My Grandmother's Chinese Kitchen
Page 13
SERVES 4 TO 6
WITH THIS MEAL WE ATE BOWLS of cooked rice, and concluded it with sweet oranges, tangerines and pomelos. Then we awaited the parade of guests who visited Ah Paw this first day of the new lunar year. To receive her guests she did not sit in the big carved chair as she had with her family in the morning, but went to the comfort of her divan to welcome in the New Year with a whole host of neighbors, friends and acquaintances from Sah Gau.
Everyone who came through her door was welcome, and the servants and I were kept busy pouring cups of tea, slicing rice cakes, steaming or pan-frying turnip, taro root and water chestnut cakes and passing the tray of sweet and salted seeds and nuts, as well as the candied and preserved fruit.
Any unmarried children who came to her living room received a lai see envelope. Likewise, any visitors came with envelopes for me, my brother and my cousin. This pattern of receiving guests continued into the next day, the second day of the New Year, which was also a special day for Ah Paw, what she called her day of Hoi Lin, a day of prayer that truly opened the New Year.
She would pray continuously through the morning and afternoon, as firecrackers exploded unceasingly in the streets outside, and while we prepared yet another banquet. This was also an important family meal, and although it included many, if not most of the other festive and symbolic dishes of the preceding days, it was most notable for a most significant preparation of an almost-live raw fish.
Fish Alive
(YUE SAHN)
This was a dish of great importance, made from a grass carp pulled fresh from one of Ah Paw’s ponds, a dish which, although she could not eat in the New Year because of her vegetarian beliefs, she ordered prepared for her family. Most people these days associate raw fish dishes with the Japanese table, but in China this was a tradition of centuries in which the fish had to be killed just minutes before serving. Yue Sahn was reserved for this second day of the New Year, as part of a family dinner before a wedding, a must for a sixtieth birthday celebration, traditionally a milestone in one’s longevity, or for any family gathering of great import.
The fish would be brought to my grandmother’s kitchen by Ah Guk and Sau Lin, her “Chrysanthemum” and “Beautiful Lotus” servants. It was my job to stun it with a blow to its head, remove its scales, slit its body, cleanse its insides and remove its gills. Ah Guk and Sau Lin would carefully slice it and serve it at once.
Because Ah Paw believed this raw fish was only for adults and too strong to be digested by a small child such as myself, I was not permitted to eat it. I could help prepare it, but I was forbidden to eat it. In fact, it was not until I was sixteen years old and living in Hong Kong that I actually ate Yeu Sahn. Instead I, and other youngsters in the family, would be given bowls of chicken congee.
1 5-pound grass carp, whole, live
Have the fishmonger prepare fish in this manner: Remove scales, gills and intestines. Cut fish open along its length, butterflying it whole. Have backbone removed, so that there are two halves without a backbone. Cut along the back of the fish where bone had been. Do not use section that contains stomach. Remove skin from two lengths, then slice fish crosswise into slices ⅛-inch thick.
Layer slices in a platter, serve with the following dipping sauce.
Dipping Sauce
4½ tablespoons Chicken Stock (page 13)
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
2 tablespoons light soy sauce
1 tablespoon Chinese red rice vinegar, or red wine vinegar
2 small red hot chiles, minced
1½ tablespoons Chinese white rice wine, or gin
2 tablespoons scallions, finely sliced
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1 tablespoon Scallion Oil (page 16)
⅛ teaspoon white pepper
Combine all ingredients for dipping sauce. Divide dip into small soy sauce dishes and serve with fish slices.
THIS FISH WOULD SERVE AS MANY AS 20 PEOPLE IN AH PAW’S HOUSE; A SMALLER FISH MAY BE USED
VISITORS CONTINUED TO COME THROUGH THE next day, and the next, up to seven days, when it was expected that relatives and family from far distances would make their way to Ah Paw’s house. On that seventh day of the New Year it was Yan Yat, or “Everybody’s Birthday,” a day for some families to visit temples with food offerings for the gods, then to return home for still another festive meal.
