When I was a kid, there were pretty much only three things I wouldn’t eat – mushrooms, courgettes and aubergines. Anyone who knows me at that time knows that I was certainly not a picky eater, or a restrained eater for that matter*, but those were three things I refused to touch. I don’t know if it is because of a deeply buried but highly disturbing incident at a courgette-mushroom-aubergine farm or because of the sloppy-wet-slimy texture they all share, but I preferred to stick to my trusty frozen bird’s eye peas when vitamins were called for.
Thankfully, I am over that and love a side of fried mushrooms with my English breakfast and a big bowl of moussaka, thick with bubbling cheese, but courgettes, no, still not a fan, never will be.
Aubergines, or eggplants to the non-British, feature prominently on Chinese menus across the country, and even the most humble of roadside shacks will happily stir fry you a side of them on request, with garlic sauce or stuffed with fried pork, but very few things get my taste buds excited like a plate of hot, spicy 鱼香茄子, which literally translates as ‘fish fragrant aubergine’.
A newly arrived visitor to China might be slightly put off by the thought of a bowl of steaming aubergines, reeking of trout, but there is nothing even remotely fishy about this dish, the ‘fish fragrant’ merely refers to the selection of spices and sauces which are traditionally used in Sichuan Province to flavour fish, but are used here instead to cook the aubergines and give them a garlicky, salty, sweet, sour and spicy flavour (yes, all at once. It is possible)
One important thing to bear in mind is that aubergines, be they Asian or European suck up flavour (and fat) like a Dyson sucks up pennies, but one way to avoid the aubergines becoming a slick, oily mess is to first dry fry them over a high heat for a couple of minutes, which will help seal them off and help them to keep some shape when the sauces are added.
To get it right, it’s pretty much essential that you use Asian aubergines which are longer and thinner than the European counterparts and have a much denser, less spongy texture. The only other essentials are plenty of fresh garlic, chilli of some kind (fresh, paste, dried and flaked, or all three if you feel in the mood for a kick in the teeth) ginger, sugar and soy sauce. I, and many others, like the addition of some minced pork and a bit of chicken stock which when bubbled with the spices for a couple of minutes gives a nice thick sauce to pour over rice.
It is not an easy dish to get wrong and coupled with a steaming bowl of white rice and a cold Qingdao beer, it’s a lovely simple and healthy(ish) dinner.
Classic Sichuan Fish Fragrant Aubergines （四川鱼香茄子）
1 1/2 pounds Asian aubergines
1/4 cup chicken stock
2 tablespoons chili bean paste
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 tablespoons dark rice vinegar
1 tablespoon yellow rice wine
2 teaspoons sugar
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon finely chopped ginger
A cup of minced pork
2 teaspoons Sichuan peppercorns, or 1 teaspoon ground Sichuan pepper
1 teaspoon cornstarch, dissolved in 1 tablespoon water
Spring onions, thinly sliced, for garnish
Slice each aubergine in half lengthwise, then slice each length into quarters.
In a small bowl, mix together chicken stock, chili bean paste, soy sauce, rice vinegar, rice wine, and sugar. Set aside.
At this stage, dry fry the aubergines over a high heat for a couple of minutes, taking care that they don’t burn, set aside.
In a wok, heat oil until just smoking. Add eggplants and stir-fry until outsides become golden brown and insides begin to soften, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add garlic, ginger, and Sichuan peppercorns and pork and stir-fry until fragrant for about 30 seconds/ 1 minute. Pour in stock-sauce mixture and mix well. Allow sauce to simmer for 2 minutes and eggplant to absorb sauce. Stir in cornstarch mixture to thicken sauce. Remove from heat, plate, and garnish with spring onions.
*The period of 1992-1999 was one of pure gluttony. Wispas and jam sandwiches, fondant fancies and hobnobs. All passed my lips frequently. Very frequently.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Roger Moore / Rou Jia Mo
The other week I went to visit my friend who lives in a beautiful converted traditional courtyard in the centre of Beijing. The building is located only a couple of hundred metres away from one of the city’s biggest and flashiest department stores and steps away from Jianguomen, the wide central avenue that splits Beijing into north and south – much like the Thames I guess, but less wet.
