Liang Ban Drumsticks

In Chinese cuisine, 涼拌, or liang ban (lee-AHNG bahn), is kind of an interesting concept that, to my knowledge, does not have a decent English translation.  Hence, the odd title.

The basics of liang ban sauce, as I grew up knowing it, involve soy sauce, some type of aromatic oil, a bit of vinegar, raw minced garlic, and raw chopped green onions.  Optional items can include, but are not limited to, sugar, minced ginger, and chili pepper.  Hailing from Southern regions of China, such a dish usually involves preparing the main component separately (usually boiled in water or a very light broth), and then mixing the main component together with all of the aforementioned fresh ingredients, cold or at room temperature.

The name literally comes from this particular style of preparation, not necessarily the ingredients involved or the type of food being consumed; therefore its various incarnations tend to have different translations in English.  For instance, you can prepare a cold dish with chunks of cucumber in this sauce, called 涼拌黃瓜, and it could be considered akin to pickled cucumbers.  Prepare a dish with noodles and various complementary ingredients in this sauce, and you would have yourself something like 涼拌面, or cold noodle salad.  The most frequent translations mention the ideas of pickling and salads (photos from the Internet below, for reference).  So how do you translate chicken drumsticks prepared this way?  Beats me, really.

Drumsticks were on sale at the grocery store recently, so I purchased two packs for the week before deciding how to make them.  Being a weeknight, I wanted to dedicate as little time as possible to cooking activities.  So I prepared it liang ban because this method is relatively quick.  For the uninitiated, the best analogy off the top of my head would be putting together a sandwich for yourself.  Quick, efficient, and tasty is the essence of this dish.

First, I boiled the drumsticks on high heat with two large chunks of ginger in somewhat salty water (about 30 minutes).  While I waited, I minced the garlic and slant-chopped the green onions.  The idea behind chopping the green onions in a "slanted" fashion is to preserve the somewhat grassy, vegetal feel of the plant when sinking your teeth into it.

When the drumsticks were just about ready (the meat was fall-off-the-bone tender), I moved them from the boiling water to the mixing bowl I prepared with garlic and green onions.  I poured soy sauce, vinegar, and sesame oil to taste and mixed everything together.  Five minutes later, the drumsticks were ready to eat.  Come to think of it, a peanut oil might complement the sauce very nicely and give it a somewhat Southeast Asian dimension.  Maybe next time.

Cakes and Vegetables 3: Revenge of the Zucchinis

A year ago, my long-time fascination with vegetables and fruits directly incorporated into bread culminated in making my first banana bread.  Then last month, I spent an hour grating three cups worth of carrots to be baked into carrot cake.  Grating the carrots was so time-consuming, I swore to myself I would not grate vegetables for any baked goods in the near future.

Fast forward a month, and it looks like I am at it again.  At a friend's recommendation, I tried making chocolate zucchini bread.  To be more exact, it was a double chocolate spiced zucchini bread.  Honestly, I had my reservations because I am somewhat "choosy" when it comes to chocolate.  I typically like chocolate in only three forms: bars, candies, and melted (e.g. fudge on a sundae or chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven).  So you can probably imagine that I am not partial to certain American classics like chocolate ice cream or chocolate cake or chocolate milk (the first two I will tolerate, the last one I avoid at all costs).

But man oh man, this bread blew my reservations out the door (even if it does not look extremely appetizing). It was moist with firm texture, and also pleasing to bite.  The chocolate incorporated into the bread was actually a welcome addition taste-wise, possibly because the flavor was more conservative than expected.  I was worried that the extra chocolate chips would be overpowering, but instead they added gooey splotches to parts of the bread, making it that much more pleasing to chew. Since I had mint dark chocolate chips to get rid of, I used those for this bread. I am never a fan of mint chocolate (bought it for an experiment a while back), but I must say it worked out.

