable indeed, but please do not worry.

The proprietors will quickly quiet everyone down, reassure them that no matter what they will get something good to eat, and yes they do have a variety of ingredients that can be prepared in several tasty ways that aren't listed on the menu.
All of them will be pleasantly surprised and leave full of good cheer, and the staff will feel more connected with their own people. Happy diners will come again, perhaps calling ahead to ask of any fresh fish can be had.

Eventually several families will go there regularly.
In a small way, a community is formed.



But the Kung Pao Beef, Sesame Chicken, and Sweet'n Sour Whatever-it-is stay on the menu. It's American food, it pays the rent, and it's helping all of them learn better English.


慢慢食。



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KOREAN YAM —— 淮山葯

Years ago my apartment mate returned from the farmers market with something that could only be described as a "big ass yam".
Or 'big donkey yam', for the Bowdlerized version.
She was positively gloating about it.

It was indeed extraordinary.

A few minutes later the phone rang, with a salesperson in a trailer park out in Inbredistan trying to get me to switch plans back to ATT, so rather than explaining that they were barking mad, ATT sucked eggs, and Hades would sooner freeze entirely over, I instead gave vent to my worshipful admiration for the 'big ass yam'. Or big donkey yam. I waxed poetic.
It was a remarkably short phone conversation.
They might not have yams in Inbredistan.


Today I saw its cousin. And I had no clue what it was.

It is sold in Chinatown
.

淮山 WAAI SAAN
[Flumen or fontenym, plus 'mountain'.]

Okay, it's a root. Tuberous. And I feel quite tickled that I can read the Chinese name. That's a big step in the right direction.
But what the heck is it?

Several old ladies assured me that it was good for the kidneys (腎 'san'). As well as the spleen (脾 'pei'). And also the liver (肝 'gon'). Particularly when cooked with such things as tripe (百葉 'paak yip'), corn (粟米 'suk mai'), and carrots (紅蘿蔔 'hong lo bok'). Long simmering is best. Other things it can be cooked with include 枸杞子 ('gau gei ji': Lycium chinense), black wood ears (黑木耳 'hak muk yi'), and Chinese red dates (红枣 'hong jou').

It is very good!

Thank you, auntie.

I remain quite clueless.


淮山红枣糖水 SWEET WAAI SAAN ROOT AND RED DATE SOUP
[Waai saan hong jou tong sui]

淮山5兩 (five taels of Waaisaan).
红枣1兩 (one tael of red dates).
白糖适量 (a suitable amount of sugar).

淮山去皮，切片 (peel and chop the Waaisaan).
红枣洗净，切片 (rinse and chop the dates).
淮山同红枣放入水中 (dump both into water).
煮到淮山變軟 (cook until the Waaisaan softens).
加數量糖 (add a suitable quantity of sugar).

係噉 (that is all).

["Waai saan hong jou tong sui: Waai saan ng leung. Hong jou yat leung. Paak tong sik leung. Waai saan heui pei, chit pin. Hong jou sai jeng, chit pin. Waai saan tong hong jou fong yap sui jung. Jiu dou waai saan pin yuen. Gaa sou leung tong. Hai gam."]

Simple, tasty, and undoubtedly very healthful.
Good for yin energy (陰氣 'yam hei').
Your kidneys and spleen.
And the liver.


At this point I still didn't know what this most beneficial vegetable was. The vegetable seller didn't know the English name either, but assured me that it was "waai saan".


I should've asked her to write down how to cook it with meat, carrots, and corn too. Though I would've substituted parsnips, because I'm not too hep on carrots.


Turns out it's Dioscorea opposita - the Korean yam.
淮山葯 waai saan yeuk.




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CANTONESE HOME COOKING

After spending all of Saturday in Marin County comforting the weeping and delirious cigar smokers (such sensitive souls!), I usually don't get back to the city till after seven-thirty. Golden-Gate transit drops me off on Van Ness, and I skip around the corner to await the number one California bus at Clay, which will deliver me to Chinatown close to eight o'clock.
I've been in Suburbistan all day, I need food.

Unfortunately, there are only half-a-dozen or so places still open at that time. Excluding "Mandarin", "Szechuan", "Hunan", "Gourmet", "Peking", and "Palace", of course. Which aren't real food. Not in Chinatown.

A man needs Cantonese food to recover from Marin.


Nothing fancy, just good. Maybe even po-chai faan.

Yeah, I suppose I could cook dinner myself, but I've been shushing the emotionally fragile stogey maniacs all day, and I'm a wee bit tired.
I would rather someone else made dinner.

