Black Eggs + Green Peppers = Guacamole

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Today I purchased, prepared, and ate "rotten" duck eggs 

ON PURPOSE BECAUSE I LIKE THEM. 

I feel so Chinese. 

The Pidan (皮蛋) is, to Western eyes, one of the more peculiar Chinese foods--often discussed and usually feared. It's often called the "Century Egg," but in spite of what this connotes it's neither rotten nor ancient. After your first whiff of the sulphurous yolk, you might beg to differ. 

Take a duck egg, preserve it in ash, clay, quicklime, and salt for several weeks, and, voilà, you get a 皮蛋. The yolk becomes greenish gray (and very creamy), while the albumen turns into a translucent brown jelly. The result is actually quite beautiful to the eye, if not to the palate. 

The pidan has a variety of uses in Chinese cuisine, most often as a cold dish or added to rice porridge. It activates a similar taste bud combination as some types of blue cheese, and parallels lutefisk and kaestur hákarl in that its original purpose was to preserve food in times of plenty for times of scarcity.

Now for the good part: Chinese guacamole!

In Guizhou, it's nearly impossible to get an avocado, so avocados and guacamole become objects of obsession. Don't misunderstand. This isn't actually guacamole. It is, however, the closest equivalent I've found in China.

I use the guacamole parallel to both tempt you and give you a hint at the taste of this traditional way of preparing pidan. It's both beautiful and delicious. The strong taste of the yolks is muted by the roasted peppers, but their creamy texture gives a mouthfeel similar to avocado.

Give it a try. You won't gag. You might even like it. And you can impress your friends with your culinary dare-devilry! 

Ingredients & Preparation Method:

3 pidan, sliced into quarters or eighths. (Instead of peeling, carefully crack the shell into halves and pull each half away from the egg.)

2 medium-sized roasted mild green peppers, peeled and chopped into 1/4 inch strips

1/2 t black rice vinegar

1 T minced cilantro

1 t minced spring onion tops

salt to taste

optional variations: dried red chili flakes, minced garlic, mint leaves

Place the egg slices in a bowl and top them with the sliced green peppers. Splash and sprinkle the rest of the ingredients on top. If you want a more guacamole-like experience, as a last step mix and mash the ingredients until it's creamy and green.

An Ode to Hua Jiao, the Sichuan Numbing Pepper

"Numbing Spice" 

(after "Golden Fruit" by A. A. Milne)

Of the spices of the year I give my vote to the prickly ash, the Sichuan numbing pepper, the purveyor of ma, the heart of Sichuan cuisine, the primordial Chinese spice, culinary Vibranium, the flower pepper, or, simply, hua jiao, to avoid awkward and useless translations.

In the first place it is a perennial—in actual fact, and in every market in Sichuan and Guizhou. On a day when lunch is a name given to a bowl of rice noodles and a little vinegar, when in the West your Chinese takeout gives you deep fried pork smothered in tangy sugar and calls it Chinese, then hua jiao, however alarming, comes robustly to the rescue; on those other days of plenty when mounds of mouthwatering dried red chilies overflow your bowl of lasiji, and garlic bulbs, leaves, and shoots are riotously ripe and in season, hua jiao, vibrant as ever, is still there to hold its own. Rice porridge and crisp cured turnip accouterment, dog soup and stewed gingko berries, zhi‘ergen-laced dipping sauce and dumplings, are not more necessary to an ordered existence than hua jiao.

It is well that the native spice of southwestern China, that ancient place in orbit around Sichuan, should also be the best. Of the virtues of hua jiao I have not room fully to speak. It has properties of health giving in that it assuages nausea, stomach pain and the flux, thereby helping calm any bout of la duzi. It is fragrant, for whoever handles it will smell of its flowery waft for at least a day. It is comely, its outer husk a shiny drab or dark red. In its pulverized state it can be an effective and memorable substitute for snuff. No poppy can mimic the resultant state of consciousness.

