egg custard tarts

I ran some errands in Chinatown today, and as a reward, treated myself to a box of dan ta, or egg custard tarts. These were my favorite Chinese dessert as a kid. The custard is a brilliant shade of yellow... creamy and subtly sweet. I prefer the bright yellow ones, a sign of a healthy dose of yolks used.

Equally good is the crust. Somewhat salty, it's similar to a good pie crust. It must be flaky (as a result of lard as one of the key ingredients and very delicate.

These were delicious, from Golden Gate Bakery. They were wrapped up for me still warm, with a buttery flaky crust.

dim sum!

The conveniences of living in a diverse, multicultural city- within half a block from my apartment, there's a cheap Indian chaat eatery, a Thai, Vietnamese, and Cantonese restaurants, a pizza place, a Japanese sushi joint, a Mexican chain restaurant, and of course, a Starbucks. I think I shall never go hungry again.

Lucky for me, the Cantonese dim sum place is one of the higher rated ones in SF. It's appropriately called Canton Dim Sum & Seafood, and though it sits far out of Chinatown, it still manages to draw a significantly authentic Chinese crowd consistently. Little old grandmothers throwing elbows and canes around trying to get a better look at carts full of chicken's feet and shumai- that's what I call a good time, and a safe bet that you're getting the real stuff.

The roast pork was well seasoned, thinly sliced, porky deliciousness. Maybe a bit on the fatty side, but if you're into that, then it's really quite good.


The fried tofu squares with soy sauce and scallions was nicely fried- not at all greasy, but crispy and light. This is a hard dish to mess up.


This was the only dish of the morning that none of us liked- the steamed pork spareribs with black bean sauce. The cuts of meat were way too large (they are usually only bite-size and very tender). And there was hardly any black bean flavor to the sauce (there were carrots though, somewhat odd...). Oh yes, and a grease trap of a dish. Bleh.


One of my favorites: Xia chang feng, or steamed rice roll with shrimp and soy sauce. It was perfect- soft and chewy rice texture, plump shrimp and a savory sauce poured on top.

A vegetarian delight, and another of my favorites of the morning: Su ji dou fu, dried tofu sheets wrapped to form a roll, stuffed with shitake mushrooms. It's brilliantly chewy, and the name translates to "vegetarian chicken tofu" or mock chicken tofu because the texture resembles eating chicken meat. Be aware though, as it may not completely be vegetarian since it's oftentimes braised in chicken or beef stock.
The stir fried pea shoots were a lovely shade of verdant green, and tender but still crisp at the same time. There were also huge chunks of garlic in there too. Mmmm... lethal!


My mum and dad got bowls of congee and silken tofu, both very traditional, though a tad on the bland side for me. The congee had chunks of hundred year old egg and preserved pickles, but was missing the fried red-skin peanuts that is the usual accompaniment. I enjoyed the tofu better, as it was incredibly soft and light, with a delicately sweet broth poured on top.


Though I had to loosen my belt at this point in the meal, I still made room for the steamed shrimp dumplings. Dim sum is not dim sum without shrimp dumplings. They had a good amount of ginger, and the wrappers were nicely chewy (I hate when they are over-steamed and mushy).


Canton's dishes definitely delivered and did not disappoint, with the exception of the spareribs. I found the menu to be slightly pricier than most dim sum places, but they also serve a high quality of dishes, with very fresh ingredients. I will more than likely frequent this restaurant, as I love dim sum carting, and I dim alot! (That'll be my only comedic contribution to this post.)

yeye's sweet and sour spareribs

I attribute my strong carniverous tendencies to my grandfather. He raised his 4 children on pork, and his grandkids were no exception to the rule. Most parents urge their kids to drink plenty of milk, to eat all their veggies and fruit, even resorting to tricks of the parental trade in order to get these things down their child's unobliging throat. My grandfather, my yeye, in stark but delicious contrast, force fed me braised chicken dishes, glazed spareribs, steamed fish...much to my heart's delight. Greens, to him, were an afterthought, something to add a bit of color and texture to, you guessed it, meat. And we never ate fruit since both he and my grandmother were both diabetic. Thus I grew up knowing my repertoire of meat, meat-products, and on the occasion, by-products.

