Big Plate o' Chicken

Ahh, Xinjiang food.  If I ever leave this crazy country, I may bid its traffic, crowds, and pollution good riddance, but I will be eternally grateful for being introduced to Xinjiang food.

Xinjiang is the very large province (technically 'autonomous region') in northwest China populated mostly by the Uyghur minority... and some of the most delectable sheep you've ever encountered.  The land is dry, which means less rice and more wheat, yielding a cuisine rounded out mostly by some tasty flour-based carbs such as noodles and bread that is baked in wood-fired tandoori-like ovens.

Despite Xinjiang's abundance in tasty lamb, one of my favorite Xinjiang dishes is Da Pan Ji (大盘鸡), literally meaning Big Plate o' Chicken.  And a big plate of chicken it indeed is: a giant platter of chicken pieces tossed with potatoes, green peppers, and leeks.  Fresh, wide, chewy flour noodles are added afterward and tossed in the remaining sauce.

Are you drooling yet?

Last semester, I had the pleasure of teaching a group of primary school teachers from Xinjiang, and decided to let them put their teaching skills to the test and teach me how to make Da Pan Ji.  It certainly wasn't easy or quick, but I was pleasantly surprised by how do-able it is and that Da Pan Ji is a one pot recipe is an added bonus.

Well, I couldn't keep the joy of Da Pan Ji to myself, so here is the recipe for one of the tastiest things that China has to offer.  And I promise you, it will taste nothing like Panda Express.  In a good way.

Xinjiang dinner, compliments of my amazing students.

You will need:

For the noodles:
3 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups warm water
2 teaspoons salt-- dissolve salt into water
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

For the Da Pan Ji:
1 whole chicken-- cleaned well outside and inside the cavity, giblets removed, separated and cut into small pieces (keep bone in)
3/4 cup vegetable oil
3-4 tablespoons dark soy sauce
1 liter light beer
1 cup hot water
3 potatoes-- peeled and cut into 3 inch cubes, then tossed with a little salt
2 Anaheim peppers, cut into 3 inch squares
salt to taste

Flavor Bouquet-- place all ingredients into a small bowl
3/4 cup dried red chilis
1 whole star anise
4-6 Bay leaves
2 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorns
4 inch knob of ginger-- peeled and sliced into strips
2 leeks cut into 4 inch pieces, then sliced lengthwise
1 whole bulb of garlic-- peeled, then crushed lightly to release flavor

Note:  For those of you who lack the butchering skills (or a mini chainsaw) to take apart an entire chicken, I cheated the second time I made Da Pan Ji by using drumettes and chicken wings.  Saves a TON of time, and if you live in China, you don't have to deal with the whole chickens coming with the head and the claws.  For me, personally, that's just a little to 'real.'

First, prep the noodles.  Put the flour into a large bowl, then add salted water little by little, incorporated it into the flour by hand.  Continue to add water until the dough comes together and pulls cleanly away from the sides of the bowl.  Knead the dough on a board (no need to flour the board) until it softens.  Put the dough on a board with the bowl inverted over it to keep the dough moist.  Allow the dough to rest.

AJ kneading the noodle dough

Pour oil into a large wok over high heat until the oil is about 2-3 inches deep.  When the oil begins to smoke, add all of the chicken pieces.  Stir carefully, and add a few pieces of ginger to stop the smell.  Sprinkle about 1 teaspoon of salt over the chicken to render its juices.  Cook over high heat for 10-15 minutes, until all juices have reduced and the oil begins popping gently.

Add soy sauce to the chicken, until it turns into a deep caramel color.  Add the flavor bouquet all at once.  When the chicken begins fragrant, pour in the beer, and hot water.  Allow to simmer for a few minutes, stirring the chicken and spices gently.  Ladle out about three ladle-spoons of the broth, and reserve for later.

Flavor bouquet!