But all this would count for nothing had not hua jiao such delightful if eccentric qualities of taste. I dare not let myself go on about this subject. I am a slave to its ma. I dread every spree beyond Chuan cai borders, the palette of flavors diminishing to a bland sweet, salty, and bitter. However, such deprivation is necessary to view the feats of the Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming and Qing. For shame, the Republicans did not remain in Chongqing. Alas, the Red Army did abide in Guizhou for only a time.

Yet with hua jiao Sichuan and its surrounds live year in and year out. This speaks well for hua jiao. In winter it brightens our bowls of noodles and infuses our hot pots. On a hot summer night it spices our post-bar snack of pig brains and sprinkles our grilled street meats. The fact is that there is an otherness about hua jiao that appeals to all of us once we have had a taste. Salty is our mainstay flavor, but how often it fails to thrill without a dusting of ma. Sweet richness coats our taste buds, but all the more decadent when a bite happens upon a hua jiao husk. Of the combination of ma and bitter, I have not words. But hua jiao has no shortcomings. Until la arrived from the new world, it endured on its own. Its prickly appearance mirrors its vibratory effect. Tell the shopkeeper yes. Pay her price. Red and green, whole and ground, buy it all and keep it as a treasure, for when you leave China you will need a fix.

(You can find this and more creative efforts from Peace Corps China at chinaricepaper.tumblr.com)

Decadence, Nanjing Style

Right after the term ended this year, I went to Nanjing to stay with a student's family. Cultural leave, as the Peace Corps dubs it.

Ming Dynasty origins, World War II massacre sites, Republican tombs. There's a lot to see. As usual, however, I take stock of a place by its food.

Nanjing food is decadent. Every member of my student's family, my student excepted, is pleasantly plump. I know they were pulling out all the stops for my visit, but one meal consisted of two kinds of duck, beef, pork ribs, and fish. Here baozi (steamed buns) aren't just bread with meat inside. The dough is prepared to be waterproof so that a salty pork-fat soup can be slurped out on the first bite. Dumplings are similar--the xiao long bao will be served in heaven if there is such a place. Imagine a perfectly boiled dumpling, and inside isn't just your usual pork and green vegetable, but instead a divine soup of seasonings, sugar, and melted fat. I'm glad and sad that I got out when I did. I'd be both fatter and happier now if I'd stayed.

These baozi have soup inside. Careful with that first bite to avoid orgasm and/or scalding.

The duck. If "eat it all" is a China motto, then Nanjing is a duck's worst nightmare. A city favorite is ya xue fen (鸭血粉, duck blood noodles). It's superb. Mung bean noodle soup with coagulated duck blood, and duck kidneys/intestines/liver. Nanjing Duck is a salt-cured version, but there also seems to be a roasted duck that is common throughout the city (see the last photo below, one o'clock and four o'clock).

Sweet and salty is the Nanjing way. Hong Shao (红烧, red braised) then, not surprisingly, is a common cooking method here--a braising technique using a special kind of soy sauce and some sugar.

IF you're ready, and I'm not sure you are, here are a couple of decadent hong shao recipes. My student's mom says you need to cook them thirty times to get it right. True that.

Hong Shao Mian Jing Sai Rou (红烧面竞赛肉, red-braised bread ball stuffed with seasoned pork)
I'm not sure about getting mian jing outside of China, but they're common here--golden brown bread-like spheres made of wheat, mostly hollow, and tough.
To about a pound of ground pork, add a hefty amount of minced ginger and spring onions with a little salt. Mix and then add one egg. Stir. The consistency should be similar to a firm bread dough. If it's too thick, add a bit of water or another egg.
Poke each mian jing ball with a chopstick, moving it around to create a cavity in the ball. Stuff the pork inside with chopsticks until the ball is full. Repeat, based on the servings needed.
Put the stuffed mian jing in the wok or pot. Half cover them with water, as for braising. Add a couple of tablespoons of braising soy sauce (as your vendor for hong shao soy sauce; it's more concentrated than the regular version) and the same amount of sugar. Cover the wok and bring to a boil for forty minutes.
Stir every few minutes and spoon the liquid over all the mian jing. Adjust the seasoning at the end if needed.