There are some dishes that to this day, I still crave from my yeye's kitchen. His edamame (we called it mao dou) always came steaming hot and salted, studded with peppercorn and star anise, in a huge gigantic metal bowl for me to pick through. For my birthdays, he would make me jiao zhi yu, a whole fish fried and smothered in a sweet and tangy garlic sauce. He would set the dish so that the head faced me, a portent of good fortune. Mostly I remember the very simplest dishes he made, for a weekday dinner, or a quick lunch on his break between work. Noodles with gravy, scrambled eggs with fresh tomato, a bowl of noodle soup. But mostly, he was famous for his meat dishes (and I mean famous, since he owned two successful restaurants).

One dish that was always a hit with my aunts, uncles and cousins was his Tang Cu Pai Gu, otherwise known as sweet and sour spareribs. Don't let the seemingly mundane name, nor the overly sweet flavors those words conjure, scare you. "Sweet and sour" has become bastardized, a once tangy and savory dish in its native state, has been doused with pounds and pounds of granulated sugar, not to mention bright orange dyes, here in the U.S. throughout take-out joints and large Chinese restaurants.


The real deal uses fresh, small and tender pork spareribs, about 2-3 inches in length. Most of the fat is rendered out in the cooking process, leaving a truly lean and savory portion of meat. The sauce is what ties this dish together, a tour de force of glazes, if you will. It is reminiscent of those rich, caramelized sauces found in Vietnamese clay pot dishes, but with more vinegar, reduced down to a thick and syrupy tang.


More memorable than the taste was the way that Yeye served his spareribs to the family- piled up high in a large metal mixing bowl, set on the diningroom table, which was laid over with old newspapers. No need to say it was all a bit of a messy affair. But nonetheless, finger-licking delicious. When I visited him this year, he was once again busy in the kitchen, peeling garlic, rattling woks...this is how he keeps busy now at age 83. A little before dinnertime, the scent of vinegar and garlic lured me into his kitchen, and to my surprise, a wokful of ribs was braising on the stove. I remember asking him for the recipe, but he just threw out a listing of spices and herbs, and promised to let me watch in a few days as he recreated the dish again.


Just like when I was little, I laid out the newspaper on the table, in preparation for dinner with my grandparents. This dish will always be known as "Yeye's Spareribs" because no one else can make them like he does. I always eat them with such intensity and gusto, letting my little pile of bones build up, never fully realizing just how much satisfaction and pleasure is written over Yeye's face, as he looks on.



Tang Cu Pai Gu - "Yeye's Sweet and Sour Spareribs"

Look for smaller ribs, as these will be more tender. Cut them up, between the rib bones, then across the bone again, to get small "riblet" pieces.
Chinkiang vinegar is a black Chinese rice vinegar that's readily available at all Asian food stores.

1 1/2 - 2 lb pork ribs, cut into 2-3" in length

Braising Liquid:
1 1/2 cups beef stock or broth
1" piece ginger, sliced into rounds
1/2 water, optional
1/2 tsp ground white pepper
2 whole star anise
1 tsp chicken stock granules or MSG, optional
2 Tbsp dark Chinkiang vinegar
3 Tbsp soy sauce
1/4 cup Shaoxing cooking wine
1/4 cup sugar
2 cloves garlic, smashed
1 scallion, cut into thirds

1. Place the ribs in a large pot, fill with water, and set over high heat. Let the water come to a boil, then turn down the heat to simmer for 1 hour (lid on of off). Drain ribs and lay them out on a large dish to dry up some more.

2. Heat the oil in a wok to about 350F. In small batches, fry the ribs, about 1 minute. Drain any excess oil on paper towels.

3. Pour the hot oil out from your wok, and give it a quick wipedown. To the wok, add all the ingredients for the Braising Liquid, except for the sugar. (You can add the optional 1/2 cup water, if you prefer more sauce.) Bring to a gentle boil, add the ribs, stir to coat, and turn the heat down to a simmer. Cover, and cook for about 10 minutes.



4. Stir in the sugar, cover again, and cook over low heat for another 10-15 minutes until the liquid has turned thick and glossy, like a glaze. Turn the heat off and transfer the ribs to a serving dish.

jian bing: beijing street food

Ever since I was little, my parents treated street food in Beijing like the bad boy in high school; they barred me from even getting within a 10 feet range, they covered my eyes, telling me how it was dirty, cheap, and would give me unwanted health problems. Like the ever-obedient child that I was, I listened, though a longing built up in my gut everytime I walked down a small sidestreet and spied one of those pushcarts. Sure, at one point, these mobile vendors would have been a health inspector's worst nightmare (or dream) with the number of health codes they were violating. But nowadays, the situation is much better, as more sanitation laws and requirements have been put in place.