Rinse the salt off the potatoes and drain well.  Place potatoes on top of the chicken in a single layer, but do not mix them.  Cover the wok with a lid, and turn down the heat to medium.  Let the broth simmer until the potatoes are cooked through (and can be pierced easily with a chopstick).

While the potatoes are cooking, push down the noodle dough into a large patty.  Rub the oil over the top of the patty, turning it over once so it is well coated by oil.  Cover with the bowl again, and let it rest a second time.

At this point, the potatoes should be cooked through.  Add the reserved broth back on top of the potatoes, toss in the green peppers, and mix everything together, and transfer to the biggest plate you own, preferably one with a generous lip to catch all the good broth.

Now, to finish off the noodles!  Slice up your patty into long strips about 1 inch thick.  Squeeze the strips in between your fingers to create a wide, flat noodle.  If you're feeling brave, you can try holding your noodle on each end between your index finger and thumb and waving it up and down to stretch it out.

Once your noodles are good and stretched, fill up your wok (no need to clean it!) with water and bring the water to a boil.  Push your noodles into the boiling water and cook for about 5 minutes.  You can put the noodles over the chicken, or divide it between your guests bowls, and ladle the Da Pan Ji over the noodles.

Wipe the drool from your chin, and savor the product of all your hard labor.

A Tale of Two Bagels

When living in China, you find that the littlest joys of life are what redeem all of your gloomy China days.  For me, the littlest joys often come in the form of food (not surprisingly)-- namely shopping for food.  Shopping for home comforts in Beijing is certainly easier than it is in other parts of good ol' Zhongguo (that's 'China' in Mandarin), but one cannot imagine the joy that comes with discovering that the things that seemed unattainable can be reached just by going around the corner.

Bagels:  Not available right around the corner, unfortunately.

Parchment paper, aluminum foil, soda water, decent non-sweet cheese, unsalted butter, and-- my personal favorite--cream cheese.  There's a local Chinese brand here that makes a great cream cheese, and say what you may about the safety of Chinese dairy, I'll risk it if it means I can sink my teeth into that creamy, buttery, sour tart goodness that is cream cheese.  (By the looks of it, if the food here hasn't severely harmed my health by now, then I'm probably good to go.  At least, until I grow a third eye or my urine becomes radioactive, or something.)

Contrary to what the brand may state, the cream cheese is not "suki."  Haha.

Finding cream cheese, of course, means that bagels must also be found.  Let me tell you something about Chinese bread.  Well, it sucks.  It's full of air, with absolutely no nutritional value.  So I set out to make my own bagels.  One recipe I used came from Budget Bytes, which is much faster and yields a decent crop of bagels.  The other recipe was a combination of one for Sourdough Bagels from one of my favorite cooking blogs, Chocolate and Zucchini, and another recipe from my other favorite cooking blog, Smitten Kitchen.  Both cite the same recipe from Peter Reinhart's book The Bread Baker's Apprentice, with their own personal tweaks.  The latter recipe requires a sponge to be made, then the dough to be proofed overnight, then the bagels are shaped, boiled, then baked.  If you don't know what that means, that's okay, most people don't.

Top: Sponge for Peter Reinhart's Bagels fermenting.  Bottom: Budget Bytes bagel dough

Budget Bytes bagels after second rise

The final word is that work and time definitely pay off.  While the Budget Bytes recipe delivered nice, speedy results, they weren't as chewy on the outside and soft on the inside, the way bagels ought to be, and how I remember them.  That said, the work and time are quite an investment.  Between proofing the dough, shaping the bagels, letting them rest, boiling them, then baking them, I found myself wondering why I would go through such great lengths for just a taste of home.

Sesame Bagels straight out of the oven

All I can think of is this: I don't know when I'll be going "home" to America.  And to be extremely honest, I don't know where home is.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that China is my home, but I would say that living with the expectation and to want move on as quickly as I can to the next thing--simply because I'm not comfortable--is no way to live at all.  And so, even if it takes 24 hours of proofing and a few minutes of boiling and baking, we do our best to make a home here with what we have.