Stuffed mian jing are bottom left, with the fish just above it. The rest is two kinds of duck, red-braised beef, some smoked tofu and vegetables.

Hong Shao Dai Yu (红烧带鱼, red-braised ribbon fish)
This is the fish. It equals the best fish dishes I've had anywhere in the world so far. It's Chinese style, so put away your fish forks and knives. Pick up each piece with your chopsticks, gnaw off the flesh, and spit the bones onto the table. It's not inelegant if you know how to do it properly.
First, however, make the fish. Ribbon fish, long thin and slender, seems to be easily available throughout China. Buy the fish already killed and cleaned, then chop it into two-inch segments, leaving the skin and bones.
Heat a wok and add some soybean or corn oil. When the oil is hot, add the fish, about five segments at a time. Fry each piece until golden brown, turning a couple of times. Remove them from the wok. When all the pieces are cooked, remove most of the oil from the wok and return all of the fish. Add a little braising soy sauce (not more than two tablespoons), and bit of cooking wine, vinegar, and sugar. Also add some chopped green onions, minced ginger, and dried whole red chilies.
Add water to the wok until it half covers the ingredients. Bring to a boil and cook for thirty minutes or until the liquid is reduced and thickening. During cooking, spoon the sauce over the fish every few minutes.

The Joys of Zhou

Congee.

Porridge.

In Chinese, zhou (粥), which can mean rice porridge as well as stewed pumpkin, red beans, or a variety of things.

It's a world-wide staple, often the only thing to eat in times of poverty, made from a variety of grains: rice, oats, corn, wheat. But sometimes the most basic is also the best.

I was in Nanjing for a week staying with a student's family. We had zhou most mornings, which is simply rice porridge. It doesn't have much of a flavor. It's hot. It's drinkable. Quite good as Chinese breakfasts go. Admittedly, it's no waffles and bacon or omelette and home fries, but it also has no fat or cholesterol.

For a good zhou experience, though, you can't just eat the zhou. It's about the accoutrement! Boiled peanuts. Pickled cucumbers. Salty preserved cabbage. And cured turnips. The latter is the one to remember. It's intensely crisp, pleasantly salty. It turns out it's also pretty easy to make.

Halve a few large oblong white radishes, then slice into quarter inches (red radishes also work, but they are more bitter). Toss them with a lot of salt, then set them outside for two consecutive sunny days--in summer you prepare for winter. After two days, bring in the radishes and blanche them for a few minutes. Drain them and put them outside in the sun again for half a day. Then enjoy them for the next year every morning for breakfast.

If you're feeling particularly Chinese, buy some pi dan (皮蛋), a duck egg preserved in lye with a chemical reaction that results in a translucent-brown albumin and an opaque-black yolk. I think they're quite good as an accoutrement, but intense on their own. Think of them as the Chinese bleu cheese.
Fry some ground pork, slice up a pi dan, add it to your hot zhou with a bit of salt, and you're set until lunch.

I Ate Dog

Don't judge; don't hate. It was my best Chinese buddy's father's 81st birthday, and on the table when I arrived was dog soup stewed with gingko berries, fried dog, and a bunch of other delicious stuff I don't remember because of the dog.

This was one of those rare moments in life when you're finally faced with an impending (seemingly ethical but probably not) decision, which you've contemplated but never thought you would actually face. Do you eat the dog? If you don't, you could offend the entire family, but they're used to foreigners so it probably wouldn't matter. You eat pigs, cows, chickens, ducks, goats, sheep, fish, crustaceans, mollusks, have sampled ostrich and alligator, insects. Why not a dog? In my ideal world I'd be a vegan, liberating our kindred creatures, but this isn't an ideal world and I don't have an ideal amount of willpower. While I'm an omnivore, even if being an omnivore is wrong, there is no uncrossable line.

