Even the most bland middle-American town knows Chinese food. It might be in its most greasy and generic form - maybe even a national chain like Panda Express or Pick Up Stix. Maybe it's just Chung King frozen egg rolls - and Chung King is scraping the slimy bottom of the Chinese food barrel.
After Italian, Chinese is America's "ethnic cuisine" of choice.
Sadly or fortunately, depending on your point of view, Americans who pride themselves on their international taste buds and refined ability to discern the subtle differences between General Tso's and orange chicken or their chow mein from their lo mien don't know real Chinese food.
I used to be among the ranks who thought mu shiu and kung pao were real until January 2003 when I went to Taiwan and had my bubble so cruelly burst.
More than anything, I wanted freshly made dumplings - ideally from a street cart. I looked for stacks of steaming bamboo baskets, expecting they would be as common as Starbucks. Not only did you have to be in the know and wise to the ways of street food to find them as traditional foods are giving way to global cuisine, but what I found disturbed me. All they had were xiao long bao - round pork filled dumplings served with grated ginger, soy sauce and vinegar - similar to what we call potstickers in America.
Although nothing to sneeze at, I became frustrated at my inability to find dim sum. Real dim sum in all its many varieties. Where the hell were my shumai and bean curd rolls?! It felt as if there was some conspiracy to keep the good stuff hidden.
And if the good stuff was hidden, the often repulsive stuff I had never heard of was on display. Stewed beef lungs and other innards, fermented tofu that smelled for blocks, pig's blood encrusted rice and hot pots fueled by a clear gel made of processed excrement - aka poo gel - that had a sickening pungency when burned. Even the ducks hanging in the window were boiled and chewy, neither crispy or deep roasted and soft like I had known them at home.
Sure, there was some good stuff in the mix, but often not dishes I had ever heard of or seen.
It turns out - shockingly - that China is very big. Different regions, different cuisine and many, many dishes. Much of what we know in America is Cantonese cuisine brought by the workers who came to build our railroads and the subsequent waves of Chinese immigration into San Francisco and Los Angeles. Go to a Chinatown on the west coast, and you'll find people mostly speak Cantonese and use traditional Chinese characters, not modern simplified Mandarin in their writing.
Of course, there are also some adjustments for the American palate. More meat, a little less of this, a little more of that... lots of MSG.... A few invented items like General Tso's chicken. Deep fry it and put some thick sweet sauce on top and Americans are all over it.
This is why when I finally made my first trip to Hong Kong for New Year's 2004, I felt like I had finally found the Chinese food I was had expected in Taiwan. Just like I had expected, it was far better than what we have at home.
For me, the heart of the matter is the dim sum. I love dim sum -- the huge variety of different steamed and fried treats the Cantonese eat primarily for breakfast. And when push comes to shove, it's all about the various dumplings and steamed buns and cakes. I can pass on the steamed pork ribs, ox tail and chicken feet.
I want the har gao dumplings of shrimp or green vegetables in a clear, glutinous rice-based encasing. Give me shumai - the shrimp and pork dumplings in a soft, steamed wonton wrapping. I happily eat cheong fun - the rolls made of giant sheets of rice noodles containing shrimp, chicken or pork and served with soy sauce. The light, fluffy steamed char shiew bao and nianyong bao - buns stuffed with BBQ pork and lotus seed paste respectively - are fantastic.
But above all - and if nothing else - I want fu pei guen, the rolls of ground meat and fresh, flavorful veggies wrapped in bean skin (tofu) rolls. Something about the vibrancy of the veggies and the light, flavor enhancing sauce covering the rolls practically explodes in my mouth. Fu pei guen - it's what's for breakfast.
People back home may scratch their heads and point out the obvious - we have dim sum in almost every major American city - especially Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle.
It doesn't taste the same. Believe me, I've done the rounds. I've wanted it to work out. It just never does.
I've consulted some of the top foodies in Singapore about this issue - because Singapore not only has no shortage of dim sum, but it employs countless chefs from Hong Kong to prepare it. Still, it tastes sad and withered compared to Hong Kong. Singaporeans all agree - it's the water. The exact same reason New York claims their pizza is superior to everyone else's.
I'm inclined to buy it. There can't be that many half-assed dim sum chefs out there. After all, this stuff isn't rocket science. Besides, if anyone was going to replicate perfect dim sum through science, precision, financial resources and force of will, it would be Singaporeans. Most convincingly, it's the way the dim sum here looks - big, moist and ready to burst with flavor. It even smells different.