[Cantonese food, random sampling: 紅燒鮑翅、 高湯焗龍蝦伊面、 糯米雞、 燒鷄、 燒鴨、 煎蠔仔餅、 蒜茸蒸扇貝、 燒三層肉、 瑤柱賽螃蟹、 野菌炒魚肚、 滑蛋蝦仁、 豬潤燒賣、 紅燒鮮蟹肉生翅、 清蒸大海星班、 西洋菜湯、 南乳蓮藕燜花肉、 豉椒炒蜆、  鹹蛋蒸肉餅、 番茄炒蛋、 豉汁蒸鱔、 清蒸魚、 叉燒、 蒜蓉炒菜、 蒸水蛋、 柱侯牛腩、 老火湯、 蒸魚、 白灼蝦、 薑蔥龍蝦、 雲吞麵、 牛腩麵。
Po-chai faan, 煲仔飯: 肉餅煲仔飯、 臘味煲仔飯、 窩蛋牛肉煲仔飯、 排骨煲仔飯、 蒸雞臘腸煲仔飯、 田雞煲仔飯、 咖喱牛腩煲仔飯、 煲仔鷄飯。
Just paste any one of these terms into your browser for lovely pictures.]


I usually end up having a mixed something over rice. The selection for the single diner is rather limited, unfortunately, and I do not wish to order more than I can eat.

But I'd love to have simple home-style food.


FIVE DISHES

These five are the absolute quintessence of home-cooking.

Steamed meat patty 蒸猪肉餅 jing chu yiuk beng
Steamed chicken chunks 蒸滑雞 jing gwat kai
Stir-fried mustard green 炒油菜 chaau yau choi
Stir-fried baby bokchoy 炒白菜 chaau pak choi
Steamed omelette 蒸水蛋 jing seui daan

Two or three of these, with rice, and a bowl of either 老火湯 (lou fo tong: old-fire soup), or 西洋菜湯 (sai yeung choi tong: watercress soup), you've got yourself a splendid meal.

[Soup; 湯 tong: most Cantonese home-style soups start with a mixed broth made of pork bones and fresh chicken, with veggies or herbs thrown in for flavor, colour, and nutritive or tonifying benefit. Long simmering (老火) is often key. They are served by themselves or alongside meals to aid digestion and provide liquid, as often beverages are not on the table. But to my mind, huge amounts of tea are also essential. Hydration, and stimulation.]


Cantonese home cooking is quick, convenient, and comforting.
Clean taste, straightforward preparation, honest ingredients.
How utterly easy to make, and how very delightful to eat!

蒸猪肉餅: Steamed meat patty is incredibly easy to prepare.
Take enough ground pork for two people (about one third to half a pound), mix it with a little sesame oil, teaspoon of rice wine or sherry, and a touch of soy, let it stand for a while, then flatten it out onto a plate with ginger slivers strewn over, and steam it till done. Which will be between ten and twenty minutes, depending on the thickness.
Often either some sliced dry fish (咸魚 haahm yü), or a salty egg (鹹蛋 haahm daan), or other fragrant savoury additions, are arranged on top, to by their aroma and depth add appeal. But really, you could just add a teaspoon of shrimp-paste to the meat before steaming, and it would be delicious!

蒸滑雞: Jing gwat kai is also simple, and the process is similar, albeit with the addition of a teaspoon or two of corn starch rubbed into the half pound of chunked chicken before letting it sit for while to absorb the minor touches of sherry and soy sauce. Adding a little shredded ginger is optional.
It should be steamed for about fifteen minutes, then garnished with minced scallion.
The cornstarch makes it slick (滑) and velvety.

炒油菜: Stirfried mustard green has a delightful bitterness and crunch; blanch it before tossing it in the hot wok. A dash of oyster sauce and a splash of stock to reduce is quite optional.

炒白菜: Stirfried baby bokchoy does not need any blanching, as it will be sweet and toothsome with only a little time in the pan.

蒸水蛋: The steamed omelette is luxurious. But remarkably cheap. Two eggs. Four tablespoons water, or somewhat more. Dash of sesame oil, drop of soy, pinch of ground white pepper. And whatever chopped or rehydrated ingredients you think would be suitable, but don't overdo it, the essence is simplicity. Beat the eggs, water, and whatever else. Pour into a broad bowl, steam for about ten minutes till set.
Some minced chive or cilantro looks lovely on top.


Eh, add few thick slivers of lahp cheung (臘腸), preserved pork belly (臘肉), ham (火腿), or black mushroom, to one or other dish, for a little extra excitement.


