Best and Worst Meats

One of the great joys of eating street food in a country you are visiting is the opportunity to try meats you've never tried before (both new animals and new parts of familiar animals). In the course of researching this book, I added a couple of new animals to my own list (donkey and dog come to mind immediately) and loads of new organs and things, and it was always a thrill. Something about new experiences--there's nothing like it. Unfortunately, that little jolt of excitement when you try something totally new to you is not always accessible when you are at home, so we are stuck living vicariously through others. This list of the best and worst tasting animals as judged by Andrew Zimmern--a man who has tried a wider variety of animals than probably anybody on earth (and whom I've discussed previously on this website)--is the crème de la crème of vicarious living. Many readers may have tried crayfish; fewer will have tried porcupine. Take note that donkey is his second item on the list. This won't be a surprise to citizens in parts of China, as I've written before. Donkey aside, the whole list is a lot of fun. What a good reminder of how many foods there are for us to try in one short lifetime!

I'm establishing a tradition of using this photo of Andrew Zimmern.

Heaven on Earth

In certain parts of China, they have a saying: 天上龙肉, 地上驴肉. Roughly translated, this means “In heaven there is dragon meat; on earth, there is donkey meat.” That’s right—the donkey, perhaps the humblest of all equines, is apparently the closest we have on earth to the ambrosia of the gods. If this seems unlikely to you, then you obviously haven’t eaten lú ròu huŏ shāo, a sandwich that makes a compelling argument in favor of donkeys as food.

Historical records suggest that the regional tradition of eating donkey meat goes back to the Ming Dynasty (1368 – 1644). During the reign of the Yongle Emperor at the beginning of the 15th century, some starving military men in dire straits resorted to slaughtering their horses and eating the meat with bread. They were surprised to find that this was an excellent combination, and the custom soon spread to local peasants. Of course horses are not cheap, and the 15th century Chinese peasants could not afford to keep up this practice for very long. In an effort to cut costs, they switched to the more economical donkey meat with bread and found, amazingly, that it was even more delicious than the horse meat. The rest, as they say, is history.

To this day, donkey meat sandwiches are a popular repast in Baoding (as well as Hebei at large). Lú ròu huŏ shāo begins with shredded donkey meat stewed with secret, vendor-specific blends of spices and sauces, which is generously scooped onto a golden, flaky bun. The bread of the sandwich is thick and just a little bit greasy—a perfect complement to the lean, flavorful donkey meat. Sandwiches are a rare find in traditional Chinese food; after eating lú ròu huŏ shāo, you might wish that weren’t so. In no uncertain terms, I can tell you that lú ròu huŏ shāo is fantastic: buttery, juicy, carefully spiced, savory, and lots more. Donkey meat may not be dragon meat, but perhaps it’s the closest we’ve got.

Rabbit Heads

In my post last night about Dou Hua Mian, I noted that it was a good entry point for people reluctant to try the more exotic street foods (to a Western palate). This post is not for those people. Today I go to the other extreme, to a food that only the more adventurous travelers will seek out: rabbit heads.

Some street foods you need to ask around to find. They might be advertised on a sign, but if you don't read Chinese you're out of luck. This is not one of those foods. To identify a vendor selling rabbit heads, look for this:

Yes, this terrifying army of zombie-esque rabbit heads could be your lunch. For 6 yuan, you receive one rabbit head and some plastic gloves. 

The outside of a rabbit's head does not have a lot of meat. To access anything worth eating, you are required to take this head apart, piece by piece. Now, for as long as I can remember, I've been a mammal. In my time as a mammal, I've eaten many other fellow mammals with little or no compunction. But there's something about grabbing a rabbit's lower jaw in one hand and its upper jaw in your other hand and pulling them apart like a wish-jaw that doesn't sit quite right deep within my mammalian soul. Perhaps if I were a farmer or hunter I wouldn't have that same hesitation. I don't know. For me, it was a tad discomfiting. Anyway, if you are able to push on through your soul's protestations, there are some really nice flavors to be had. I had the sense ahead of time that this would fall into the category of foods (along with chicken wings) that are too much work and too much mess for too little reward. In this case, I am glad to say that my supposition was proven false. Don't get me wrong--this is a food that requires a lot of work on behalf of the diner, and in return you get messy fingers and not very much meat. What sets the rabbit's head apart from other high-energy, low-yield dishes is the variety of flavors to be had. You are expected to eat anything here that isn't bone: the jaw muscles, the tongue, the upper palate, the eyes, the brains, and any other miscellaneous flesh that you can find. Each of them has a different taste and texture, which makes the reward much greater than a mere chicken wing. I was particularly fond of the jaw meat (brown, gamy, succulent) and the tongue (chewy, mild flavored, a bit tough). 