Okay. Do it. It looks like beef. It smells like mutton. The soup looks rich, savory and warm--and it's darn cold outside. Get those chopsticks moving before it gets weird. Take a bite. Not bad; pretty amazing, actually; approaching the "fucking delicious" level. Followed with a gingko berry (more like a nut than a berry), a slurp of the broth, and a gan bei, it'd be pretty hard to beat. But not to worry, dog friends, outside southwestern China, I won't eat dog.

Here it's an unusual but traditional dish eaten at the onset of winter. Like mutton, it's supposed to be a "hot" food, giving you energy for the cold weather. It's also supposed to be health-giving, thus it's appearance at an 81 year old's birthday dinner.

I feel good having tried it. I feel more Chinese, specifically Guizhou Chinese, which is red-letter (to push Zunyi's Red Army fame once again) and special. Here is the last remnant of Revolutionary-era China. The wave of change is here and transforming the entire province day by day. The people are willing and know it's coming, but I can't help feel that something is being lost. Something important. The loss of such important somethings, however, is our world. We're horizon oriented, not knowing exactly what is next, but knowing that it'll be broader and more uniform than before. For the best, we hope, but that's also in the horizon. In any case, no more dogs for dinner. I'm glad I had a taste.

Cooking Club 11: Four-Season "Tasty Crunchy" Soup, Lettuce Stems, Sweet Eggs...

Ah, the last cooking club meeting of the year. It was an appropriate end to the semester--food and friends. There were some unique new dishes this time around, and a broad spectrum of flavors. Even the famous sour soup fish from Kaili, Guizhou, was on the menu!

Participants:
Class 2:
Chloe (Wang Li)
Daisy (Mu Huanhuan)
Solina (Ren Deying)
Celine (Wang Jia)
Sunny (Song Hongyan)
Class 3:
Lynn (Wang Ling)
Delia (Chen Jiayan)
Lena (Liu Shuang)
Amy
Delia (Wu Dandan)
Class 4:
Kian (Yang Xiaoan)
Shine (Yang Xin)
Angela (Huang Hong)
Janiff (Long Jian)
Serena (Chen Ting)
PE Department: Wen Delin



Highlight: Two Soups on Opposite Ends of the Flavor Spectrum

Si Ji Xian Su (四季鲜酥, Four-Season "Tasty Crunchy" Soup)
This soup is hearty and very easy to make. It's a Cantonese soup, so it is not spicy, but has a pleasant, rich, salty-meaty flavor. Buy a large pork leg bone from the butcher. Put it in a large pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook for about 30 minutes. Slice two carrots into thick rounds. Chop two ears of sweet corn into pieces manageable with chopsticks. Put the vegetables along with two handfuls of raw peanuts into the boiling soup and cook until done (about ten minutes). Add salt to taste.

Suan Tang Yu (酸汤鱼, Soup Soup Fish)

Choose your fish. Any medium-sized lake fish would do, I suppose, but carp (li yu / 鲤鱼) or catfish (nian yu / 鲇鱼) are best. You can get the fish fresh at a local market; have the monger kill and clean the fish and chop it into large pieces. Back in the kitchen, marinate the fish in white vinegar and salt. Fill a wok about 1/3 full with water, add a couple of sliced tomatoes, sliced ginger root, sour red chilies (suan la jiao), and chopped garlic leaves (suan miao). Bring to a boil and cook for several minutes to infuse the flavors into the soup. Check the flavor of the broth and adjust the seasoning, adding white vinegar and salt as necessary. Add the fish to the pot and cook until white, opaque, flaky and tender (about ten minutes). This is a delicious dish, very famous in souther Guizhou around the area of Kaili. The fish is cooked with the bones, so enjoy the dish carefully.

Cold Dishes

Liang Ban Ou (凉拌藕, Cold Lotus Root with Sauce)
I've posted this recipe before, but this one is slightly different. Boil the whole lotus root until it can be punctured with a chopstick with a bit of pressure. Cool it in some water, then cut into thin slices. Fry a handful of peanuts over medium heat with some oil until fragrant and golden. Add the following to the wok, increase the heat, and cook for about two minutes: two cloves sliced garlic, a bit of minced ginger, three dried whole red chilies, a handful of peanuts, and some shelled sunflower seeds. Let it cool, then toss with the lotus root and serve.