Sometimes, on days when I'm not babysitting the cheroot-whackers in the wilds of Marin, I may cook variations of these. Over a small bowl of rice-stick noodle they make a perfect lunch. But really, they're so much more wonderful to come home to, and it's a pity that restaurants don't do half or third portions, so that one might have a bit of variety and happily peck around among the lovely things in front of one.


And I never do 老火湯 anymore.




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SUDDEN CHINESE DINNER

The past few days I have been thinking about food. In hot juicy detail. It's far better than sex, and can be shared with more people. The same, obviously, goes for talking about the subject. Though if you wish to take this blogpost as a lascivious leer or soft romantic smile from a stranger, go right ahead.
I shall not stop you. Please also imagine me as talk dark and handsome while you're at it.

[Full literary disclosure: in complete contrast to the imagined hot and hunky stranger above, the actual blogger here is five foot eight and a half, of a rather Caucasian hue in general, with a trim beard and moustache which are distressingly more salt than pepper. Streaks of silver in the hair at the temples. Middle-aged -- handsomely mature by his own dodderingly misguided reckoning, but probably a super-annuated old fossil in the eyes of anyone under thirty -- and much more like a scholarly gnome or distant relative of Gandalf than the studly vampire lover of your fantasies.]

Now, while you are looking all blurfle-eyed and blushing, day-dreaming of the eternally youthful hero of Twilight or the vibrant and sweating habitués of The Raven in Toronto, amid scenes of pounding music, I shall describe some dishes I haven't made in quite a long while, as I seldom cook anymore.
But they would go well together at a small dinner.


薑蔥炆雞丁GEUNG-CHUNG MAN KAI DING
Ginger-scallion simmered chicken chunks

One pound chicken on the bone, whacked into chopstickable pieces.
Three scallions, sectioned.
Sliced ginger.
4 TBS sherry.
2 TBS soy sauce.
1 TBS sugar.

Wash and dry chicken, dust with a teaspoon of cornflour, add a dash of oil and toss to coat. Stirfry in scant oil to firm up. Decant temporarily to a plate.
Sauté ginger and scallion till fragrant, add chicken to the pan along with the sherry, soy sauce, sugar, and a splash of water. Simmer on low for ten to fifteen minutes.
Put in a shallow bowl to serve.


炸汁蝦 JAA JAP HAA
Fried sauced shrimp

One pound of medium prawns.
Three scallions, chopped.
A little minced ginger.
Two TBS sherry.
One Tsp. sugar.
A little hot chili paste.
Pinches of salt and ground white pepper.
Drops of sesame oil.

Batter:
One egg white.
One TBS cornflour.

Rip off the legs of the prawns, de-shell, and remove the vein. Rinse, dry. Whisk the egg white and cornflour smooth, dip the prawns, and deep fry in hot oil till golden. Note that if you have a wok, this will require less oil and be easier to do. Remove and drain on paper towels.

Sauté ginger and scallion till fragrant. Add the sherry, sugar, chili paste, pinches and drops, plus a little water. Cook till it starts to become glazy, add the prawns, and toss to coat.
Decant onto a plate.


鹹魚炆豬肉 HAAHM YÜ MAN CHÜ YIUK
Salt fish and fatty pork in clay pot

One pound of streaky belly pork (naam yiuk 腩肉).
Less than a fifth that amount salt fish, judged by eye.
Four or five whole shallots, peeled.
Four or five cloves garlic, left whole.
Some sliced ginger.
Quarter cup sherry.
One TBS fish sauce (yü lou 魚露).
One TBS sugar.

Blanch the pork whole fully till firmed up, drain and rinse under cold water. Dry it, and cut it into chunks. Soak and drain the salt fish, dice it small. And note that it is supposed to be a contributing flavour, not a dominant ingredient. Fry the pork with the ginger and whole garlic cloves till slightly golden, and decant to a clay pot.
Fry the dried fish similarly and add to the clay pot. Put the shallots in also, add the sherry, fish sauce, and sugar, and half a cup of water. Put the clay pot on low heat, and simmer gently for one and a half hours.
Before taking it off the flame, stir in a handfull of spinach leaves to wilt.



NOTE: Regarding the salt fish, it is best to use specimens which are solid, firm, and entirely unfermented (sat yiuk haahm yü 實肉鹹魚).
But these may be very hard to find in C'town.
By far the most common types of dried fish (described as "moldy perfume salt fish" - mui heung haahm yü 霉香鹹魚) are fully fermented products, delicious and perfect for eating during warm weather, which have been implicated in a higher incidence of naso-pharyngeal cancers in Southern China.
Cantonese people love that scrumptious salty-fishy taste, and consume more of it than anyone else (you knew there was a reason why you liked their food).