This was not the case with Ah Paw. I remember her telling me that we as a family had eaten a sufficient number of meals in this early part of the New Year and it was time to rest until the Lantern Festival.
SIX
THE LANTERN FESTIVAL: DINING WITH THE NUNS
THE LANTERN FESTIVAL, WHICH ALWAYS FALLS on the fifteenth day after the Lunar New Year, marks the official end of the annual New Year observance. It is a colorful conclusion, with displays of brightly dyed, inventive and often quite elaborate paper lanterns that are lighted to honor Sheung Yeun, Lord of all the Heavenly Gods, on his birthday. This festival of light, not only of lanterns, but of countless lighted candles, is commonly known as Yeun Siu, a shortened version of Sheung Yeun’s name.
Observed by Buddhists and Taoists alike, it was for me a day of wonder, of processions and fireworks, of lanterns shaped like animals, temples, houses and boats, often decorated painstakingly with calligraphy honoring Sheung Yeun. And it was a time to eat small, round boiled glutinous rice dumplings, tong yeun, filled with sweet sesame paste, crushed peanuts or lotus seed paste, served six at a time in bowls of the sugary liquid in which they had been boiled.
At Ah Paw’s house we made these by the dozen, eating them ourselves and offering their sweetness and roundness to others as gestures of friendship and unity. We would take our bowls of tong yeun out into the street and eat them as we watched the lanterns drift by.
But my grandmother, as she always did, had a celebration of the Lantern Festival like no other. It had begun, she told me, during the years of the Chinese-Japanese War, just about the time when I was born. At a far boundary of Sah Gau stood a temple, within the walled compound of which lived a group of Buddhist nuns.
It had been a difficult time for women in southern China, Ah Paw would tell me. In Sah Gau alone, she told me, there were too many women who were sik loon fan, who “ate soft rice”—that is food they didn’t earn, but who had been supported by husbands who had gone to the United States to earn money and who sent them periodical support. The Japanese occupation of much of eastern and southern China stopped this flow of money, and many of these women were forced to sell plots of land, pieces of furniture and parts of their houses.
The see gu, these nuns, Ah Paw said, despite not having much more than the taros and sweet potatoes they grew, would come to Sah Gau and pray for these women, which my grandmother believed was a noble thing to do. Often people would give the nuns some vegetables, a couple of pieces of fruit, whatever could be spared. Also, in that time of war shortages the nuns had no peanut oil with which to cook, because it was most scarce. “Ah Fei,” my grandmother told me. “It was not too hard for us, for we could render the fat from a pig and have cooking oil, but the nuns could eat nothing from animals.” So Ah Paw took it upon herself to collect peanut oil for the nuns, and people throughout the town would bring ounces, spoonfuls, whatever they could spare and dribble it into bottles, which were then given to the nuns.
Over the years my grandmother’s adoption of the nuns grew into an annual tradition in which the order of nuns would be invited to Ah Paw’s house on the day of the Lantern Festival, for a vegetarian feast of friendship to close out the New Year observance. And on this fifteenth day of the New Year, after we had eaten our tong yeun, after we had watched processions of lanterns, we awaited our guests, the four nuns, to arrive from their temple grounds.
The see gu would come slowly up the street to Ah Paw’s house, their shaven heads gleaming, their drab gray cotton robes down to their ankles touching gray felt sandals, chanting prayers to the health of Sah Gau as they walked, one rhythmical
ly tapping a round, hollow wood gourd with a stick, another hitting a small gong, the others clacking tiny cymbals until they arrived. We would welcome them into the house and to Ah Paw’s altar, where they would offer prayers to her ancestors, prayers for the continued health of our family and for a plentiful New Year.