When I brought some slices into the office, one coworker with a particularly good intuition for food suggested I try a fruity parsnip bread, i.e. apple ginger parsnip bread or peach ginger parsnip bread.  Parsnips seem a little weird to me, but I am told they are basically a white carrot.  Given my borderline obsession with vegetables in bread, it looks like the path leading to my next baked creation has been laid out before me.

I adapted my chocolate zucchini bread from this recipe at Allrecipes.com.

Ramen of the Ren's Variety

Sapporo is the capital and largest city of Hokkaido, the (huge) northern island of Japan.  According to Wikipedia, Sapporo is known to non-Japanese folks for having hosted the 1972 Winter Olympics, but I did not know that.  What I know about the region is that local specialty seafood is supposedly a bragging point even for an "islands" nation.  As for ramen, Sapporo has named their own style.

Enter Ren's Ramen, a shop in Wheaton, MD supposedly owned by Taiwanese folks.  I cannot speak for how true to Sapporo style Ren's makes their bowl since I have only taken a two-week vacation in central Japan.  If I may digress a bit: I can hardly claim that I know ramen, let alone recognize local specialties throughout the entire country.  For perspective, consider the innate expertise with which an American foodie, having grown up eating burgers, might dissect the intricacies of a "bun and patty" (dissect by eating, of course).  I want to be able to examine a bowl of ramen at least as capably as I can examine a burger (again, examine by eating).

Nevertheless, having finished a bowl at Ren's, what I can speak to is my approval for their broth.  Of the three broths Ren's offers (miso, tonshio, shoyu), I ordered miso, which is the specialty of Hokkaido ramen.  When Ren's describes the complicated broth preparation in my bowl, boasting of "depth and body," they do not exaggerate.  The broth was exceptional among those found at ramen shops I have visited in the Metropolitan DC region.

As for other aspects of my meal:

• The noodles were a pleasing consistency, although quite different from my favorite ramen-variety noodles at Daikaya (which also serves Sapporo style).
• The bean sprouts were a nice addition, but they are more of a Southeast Asian food item.  Think Vietnam, Thailand, Southern China, Taiwan, etc.  I am not sure bean sprouts fit in a ramen bowl hailing from a region at least 1,200 miles (2,000 km) north of Southeastern Asia.  Still, I offer that observation up for a second, more knowledgeable opinion.
• The soft-boiled eggs were prepared just right, and the single slice of roast pork was tasty.  I would have ordered extra slices of cha siu or their stewed fatty pork, but I was short on cash...
• And that is a really key point: they only accept cash and they do not have an ATM handy!  With a standard compliment of add-ons as is the way of ramen shops in America, expect to pay up to $20 including tax and tip.  $25 if you plan to splurge, and that does not include drinks (I am a cheap Asian...I am there for the food, not the drinks).

Overall, I highly recommend Ren's Ramen, although it is about a 30-minute trek on I-495 North for those in Northern Virginia.  Happy slurping!

The Wayward Adventures of Hand-Pulled Noodles (and Taiwanese Inspired Beef Noodle Soup)

In college, it became almost customary to celebrate a Chinese holiday by making food with friends.  In those days, dumplings were often the edible of choice because of their relative simplicity and cost-effectiveness.  Since I have been making dumplings for dinner on a semi-regular basis, I decided to step it up this year for the Mid-Autumn Festival.  I stretched my horizons into the land of hand-pulled noodles.

Okay, the imagery I tried to use in that last sentence does not work out perfectly.  And although this experiment was not without mishaps along the way, the final bowl of noodles turned out to be pretty tasty.

The Noodles

Hand-pulled noodles, or lamian (拉面), purportedly originated in Lanzhou, the capital city of a Central-Northwestern province of China.  Since then, it has been adapted to different regional specialties as it spread throughout Asia.  Within China, the Beijing style is also somewhat recognized.  Additionally, if you say "lamian" out loud, you may notice very striking linguistic similarities to a certain type of Japanese noodle soup: ramen.  This is no coincidence, because the Japanese may have borrowed the basic principles of lamian and proceeded to mold and evolve the dish into what is known as ramen today.  Certainly, the two bowls of noodles are so different today, they can no longer be compared apples-to-apples.  While the culinary link between lamian and ramen is still debated, it is certain that they share an etymological link.