If you don't have any dried fish in your larder, you can modify the recipe above by using shrimp paste (haahm haa jeung 鹹蝦醬) instead.




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CANTONESE ROAST GOOSE

Perhaps it is a little too late for this. If you celebrated Christmas, you have probably already had your roast bird. And you regretfully marvelled at the frightening inedibility of Turkey. Why, you wonder, does anyone still eat that horrid creature? Surely it is best suited to being a Bourbon trademark?
Well, yes.

Turkey is a dry and not very exciting fowl.

Goose, on the other hand........

A fine Cantonese-style roast goose, succulent and crispy skinned. And if you've seen Hong Kong movies, you may remember scenes where working men purchased their lunches from dai pai dong and hunkered down to a scrumptious feast.
Roast goose and some veggies over a bowl of rice.
Siu ngoh fan: 燒鵝飯.

[If you don't know what I'm talking about, head over to Yee's Restaurant (文仔記燒臘茶餐廳) at 1131 Grant Avenue, between Pacific and Broadway. Don't worry, a serving of siu ngoh fan won't break the bank. Very affordable at $7.95. Ho peng, ho sik. Yee's is also a cha chanteng (茶餐廳), a "tea restaurant" - so also have a cup of Hong Kong milk-tea (yit nai cha: 热奶茶).]

Obviously, you cannot shlep the gonze mishpoche over to a Chinese restaurant for Christmas dinner. It just isn't done.
Something very wrong with that.

But you can make Cantonese roast goose at home. And serve it with an array of other scrumptious dishes, not even leaving your kitchen a mess.
It is not difficult.


燒鵝 SIU NGOH - ROAST GOOSE

Trim -- wash -- dry -- roast.
Chop, and eat.
Simple.

Purchase your fresh goose a few days in advance of dinner.  When you've got him home, trim off the excess flaps of fat at the neck and reserve, and tip the wings, as the extreme ends of these are virtually useless and will char in the oven.
Save all this for broth and extracting the delicious fat.

Remove the neck and pack of giblets from the cavity.
These can be used as you see fit (goose stock).
Place the goose in a deep pan with a rack.

Now heat a cauldron with water, soy sauce, and sugar or honey.
Proportions: for every cup of water, one to two TBS each soy sauce and sugar or honey. In HK cooks would use Maltose, but that is a bit hard to find over here.
Add whole star anise and a jigger of black vinegar if you feel like it.
Bring to a roiling boil.

Ladle this over the bird, making sure to pour it over the skin entire.
Decant the liquid from the deep pan back into the cauldron, and bring it back to boil. Repeat the procedure. This tightens the skin, which will help it become crisp. The soy sauce adds a little flavour, the sugar or honey will let it brown evenly and deeply, when one or two days hence it is being roasted.

[When doing this to fowl, I usually add a few thick slices of ginger. You may also add a handful of fresh-roasted coffee beans - the ghostly remaining hint on the bird will add a haunting and mysterious fragrance, without dominating the taste.]

There is no set number of washings with the hot liquid, but do it at least once.
You will see the skin tightening up, and three times is probably best.

When this has been done, shove the largest size funnel you have into the rear of the bird, then set it upright so that no part of the skin need touch anything, and place it in your refrigerator for a day or two to dry.
If you do not have an extra large kitchen funnel, make do -- an empty whiskey or brandy bottle will also work, as long as the outer surface of the bird is clear.

On the day when you wish to eat the beast, take it out of the refrigerator and heat the oven up to four hundred and twenty five degrees Fahrenheit (220 grades of Celsius, more or less).
Bung the bird in the oven, and roast for about an hour and three quarters.
Which is about twelve minutes per pound.

You will use a rack, of course, and rotate the bird a couple of times. For the first hour of roasting, it might be best to cover with aluminium foil to prevent excessive darkening.
If, at the end of cooking, there are parts which still look pale, it is perfectly all right to "retouch" those areas with the kitchen torch.
Assuming that you have such a thing.

Remove the bird from the oven, and let it stand for about thirty minutes.
To serve, either waste a lot of time carving it, for an American - British - European presentation, or place it on the block and chop it Chinese style, which is much more efficient, and a hell of a lot easier.
Remember, chopstickable pieces!