My first tryst with the popular Beijing street food known as jiān bǐng happened one hot summer morning when I was deemed by my family just old enough to start going out on my own. The cart that I remembered from summers past had upgraded to a small dimly-lit store front window, where customers lined up, shouted out their orders, paid and watched the young boy in the window as he whipped up a steaming hot crêpe in under one minute. As the morning rush of nannies, housewives, bicyclists going to work pushed past me to pick up a quick breakfast, I inserted myself at the back of the quickly moving line. Nervous and wide-eyed, I wasn't sure how to order. There wasn't a menu posted overhead, no pictures, nothing. This was Beijing street food at its best- for everyday people, not hyped up for tourists. Mustering up my confidence, I pointed to the dark crêpe batter, raised my finger to indicate one, and said "I'll have everything." I handed over my ¥2 (about $0.25 at the time) and excitedly watched through the fogged-up glass as my jiān bǐng was expertly made.

He wiped off the circular griddle with a towel, and ladled out some of the dark batter, spreading it out with a wooden tool. Paper thin at the edges, the crêpe instantly cooked up as it hit the smoking hot griddle. With a flick of the wrist, he cracked open an egg right on top of the crêpe, breaking up the yolk with the same tool, and sprinkling on a mixture of scallion and cilantro. With the egg still somewhat runny, he flipped the crêpe in one fell swoop, and brushed on two sauces on the other side, one hoisin, the other a spicy chili paste. The final element in this process is what jian bing is best known for- the crispy-fried rectangular cruller that gets placed inside. The edges of the crêpe are then folded in to form a steamy package of egginess, slid into a filmy plastic bag, and was handed over to me. All this in less than a minute. As I stepped away, the boy was moving onto making another crêpe, one of the many hundreds more he'd made that morning.

With that first bite with my nose and face buried into that warm baggie, I was hooked. The crêpe part was nutty, which I later discovered I'd ordered the buckwheat batter. The egg was wonderfully hashed in with the crêpe, spicy and sweet from the mixture of sauces. The addition of the scallion and cilantro gave it a cooling and fragrant freshness, with an added bit of crunch. I particularly enjoyed the thin fried dough hiding inside, which had wilted down from the heat, but gave the jian bing a degree of richness. (This is the same dough as used in Chinese fried crullers.) It was chewy and warmly satisfying, proof that a well rounded breakfast doesn't have to be eaten sitting down. Little did I know it, this was the beginning of an addiction, but at least an affordable one.

In subsequent years, everytime I visited Beijing, my internal jiān bǐng clock would rouse me at sunrise, driving me downstairs to the stand I knew and loved so well. The owners must have been doing well, since they expanded their morning selections to all sorts of savory and sweet pastries, steamed and stuffed buns, and warm soymilk and silken tofu (dou fu nao), another one of my morning favorites. In later years, they raised their prices to a shocking ¥2.5 ($0.35), which is actually a big increase for locals, who remember the days of ¥1 ($0.15) crepes.

I've never tried to make these in my own kitchen; I know it could never be the same. Not just in terms of the ingredients and equipment, but I'd be missing so much than that- my expectant grandparents upstairs nervously awaiting my return, the buzz of the morning working class, hungry and slightly edgy, the excitement of biting into a once-forbidden food, and the experience of eating from a plastic bag, while walking down a Beijing alley that was just coming alive with the day's first light.

There are hundreds of jian bing operators and vendors scattered all throughout Beijing, but you must hit the streets early, as it is a breakfast item. (Though now, you can probably find them sold to tourists at larger night markets.) There are the usual batters- white, mung bean, and buckwheat, and the toppings are the same from vendor to vendor. Prices will range from ¥2 to ¥3.

Illustration from Luxuryeats.com

BreadTalk

There's the aroma of fresh-baked bread, and then, there's the aroma of freshly-baked sweet, eggy bread, stuffed and topped with a myriad of Asian snacks. Think pork floss, curry chicken, sweet corn and cream, taro paste, durian paste, black sesame, and Chinese sausage. The smells are enough to make you at least drop in to peruse through at least 50 different flavors of pastries, baked buns, cakes and cookies. This is BreadTalk, a favorite snack spot of mine in Beijing (there are currently 12 locations throughout the city). Originally started in Singapore, the shop reminds me of all the delicious (and crowded) bakeries all throughout the streets of Hong Kong and Taipei, where fresh bread and buns keep rolling out of the ovens the whole day through.