Her neighbourhood is one of those which has become rarer by the day in Beijing. Narrow streets, barely wide enough for a car to travel down, alleys leading to what could just as likely be a tasty little noodle shack or a boutique café, old men sitting on low stools, vests hoisted up to cool their bellies in the hot Beijing sun, smoking and playing cards or majiang and, most interestingly for me, dozens of tiny food stalls dotted around, serving a wide selection of insanely cheap and equally delicious snacks and meals.
肉夹馍 (rou jia mo) is a food traditionally associated with Shaanxi province in central China but is something I had never tried before either there or anywhere else. It is often described as the closest thing to a traditional Chinese burger, or even a sandwich, but that would be a dis-service to this mouthwateringly delicious snack. Its SO good.
As with most foods in China, there are dozens of regional variations. In Hangzhou in China’s Zhejiang province it is common to mix the filling with big handfuls of lettuce, in Xian the meat is spicier, in other areas the meat is not tainted with the addition of vegetables, but two features of the ‘burger’ are always the same – big chunks of fatty pork, stewed for hours in a broth of water and spices and a round, floury bing cut two thirds of the way through and stuffed with the meat and juices until it is spilling out every which way.
The Beijing versions I ate benefited from the addition of chili sauce, chopped red chili and fresh coriander. All the ingredients stuffed into the bread and handed over in exchange for 3 Kuai (25 pence), a bargain in any language.
It is impossible to eat this without the pork juices running down your chin and a good quarter of the succulent filling falling on the floor, but it doesn’t matter, its all part of the fun.
This recipe below comes courtesy of some dude on the internet should anyone want to make this for themselves, but I wouldn’t bother personaly, just get yourself down to any traditional area of any Chinese city and ask around...
肉夹馍
Bing – you can use any type really, Chinese round bing, Indian naan, Pita bread, hell you could even use ciabatta, why not.
Fatty pork, ideally belly pork
Spices (star anise, cinnamon bark)
Dark soy sauce
Sugar and salt
Chinese cooking wine of Japanese mirin
Sesame oil
Fresh red chilli
Lettuce
Any other vegetables you fancy, tomato, peppers etc.
Cut the pork into small pieces & put into a pot. Add ground star anise, one piece of cinnamon bark, some dark soya sauce, a few drops of sesame oil, 1-2 crushed whole garlic cloves & some Chinese cooking wine or Japanese mirin.
Mix well and add enough water to just cover the meat.
Bring to a boil and then cover the pot & simmer for about 25 minutes. If there is still too much water, you can reduce down the gravy until thick by further boiling. The meat should be very tender by now.
Just slice the bread almost into 2 to form pockets and stuff pieces of meat inside with a bit of gravy and assorted vegetables. Enjoy!
Her neighbourhood is one of those which has become rarer by the day in Beijing. Narrow streets, barely wide enough for a car to travel down, alleys leading to what could just as likely be a tasty little noodle shack or a boutique café, old men sitting on low stools, vests hoisted up to cool their bellies in the hot Beijing sun, smoking and playing cards or majiang and, most interestingly for me, dozens of tiny food stalls dotted around, serving a wide selection of insanely cheap and equally delicious snacks and meals.
肉夹馍 (rou jia mo) is a food traditionally associated with Shaanxi province in central China but is something I had never tried before either there or anywhere else. It is often described as the closest thing to a traditional Chinese burger, or even a sandwich, but that would be a dis-service to this mouthwateringly delicious snack. Its SO good.
As with most foods in China, there are dozens of regional variations. In Hangzhou in China’s Zhejiang province it is common to mix the filling with big handfuls of lettuce, in Xian the meat is spicier, in other areas the meat is not tainted with the addition of vegetables, but two features of the ‘burger’ are always the same – big chunks of fatty pork, stewed for hours in a broth of water and spices and a round, floury bing cut two thirds of the way through and stuffed with the meat and juices until it is spilling out every which way.
The Beijing versions I ate benefited from the addition of chili sauce, chopped red chili and fresh coriander. All the ingredients stuffed into the bread and handed over in exchange for 3 Kuai (25 pence), a bargain in any language.
It is impossible to eat this without the pork juices running down your chin and a good quarter of the succulent filling falling on the floor, but it doesn’t matter, its all part of the fun.
This recipe below comes courtesy of some dude on the internet should anyone want to make this for themselves, but I wouldn’t bother personaly, just get yourself down to any traditional area of any Chinese city and ask around...