ROAST GOOSE IN HONG KONG

If you are visiting the Special Administrative Region, you will probably want to have Cantonese roast goose while you are there. It is a famous Hong Kong specialty.
Hong Kong people, like their kin across the border in Guangzhou (廣州), are keenly knowledgeable and passionate about eating, especially roast meats (siu-mei: 燒味) and superlatively fresh sea food.
A whole steamed grouper (jing sek-paan yü: 蒸石斑魚) and a lovely roast bird at your banquet are essential.


There are three great goose restaurants that come to mind.

裕記大飯店 Yue Kee Taai Fan-Diem
9 Sham Hong Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
新界, 深井, 深康路 9號

深井陳記燒鵝酒家 Sham-Tseng Chan Kee Siu Ngoh Jau-Ka
Ground floor, 63 Sham Tseng Village, Castle Peak Road, Sham Tseng
New Territories, Hong Kong.
新界, 深井, 青山公路, 深井村 63號, 地下

鏞記酒家 Yung Kee Jau-Ka
32-40 Wellington Street, Central
Hong Kong Island
中環, 威靈頓街 32-40 號

All three are excellent choices.  The first two are in Sham-Tseng out in the New Territories (san-kai 新界), which is reachable by public transit. Both of these are considerably more reasonably priced than the last restaurant mentioned, but Yung Kee is by far the most famous, having served princes, presidents, and potentates.


SIU-MEI IN THE BAY AREA

Here in San Francisco, we aren't famous for goose. Somewhat cynically, I would add that any culinary fame we have is a vast over-statement, as most restaurants have more style pretensions and higher prices than is really warranted.
Excepting, of course, our very best restaurants.
Many of which are actually Chinese.
With only a few others.


As an alternative to goose, you can also eat roast duck. Cantonese roast duck in Chinatown is a LOT cheaper than expensive canard in a snooty place that aspires to European standards.

新凱豐燒臘店 San Hoi Fung Siu-Lahp Diem
Gourmet Delight Barbecue
1045 Stockton Street, San Francisco, CA 94108.
415-392-3288.
Note: strictly take-out.

港新寶燒腊小食 Gong San Po Siu-Lahp Siu-Sik
Kam Po (H.K.) - Kam Po Kitchen
801 Broadway, San Francisco, CA 94133.
415-982-3516.
Mostly take-out, eat-in also possible.

文仔記燒臘茶餐廳 Man Chai Kee Siu-Lahp Cha Chan-Teng
Yee's Restaurant
1131 Grant Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94133
415-576-1818.
Extensive menu, excellent roast meats.
Table seating suitable for large groups, couples, and single people. They have what your heart desires. Sit down and eat.


Final note, for anyone cooking goose or duck at home: avoid overmuch use of garlic; it makes fatty birds taste salami-like. A fine thing in its own way, but it really ruins the goose or duck.



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MUI CHOI KAU YUK - STEAMED SALT VEGETABLE MEAT

Late last year I wrote about an ingredient which sometimes dismays folks from the more hinterland areas of this great country of ours: Sea Cucumber.
Which, of course, is not a vegetable, as the name would suggest, but a very primitive ocean dweller with a marvelous ability to absorb sauces.
Like many Chinese favourites, it's also very much a textural thing.

In the same category of tooth-yieldy goodness, and often just as startling to many non-Chinese, is something that can best be described as 'gelled fat'.
Which is utterly delicious.


Pig belly bacon with Chinese sauerkraut.


Sounds almost German, doesn't it?
Plum-cabbage steamed pork is a beloved dinner dish from Penang to Honolulu; from 'wah, sedap sekali' to 'ono to da max!'   Naturally it is common all over China too.
Perhaps more than anything else it makes people want to live near a Chinatown, because the correct cut is seldom available anywhere else.


梅菜扣肉 MUI CHOI KAU YUK

1¼ to 1¾ Lbs. ng-fa naam (五花腩 five flower pork brisket).
Three scallion, two inch lengths.
Three slices of ginger.
Three cloves garlic, smashed.
A large handful of mui choi (梅菜 plum vegetable).
One whole star-anise (baat gok 八角).
A pinch of five spice powder ((五香粉 ng-heung fun).

4-5 TBS. soy sauce.
2 TBS. sherry.
1 TBS. sugar.

Note that mui choi comes in semi-dry vacuum sealed packs as well as canned in brine. So the quantity necessary is best estimated at one quarter to one third of the meat after soaking and rinsing. Or more, depending on your own preference.
The brine version is easier for guesswork, but not necessarily recommended.
Either can be used.

Soak the mui choi for an hour or so in plenty of water, then rinse very thoroughly, drain, and squeeze out excess liquid. This removes sand, grit, and salt.
Chop it small.

