My Grandmother's Chinese Kitchen
Page 18
Boiled Noodles in Sesame Sauce
(MAH JEUNG LO MEIN)
This noodle dish from Ah Paw’s kitchen was a surprise for my father, who after tasting it actually asked me how I made it.
SAUCE
3 tablespoons sesame seed paste diluted with 3 tablespoons boiling
Vegetable Stock (page 14)
2½ tablespoons Scallion Oil (page 16)
1 tablespoon dark soy sauce
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
3 tablespoons oyster sauce
1½ teaspoons Chinese white rice vinegar, or distilled white vinegar
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1½ teaspoons minced garlic
2 teaspoons minced ginger
1 tablespoon sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
Pinch white pepper
3 tablespoons scallions, finely sliced
10 cups cold water
2 teaspoons salt
12 ounces fine (similar to capellini) fresh egg noodles
In a large bowl, place all sauce ingredients, mix thoroughly and reserve.
In a large pot place water and salt, bring to a boil over high heat. Add noodles, cook for 1½ minutes until al dente, stirring and loosening as they cook with chopsticks or fork. Turn off heat, drain noodles well. Then add directly into the bowl of sauce, mix well to coat the noodles thoroughly. Serve warm, in the bowl.
SERVES 4
IN MAY OF 1950 MY MOTHER, Miu Hau, traveled from Siu Lo Chun to Hong Kong, at the urging of my brother, in an effort to persuade my father and me to return home. It was a determined effort on her part, for in those times of mass exodus, while it was relatively easy to leave China, it was more difficult, though not impossible, to return. My mother was permitted to leave when she explained that she was trying to bring her husband and daughter back to China. As it turned out, she was successful with my father, but not with me. I had made up my mind and I would not change it, I told my mother, adding that perhaps in the future I would return to my home for a visit.
During the first two of the four years I lived with Aunt Number Five behind her store in Kowloon, my brother wrote to me many times asking me to return home. I continued to say no. I remember that in 1952, his letters stopped. I was informed by a cousin through his family in Siu Lo Chun that my brother had been arrested. Shortly after, a letter from my father arrived, telling me Ching Moh had been executed by party authorities in our village. He had been accused, falsely it turned out, of being a Kuomintang agent. The charge was not true, but my brother was dead.
MY BROTHER CHING MOH, IN HIS PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA MILITARY UNIFORM IN 1951.
Did I feel sorrow that I had not returned home? Yes, but I did not cry in front of my aunt, remembering that Ah Paw had told me never to cry where it could be seen, but to breathe heavily, to bite my lips, but never cry. I did however run to the bathroom and cry there. I also realized that my being home might not have made a difference. I know I would have supported my brother, and perhaps I might have been killed as well. When I stopped crying I swore that I would never again return to my village, the village that had killed my brother. In all of my visits to China since, I have kept to this promise. I have never returned to Siu Lo Chun.
At this time I was going to an evening school to learn English. A friend and customer of my aunt, a Mr. Ng, asked me one day if I was attending school. I told him I was not because I could not afford it. He said immediately, “You are now in my school.” So I worked in the shop days and took evening English classes. This was a happy time that was interrupted by another shock when, in 1954, a letter from one of my cousins in Sah Gau informed me that Ah Paw had died.
I did cry then, and for a long time. Biting my lips did not help. I was so surprised. She had never been ill in all the time I was with her. I supposed I thought she would live forever. I always thought I would one day return to see her, because I never thought of her as old. As it turned out, she was about seventy-two when she passed away, from what my cousin called old age. The other news from Sah Gau was equally saddening. My cousin Ah Mui, Ah Paw’s grandson, with whom I had trapped shrimp for Ah Paw’s mynah, was now, along with his wife, a member of the Communist Party. In fact Ah Mui had been appointed a provincial official, and transferred north to Guangzhi. Because of his position, most of Ah Paw’s small empire remained intact, but the servants had left, Ah Guk to her family nearby, Sao Lin to Siu Lo Chun to care for my mother, who was ill.
WITH MY COUSIN MAUREEN IN 1954, IN FAN LING IN HONG KONG’S NEW TERRITORIES, WHERE FOR A TIME I LIVED, WORKED AND LEARNED ENGLISH.