And in the meantime, I've also learned new things to add to this whole idea of what "home" is.  Like putting peanut butter and tomato slices on a toasted bagel.  Yeah, it sounds crazy, but you'd be surprised at how incredibly tasty it is!

American English and Old Beijing

The American accent is high in demand in China, where it's considered "standard" English.  In China, there is "Standard Mandarin"-- a pure, unaccented version of good ol' putonghua, the language Chairman Mao enforced to become the language of the nation, simply because it was what was spoken in the capital.  I keep reminding my students that there's really no such thing as "Standard English," but years of watching Friends and Prison Break has given many Chinese the impression that if one wants to speak English, they should speak it as Monica and Rachel do when they're bickering in their fabulous Manhattan flat.

Being from California-- where most American TV shows and films are from-- and having a Western American accent has blessed me in the TESL department, since I was born with the "standard" accent.  So it was only natural that my friend and colleague, Zhang Kun, asked me to co-teach a Pronunciation Class with him.

My buddy Zhang Kun and me

Teaching Pronunciation is a really tricky thing.  Imagine trying to tell someone how exactly to manipulate their mouth to make them pronounce "usually," when what keeps coming out is "urally," or to say "think" instead of "sink."  Or explaining why your sentences drift up and sink down at certain parts.  It ain't easy.  Fortunately, Zhang Kun had undergone the long arduous task of trying to perfect the American English accent, though what comes out now is more of a charming marriage of British and Chinese English.

After a few hard weeks of class, Kun offered to give Jason and me a proper introduction to Old Beijing snacks, since we still didn't really know exactly what Beijing cuisine was.  He took us to a place that is just about as old school as you can get.  You first go to a ticket window, where you buy 50 RMB worth of paper tickets.  Then, you go from window to window, exchanging tickets for snacks.

Snack offerings and illustrated menus

Beijing snacks are-- at best-- interesting.  It's mostly marked by fatty meats, sesame flavoring, and a lot of heavy, oil-laden fried things.  Neither Jason nor I were big fans, but we were grateful for the experience.

No, this is not a bowl brimming with sewage!  It's sesame soup!  It's basically made of a thick, starchy paste topped with sesame paste mixed with oil.  I wasn't nuts about it, but I managed to put down a few spoonfuls before feeling completely full from all the oil and starch sitting like a rock in my stomach.  But there was plenty more to consume, of course...

 It's not an authentic Chinese meal until you eat some unusual animal part.  This is a plate of flash-boiled tripe.  Despite the aforementioned piping-hot bowl of thick, oily sesame soup waiting for me, the tripe comes with a bowl of sesame paste sauce meant for dipping.  I actually quite like tripe, but this wasn't my favorite incarnation of it.

These little sandwiches were what I had my hope for a good meal riding on.  Sadly, they didn't deliver.  I've had some excellent versions of the sandwich (called bing in Mandarin), where the meat is juicy, flavorful, and dripping with yummy fats that are soaked in by the sesame seeded bun.  What we found were two sad, cold, dry sandwiches lacking in any flavor except salt.

After our meal (on which Jason later commented that he'd never eaten at a meal where he didn't like a single thing on the menu), we three decided to take advantage of the rare beautiful Spring weather and take a walk through Beijing's historic area.  We passed the back end of the Forbidden City, and Zhang Kun took us to one of the oldest standing Catholic cathedrals in Beijing.

While we weren't thrilled about the grub, it was a good day.  

Beijing & Bacon Jam

The Husband and I are now in Beijing, after a one-week stint in Guangzhou!  There will be more to write later, particularly about our once-in-a-lifetime experience in Business Class on Asiana (literally... once-in-a-lifetime).  For now, though, here is a small piece of home that I would like to share with all of you.  Because what is more American that bacon turned into a sweet?