Liang Ban Wo Sun (凉拌莴笋, Cold Lettuce Stem with Sauce)
Buy a large lettuce stem (sometimes called celery lettuce in English) at the market. Chop off the ends and peel away the tough outer skin with a paring knife. Slice the stem into long thin strips (or rectangular cubes) and arrange them on the serving dish. The color is quite beautiful so it makes for a striking presentation. In separate dipping dishes, or on top of the sliced stem, add a heap of dried red chili flakes, spring onions, and some salt.

Single-Ingredient Comfort Foods

Shui Zhu Nan Gua (水煮南瓜, Boiled Pumpkin Soup)
This is incredibly easy, but also incredibly satisfying on a cold day. Peel and chop part of a pumpkin into one-inch cubes. Your typical jack-o'-lantern pumpkin is not the best choice. The oblong pumpkins found at most Chinese markets are ideal. Put in a pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook for about seven minutes or until the pumpkin is tender but not soft. Season with salt and sugar to taste.

Dan Geng  (蛋羹, Egg Custard)
Also very easy, and very satisfying. This dish adds a bit of soft and sweet to the table, both fairly unusual in Guizhou. Beat six eggs in a glass bowl, and a tiny pinch of salt, and two tablespoons of sugar. Mix until the sugar is dissolved. If you have a double boiler, great. If not, you can improvise. Fill a large pot with water and bring it to a boil. Place the bowl with the eggs in the boiling water and cook until firm. Because of avian flu concerns in China, be sure the eggs are fully cooked, covering the bowl for a couple of minutes to cook the top thoroughly.

New Takes on Home Cooking Favorites

Yu Mi Chao Rou Mo (玉米抄肉末, Corn Fried with Ground Pork, with green chilies and tomato)
We'v'e seen this recipe before, but this variation is the best I've tried. Fry about two cups of shelled sweet corn in a wok until tender; remove. Add a large diced tomato to the wok with a little oil, and then add a couple chopped green peppers or three to four chilies; fry together. When starting to get tender, add a pound of ground pork and stir-fry until cooked through. Return the corn and fry for a couple of minutes, seasoning to taste with salt and sugar. Garnish with chopped garlic leaves (suan miao) or spring onions.

Qing Jiao Chao Rou (青椒抄肉, Pork Slices Fried with Green Pepper)

This is a repeat, but also the best version from the club so far. It's not your usual qing jiao chao rou si because the pork is cut in thin wide pieces and the fat is also used, in contrast to the thin lean shreds in the "si" version. Heat a bit of oil in the wok, add about a pound of meat and fry until cooked through but not browning. Add about four green chilies sliced in the horse-ear shape, a diced tomato, and some sliced ginger. Cook until the vegetables are crisp but tender. Add salt to taste and a spoon of soy sauce. 

Cooking Club 10: simple soups, and other things to do with eggs

This, the second to last of last year's cooking club meetings, provides some simple soups and a couple of variations upon a common dish.

Participants:

Class 1:

Angela (Zhang Yan)

Yvonne (Guo Yajun)

Jennifer (Xu Xiaoyan)

Ginny (Wei Jinni)

Class 2:

Marry (Luo Yuting)

Anne (An Tingli)

Dawn (Zheng Ling)

Class 3:

Angela (Zhang Xue)

Edith (Yu Liang)

Variations on Fanqie Ji Dan (番茄鸡蛋, tomatoes fried with egg)

Huang Gua Chao Ji Dan (黄瓜抄鸡蛋, cucumbers fried with egg)

The process for this and the next recipe is exactly like the tomato dish. Slice the cucumber into long ovals or small cubes. Heat a few tablespoons of oil in the wok until it's really hot. Add the beaten eggs (about 2 eggs for each cucumber). Let it fry for a few seconds, pulling apart gradually and then flipping to make sure all of the egg is cooked. Remove a little of the oil and then add the cucumber and fry for a couple of minutes. Add salt, a little sugar, chopped spring onion, and some dried red chili flakes. 