肉夹馍
Bing – you can use any type really, Chinese round bing, Indian naan, Pita bread, hell you could even use ciabatta, why not.
Fatty pork, ideally belly pork
Spices (star anise, cinnamon bark)
Dark soy sauce
Sugar and salt
Chinese cooking wine of Japanese mirin
Sesame oil
Fresh red chilli
Lettuce
Any other vegetables you fancy, tomato, peppers etc.
Cut the pork into small pieces & put into a pot. Add ground star anise, one piece of cinnamon bark, some dark soya sauce, a few drops of sesame oil, 1-2 crushed whole garlic cloves & some Chinese cooking wine or Japanese mirin.
Mix well and add enough water to just cover the meat.
Bring to a boil and then cover the pot & simmer for about 25 minutes. If there is still too much water, you can reduce down the gravy until thick by further boiling. The meat should be very tender by now.
Just slice the bread almost into 2 to form pockets and stuff pieces of meat inside with a bit of gravy and assorted vegetables. Enjoy!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Munchies
Everyone gets the munchies, right? Most people get the munchies in the middle of the afternoon though, and perhaps late at night after drinking. Well, I get munchies all the time. Seriously, ALL. THE. TIME. An hour after breakfast, 10 minutes before lunch, whilst my dinner is being cooked, at 5 in the morning. My life seems to be one never ending munch (??)
In the UK I worked my way through box after box of porridge oats much to the amusement of my colleagues, and if my office was located in a slightly more exciting area of Beijing, I would no doubt peruse the various bing and baozi shacks in hidden alleyways, but there is none of that to be found near the 24 storey China Life Tower which I call my home 9-6, Monday-Friday.
There is the usual selection of Korean stone pot kimchi rice restaurants, McDonalds, KFC, Japanese curry, Malaysian noodles….which are all fine and dandy for lunch, but what if hunger strikes at 10.30am, what if my stomach starts growling at 3.45pm?. Who am I kidding, this is a daily occurrence.
Now, I cant go having a quarter pounder with cheese twice a day as a mid morning and mid-afternoon pick me up, much as I may want to, so recently I have been perusing the many bizarre items in the neighbourhood’s neon lit 7/11.
7/11 is a relatively recent addition to China and is certainly not as widespread as it is Taiwan, where I swear there is one branch per person, but there are several these days dotted around the city and they are certainly easier than attempting to navigate one of the Wall Mart or Carrefour hypermarkets with their tanks of live, wriggling fish and pushing, shoving Chinese mums who just have to get their hands on that last slab of twice cooked pork side.
Here is a selection of ‘essentials’ to be found in this particular Chaoyangmenwai branch by my office:
Dried pork, beef, tarot
Pre-mixed sex on the beach cocktails
Packaged burritos
Tea eggs bubbling away at the counter
Giant sugar lollies in the shape of piglets dressed up in pinnies (!)
Red bean balls
Green tea flavoured sugar snaps
Microwaveable cheese burgers
Sweet bread covered in meat fluff
Tofu on a stick
….maybe a quarter pounder with cheese isn’t such a bad option, chased with a sex on a beach, naturally.
In the UK I worked my way through box after box of porridge oats much to the amusement of my colleagues, and if my office was located in a slightly more exciting area of Beijing, I would no doubt peruse the various bing and baozi shacks in hidden alleyways, but there is none of that to be found near the 24 storey China Life Tower which I call my home 9-6, Monday-Friday.
There is the usual selection of Korean stone pot kimchi rice restaurants, McDonalds, KFC, Japanese curry, Malaysian noodles….which are all fine and dandy for lunch, but what if hunger strikes at 10.30am, what if my stomach starts growling at 3.45pm?. Who am I kidding, this is a daily occurrence.
Now, I cant go having a quarter pounder with cheese twice a day as a mid morning and mid-afternoon pick me up, much as I may want to, so recently I have been perusing the many bizarre items in the neighbourhood’s neon lit 7/11.
7/11 is a relatively recent addition to China and is certainly not as widespread as it is Taiwan, where I swear there is one branch per person, but there are several these days dotted around the city and they are certainly easier than attempting to navigate one of the Wall Mart or Carrefour hypermarkets with their tanks of live, wriggling fish and pushing, shoving Chinese mums who just have to get their hands on that last slab of twice cooked pork side.