I left Kowloon for my first job, that of a salesgirl in a shop called Nina Silk Store. It was in the New Territories town of Fan Ling, where I lived with my cousin Maureen. My evening school classes ended, but I was proud that I had gotten my first job. Though I earned very little money, HK$100, the equivalent of about US$25 each month, I regularly sent some of it back to my parents.
They had no income. Their lands had been confiscated. All they had was their house, one wall of which had collapsed, I was informed by letter. What had been a pleasant flower garden was overgrown. Our fish ponds were no longer ours. No longer were our fields ours. There was little food in our market, and inflation was rampant. I needed to support them as much as I could.
IN A PUBLIC GARDEN IN FAN LING IN 1955. THIS GARDEN HAS BEEN REPLACED WITH A FORTY-STORY APARTMENT BUILDING.
I remember when I went to work the first day, the owner, a man from India, gave me that one day to memorize and place his entire stock. I did it. It was like going to school all over again.
I thought always of my family and my Ah Paw in those days, never more so than one day when another shop owner, a Pakistani, gave me an envelope with HK$100 inside, which represented my salary for one month. I recalled Ah Paw’s cautions about never taking money I had not earned, so I declined his gift. As it turned out, he was on the lookout for a young wife and he thought I would do just fine. I thought not, and I silently thanked Ah Paw again.
I stayed in Fan Ling for two years, then moved back to Hong Kong proper, to Kowloon, to another home and another job. My number-six aunt, Lok Ku Cheh, Maureen’s mother, took me into her home, which I shared with her and four cousins, three teenage girls and a boy. It was my happiest time in Hong Kong. I worked, then managed, a fabrics and tailor shop, Hira Silk Store, in the mall-like Chung King Arcade off Nathan Road. In addition to having a job with more responsibilities, which I liked, I had a schedule that gave me every second Sunday afternoon off, no easy accomplishment in Hong Kong where just about everybody worked morning until night, seven days each week, with time off only on major holidays.
IN 1957 BEHIND THE COUNTER OF THE HIRA SILK STORE ON NATHAN ROAD IN KOWLOON, WHICH I MANAGED FOR THREE YEARS.
Lok Ku Cheh was another of my extended family who was a fine cook, and I learned much from her. In my time off I watched her, cooked with her and learned. I amazed her when I showed her how expertly I could kill a chicken, and when she asked me how I knew, I told her I had learned in Ah Paw’s kitchen. She understood. Even though she was from my father’s side of our family, and Ah Paw had been the matriarch of my mother’s side, the reputation of my grandmother’s kitchen was well known, she said. She also welcomed my occasional help in her kitchen and admired my love for cooking because, she said, none of her own daughters seemed interested in it. It was from Lok Ku Cheh that I learned what has become a true kitchen heirloom of my family.
SHORTLY AFTER THIS PICTURE WAS TAKEN, I MOVED TO KOWLOON AND THE HOME OF MY NUMBER-SIX AUNT, LOK KU CHEH.
My Aunt’s Lemon Chicken
(LING MUNG GAI)
This recipe, from Lok Ku Cheh, my father’s younger sister, is unique. There are many preparations that go by the name of Lemon Chicken, but virtually all of them involve deep-frying big pieces of chicken breast that have been dipped in batter, then doused with a viscous, usually overly-sweet lemon sauce. Lok Ku Cheh’s lemon chicken is a dish of great harmony, li
vely and natural, that consists of an entire fresh chicken, cut up, and steamed with fresh lemons. Lok Ku
Cheh always specified that a young chicken be used for this dish, a chee gai, or virgin chicken that had never laid eggs, because its bones were soft and delightful on which to chew. These days, a three-pound chicken is the best approximation to use. I recommend, and cook, this dish quite often, and I teach it repeatedly.