BreadTalk is for the on-the-go crowd, the carb lovers, the ones who want a "trendy, lifestyle bakery" (according to their website). It's for me and my mom, who go in and ogle the bread everytime we are in Beijing. I guess those plastic domes were made for us. We must look like two starved maniacs who've never tasted bread before!


So, you grab a plastic tray with a pair of tongs, and you just start piling on the bread. At the register, the cashier will individually wrap each bun in a plastic baggie for you. There's even a low-fat yogurt drink machine that tempts you as you wait. Not to mention the array of fancy cakes that include flavors like chocolate-chestnut, strawberry-chantilly, matcha cream, "Tea Rose," and a new line of Hello Kitty cakes! (I wonder what a Sanrio character would taste like...)


If you ever find yourself in Beijing or Singapore, try some of these snacks. The bread itself is delicately sweet, like a brioche dough, and the flavors are both fun and exotic. Prices are really affordable, as each piece will set you back between ¥5 - ¥8, which is roughly $0.80 to $1.15 dollars. The whole cakes range from ¥120 - ¥150 ($17 - $21).

These are just a few of the flavors I could document, before the angry baker caught me with my camera, and shut me down!

Hi, Date Bun- date paste

Chinese sausage with tomatoes, peppers, and cheese (like a Chinese pizza)

Curry naan

Moshi Mushroom- sweet bun topped with puff pastry, stuffed with sauteed mushrooms

Not sure what flavor these are, but their cute factor is definitely not standing in the way of me wanting to eat it!

Firey Floss- spicy pork floss bun

BreadTalk
various locations in Singapore and Beijing

nián gāo

Nian Gao means "sticky cake" in Chinese, but is more commonly known as rice cakes. I remember this dish being a staple at every Chinese potluck party I went to as a kid. Glistening with a coat of sesame oil, a big ceramic bowl would emerge from the microwave, reheated, its contents steaming and amorphous. Simple to make ahead and reheat, it's also quite a filling dish, sticking to everything it adheres to, your teeth, roof of your mouth, your ribs, and then your gut. Not fatty nor even heavy, nian gao are made from ground-up glutinous rice. They are then shaped into "ovalettes," or at least that's what you'll find on the packaging at most Asian markets.

nian gao "ovalettes"

This dish is the savory version of making nian gao, but around Chinese New Year, there's a sweet cake-like variety that's given from family to family, with many probably being re-gifted. It would be the Chinese equivalent of fruitcake. You may have seen it at the store, it comes in a large, dense round, oftentimes, colored maroon or red, always in a vacuum-sealed bag. The store-bought versions are disgustingly sweet; I much prefer the homemade ones made by our family friend (she adds red beans and sometimes mung beans), steamed or friend, then sliced and dipped in sugar.

This has always been a comfort food for me, sticky and warm, with the perfect balance of sticky rice, vegetables and meat. My family doesn't eat too much of it, since it's more of a Southern Chinese dish, from the Shanghai region. When heated in the wok, the nian gao slowly melt and give way to the rest of the components of the dish, beautifully melding everything together with its release of starches. If you've ever had Korean dduk (the thick rope-shaped rice cakes), you'll know what I'm talking about. Nian gao are basically the same thing, just flatter from being sliced on the bias from a similar rope shape.

Typically nian gao is stir-fried with some type of cabbage (most prefer Napa), pork, bamboo shoots, and shitake mushrooms, but you can also use other greens like bok choy, mustard greens, or Chinese broccoli.


Stir-fried Nian Gao
serves 4

2-3 cups nian gao slices, fresh (frozen) or dried
4 cups Napa cabbage, chopped into 1" wide pieces
2 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4" slices
5 shitake mushrooms, sliced
1/4 lb pork tenderloin, cut into 1/8" slices, then slivered
2 Tbsp Shaoxing cooking wine
1 Tbsp minced ginger
1 clove garlic, minced
3 Tbsp oyster sauce
2 Tbsp soy sauce
2 tsp sugar
1 tsp ground white pepper
1 1/2 Tbsp sesame oil
vegetable oil, for stir-frying

1. The night before, soak nian gao in cold water. Drain well the next day just prior to using.

2. Heat 2 Tbsp of oil over high heat in the wok, and cook the pork with 1 Tbsp Shaoxing wine, half the ginger and garlic until no longer pink. Remove and set aside.