I remember them as quite shy, and they had to be coaxed to the table in Ah Paw’s living room set for them and for us, to eat the meal that she had arranged for us to cook for them, a meal she dubbed See Gu Yin Jik, “The Banquet of the Nuns,” or equally, Bat Dai Guai, “Eight Precious Dishes,” because of the lucky connotation of the number eight in China, where it is synonymous with prosperity.
“M’ho gum hak jik,” Ah Paw repeated several times over, waving the women to chairs. “Don’t be bashful.”
Then, when they were finally seated, Ah Paw told them, “Mo sung, Du ill sek bau fon,” a humble, modest recitation of manners, which translates as “If there is not enough food for you, we have plenty of rice to fill your stomachs.” It was not, of course, meant to be taken literally because there was more than sufficient food set out, but simply good manners, a confession of humility. And then we ate, the nuns and us.
Vegetarian Eggs
(JAI GAI DAN)
This is a most popular preparation among religious Buddhists. When cooked, these imitations look like eggs that have been cooked in soy sauce.
2 large (1¼ pounds total) baking potatoes, unpeeled
6 cups cold water
½ cup wheat starch
7 ounces water
1¾ teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon five-spice powder
3 tablespoons peanut oil
1 cup cornstarch, for dusting
6 cups peanut oil, for deep-frying
In a pot place potatoes and 6 cups water, bring to a boil over high heat. Lower heat to medium-high and cook for 45 minutes. Turn off heat, drain and allow potatoes to cool. Peel, mash and reserve.
Place wheat starch in a bowl. Bring 7 ounces water to a boil and add to wheat starch. Mix quickly with wooden spoon to blend. Add mashed potatoes, sugar, salt, five-spice powder and 3 tablespoons peanut oil and mix into a smooth dough. Divide into 12 equal portions. Roll each into an egg shape and dust with cornstarch.
Heat wok over high heat, 40 seconds. Add 6 cups peanut oil. When a wisp of white smoke appears, place 3 of the “eggs” into a Chinese strainer, lower into oil. Fry 3 to 4 minutes, turning, until golden brown. Drain, reserve, in a warm oven. Repeat until all 12 are cooked. Serve immediately.
SERVES 4 TO 6
Clams Steamed with Ginger and Scallions
(GEUNG CHUNG JING HIN)
Clams are the fruit of the sea that represent prosperity and are, to be sure, permissible to eat by observant Buddhists, including nuns.
SAUCE
2 teaspoons minced ginger
3 tablespoons scallions, finely sliced
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
1½ tablespoons Shao-Hsing wine, or sherry
1½ teaspoons sugar
1½ teaspoons Chinese white rice vinegar, or distilled white vinegar
1 tablespoon Scallion Oil (page 16)
3 tablespoons Vegetable Stock (page 14)
Pinch white pepper
12 clams, medium, opened on the half-shell by a fishmonger
8 cups boiling water
6 sprigs coriander
Combine sauce ingredients in a bowl. Place clams in a steamproof dish. Stir sauce, pour over clams. Place dish on a rack in a wok over 6 cups boiling water, cover and steam, 1½ to 2 minutes. Do not oversteam, or clams will become tough (see steaming directions, page 30). Turn off heat and remove dish from steamer. Garnish with coriander and serve immediately.
MAKES 12 CLAMS
Romaine Lettuce with Black Beans
(DAU SEE CHAU SAHNG CHOI)
The only lettuce I knew in China is a variety almost identical in appearance to romaine. In China, all lettuce is sahng choi. This particular lettuce, which grew in profusion in Ah Paw’s walled garden, looks like romaine but has a paler color and a texture quite like iceberg lettuce. It is called bor lei sahng choi, or “glass lettuce.”