Qing Jiao Chao Ji Dan (青椒炒鸡蛋, green peppers or chilies fried with egg)

Qing jiao can refer to any type of green-colored pepper, so choose according to your taste and what's in season. It's a mild dish if you choose bell peppers or the large oblong peppers that are usually availalble. If you want a delicious but intense experience, use the small thin green chilies. In any case, cut the peppers into thin strips of about two inches. The rest of the process is exactly the same as above. 

Some Simple Soups

Zi Cai Tang (紫菜汤, Seaweed Soup)

Bring a pot of water to a boil, add a diced tomato and cook for a couple of minutes. Add a beaten egg as for egg drop soup. When the egg is cooked, add a handful of dried seaweed and cook briefly. Add salt to taste and garnish with chopped spring onions. 

Dun Pai Gu (炖排骨, Spare Rib Stew)

Add a little oil to a wok and when it is hot (about medium high; hot enough to brown not burn), add a pound of pork spare ribs chopped into one-inch pieces (bone in). Fry until just starting to brown. Add water to cover the ribs. Bring to a boil and cook thoroughly until tender (at least 1 hour, but the longer the better). Add 2 cubed potatoes and continue boiling until they cooked but not soft. Cube about half a pound of firm tofu and add to the soup. Salt to taste. When the tofu is hot, the soup is ready to serve. 

Yun Dou Rou Mo Tang (芸豆肥肉汤, Kidney Bean and Pork Soup)

Cut a quarter pound of fatty pork (a belly cut) into thin one-inch squares. Heat a little oil in the wok and when hot fry the pork until translucent. Remove the pork and set aside. Discard the oil and melted fat. Add a pound of cooked kidney beans and their liquid (you can ask the merchant to give you the liquid as well at no extra cost) to a large pot, along with several crushed cloves of garlic. Add water so the pot is about half full (always enough liquid to cover the ingredients). Bring to a boil and cook for several minutes. Add some roughly chopped mushrooms (ideally large oyster mushrooms), halved tofu cubes (the tan pre-fried cubes used for hotpot), a head of rough chopped green leaf lettuce, a halved and sliced tomato. Return the pork to the soup and cook until the vegetables are cooked but not too soft. Salt to taste. 

A Cold Dish

Liang Ban Huang Gua (凉拌黄瓜, raw cold cucumbers dressed with sauce)

Peel and cut 1-2 cucumbers into finger length/width pieces. Mix a sauce of black rice vinegar, salt, sugar, and dried red chili flakes (chopped green onions or cilantro if you like). The sauce can be mixed and applied all at once before serving, or it can be provided as a dipping sauce. If you want to get really fancy, place a small bowl of vinegar at the middle of the dish, along with small piles of sugar, chili flakes, green onion, cilantro, and salt for dipping. Arrange the cucumbers for a beautiful presentation.

Repeated Dishes (you can find these in previous posts)

Chao Tudou Pian (抄土豆片, fried potato slices)

Fanqie Chao Ji Dan (番茄抄鸡蛋, tomatoes fried with egg)

Qing Jiao Rou Si (青椒肉丝, pork strips fried with green pepper)

Mao Dou Chao Rou Mo (毛豆抄肉末, small green lima beans fried with ground pork)

The Magic Soybean Milk Machine

Sometimes you don't have time to primly chop all the vegetables and plan out your dishes for the day. On those days, the Magic Soybean Milk Machine comes to the rescue.

It makes delicious soymilk, of course, and a pretty good rice porridge--both of which are great for breakfast. According to the buttons on the machine, it also makes 5-cereal milk, corn juice, green bean milk, fruit puree, and thick soup. I haven't tried the corn juice yet, and for quite a while I was just pressing buttons, unable to read the Chinese on the machine.

The machine is magic because you just dump the ingredients in, add some water, and press a button. ten to twenty minutes later you're eating.