3. With wok still heated, add 1 Tbsp oil. Over high heat, cook the cabbage, carrots and shitake until the cabbage starts to wilt, about 2 minutes. Stir in the nian gao and cook to desired consistency, about 3-5 minutes. Along with the nian gao, add in the reserved pork, remaining Shaoxing wine, ginger and garlic, oyster and soy sauce, sugar and white pepper. Just before serving, stir in the sesame oil over medium heat. Serve immediately.

a&j restaurant

It's always amazed me just how many carbs Chinese people can pack away, and still manage to stay trim. It's not surprising to see little kids bury their heads in a big bowl of noodles, or eat a pound of rice with their lunch. I grew up in such a carb-friendly, non-Atkins land where noodles, rice, buns, pancakes and dumplings were present at every meal, and I happily partook in all the abundance. Grains and rice are referred to as "staple foods" in Chinese, and are typically eaten at the end of the meal, to sort of seal the deal (as if all the courses that came before weren't enough).

And so I was happily reunited with the foods of my childhood at A&J, a small and casual Chinese eatery that specializes in Northern Chinese dishes, and who do a hearty and satisfying dimsum service on the weekends. You won't find any carts being pushed around here with shrimp dumplings (that's Cantonese style); you order off the menu, or you could always point to what your neighbors are having at the next table (most likely a big bowl of spicy peanut noodles.) The menu is heavily accented with noodle dishes (wheat being a more common staple in the North) and dumpling-like things. Smoked meats are prevalent, as well as small vegetable side dishes, congee, and the ever popular hot soymilk (you can get it salty, sweet, or with no flavor) and long Chinese crullers. The prices are so affordable that you can try many things without exhausting the coffers. Here are some dishes I recommend (and Mr.S can second).

Guō Tiē - crispy and golden potstickers. These are made in a small pan, with the wrappers left open at the ends, so that juices from the filling can help to steam and add flavor to the dumplings as they cook.

That's the smoked chicken in the very back there, wonderfully deep notes of tea, and well-salted. Chinese crullers in front of that, for dipping into your bowl of soymilk. In the very front is a hard-boiled egg braised in aromatic stock and seasonings.

[left] Edamame, bamboo shoots and mustard greens tossed in sesame oil. [right] Spicy and garlicky cucumber salad.

Spicy peanut noodles (always ask for the wide noodles).

Scallion pancakes. These were good, but could have been better (more flaky and light).

Hóng Yóu Chāo Shǒu - Pork wontons tossed in a delicious sweet and spicy chili oil, with scallions. (Get a second order of these; they won't last long.)

If you go on the weekend, be ready to wait in line anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes. And remember, this isn't anywhere near high-end Chinese cuisine; the food is rustic, homey, somewhat greasy, but altogether filling and 100% delicious.


A&J Restaurant
1319-C Rockville Pike
Rockville, MD 20852

yóu tiáo

I've talked about yóu tiáo before. These Chinese style crullers are solely responsible for making my childhood deliciously greasy and thus memorable. I would gladly get out of a warm bed at 6 in the morning to pick up a bag of these from a street vendor. Sadly, this doesn't exist in the U.S. At least, not freshly-fried ones, and no street food hawkers that early in the morning. In the meantime, I'll settle for some donuts.


I like mine dipped in hot, sweet soymilk. Others in my family like plain soymilk and congee. The one thing we can all agree on is that the yóu tiáo must be crispy, fluffy in the center, and hot hot hot. A breakfast of yóu tiáo and spicy pickled cold dishes is a must every time I visit my grandparents. Families very rarely make these at home anymore; the process is simply too time-consuming and all around greasy for the home kitchen. Besides, freshly-fried, made to order ones can be found in small diners and with street vendors every morning for about 5 cents apiece.

You can find packaged frozen you tiao in most Asian grocery stores, but their taste and texture leave much to be desired. Nothing beats a freshly-fried cruller, to be consumed on the spot. No room for leftovers here!



Chinese Crullers - You Tiao
from Chinese Snacks

3 cups bread flour
1 cup water
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
oil for frying

1. Stir together baking powder, soda and salt with the water. Add flour and mix well. Let stand for 15-20 minutes. Knead the dough until it comes together and becomes smooth and elastic. Turn the dough over and lightly coat the surface with oil. Let stand for 1 hour.