1 3-pound chicken, fat and membranes removed, rubbed with ¼ cup salt,
rinsed under cold water, drained, dried with paper towels and cut into
bite-size pieces
1 fresh lemon, cut into 4 quarters
MARINADE
2 teaspoons Chinese white rice wine, or gin mixed with ¾ teaspoon
ginger juice
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
1½ tablespoons oyster sauce
1½ teaspoons sesame oil
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1½ teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon sugar
Pinch white pepper
2½ tablespoons cornstarch
1 tablespoon scallions, finely sliced
1 tablespoon coriander, finely sliced
Place chicken pieces in a bowl, squeeze lemon quarters over them, then add quarters to the bowl. Add all marinade ingredients, mix to combine well. Allow to rest 30 minutes.
Place chicken in a steamproof dish, spread pieces out and pour marinade over them. Place dish in a steamer, over 8 cups boiling water, cover and steam, 40 to 50 minutes. Turn chicken 2 to 3 times during steaming (see steaming directions, page 30). The chicken is cooked when it turns white. Turn off heat and remove from steamer. Serve chicken in its steamproof dish, sprinkled with sliced scallions and coriander, with cooked rice.
SERVES 4 TO 6
Chicken Pancakes
(GAI YUK BANG)
This very unusual dish, from Ah Paw’s kitchen, became a family favorite as well. It has always been an inherited dish, from my grandmother, to me, to my aunt, soon to my granddaughter. I have never seen it in a restaurant. Lok Ku Cheh had never heard of it, but when I described it as it has been made in Sah Gau, she took to it immediately, one reason being that it fit into her lifestyle, for she cooked every day for at least six people.
1 pound ground chicken
4 scallions, finely sliced
⅓ cup water chestnuts, cut into ¼-inch dice
3 tablespoons egg white, lightly beaten
2 teaspoons Chinese white rice wine, or gin mixed with 1 teaspoon
ginger juice
2 teaspoons sesame oil
2 tablespoons peanut oil
1½ tablespoons oyster sauce
2 teaspoons light soy sauce
¼ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar
Pinch white pepper
1½ tablespoons cornstarch
7 tablespoons peanut oil, for pan-frying
Mix all ingredients, except 7 tablespoons peanut oil, until thoroughly blended. Divide mixture into 2 equal portions.
Heat wok over high heat 40 seconds. Add 2 tablespoons peanut oil, coat wok with spatula. When a wisp of white smoke appears, add one portion of chicken mixture and with spatula flatten the mixture to make a pancake about 6½ inches in diameter. Lower heat, tip wok side to side to ensure even browning. Add 1 additional tablespoon of peanut oil if needed. If so, drizzle into the wok from its edges. Fry for 4 minutes. Turn over, fry another 4 minutes, again tipping wok back and forth. Again, if chicken mixture is too dry, drizzle another tablespoon of peanut oil into the wok.
Repeat with second half of chicken mixture. After each pancake is golden brown, remove to a heated dish. When both are cooked, serve with cooked rice.
SERVES 4
NOTE You may make this into 4 pancakes, by dividing mixture into 4 equal portions. Cook in same manner.
These pancakes were as versatile as they were popular. We ate them alone, with rice, as noted, but we also cut them up to be added to soups or eaten with noodles, and stir-fried them with vegetables.
Chicken Pancakes Stir-Fried with Long Beans
(DAU GAW CHAU GAI YUK BANG)
Long beans are a distinctly Asian vegetable. They resemble string beans, but often grow more than two feet long. Their name, dau gaw, translates as “bean horns.” In my grandmother’s garden both green and white long beans grew. Those green were generally more crisp and were used in stir-fries; the white were used in long-cooked methods such as braising, where they softened. Their tastes were similar. Long beans are available in Asian markets. If unavailable, use string beans.
SAUCE
3 tablespoons oyster sauce
2 teaspoons double dark soy sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 teaspoons sugar
Pinch white pepper
3 tablespoons peanut oil
1 tablespoon minced ginger
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup scallions, white portions only, cut into ½-inch pieces on the
diagonal
1 pound long beans, washed, dried, both ends trimmed and each cut into
2-inch lengths
1½ tablespoons Shao-Hsing wine, or sherry
1 Chicken Pancake (page 218), 8 ounces, cooked, cut into slices 2 inches
long by ½ inch wide
Mix sauce ingredients, reserve.