The water theory also holds up under the financial strata test. The dim sum at the very affordable cooked food market down the way from our hotel is just as good - if not better - than the stuff being served in Maxim's in City Hall. Bill Clinton eats at Maxim's as does probably every dim sum loving celebrity and dignitary who passes through Hong Kong. The selection is vast and the chefs are top. Maxim's is a well oiled, top notch dim sum machine of superb quality - perhaps the top of the global dim chain. Nonetheless, I'm just as happy with the fu pei guen that grandma and her posse are making by the ferry dock.
Emily, however doesn't share my dim sum crazed enthusiasm. She finds it nice - not thrilling, but nice. In part, I don't think meat for breakfast is quite her thing. She gravitates to the sweet side of dim sum and enjoyed the matuan - sesame seed covered, fried balls of glutinous rice filled with lotus seed paste. She doesn't mind the steamed buns with the lotus filling either.
We both agree that dim sum goes best with either Hong Kong light green tea or warm Chinese-style soy milk.
Despite my fixation, I recognize there's a culinary world beyond dim sum. Hong Kong is famous for its roast Peking duck - known for its deep reddish brown skin and soft meat made tender after almost a day of slow roasting in a giant heated barrel. Hong Kongers do the same with pork, goose and occasionally giant squid. You can find these delicacies hanging in restaurant and butcher shop windows.
Locals also like salted Hainanese chicken which is steamed instead of roasted so that the white meat is moist and flavorful when it gets placed over rice cooked in chicken stock. And because chicken seems to be best accompanied by chicken, they also serve a light chicken broth as a side accompaniment.
Hong Kong also features every kind of Chinese noodle you've ever seen and them some - fried and in soups. Thin rice noodles, medium lo mein noodles and huge, thick globs of noodle used in dishes containing all forms of vegetables and meats - some with a peppery bite and others mild enough to feed a baby.
There are a million forms of fried rice. If it can be fried with rice, Hong Kong does it. Best yet, the rice we associate with Chinese food at home is the kind used in Hong Kong. I've never tasted rice like it in any other country - including Mainland China and Taiwan.
Some of the dishes served over rice we know from home also exist here including beef with broccoli, almond chicken, lemon chicken and spicy tofu (ma po tofu). I've even found a few restaurants that feature chop suey and some spicy Szechuan dishes loaded with chili peppers.
Veggies aren't mixed into meat dishes as often as home - you get them as their own separate items. Chinese broccoli is ubiquitous as are numerous forms of spinach, kale and other leafy greens. Emily fell in love with a braised eggplant dish which - like every kind of vegetable we've had here - is coated in an oil-based sauce. It's hard to consider Hong Kong veggies healthy - but they taste great and we have no desire to know the secret of their recipes.
As anyone who has been reading for the past year knows, I'm all about dessert - and Chinese dessert is no exception.
The Macanese egg tarts served warm are great as are the coconut puddings and glutinous rice balls filled with sweet nuts or banana custard. Almond cookies are a Hong Kong classic that most American Chinese restaurants feature. Cool, refreshing mango and almond puddings are great on a hot day.
Nevertheless, I usually want anything with lotus seed paste in the middle. The sweet, nutty almost fragrant light brown paste is one of the great delights of Asia. Whenever we walk the streets of Hong Kong, I have one eye out for a bakery that features traditional Chinese flaky pastries with lotus seed filling or better yet, moon cakes that have the highest concentration of lotus of anything. Emily's favorite matuan will do in a pinch too.
In part, Chinese dessert brings me back to my childhood when my mom and grandmother would take us to Chinatown, or when we would have some reason to be downtown. My mom always made a point of stopping by the Phoenix Bakery on Broadway for their best pastries with emphasis on the rich, peanuty lotus filled ones - which we would then enjoy for days.
For Emily, on the other hand, Hong Kong has been one of the lesser culinary stops. She's not a frequent Chinese food eater and when she does eat it, she likes the Americanized version. Oddly, at home, I don't eat Chinese often despite liking so much of the food here in Hong Kong. Perhaps it's because it isn't as good as Hong Kong - and perhaps it's because it'll kill you.
But I sure enjoy every bite of it here.