2. Turn the dough out onto a sheet of plastic wrap and form into a rectangular shape. Cut the dough into 1 1/2 lb. rectangular pieces and wrap each in plastic. Let stand for 4 hours.

3. Roll the dough out into a long rectangle, 3" wide and 1/16" thick. Cut crosswise into strips of 1/3" wide. Put two strips on top of each other, and with the back of a knife, gently press down lengthwise in the middle of the strip to attach them together. Do the same for the remaining strips.

4. Heat the oil for deep frying. Holding onto the ends of each strip, gently stretch out the dough into a long strip, a little over a foot in length. Repeat this process for the other strips. Drop into the hot oil. Turn the dough with chopsticks continuously until the cruller expands and turns golden brown. Remove and cool on paper towels. Serve immediately.

"eight treasures" rice pudding

The Chinese New Year was this past week, and I was with my parents, celebrating in the only way we know... with gluttonous amounts of food! There are a few traditional dishes we eat on New Year's day that are also served in every household all over Northern China. These include:

pork dumplings (always boiled, not pan-fried)
steamed fish with ginger and scallion (for luck in the new year)
cold noodle salad (for longevity)
Northern Chinese style chopped salad
stewed red dates
steamed "pearl" balls (minced pork meatballs covered in sticky rice)
Ba Bao Fan (eight treasures rice pudding)

There's a story or a meaning to every dish that's served on New Year's. Most are meant to bring fortune and happiness, much luck and many sons. Eight is an auspicious number in Chinese culture (it rhymes with the Chinese word for wealth). Congee is often served mixed with eight different ingredients, as well as teas, tapioca soups, and rice pudding. These eight ingredients can be a medley of all sorts of dried fruits and nuts, but there are the traditional selections, all meant to balance the yin and the yang in the body when eaten. These include:

dried lily bulbs
red dates (jujubes)
dried longan (a fruit)
lotus seeds
red beans
mung beans
goji berries
peanuts
pinenuts
walnuts

Of course, some of these many not be easily obtainable, so other ingredients can be substituted like dried cranberries, apricots, raisins, and pecans.

My mom makes this version of sticky rice pudding, with layer after layer of rice and sweet nuts and fruits. No matter how many ingredients you use, this dish will always be called Eight Treasures Rice Pudding, so don't fret if you can't find all the traditional dried goods. This dish is even better the second day, warmed up in the microwave, sticky and gooey for a wholesome breakfast.

Mom's "Eight Treasures" Rice Pudding

2 cups glutinous rice
3 Tbsp honey
vegetable oil, for greasing the bowl

OTHER LAYERS**:
1 can red bean paste
1/2 cup red dates, soaked overnight, chopped into bitesize pieces
1/2 cup toasted pinenuts
1/3 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup raisins
1/3 cup goji berries, soaked overnight

**you can use any medley of dried fruits and nuts of your choice (see list above)

1. Steam the glutinous rice in a rice maker with 2 cups of water. Once done, let cool, and mix in the honey. Set aside.

2. Grease with the oil a deep ceramic bowl, or a pudding mold, if you have one. Sprinkle a handful of dried nuts and fruits at the bottom, and cover with a thin layer of the cooled rice. Smear on a layer of red bean paste, and top with another handful of nuts and fruits. Repeat the process until the bowl is full.

3. Cover with a plate and refrigerate for up to 2 hours. Set another heavy bowl on top to press together the layers of rice. When ready, invert the rice out onto a serving plate. Serve with sugar or honey.

ginger scallion lobster

I can always count on my dad to happily surprise me with a dish from his kitchen. We've never cooked this traditional dish at home before; we've only ordered it out at Cantonese restaurants, and only then, rarely, since it's an expensive one and a messy one for your fingers. However, he made this last weekend for a dinner party that left me in gleeful tears. What's wonderful about this dish is that it's not just the tail meat; you are getting the whole lobster with all its delightful flavors and tender parts.

The ingredients in this dish are simple and straightforward, yet to master it, you must have some serious wok skills. It's cooked fast and furious, over a smokin' hot flame. The resulting lobster is out of this world. Sweet and succulent, it also has a nice subtle smokiness. Ginger and scallion forge a mighty partnership here. Be sure to use a very fresh, live lobster.