I want to emphasize one more time that this is not an easy food to eat. After the first bit where you break open the jaws, as if opening up a stapler for reloading, you have to pull all sorts of sections of bone away. The hardest part to access is the brain--I was instructed to bite the top of the skull to crack it open like an egg. Through the whole ordeal, the rabbit tries to defend itself by having very, very sharp bones. I actually ended up with a small gash on my thumb towards the end. If you sample this delicacy, I would recommend being very careful with the bones. 

My verdict? Definitely worth a try. If you can get past the nagging awareness that you're tearing apart an innocent bunny's skull with your bare hands, an interesting mix of flavors and textures awaits.

On the Pleasures of Pigs' Feet

I think we can all be grateful that life abounds with guilty pleasures. That "I know this is terrible for my mind/body/well-being, but surely one time won't hurt...so long as nobody sees me" feeling makes the secret, illicit joy of a guilty pleasure all the more enticing. Personally, I tend to shy away from bad movies, reality television, and romance novels, but I am not immune to the allure of food as a guilty pleasure. I am here today to share that pigs' feet fall squarely into this sumptuous category.

You can buy pigs' feet--usually pickled--in the USA. Those briny, pallid chunks of flesh crammed into dusty jars on long-untouched grocery store shelves always seemed a bit unappetizing to me, and I suspect most people share that assessment.

I can't imagine why.

Photo courtesy of Geoff 

So for those, like me, who have looked ungenerously upon the humble pig foot, let me tell you this: there is another way.

Behold!



These pigs' feet--a specialty in Kunming--are a revelation for those of us accustomed to those other pigs' feet. Watch as these vibrantly colored hunks of meat and bone are cut down the middle, grilled, and seasoned before your very eyes and served hot, fresh, and oozing with grease. It's that last part--the grease--that turns this from a quotidian pleasure to a guilty pleasure. Here's how it looks when it is served:

I want you to take a moment to notice that generous layer of fat visible on the bottom left of this picture. While you're at it, you might as well take note of the thick skin, best seen at the far right. When this foot is staring up at you, waiting to be eaten, it's hard not to notice those features. Your arteries involuntarily clench in anticipatory revulsion, while your brain frantically replays the relevant lectures from high school health class, hoping to overrule the momentum your taste buds are trying to build. There are no two ways about it: this is not a healthy food. If you're lucky, your taste buds win the internal debate and you tear into this porcine delight with vigor. It is heavenly. The skin is rubbery and chewy, while the meat (or fat) is soft and greasy. The seasoning is mildly spicy and the meat is a bit sweet (not sugary sweet...meaty sweet...think of the sweetness of ham for a comparison). As you eat, your mouth is coated with a thin layer of grease, giving your tongue, teeth, and cheeks a sticky, waxy sensation. Before you know it, you are left with bones on your plate, contentment in your stomach, and half-regret in your brain. Not real regret though--the same regret that you have after eating a whole pint of rich ice cream. Your brain says you regret it, but your soul is richer for the experience.

Pigs' feet, as Cookie Monster might say, are a sometimes food. You would be paving the path to an early grave if you ate these every day. And that's what makes them such a delicious guilty pleasure: the internal tension between knowing they are bad for you and knowing how amazing they taste. Most of the time your brain will win out and you will opt for some spinach or something else boring and healthy. And that's how it should be. Once in a long while, though, you will take the plunge, and you will be richly rewarded. Like all guilty pleasures, the bashful guilt you feel coupled with the rarity of the experience are all part of the magnificent joy of pigs' feet. Savor those moments. Every day foods like spinach sustain life; guilty pleasures--like pigs' feet--are what make it worth sustaining.

On Eating Meat

Nearly six years ago, after twenty-one years of eating and enjoying meat, I became a vegetarian. There are lots of good reasons to go veggie, but for me it was primarily the environmental impact of eating meat that pushed me into decisive territory. I'm not so sanctimonious as to think that vegetarianism is the right choice for everyone (although I think it's one of those things people should at least consider), but it has been a fine choice for me. As I prepare for my China trip, however, it will soon be time for me to head back down that forbidden, succulent road to meat city, and I have to admit that I am feeling good about taking my first steps in that direction...