Scrub the skin side of the meat with salt to clean it, then simmer it whole for ten minutes in water with the ginger and scallion to pre-cook and 'melt' some of the fat. Remove, drain, dry. Reserve a little of the liquid for the sauce.
Use an ice-pick or a sharp fork to prick holes in the skin, rub a little soy sauce over that side only, and let it sit for a while.

Heat oil in a skillet and carefully slide the meat in, skin-side down. Beware of the oil erupting - it is best to have a spatter-guard or a lid handy. Fry the meat till the skin-side is nicely darkened, almost mahogany.
Remove, drain, and let cool.

When the meat is cold enough to handle, slice it inch-thick across, each piece having all layers including the skin.
Arrange it in a broad bowl, skin-side up. Whisk the soy sauce, sherry, and sugar together and pour HALF of this over the meat, along with the star anise and pinch of five spice powder. Put the bowl in the steamer, and steam for an hour.

Now gild the garlic in a modicum of oil, add the chopped mui choi to parch. Pour in the other half of the soy sauce - sherry - sugar mixture, plus any liquid saved from the blanching at the beginning, and bring to a boil.
Pour this over the meat, making sure that most of the mui choi goes around the meat rather than on top.
Steam for another thirty minutes, or somewhat longer.

A little chopped scallion and shredded ginger to finish, and it can be served.


Some mui choi kau yuk, a big bowl of rice to sop up the juices, and a simple vegetable dish on the side: very heaven.


AFTERWORD

The preparation above is just one example of what one can do with a nice fatty slab of five flower stomach. Multiple variations are possible, the key thing being to melt some of the fat out, and let the meat become soft through long cooking. Steamed with ginger and fish paste, for instance, or extra garlic and scallion added, along with dried mushrooms.
Also on a bed of shredded greens, with some rice wine and oyster sauce, and a pinch white pepper.  Even just plonked in a pot with little pre-prep at all and cooked with fermented black beans and chilipeppers so that the result is gloriously greasy.
Hakka Chinese often incorporate naam yu (南乳) into the sauces or marinades for such dishes. Usually one cube is sufficient for about half a pound of meat.

As you can guess, I like it with a nice shploop of chili sauce (sambal).
That is actually how I like many things.
I'm a bit degenerate that way.

Bon appétit.



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DIM SUM RESTAURANTS IN SAN FRANCISCO

Pursuant the recent post which listed a huge number of dim sum items in Chinese and English it might be worthwhile to also mention some dim sum places in San Francisco that deserve your attention.


多好茶室 DOL HO
808 Pacific Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94133
415-392-2828

Just up from Stockton Street, opposite 'Great Wall Ginseng and Herbs' (長城參茸海味藥材行).

This place is one of the Chinatown standards, and is known affectionately as ‘the place with lots of old people’, referring to the customers. They are well-known for pots of black bean spareribs and rice. Their dim sum is good. Fastidious out-of-towners will probably not enter.
I’m fond of the place, probably because I thoroughly enjoy both the food and the bare bones ambiance.
Very affordable.
Go here with a friend and the newspaper. After the rush is over you can dawdle a bit.


城景 CITY VIEW RESTAURANT
662 Commercial Street
San Francisco, CA 94111
415-398-2838

Between Kearny and Montgomery Streets, opposite 'New Hong Kong Menu' (旺角偉記), just around the corner from East West Bank (華美銀行), which is in the old headquarters building of Bank of Canton of California (加州廣東銀行), which was subsumed into United Commercial Bank (聯合銀行).

Close enough to the financial district, yet far enough away from where the suburbanites prefer to eat that you won’t be bothered by some ignoramus acting all petulant. Most of the time. But that’s okay, what they won’t eat, you will.
Good food, good prices. Excellent siu mai and lo mai kai.


香雅茶室 (香雅甜品茶室) HANG AH TEAROOM
1 Hang Ah Alley
San Francisco, CA 94108
415-982-5686

Near the YMCA (基督教青年會) on Sacramento Street, down from Stockton.

One of the oldest dim sum places in Chinatown. Famous, but with a somewhat more limited menu than others, and no trolleys.
Many people remember eating there with their family members when they still lived in the neighborhood. It’s very hometown.
It has some classics, and decent charsiu bau.


羊城茶室 YANK SING
49 Stevenson Street
San Francisco, CA 94105
415-541-4949

Opposite no. 1 Ecker Place, in between Market and Mission Street.