Ginger Scallion Lobster (Cōng Jiāng Lóng Xiā)

1 whole live lobster
10 stalks green scallion, cut into 2" long pieces
1" piece fresh ginger, cut into 1/8" discs
5 cloves garlic
2 Tbsp Chinese cooking wine
salt, to taste
1 tsp cornstarch, mixed with 3 Tbsp water

1. Chop up the lobster into large pieces of roughly equal size. Roughly pound the garlic with the flat side of a cleaver to release the flavors.

2. Heat 3 Tbsp of oil over high heat in a wok. Add the scallion, ginger and garlic, and stirfry until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the lobster pieces and keep stirring until they're 75% cooked through and the shell starts to turn a light red color.

3. Add the salt and cooking wine. At the very end of the cooking process, stir in the cornstarch mixture and allow it to thicken over the pieces of lobster. Remove from heat and serve.

char siu pork sliders

It's a new year, and I've pledged to be less discriminating in my cooking choices. I'd much rather bake than cook, cook with veggies than with meat, and cook with poultry or seafood than pork and beef. So this year, in order to be more of a well balanced and better educated cook, I'm making a real effort to cast a wide net and explore new ingredients and methods that make me slightly trepidacious. So here's to a year of hopefully more pork, lamb, and offal recipes, more sky-high towering layer cakes, ethereally light and voluminous souffles, and eventually home brewed root beers and libations.

Char siu, or cha shao, is basically Chinese BBQ. It's sweet and smoky and glows a disturbingly bright red hue (all due to red dye no. 40), but it's so good it's addictive. If you've ever walked through Chinatown, you've probably caught a glimpse of pinkish-red cuts of pork dangling from hooks in small deli windows, all perfectly roasted with caramelized skin. A fattier cut of pork makes for a delicious product, but lean tenderloin can also be used. I prefer to eat my char siu cold, sandwiched in a steamed bun, or thinly sliced over a bowl of udon noodle soup. Here, I've taken it freshly roasted, and did a take on the traditional pulled pork sandwich, creating a Chinese style pork slider burger.

What's the appeal of the mini burger? Well, they are certainly fun to eat. More importantly, they're easy to eat, to pick up with one hand, instead of the requisite two hand Neanderthal grip on a monstrous double decker burger. Sliders are to the burger what dainty cupcakes are to the party-size sheet cake. We all love a gluttonous hunk of layer cake every now and then, but there is a bit of whimsy and refinement to a single serving mini cake. Similarly, when a burger gets downsized, it suddenly takes on a newfound lighthearted appeal. (Though I suppose gluttony can still apply when you eat a whole frickin' mountain of sliders.)


Char Siu Pork

2 lb pork loin or shoulder
3 Tbsp soy sauce
2 Tbsp oyster sauce
4 Tbsp Hoisin sauce
2 Tbsp Shaoxing cooking wine
2 Tbsp honey
2 Tbsp brown sugar
1 tsp five spice powder
1" piece fresh ginger, julienned
1 tsp red food coloring

1. Combine all the ingredients in a large quart-size plastic freezer bag. Seal, and gently massage the marinade into the meat. Refrigerate to let marinate for about 24 hours.

2. Preheat the oven to 425F. Lay the pork out onto the wire rack of a roasting pan. Pour enough water into the bottom pan so that it comes up to about 1/2" up the sides. (This creates a steam that keeps the meat juicy.) Roast for 15 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350F.**

3. Baste with the leftover marinade every 10 minutes. Roast for about 30-40 minutes or until the center of the cut registers 160F on an instant read thermometer.

4. Remove from oven, and let cool for 15 minutes. Slice and serve immediately or let come to room temperature and refrigerate for a later use.

** An alternative method to pan roasting would be to hang up the pork on S-hooks from the top rack of your oven over the dripping pan. This would be preferable for a fattier cut of meat in order to let the grease slowly drip out of the meat.

i love new york (no, not the show)

Oh, New York City at Christmas time, especially when it snows, just makes a girl glow with happiness. What a workout for our feet, and not to mention our wallets. Mr.S and I hit the city two weeks back for some holiday mayhem, and catching, just in time, the first snow of the season. At the end of the day, we rode the train back to Baltimore, tired and sore, only to be faced with 4 inches of ice and snow piled up on my car! No matter, since we returned with a fine collection of loot, treasures from our favorite stores...here is a quick rundown of what's on our NYC hotlist:

For a small space, Kid Robot packs a big punch. It's a unique toy store that carries vinyls and collectables, figurines and imports. We always walk out with a bagful of blind-box toys. I love the Ugly Dolls. Celebrity sighting #1: Timothy Roth.