Super Tasty Super Easy Bacon Jam Crostini

Ingredients
6-8 slices low sodium bacon
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 red onion diced
2/3 cup orange juice or sherry
a pat of butter
pinch of salt
pinch of black pepper

1 baguette sliced

2 tomatoes sliced thinly
1/4 red onion sliced thinly

Toast your baguette until both sides are slightly browned.  Set aside for later.

Brown up your bacon in a cast-iron skillet until crispy.  Drain your bacon on some paper towels, and pour about half of your bacon fat out of your pan.  Break up your bacon, and let your bacon fat cool down in the pan.  Add butter to your bacon fat and let it melt.  Toss in the red onion and saute it until it's about half way done.  Add your brown sugar and let it dissolve.  Continue sauteing the onion until it's translucent and has a nice sheen to it.  Deglaze your pan with the orange juice or sherry, and be sure to pick up all the yummy bits that have stuck to the bottom.  Turn off the heat, and throw your bacon bits back into the pan.  Stir it around a bit until it's well incorporated, and the bacon has softened a bit.

Put it all in a blender or food processor, and pulse until smooth.

Spread your bacon jam on your crostini, and top with tomato and onion slices.

Your guests will thank you.  Your arteries, perhaps not as much.

Embracing my inner (Julia) Child

Like many other girls with a penchant for baking and blogging, I was inspired by the movie Julie and Julia to get back into the kitchen (not in the metaphorical sense, though) and re-tie those apron strings (again, I mean that literally).

I've always loved cooking, entertaining, and experimenting with ingredients in the kitchen.  I haven't always loved teaching, but I did have a goal this semester to teach at least one cooking class to my students.  I fully expected to channel Julia Child in my cooking-- not the spy in China aspect (though I do feel like one, sometimes), nor the strange tenor-falsetto she rambunctiously encouraged her viewers with to seize a freshly buttered raw chicken with vigor.  I meant more of those moments where she flopped things out of pans live on the air and simply wiped her hands on her apron and said, "Well, it's no problem because we have a perfect one in the oven!"

I held my first cooking class in April.  We made my favorite recipe for banana muffins/bread and chocolate chip cookies.  The banana muffins were a huge hit, and a few of my students went out and bought ovens, muffin cups, and most of them are now proud owners of rubber spatulas after I convinced them it's the single most useful tool you'll have in your kitchen. 

Most Chinese students have never seen measuring cups or chocolate chips before.  Seeing all these baking goods was like going into the Museum of American Cuisine in the "Why We're All Fat" wing.

Like a good, responsible teacher who overdoes it and makes fun things completely un-fun, I created a Baking handout filled with useful vocabulary, tips, and even a few idioms.

Aren't they cute?  They look so happy making cookies here, especially compared to this picture...

...where they are basically sleeping with their eyes open.  I think I'm introducing measuring spoons here and they are responding with the ever-dreaded student glaze.  I guess I should stick to my day job and let Julia do the real entertaining.

A few of them came back with stories of their first baking successes and eagerly asked when the second class would be.  Call me a pushover... but I couldn't say no to their puppy dog eyes.  Class two was on baking apple pie all completely from scratch.  They learned how to make the crust, apple sauce, and put it all together to make it look perfect.  Like this:

Ooooh, SNAP!  Look at them apples!  The sauce, bubbling from underneath a blanket of perfectly layered apple slices, all topped with a golden brown crust!  Not bad for first-timers, hm?

 The lattice could use some work, but for a bunch of Chinese students who didn't even know what apple sauce was, I had to give them props for their first-time glory.

Well, since I was on a baking kick and I wanted to get the most out of my tart tin (as pictured above) and had a bunch of whipping cream, I decided to experiment and make a peach-custard tart. 

The picture didn't come out so well, but it was quite tasty and super easy, too!

Today, my students asked again about when our next cooking class would be.  I love cooking, but I'm quickly running out of ideas.  Any suggestions from my faithful (and few) readers would be gladly welcomed!