I began by making the dough using ingredients pictured below, including 150 mL (approximate) water warmed in the microwave for 10-15 seconds and high-gluten flour (高筋粉), an ingredient entirely new to me.

The dough combined about two cups high gluten flour, 1/3 cup all-purpose flour (6:1 ratio) and a sprinkling of salt and baking soda.  I added just enough water to allow for the formation of gluten bonds.  The hard dough was then kneaded for 20 minutes straight.  Adding strength training to my workouts a few months ago paid off, because I have no bread machine!

I wrapped the dough in plastic wrap and let it rest for an hour.  Afterward, I proceeded to flex the dough as the masters do it (skip to 1:16 and 5:19):

Well, I tried to anyway.  My dough was not as elastic as it needed to be.  No matter how much flexing and twisting I performed, the dough would end up breaking mid-stretch.  (Tensile strength profiles, anybody?)  In many videos found during my research, the chef would undulate his pelvis (undulate, because it was not forceful enough to be considered thrusting) while flexing and twisting the dough.  Thinking something was wrong with my form, I gave that a try--ultimately to no avail.

To save my failure, I combined both sets of dough, rolled it flat, and sliced out thin strips of noodles.  Of course, I found out that was the wrong way to go, because even the longest strips broke down in boiling water to around three inches on average.  For the scientifically literate, imagine a slightly left-skewed Gaussian distribution between 2 inches and 5 inches, and that was probably close to how my noodles turned out.

The Broth

But I would not be deterred, because the beef shank broth used for Taiwanese-inspired beef noodle soup turned out to be really tasty.

I briefly browned chunks of beef shank in oil infused with generous amounts of fresh minced garlic, ginger, and green onion whites, pictured above.  (The green onion greens were used later for garnish.)  Two pieces of star anise was also used in the infusion.  Then I added 1/4 cup soy sauce, two tablespoons Lao Gan Ma (老干妈) crispy chili pepper oil, and let the beef cook on both sides.  To be honest, after working so hard on the noodles only to fail, the beef shank was looking tasty enough to eat on the spot.

But as they say...eye on the prize.  After letting the beef cook in soy sauce for around five minutes, I added carrots, tomatoes, rice wine, sugar and topped it off with water.  The pot simmered on low heat for four hours to produce a minimally rich broth.  This also allowed enough time for the beef to cook until it was "fall-apart" tender.  When needed, I replenished the water content.

Dinner is Served

Here is the final product, topped with blanched bok choy and chopped green onion greens set aside earlier for garnish.  Yes, Big Bird bowl is back.  I borrowed my rendition from Jennifer's recipe at Tiny Urban Kitchen.  Incidentally, Jennifer's recipe was adapted from another adaptation, which makes this at least the third adaptation.

Summary critique:

• Noodles need major work.  Who knows if I will ever get there unless I become a noodle chef.
• The soup was very tasty but it was missing something...MSG.  Yeah, no thanks.
• Decorating a bowl of Asian noodle soup needs improvement.

Mooncakes and the Mid-Autumn Festival

Happy Mid-Autumn Festival (祝你中秋快乐)!

On this holiday, Chinese people traditionally eat the pastry, pictured above, known as mooncake (月饼).  There are many, many varieties of mooncake with various combinations of filling and crust ranging from the traditional to the contemporary.  The most common cakes use a standard chewy crust with lotus seed paste, red bean paste, or a mixture of crushed nuts and seeds (for the closest American analogy, think trail mix mixed with a very crunchy and loose rice krispies treat).