French clothier A.P.C. is minimal with clean and classic silhouettes. Mr.S raves about their durable and well-fitted denim. I have my eye on a navy wool capelet and a belted white trench coat. Their Soho store is their first in the U.S.

I am in awe of Uniqlo, a Japanese H&M-like, but more upscale store. They are not afraid to use color and bold shapes, and are always on the cutting edge of what is trendy, with this season being skinny tapered jeans (of all sizes and washes) and oversize cashmere sweaters. The best deal ever: FREE tailoring and alterations, ready for you within an hour!

Mr.S adores Japanese import MUJI, a lifestyle store (once only available at the MoMA Store) that boasts a simple, minimalist design in the truest Japanese ways on everything from stationery to housewares to cotton tees to furniture. Everything is simple and functional, with clean lines. Check out the porcelain noodle bowls and soy sauce dispensers, perfect for a dinner of hot soba soup.

Next door to Muji is CB2, otherwise known as Crate and Barrel 2, a younger, hipper, even more affordable version of its original counterpart. Adorable design meets functionality, meets well, damn cheap pricetags! I walked out with olive platters, crescent-shaped appetizer plates, and simple porcelain oblong trays.

Who doesn't love ultra-trendy sportswear with an 80's gym-like flair? Co-owned by actor Jason Lee, WESC stands for WE are a Superlative Conspiracy. You'll find many an urban-chic sweatshirt, logo-emblazoned, and filmy tees with geometric designs and textiles.

And next door to WESC is Supreme, a small skate and bike shop with hard to find designer Nikes and one-of-a-kind boards. Definitely a boys club of sorts. Mr.S had his eye on a pair of gold Oakley Frogskins.

Even better than Sur la Table! And that's saying alot. I love Broadway Panhandler mecca for an emerging young chef or baker. In my cart at the end of the night were French casserole dishes, an egg topper, a slurry of miniature fluted pastry molds, uniquely shaped for its amazing selection of everything-you-would-ever-need cooking and baking supplies. A true cookie cutters, ring molds, loaf pans, and gold and silver leaf. Next time, I will go back for the Global cleaver and magnetic knife rack....drool. Note: BP has moved from Soho to the East Village. We mistakenly went to the original location...but we did find Celebrity sighting #2: Willam Dafoe.

Think eclectic, homey, upscale comfort food. Prune is the mastermind of chef ... , a collection of meals and dishes from her childhood, radishes with butter, roasted marrow, golden merveilles. I love quirky, heart-warming eateries that are innovative without trying so hard.

I was cold and hungry, and Balthazar provided a warm haven for lunch. Alas, it was not to be, since the Wednesday lunch wait was 2.5 hours! We walked away sad and disappointed, with the lingering image of golden pan-fried skate with brown butter and hazelnuts, and warm frites on our minds.

And so we stumbled upon another little treasure around the corner, the French Culinary Institute Restaurant, a teaching restaurant for the students in training of the famed school. The menu changes daily, with traditional and contemporary French dishes. The amuse bouche was a bite-size crabcake with a nice remoulade. I ordered the poached cod with braised leeks and smoked cod cheeks. The technique was perfect, but overall the spices and salt somewhat restrained, as the fish was merely bathed in cream...how very French. Mr.S had the pan-seared pork chop with roasted tomatoes and wilted spinach. Good, but yet again, very much "culinary school"-esque.



My favorite bakery in Chinatown is Fay Da Bakery. I have an ongoing list of pastries to try, but some must-haves are chestnut buns, cha shao (roast pork) buns, flaky taro pastry balls, coconut and green tea mochi balls, pineapple kaya buns, and all the bubble teas.

For dinner, Mr.S took me to Haru, a popular sushi spot with a few locations through out the city. Celebrity sighting #3: The Apprentice's Carolyn Kepcher. The lychee cocktail is a classic. The crispy duck appetizer could have been crispier, but still quite good, with a flavorful teriyaki-hoisin sauce over soft pancakes. The generous cuts of sashimi are fresh and well worth the price. The wait staff is attentive and a trip, our server was a young Laotian man who went by the nickname Captain Jack Sparrow.