7 cups cold water
1 teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon baking soda, optional
1¼ pounds romaine lettuce, washed and drained, wilted leaves discarded,
cut into 2-inch pieces, and stalks separated from leaves (yield will be
about 1 pound)
SAUCE
2 teaspoons Shao-Hsing wine, or sherry
2 tablespoons oyster sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 teaspoons light soy sauce
1 teaspoon sugar
Pinch white pepper
2 teaspoons cornstarch
2 tablespoons Vegetable Stock (page 14)
2½ tablespoons peanut oil
¼ teaspoon salt
3 cloves garlic, peeled, lightly smashed
1½ tablespoons fermented black beans, washed twice and drained
In a large pot place water, add salt and baking soda if using, cover and bring to a boil over high heat. Add lettuce stalks, stir, 5 seconds. Add leaves, submerge completely, cook 5 seconds more. Turn off heat, run cold water into pot, drain well. Toss lettuce to ensure dryness, reserve.
Mix sauce ingredients, reserve.
Heat wok over high heat 30 seconds. Add peanut oil and salt and coat wok with spatula. When a wisp of white smoke appears, add garlic and black beans. Stir and mix well, 20 seconds, until garlic turns light brown. Add reserved lettuce, mix well, making sure the leaves and stalks are coated and very hot, about 1½ minutes. Make a well in the center of the mix, stir sauce, pour in and mix well. When sauce thickens and bubbles, turn off heat, transfer to a heated dish and serve with cooked rice.
SERVES 4 TO 6
Gingko Nuts Stir-Fried with Snow Peas
(BOK GUOR CHAU SEUT DAO)
These little egg-shaped nuts of the gingko tree were always served during the New Year. They possess no particular symbolism, but they were, and are, a continuing tradition. In Sah Gau we would buy them fresh in the shell, then once in Ah Paw’s kitchen it was always my job to break their shells with a mallet, discard the shells and prepare them. Once boiled, and peeled, their lovely yellow color adds to the beauty of any dish.
These days gingko nuts come canned, and they are quite fine if a little softer than those fresh. In the many Chinatowns, you may encounter sidewalk tables behind which small groups of elderly women sit, cracking gingko shells and shelling the nuts as they tell passersby how good the nuts are for their systems. Preparing fresh gingko nuts is time-consuming, so I usually recommend using the canned ones. But if you prefer the satisfaction of preparing your foods from scratch, then follow the instructions below.
½ cup gingko nuts, canned, or ¾ cup fresh, shelled, to yield ½ cup
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1 slice ginger, ½inch thick, lightly smashed
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup scallions, white portions only, cut into ¼-inch pieces, on the
diagonal
8 ounces snow peas, strings removed, washed and drained, and cut into
thirds on the diagonal
2 tablespoons Vegetable Stock (page 14)
Drain and reserve canned gingko nuts, or prepare fresh: Crack gingko nut shells, discard. Place 3 cups of water in a pot, bring to a boil. Add nuts to boiling water, return to a boil, reduce heat and cook nuts for 10 minutes. Turn off heat, run cold water into pot, pour off. Skin the nuts, pull off small bitter stems, reserve. This will yield ½ cup nuts.
Heat wok over high heat for 45 seconds. Add peanut oil, coat wok with spatula. When a wisp of white smoke appears, add ginger and stir 30 seconds, until ginger releases its fragrance. Add salt, stir. Add scallions, stir, cook 20 seconds. Add snow peas, stir, cook 20 seconds. Add gingko nuts, stir to mix well, cook 4 minutes, or until snow peas become bright green. If mixture is too dr
y, you may need to add 1 to 2 tablespoons of stock. Turn off heat, transfer to a heated dish and serve.
SERVES 4 TO 6
Steamed Whole Wintermelon Soup
(BAT BOH DONG GUA JUNG)
This grand and unusual dish was always the centerpiece of Ah Paw’s feast for the Buddhist nuns. The wintermelon itself became both the cooking pot for the soup and the serving tureen, for the soup brewed in it. Its name, bat boh, means “eight treasures,” and had a double meaning for Ah Paw: eight treasured ingredients in the soup, as part of a dinner of eight treasured dishes, a very lucky Seung Bat, or “Double Eight.”