My favorite is lotus seed paste with egg yolk.  Traditionally speaking, ask any Chinese person and they will likely tell you that the most desirable part of the cake is the salted duck egg yolk (the round, golden-orange segments), which I do not expect non-Asians to grasp quite frankly.  Out of politeness, my non-Asian friends usually control their disgust when they discover what the golden-orange section is.  And that is okay--more for me.  Actually, it would seem that love for egg yolk has gone so overboard in recent years that cakes are now sold with three entire egg yolks in a single cake, as was the case for the batch I purchased.  In fact, you will be hard-pressed to find a lotus seed paste mooncake without yolk today.  Contrast that with the options a decade ago, when supposedly, buyers chose between single yolk or none at all.  I, for one, welcome the egg yolk fanaticism, which turns out to be awesome for my gluttony and terrible for my arteries.

With modern technology and Pan-Asian culture mixing and evolving, contemporary mooncakes make use of mochi crusts and ice cream fillings to name a few innovations.  These new options can be quite tasty, although the traditionalist in me still prefers a good lotus seed paste.  For further exploration of the different types of mooncake that can be found today, check out the Wikipedia page on mooncakes.

As with many Chinese holidays, the Mid-Autumn Festival is connected with a legend steeped in mythology and ancient Chinese customs.  However, this celebration is not exclusive to China.  Many analogous observances are held in other Asian countries including Vietnam, Korea, and Japan.  I am not that interested in discussing this topic on a deep level, but I do think it is worth mentioning that the ancient Chinese practically worshiped the moon.  So what is the connection, even if tenuous, between this cake and the moon?  Look no further than the duck egg yolk, which, when sliced in half within the cake, carries the shape of a full moon placed against the backdrop of a night sky.  Use your imagination.

Labor Day Funsies

As a foodie with no particular travel plans this past Labor Day weekend, I partook in a few events involving much food.  There was the dinner at Sakedokoro Makoto (which I reviewed and posted food porn for in my previous post), a cookout co-hosted by my friend from My uMai and yours truly, and some simple Chinese dishes to fill in the gaps.

The cookout, I must say, was a fantastic 5-hour bash incorporating food (all home-made, mostly by Mai), drinks (beer, wine, sake), and games, both indoors and outdoors.  I hung out with friends and made some new ones, an activity that good drinks are likely to facilitate.  My friend Mai wrote a nice summary of our cookout on her blog, so I encourage you to check out her thoughts for the delectable menu and more.

In preparation for a weekend of eating, I snacked fairly regularly on fresh fruit, yogurt cups, and other simple edibles.  Contrary to misconceptions, starving oneself does not increase eating capacity; however, eating regularly does.

And so one of the simple dishes I found myself making late Saturday morning was Chives Stir-Fried with Eggs (韭菜炒鸡蛋).  Those familiar with Chinese home cooking paradigms will likely know this one.  On the other hand, those not familiar will probably start to see a trend: there are a lot of ways to stir-fry eggs.  In fact, one might consider an analogy between all the different stir-fry preparations of eggs and American yogurt.  For your scrambled eggs with tomatoes, there's peach yogurt; for your chives stir-fried with eggs, consider strawberry yogurt; and for the sake of completion, let's compare green onion stir-fried with eggs to blueberry yogurt.  The point is, it is not so foreign an idea to enhance stir-fried eggs (pretty much scrambled eggs) with other natural ingredients.

This particular dish comes in many varieties, including an omelette-like form, a scrambled eggs type of preparation, and a more loose type of stir-fry where the chives are completely separated from the eggs.  At my parents' home, the omelette-like preparation is most common; I elected to prepare this dish similar to scrambled eggs.

After finely dicing slightly less than 2 cups of chives, I sprinkled some salt to taste and added two eggs.  I beat the eggs and then poured the mixture into a pre-heated skillet.  Stir-frying and scrambling the eggs did not take long.  Since this preparation of eggs tends to brown easily, it is important to keep on stirring and flipping (until just the moment when there are no longer any runny components).  After around 5 minutes on the stove, the finished product emerged:

On a final note (if you have read this far), the Mid-Autumn Festival, celebrated in many parts of Asia, is coming up on Monday, September 8th.  I am planning to do something somewhat challenging, and hopefully very rewarding if I get it right.  Stay tuned for the results!