Next up: lemon meringue, chocolate cream, and about 500 dates with Jillian Michaels and Billy Blanks.

Downfalls

I have many, especially here in Beijing.  Some of my ugliest moments have come to fruition here in Beijing.  When you see what's coming next, you might understand why.

There's not much that I want right now more than this...

courtesy of scanwiches.com

Look at the fat marbling through the appealing pink of slow roasted pastrami.  The generous slabs of meat that are probably oozing with fatty, buttery, oily goodness and seeping its way gradually into flavorful, chewy bread... not that air-filled, useless white bread that can never NOT be sweet that you find here in China.  The dramatic pop of yellow that calls attention to your eyes and your tastebuds.

I'm drooling all over my keyboard.  And being in Beijing means there's absolutely.  Nothing.  I.  Can.  Do.  About.  It.

Jesus fasted for 40 days and was tempted to turn stones into bread, and he withheld.  And here I am.  Ready to throw in the towel for a Pastrami sandwich.  How meek the human spirit can be! 

Ode to an Avocado

I'm on the last leg of my stay back in the good ol' U.S. of A. and it has been absolutely splendid.  In my short three weeks here on my home soil, I've done ALL of the following:

-been in the beautiful wedding of one of my best friends
-tearfully got through my very first wedding toast
-learned and executed the basic fineries of cosmetology
-made dinner in less than two hours (collaboratively) for 10 hungry women
-almost finished reading White Teeth by Zadie Smith
-drank a lot of dirty martinis compliments of my sister's boyfriend
-had a conversation that went until 4 AM with my sister
-caught up on Season 5 of Lost and watched the Season 6 premiere (and... !!!!)

...and many other things.  In my time, one recurring theme has been my friends' and families' insistence that I was living a truly deprived life out in China, which is true in some ways.  While I still insist that living in Beijing is not as bad as I make it seem sometimes, my deprived existence in China rings true in one instance, and one instance alone: when I encounter the mighty avocado.

photo courtesty of Shoothead via Flickr

Oh, avocados.  It's a love it or hate it food, but I'm slightly convinced that the people who hate avocados have defunct palates.  It actually became a joke with my friends that if anything on a menu had avocados in it, they immediately knew what I would be ordering.  More often than not, they were right.  But there is something so unique, wonderful, and absolutely satisfying in the mighty fruit that is difficult to explain.

I've tried to figure out what it is about the avocado that hits the spot.  Is it its simplicity?  Its creamy, smooth goodness?  Or perhaps it's simply that they are so rare in China and even expensive back here at home.

What it comes down to is that the avocado needs nothing done to it.  It is perfect as it is.  Sure, put a little salt and a squeeze of lime on it for something extra, or pair it with a boring turkey sandwich and suddenly, you have magic between two slices of bread.  But independently, avocado stands on its own as a near perfect food.  Something that doesn't need to be tampered with.  Humble at first glance and unassuming in its pear shape, there is perfect satisfaction in the perfect squeeze of your thumb on its cool skin and the buttery ease in which a knife cuts through it when you rotate it on the blade.

But isn't that the truth about all of our favorite things?  It certainly is what I look forward to when I come home.  The ease in which I am able to slide back into life here in the U.S. and still be pleasantly surprised by how wonderful and blessed my life is.  The relationships that sit like worn-in chairs that wait for you to roll back into and get comfortable in.  And just like with the avocado, coming home means encountering new interpretations of things I was familiar with (avocado and bacon ice cream, anyone?); and while some I disagree with (addiction to Smartphones and iPhones), some come as a welcome and informative surprise (playing Rock Band with my brother can significantly improve my eye-hand coordination!).

As I prepare to leave this wonderful, wonderful country that I have become so proud to call my home, I encourage you to think of me and my avocado-deprived life in China the next time you bite into that perfect, soothingly-hued morsel of heaven.

Cheers... and thank God for avocadoes.