Some of my best attempts include salsa (deep fry some jiaozi wrappers to makeshift tortilla chips), pasta sauce, and virtually any kind of pureed soup you can imagine (roasted red pepper has been a hit with my friends here; for cream soups add the cream after cooking because the machine will scorch the milkfat). In the fall, apple cider is easy if you can find some cinnamon. In the spring, when strawberries are cheap and plentiful, I start my mornings with a smoothie or puree.

Homesick Tastebuds

A year in China does wonders and weird things to your palate.

My first year here I made a point of eating only local Chinese food. This was no sacrifice. Other than the occasional ache for mustard or bleu cheese I felt no great longing for food from home.

Something strange, or perhaps to be expected, happened this year. I started craving Western food. In China, cooking Western food isn't especially easy, but it's not impossible as long as you don't need an oven. This craving is a sign of being homesick, I guess, though I don't feel ready to go home. Maybe it's also a form of further cultural integration--letting some of my own culture back into my China life experience.

In any case, the result was some creative adaptations of Western recipes to what's available at the Chinese food markets. Several other blogs have talked about cooking Western food in China, so I'm not going to go into great detail here, providing just a list of what I cooked along with any major adaptations. (If you have any questions, send me an email or post a comment!) But I've enjoyed the process, and you might, too, if you find yourself in China craving a burrito.

Chili:
Easy to do in China. The Wok works perfectly. Substitute ground pork for beef; use a smoky ground chili powder you can find at any outdoor market.

Holiday Dinner:
Roast a whole small chicken or half a large chicken in your rice cooker. Season under the chicken skin with oil, garlic and salt. Roughly chop an onion, some celery and a carrot and put in the bottom of the cooker, then half cover with water. Put the chicken on top of the vegetables so it doesn't touch the bottom of the cooker. Start the cooker; check after about 30 minutes and add water if necessary (don't let the bottom dry out or you will ruin the nonstick coating). After 45 minutes, the chicken should be done. Use the drippings to make gravy for mashed potatoes, which you can make as you would at home. Scalloped corn is also possible without too much trouble. Pinto beans are hard to find, but you can substitute another type if you want to make baked beans. Brown sugar is now available in most supermarkets in China.

Bean Burrito Jiaozi:
You make these just as you'd make any dumplings, stuffing then steaming, frying or boiling. The only difference is the filling. For the filling, buy some already-cooked kidney beans at the street market. You usually find these where pickled cabbage is being sold (suan cai). Boil them further until they are soft. Drain. Add oil to the wok and then add the beans and spices (chili powder, cumin, salt, garlic). Mash the beans until they're a refried bean consistency and continue to fry for a few minutes.

Sour Cream:
Great for dipping your mini bean burritos. Ideally, the recipe is 1 cup of heavy cream plus 1/4 cup buttermilk. In China, cream is too expensive and buttermilk isn't available. Use whole milk and white vinegar, but double the recipe. Put the ingredients into a sterile airtight jar. Seal and let sit unrefrigerated for two or three days. Open and strain to get rid of the excess liquid.

Cake:
Easy to make in your rice cooker. It cooks really quickly, so watch it carefully to avoid burning.

Cooking Club Year 2: Rebooted

Cooking Club continued until the end of the spring semester, meeting two more times. After hosting nearly 200 students at my apartment for cooking club last year I was exhausted. It had become rare for a student to introduce me to a recipe I didn't already know. These kids know how to cook, but their culinary repertoires are limited. Think of your own  home cooking--you have a few simple satisfying recipes and you cook them over and over again, with the occasional addition or deletion to list. This isn't boring, but rather a process or practice leading to mastery.

Still, my goal is to learn as many recipes as possible while at the same time helping students to practice their English, so I revamped the club for this academic year. Recipe Contest! Ten students from each class, for a total of 50 students, will be chosen based on the uniqueness and English fluency of their recipes.

The students at my school are into competitions. They prefer to win with their friends, so it's less cut-throat than back home, but contests add excitement and a sense of accomplishment for the winners. I've received some great recipes so far, and the first meeting is coming soon. So get your wok ready.