Sent from my iPad
After Italian, Chinese is America's "ethnic cuisine" of choice.
Sadly or fortunately, depending on your point of view, Americans who pride themselves on their international taste buds and refined ability to discern the subtle differences between General Tso's and orange chicken or their chow mein from their lo mien don't know real Chinese food.
I used to be among the ranks who thought mu shiu and kung pao were real until January 2003 when I went to Taiwan and had my bubble so cruelly burst.
More than anything, I wanted freshly made dumplings - ideally from a street cart. I looked for stacks of steaming bamboo baskets, expecting they would be as common as Starbucks. Not only did you have to be in the know and wise to the ways of street food to find them as traditional foods are giving way to global cuisine, but what I found disturbed me. All they had were xiao long bao - round pork filled dumplings served with grated ginger, soy sauce and vinegar - similar to what we call potstickers in America.
Although nothing to sneeze at, I became frustrated at my inability to find dim sum. Real dim sum in all its many varieties. Where the hell were my shumai and bean curd rolls?! It felt as if there was some conspiracy to keep the good stuff hidden.
And if the good stuff was hidden, the often repulsive stuff I had never heard of was on display. Stewed beef lungs and other innards, fermented tofu that smelled for blocks, pig's blood encrusted rice and hot pots fueled by a clear gel made of processed excrement - aka poo gel - that had a sickening pungency when burned. Even the ducks hanging in the window were boiled and chewy, neither crispy or deep roasted and soft like I had known them at home.
Sure, there was some good stuff in the mix, but often not dishes I had ever heard of or seen.
It turns out - shockingly - that China is very big. Different regions, different cuisine and many, many dishes. Much of what we know in America is Cantonese cuisine brought by the workers who came to build our railroads and the subsequent waves of Chinese immigration into San Francisco and Los Angeles. Go to a Chinatown on the west coast, and you'll find people mostly speak Cantonese and use traditional Chinese characters, not modern simplified Mandarin in their writing.
Of course, there are also some adjustments for the American palate. More meat, a little less of this, a little more of that... lots of MSG.... A few invented items like General Tso's chicken. Deep fry it and put some thick sweet sauce on top and Americans are all over it.
This is why when I finally made my first trip to Hong Kong for New Year's 2004, I felt like I had finally found the Chinese food I was had expected in Taiwan. Just like I had expected, it was far better than what we have at home.
For me, the heart of the matter is the dim sum. I love dim sum -- the huge variety of different steamed and fried treats the Cantonese eat primarily for breakfast. And when push comes to shove, it's all about the various dumplings and steamed buns and cakes. I can pass on the steamed pork ribs, ox tail and chicken feet.
I want the har gao dumplings of shrimp or green vegetables in a clear, glutinous rice-based encasing. Give me shumai - the shrimp and pork dumplings in a soft, steamed wonton wrapping. I happily eat cheong fun - the rolls made of giant sheets of rice noodles containing shrimp, chicken or pork and served with soy sauce. The light, fluffy steamed char shiew bao and nianyong bao - buns stuffed with BBQ pork and lotus seed paste respectively - are fantastic.
But above all - and if nothing else - I want fu pei guen, the rolls of ground meat and fresh, flavorful veggies wrapped in bean skin (tofu) rolls. Something about the vibrancy of the veggies and the light, flavor enhancing sauce covering the rolls practically explodes in my mouth. Fu pei guen - it's what's for breakfast.
People back home may scratch their heads and point out the obvious - we have dim sum in almost every major American city - especially Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland and Seattle.
It doesn't taste the same. Believe me, I've done the rounds. I've wanted it to work out. It just never does.
I've consulted some of the top foodies in Singapore about this issue - because Singapore not only has no shortage of dim sum, but it employs countless chefs from Hong Kong to prepare it. Still, it tastes sad and withered compared to Hong Kong. Singaporeans all agree - it's the water. The exact same reason New York claims their pizza is superior to everyone else's.
I'm inclined to buy it. There can't be that many half-assed dim sum chefs out there. After all, this stuff isn't rocket science. Besides, if anyone was going to replicate perfect dim sum through science, precision, financial resources and force of will, it would be Singaporeans. Most convincingly, it's the way the dim sum here looks - big, moist and ready to burst with flavor. It even smells different.