Here is a selection of ‘essentials’ to be found in this particular Chaoyangmenwai branch by my office:
Dried pork, beef, tarot
Pre-mixed sex on the beach cocktails
Packaged burritos
Tea eggs bubbling away at the counter
Giant sugar lollies in the shape of piglets dressed up in pinnies (!)
Red bean balls
Green tea flavoured sugar snaps
Microwaveable cheese burgers
Sweet bread covered in meat fluff
Tofu on a stick
….maybe a quarter pounder with cheese isn’t such a bad option, chased with a sex on a beach, naturally.
Challenge!
It has been slow at work recently. I don’t know if it is because most of our clients are sunning themselves in Phuket over the summer or because the global financial crisis has scared them away for good, but my outlook folder has pretty much gone to sleep and I don’t expect it will be roused until September.
Anyway, this has got me to daydreaming. My daydreams are generally quite bizarre/scary/confusing/inappropriate and involve things I wouldn’t want to impose on the people of the internet, or ‘netizens’ which the Chinese media insists on calling them, but the other day, I was staring at out the office window and the thought occurred to me, Beijing is the centre of the Chinese universe right? Whatever their degree of ‘autonomy’, all of China’s 23 provinces* must at some time have to report back to the big boys in the capital, right? Therefore it stands to reason (sort of, don’t question my logic) that there is at least one gastronomic representative of each province in Beijing…..right?
Hmmmm. I have nothing whatsoever to base this on, but I am going to stand by it and make it my mission – well, one of my many missions** – to sample the delights of all of China’s provinces in its big ol' brash capital city.
Now, obviously some will be easy. I would guestimate that there are dozens of Sichaun places in Beijing, scores of Cantonese dim sum emporiums and countless Beijing duck restaurants. Some will take some hunting, but I know for a fact that there are Yunnan, Shandong and Hunan places dotted around the city.
But, Qinghai? Jilin? Anhui? Are these provinces represented in Beijing’s gastronomic hotpot? I reckon they are, but god knows where…
So, I take it upon myself to find them all and to record it here. It may take some time, it may be impossible, but lets face it, it will be quite cool to say to someone “What?! Liaoning cai? Don’t you know it? Jeeez! Get yourself down to the east sixth ring road, there is a great little joint there”…
Smugness. It’s not a nice quality.
*China has 23 provinces if you include Taiwan which I don’t politically, but I do here for the purposes of my stomach, Taiwanese food rocks.
** Other missions include moving as little as possible until the Autumn and working out how to get past the Chinese internet police and put some photos on this blog
Anyway, this has got me to daydreaming. My daydreams are generally quite bizarre/scary/confusing/inappropriate and involve things I wouldn’t want to impose on the people of the internet, or ‘netizens’ which the Chinese media insists on calling them, but the other day, I was staring at out the office window and the thought occurred to me, Beijing is the centre of the Chinese universe right? Whatever their degree of ‘autonomy’, all of China’s 23 provinces* must at some time have to report back to the big boys in the capital, right? Therefore it stands to reason (sort of, don’t question my logic) that there is at least one gastronomic representative of each province in Beijing…..right?
Hmmmm. I have nothing whatsoever to base this on, but I am going to stand by it and make it my mission – well, one of my many missions** – to sample the delights of all of China’s provinces in its big ol' brash capital city.
Now, obviously some will be easy. I would guestimate that there are dozens of Sichaun places in Beijing, scores of Cantonese dim sum emporiums and countless Beijing duck restaurants. Some will take some hunting, but I know for a fact that there are Yunnan, Shandong and Hunan places dotted around the city.
But, Qinghai? Jilin? Anhui? Are these provinces represented in Beijing’s gastronomic hotpot? I reckon they are, but god knows where…
So, I take it upon myself to find them all and to record it here. It may take some time, it may be impossible, but lets face it, it will be quite cool to say to someone “What?! Liaoning cai? Don’t you know it? Jeeez! Get yourself down to the east sixth ring road, there is a great little joint there”…
Smugness. It’s not a nice quality.
*China has 23 provinces if you include Taiwan which I don’t politically, but I do here for the purposes of my stomach, Taiwanese food rocks.
** Other missions include moving as little as possible until the Autumn and working out how to get past the Chinese internet police and put some photos on this blog
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