Mention this restaurant and many Chinese will squawk up a storm. Too expensive! Hah, the nerve!
And as ‘expensive’ almost automatically means ‘no good’, some will sneer that the food is not what you want, and that they must cater primarily to white people. Which, during the workweek, is somewhat accurate.
Clean, good service, quality, and hence more expensive than most.
On weekends it is filled with Chinese families.
Except for the occasion when I ate at Yank Sing with white people, when they were on Battery Street back in the eighties, I’ve had no bad experiences here. The food is at times out-standing.
Some of the dim sum at Yank Sing you will not find elsewhere in San Francisco.
Pricewise, it's an excellent choice if your company is paying for lunch.


粵凱海鮮大酒樓 CANTON SEAFOOD & DIM SUM HOUSE
655 Folsom Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
415-495-3064

Right across the street from the U. S. Passport Office.

Decent food. They pride themselves on their fish dishes, so it would be worthwhile to go there for dinner. The daytime dim sum selection sometimes leaves something to be desired, but they have all the standard items, and there is plenty of parking nearby. Which is why families pack this place on weekends.


東江飯店 TON KIANG RESTAURANT
5821 Geary Boulevard
San Francisco, CA 94121.
415-752-4440

Between 22nd Avenue and 23rd Avenue; there's a big religious edifice in the next block opposite.

Dim sum till early afternoon, Hakka food after that. Some people bellyache about the prices. The prices are reasonable, so those people should probably go back to Oakland.
It gets crowded.
Yeah, often it seems like white folks central. But there are an awful lot of them living in the vicinity.


鯉魚門海鮮茶寮 KOI PALACE
365 Gellert Boulevard
Daly City, CA 94015
650-992-9000

In a shopping centre with tons of parking, at Hickey Boulevard and the Junipero Serra Freeway.

Delicious. Unfortunately, it's located in Daly City. Which isn't Chinatown.
New spins on some dishes, but many of the old classics, and super chicken feet.
You will not find me eating here often - too many Philippinos and white people.
I can get happy in C'town for far less, without putting up with any part of Daly City.



AFTER WORD

Many people will complain about the service during peak hours at dim sum places. But realistically, what do you expect?  Teahouses are jampacked from morning till around noon, then it abruptly peters off. When every seat is occupied the service necessarily isn't top notch.
Some people sneer that if there are lots of white folks eating there the food cannot be good. That is, plainly put, quite illogical.  If the place is packed with people scarfing down food, there's something going on that merits your attention.

I'll be the first to admit that a surfeit of Caucasians is suspicious - but in a San Francisco dim sum place?
Have you EVER seen anyone demanding sweet and sour pork or shrimp-fried rice at a teahouse during peak hours?   And do you really think that poor-taste people will flock to a joint where the wait staff have neither the time NOR the linguistic talent to explain the specialties?

The ambiance of a popular teahouse is frenzied - customers flock in desperate for tasty snackipoos before the good stuff runs out, "we need to sit down NOW all fifteen of us, oh look there's a cart coming out of the kitchen let us wave at it frantically", plus there are frazzled staff who are brusque and far too busy to engage in a long conversation. Likely there may also be some old geezers reading their newspaper and stubbornly taking up valuable space, as well as a few children running around uncontrolled.

Really, a good dim sum place will be a madhouse for a few hours.
That's why you're there.



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CHINESE BROCCOLI - A SANE ALTERNATIVE TO THAT HORRID VEGETABLE YOU NORMALLY EAT!

Chinese Broccoli is easier to cook than Italian Broccoli, not malodorous, and far less woody and cabbagy.
It is slightly more bitter, but that adds inestimably to its appeal.
After washing and chopping, blanch briefly in boiling salted water, remove, drain, rinse with cold water, then stirfry. When the pan is good and hot add a splash of sherry or stock to flash-steam the vegetable.
A few drops of sesame oil for fragrance, and you're done.
It's wonderful with shrimp-sauce, oyster sauce, or combined with fish or meat (also briefly pre-cooked).


芥蘭, 芥蘭芯, 或蘭芯菜也...

If you're looking for it at a Chinese store or on a restaurant menu, you will probably see it listed as 芥蘭 (kai-lan) or 蘭芯 (lan-sam).

The second term, lan-sam, refers generally to the pithy inner stalks with the outer leaves removed.

For instance: 炒芥蘭芯 (chau kai-lan sam) is stir-fried Chinese broccoli, 蠔油蘭芯 (hou-yau lan-sam) is the stalky parts stirfried with oyster sauce.
蝦醬芥蘭 (haa-jeung kai-lan) is Chinese Broccoli flash-stirfried with a dollop of fragrant shrimp paste (鹹蝦醬 haahm-haa jeung), some chili, and jiggers stock and rice wine.
Most delicious!