Heat wok over high heat 40 seconds, add peanut oil, coat wok with spatula. When a wisp of white smoke appears add ginger and stir. Add salt and stir. Add scallions, stir and mix, cook 45 seconds. Add long beans, stir-fry 1½ minutes. Drizzle wine into wok along its edges, mix well. Cook for 1 minute. Stir sauce, make a well in mixture, pour sauce in. Mix well to coat the beans, allow to cook 5 to 7 minutes. Little or no liquid should be in wok at this point.
Add chicken pancake slices, stir to mix well. Cook 2 minutes, until hot. There will be virtually no liquid in the wok at this point. Turn off heat, transfer to a heated dish and serve with cooked rice.
SERVES 4 TO 6
WITH FRED IN 1959, AS WE SAT ON THE STAR FERRY CROSSING HONG KONG HARBOR.
FROM MY NUMBER-SIX AUNT’S HOUSE, Hong Kong’s many small street markets were just short walks away and the produce available was remarkable: vegetables just in from the New Territory farms, live chickens, ducks and squabs, live fish, shrimp and shellfish. I recall my aunt going off to her market, the Chung Choi Gai, with pail in hand, to buy that evening’s live fish. These days many of these small markets have been replaced by large, consolidated covered markets and sprawling outdoor enclaves in Sham Sui Po and Yau Mah Tei.
Lok Ku Cheh was a kind woman who, even though she had six children of her own, gave her love to me. She counseled me, as my mother would have had she been there, and as my Ah Paw when she was alive. And when I met the man who would eventually become my husband, it was Lok Ku Cheh who took me in hand and planned an elaborate lunch for him that was in fact a let-us-look-at-this-foreign-devil invitation, but which Fred believed to be a welcome-to-the-family meal.
I remember that day as one in which I did most of the late cooking, while my aunt, who had cooked all morning, sat smoking with Fred. He smoked quite a bit then, and my aunt did likewise. He spoke no Chinese, she spoke no English, but as I cooked in her kitchen I heard them laughing uproariously at, and with, each other. Then the food began to come in. Fred was quite proud of the way he held chopsticks. He had been drafted into the U.S. Army, was stationed in Japan and had learned to use chopsticks. My aunt, however, was unimpressed. She watched him eat for a short while then said to me, “Koi tung yap boon jai sik fan yat yeung.” Fred asked what she had said. I told him, that Lok Ku Cheh had said, “You eat like a Japanese,” and that it wasn’t a compliment.
OUR WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT.
To close the meal, my aunt brought in a very large flat garoupa, a fish of the Hong Kong waters. She had steamed it and it lay, as Fred likes to tell the story, with a large cooked eye staring at him. I should add that at this point in his life, Fred’s only experienc
e with fish had been canned tuna. He asked me, in a whisper, “What do I do?” I responded, “Take some fish.”
Very tentatively he pushed his chopsticks into the fish, took some bits and placed it atop his bowl of rice. My aunt would have none of that. She said loudly, “M’ho gum hak hei,” or “Don’t be bashful,” grabbed his bowl and with her chopsticks, pushed fish onto the rice, including that eye. “What do I do now?” he asked. “Eat it,” I replied.
What he did was put his glass of beer close to his left hand then, with the same hand, he lifted his rice bowl to his lips, and with his right hand shoveled the fish, and its eye, into his mouth, barely chewing, swallowing loudly, then finishing up with a huge gulp of beer. My aunt thought this was hilarious, and never ceased telling her family of Fred’s small adventure.
IN FRONT OF THE HONG KONG MARRIAGE REGISTRY OFFICE ON OUR WEDDING DAY, JUNE 18, 1969.
I had met my future husband a year earlier when he happened to come into the shop that I managed. He introduced himself, asked my name, said he was on leave from his station in Japan and wished to have a shirt tailored. I suppose he liked his shirt, for he had another made, then a jacket. He came to the shop every day. Then, perhaps after the fifth visit, he asked if I would go out with him. I refused. He followed me home on my bus one night, we shared coffees in a teahouse, and he shocked me by saying that he intended to marry me. My cousins seemed to like him, and eventually we did have a date, a chaperoned lunch, a couple of days before Lok Ku Cheh’s lunch.