The water theory also holds up under the financial strata test. The dim sum at the very affordable cooked food market down the way from our hotel is just as good - if not better - than the stuff being served in Maxim's in City Hall. Bill Clinton eats at Maxim's as does probably every dim sum loving celebrity and dignitary who passes through Hong Kong. The selection is vast and the chefs are top. Maxim's is a well oiled, top notch dim sum machine of superb quality - perhaps the top of the global dim chain. Nonetheless, I'm just as happy with the fu pei guen that grandma and her posse are making by the ferry dock.
Emily, however doesn't share my dim sum crazed enthusiasm. She finds it nice - not thrilling, but nice. In part, I don't think meat for breakfast is quite her thing. She gravitates to the sweet side of dim sum and enjoyed the matuan - sesame seed covered, fried balls of glutinous rice filled with lotus seed paste. She doesn't mind the steamed buns with the lotus filling either.
We both agree that dim sum goes best with either Hong Kong light green tea or warm Chinese-style soy milk.
Despite my fixation, I recognize there's a culinary world beyond dim sum. Hong Kong is famous for its roast Peking duck - known for its deep reddish brown skin and soft meat made tender after almost a day of slow roasting in a giant heated barrel. Hong Kongers do the same with pork, goose and occasionally giant squid. You can find these delicacies hanging in restaurant and butcher shop windows.
Locals also like salted Hainanese chicken which is steamed instead of roasted so that the white meat is moist and flavorful when it gets placed over rice cooked in chicken stock. And because chicken seems to be best accompanied by chicken, they also serve a light chicken broth as a side accompaniment.
Hong Kong also features every kind of Chinese noodle you've ever seen and them some - fried and in soups. Thin rice noodles, medium lo mein noodles and huge, thick globs of noodle used in dishes containing all forms of vegetables and meats - some with a peppery bite and others mild enough to feed a baby.
There are a million forms of fried rice. If it can be fried with rice, Hong Kong does it. Best yet, the rice we associate with Chinese food at home is the kind used in Hong Kong. I've never tasted rice like it in any other country - including Mainland China and Taiwan.
Some of the dishes served over rice we know from home also exist here including beef with broccoli, almond chicken, lemon chicken and spicy tofu (ma po tofu). I've even found a few restaurants that feature chop suey and some spicy Szechuan dishes loaded with chili peppers.
Veggies aren't mixed into meat dishes as often as home - you get them as their own separate items. Chinese broccoli is ubiquitous as are numerous forms of spinach, kale and other leafy greens. Emily fell in love with a braised eggplant dish which - like every kind of vegetable we've had here - is coated in an oil-based sauce. It's hard to consider Hong Kong veggies healthy - but they taste great and we have no desire to know the secret of their recipes.
As anyone who has been reading for the past year knows, I'm all about dessert - and Chinese dessert is no exception.
The Macanese egg tarts served warm are great as are the coconut puddings and glutinous rice balls filled with sweet nuts or banana custard. Almond cookies are a Hong Kong classic that most American Chinese restaurants feature. Cool, refreshing mango and almond puddings are great on a hot day.
Nevertheless, I usually want anything with lotus seed paste in the middle. The sweet, nutty almost fragrant light brown paste is one of the great delights of Asia. Whenever we walk the streets of Hong Kong, I have one eye out for a bakery that features traditional Chinese flaky pastries with lotus seed filling or better yet, moon cakes that have the highest concentration of lotus of anything. Emily's favorite matuan will do in a pinch too.
In part, Chinese dessert brings me back to my childhood when my mom and grandmother would take us to Chinatown, or when we would have some reason to be downtown. My mom always made a point of stopping by the Phoenix Bakery on Broadway for their best pastries with emphasis on the rich, peanuty lotus filled ones - which we would then enjoy for days.
For Emily, on the other hand, Hong Kong has been one of the lesser culinary stops. She's not a frequent Chinese food eater and when she does eat it, she likes the Americanized version. Oddly, at home, I don't eat Chinese often despite liking so much of the food here in Hong Kong. Perhaps it's because it isn't as good as Hong Kong - and perhaps it's because it'll kill you.
But I sure enjoy every bite of it here.
Sent from my iPad
I am as dim-sum obsessed as you are, and drooling all over my keyboard at the moment! Can't wait to check out HK's dim-sum one day-- the last time I was there, alas, I was just a kid.
Posted by: Arti | 06/23/2011 at 01:45 PM