Now, please stop reheating that sulfurous other 'thing' in the office microwave.



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IN MONG KOK, SNACK WITH YOUR FAT SISTER!

What? You've never heard of Fei Jieh Siu-sik Diem?
It is well-known! Or at least it should be, seeing as this is the ONE place in Hong Kong where Andrew Zimmern and Anthony Bourdain might have lunch together. Before deciding that the other person was an opinionated dipwad.
Even though they enjoyed the food.
The company had nothing to do with it, it was the taste.
It was, in all particulars, 好好食呀!!!


旺角非常著名嘅 "肥姐"!
MONG KOK'S VERY FAMOUS FAT SISTER!

Let's say you've spent a few hours at the museum (primarily because of the air conditioning), and you are now a wee bit peckish.
It is late in the afternoon, it will get dark and slightly cooler soon.

Directions: The easiest way to get there from the Hong Kong Museum of History (香港歷史博物館) between Chatham Road South (咀漆咸道南) and Science Museum Road (科學館道 Fo-hok Gun Tao) in Hung Hom (紅磡) is to turn left onto Austin Road (柯士甸道), head west, and go past the Kowloon Cricket Club (九龍木球會) to Nathan Road (彌敦道), maybe get a cool refreshing beverage at the Starbucks just before the intersection first, then turn right.
Head north along Nathan Road for quite a distance (it's level, unlike San Francisco), window shopping as you go along. There is much to see here - jewelry stores, designer shmattot, watches, cameras, gizmos, etcetera. Once you've passed Gascoigne Road (加士居道) it becomes more dense with small establishments: restaurants, book stores, dispensaries...... seven elevens, and junk food. Plus many little restaurants.
There's a 7-11 on the northeast corner of Nathan Road and Wing Sing Lane (永星里).
Another 7-11 in the middle of the next block Nathan Road (彌敦道) on the west side, between Man Ming Lane (文明里) and Wing Sing Lane (永星里). And one more at the corner of Pitt Street (碧街) and Nathan Road.
Turn right onto Dundas Street (登打士街).
If you've finished your cool refreshing beverage by now, do not despair! There is another Starbucks on the south Side of Dundas Street (登打士街), facing Sai Yeung Choi Street (西洋菜南街).


Your lovely fat sister resides at number fifty five.


肥姐小食店
FAT SISTER SMALL EATS SHOP
Unit 4A, 55 Dundas Street, Mong Kok.
Kowloon, Hong Kong.
香港, 九龍, 旺角, 登打士街 55號 4A舖.

Look for the bright green sign that has two happy tentacular beasties, with the name in red.


Squid (大墨魚). Octopus (章魚). Pig intestines (大生腸, 小生腸). Offal (猪下). Liver (肝).
Slow-poached, served cold and crunchy, fragrant from the 鹵水汁.
On skewers (串) for eating as you walk.
Choice of hot mustard (芥辣醬) or sweet savoury sauce (甜醬) to squirt on top.

All of these are 爽爽脆脆 song song cheui cheui - snappy toothsome delicious!


Highly recommended: The pig intestines (大生腸), chicken kidneys (雞腎), hog heart (豬心).
The liver is also very nice, and look for curry fish balls (咖哩魚蛋).
One thing to be aware of is that the juices and sauces will probably ooze or squirt out of the paper wrapping that you got your snack in, and end up making embarrassing stains on your wardrobe.

It's cheap, it's good, the place is clean, the street side ambiance is terrific.
And you can scare those fastidious Philippina shopaholics you're with by waving it at them.


If after feasting on these small eats you are still hungry, go up the street to 許留山 and have some mango dessert, or get some pootchaigo (砵仔糕).

[I highly recommend pootchaigo, by the way. Pootchaigo (砵仔糕) is a small steamed tapioca starch (粘米粉) pudding made with coarse slab sugar (砂糖 or 啡糖), often flavoured with red beans (紅豆) or coconut milk (椰子汁), that is served in the small bowl in which it was made. Traditionally a batch of them would be steamed in a clay pot, nowadays the preparation has upscaled and a regular steamer is often used. Very country, very gentle on the digestive system. It is similar to the woonchaigo (碗仔糕) you might have in Kuala Lumpur, which is savoury instead, somewhat larger, and often has crispy oily fish flakes and chives on top.]


Spending the evening snacking on Dundas Street is much more fun than getting hammered with all those frowsty expats in the bars and beer halls that cater to foreigners. And it's far better for you.
Less chance of getting into an argument with a stupid Digger, too.



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