Well, it's been 20 days since I left for China. My trip is 2/9 complete (22.22222%). The end is not in sight by any means, but a reasonably substantial portion of the trip is in the rear view mirror. These past twenty days have been exhausting. I've been to 12 cities so far: Shanghai, Suzhou, Nanjing, Hangzhou, Hefei, Jiujiang, Wuhan, Changsha, Nanchang, Fuzhou, Xiamen, and Guangzhou. That covers 9 provinces (assuming we're counting Shanghai as an independent province, though it's technically a municipality not part of any province). China is a big country and I'm hoping to hit around 50 cities, so I have to keep to this grueling travel schedule. I'm going to be slowing down a tiny bit for the next week, as my next stops (including the current one in Guangzhou) are pretty big food cities. After this, I'll be heading to Hong Kong and then Macau. Hopefully with this schedule I should have time to post here and there.
So that's the brief update. Thanks, everybody, for your support and well-wishes.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Three Cheers for Leslie!
If you, dear reader, will permit me, I'd like to take a moment to post something slightly tangential to my China trip. Today is my wife's birthday, which seems as good a time as any to highlight how great she is. I already talked about this a little bit in the FAQ section (see link at the top of the page), but it bears reiteration. Imagine for a moment that your husband (some of you will have to imagine that you have a husband) says he wants to quit his steady job that holds pretty good potential for career advancement, and rather than finding a new job with a regular paycheck he is actually going to spend money to travel through China for three months eating street food. In the end, he will write a book about the food, but there is no guarantee he will ever make any money with it. He is asking you to be the sole breadwinner for the household while he goes on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure without you. Not only will you be responsible for all of the household bills for the foreseeable future, but you will not get to see your husband for a quarter of a year. Take all of that in and then consider: what would you say if your husband said he wanted to do all of this? If you are my wife, Leslie, you will happily and graciously assent, which is why my wife is the greatest wife in the world. So, from China, let me say three cheers for Leslie on her birthday: hooray, hooray, hooray for Leslie!
That is all. Now back to our regularly scheduled blog posts.
That is all. Now back to our regularly scheduled blog posts.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Stinky Tofu
You can always smell it before you see it. Stinky tofu, or Chou Dou Fu (臭豆腐) in Chinese, has an incomparable and instantly recognizable smell. Several different cities in China have their own versions of stinky tofu, but they are all variations on a theme: it's tofu and it smells terrible. Changsha's version is one of the more famous and more foul smelling of the varieties. Imagine you are casually walking down the street in Changsha, checking out the local shops and doing some people watching, when out of the blue you run into a wall. You are surrounded by a mephitic fug, as if somebody were burning a pile of Satan's used gym socks that have remained unwashed since his horrendous puberty. It takes a moment to track down the source of this olfactory assault, but then you see this:
A guy on the street frying up what looks like soft charcoal briquettes. There's your stinky tofu. How does it get so stinky? So black? It has been fermented with special, secret ingredients (Wikipedia says "The traditional method for producing stinky tofu is to prepare a brine made from fermented milk, vegetables, and meat; the brine can also include dried shrimp, amaranth, mustard greens, bamboo shoots, and Chinese herbs") for several months.
Now, I'm not the first to say it and I hope I won't be the last, but here's the thing: it tastes much better than it smells. For 4 or 5 yuan, you get a couple of chunks of stinky tofu topped with some pickled vegetables and some cilantro. This being Hunan Province, there is some spicy stuff thrown in as well.
The tofu is soft and warm, with a taste like a fine cheese. The black part adds a touch of crispiness to the outside of each brick, holding the insides in just long enough to get into your mouth. When mixed with the toppings, it is a perfect representation of Hunan food: salty and spicy, and oh so delicious. So, I urge you: next time you have the chance, go against anything your nose is telling you and give the chou dou fu a try. You won't regret it.
A guy on the street frying up what looks like soft charcoal briquettes. There's your stinky tofu. How does it get so stinky? So black? It has been fermented with special, secret ingredients (Wikipedia says "The traditional method for producing stinky tofu is to prepare a brine made from fermented milk, vegetables, and meat; the brine can also include dried shrimp, amaranth, mustard greens, bamboo shoots, and Chinese herbs") for several months.
Now, I'm not the first to say it and I hope I won't be the last, but here's the thing: it tastes much better than it smells. For 4 or 5 yuan, you get a couple of chunks of stinky tofu topped with some pickled vegetables and some cilantro. This being Hunan Province, there is some spicy stuff thrown in as well.
The tofu is soft and warm, with a taste like a fine cheese. The black part adds a touch of crispiness to the outside of each brick, holding the insides in just long enough to get into your mouth. When mixed with the toppings, it is a perfect representation of Hunan food: salty and spicy, and oh so delicious. So, I urge you: next time you have the chance, go against anything your nose is telling you and give the chou dou fu a try. You won't regret it.
Chinese New Year
Warning: This is post is a bit of a hodgepodge of thoughts. I don't make any claims to a cohesive narrative. Just some generally connected ideas / personal experiences.
Chinese New Year, or "Spring Festival" as it is usually called in China, is an interesting time to travel through China. On the one hand, it's a real nightmare trying to go anywhere or do anything. It's traditional for families in China to be together for the holiday, and modern China is full of migrant workers, college students, and others who live far from their families. Everybody is going home at once, which results in what is called Chunyun. Basically, several hundred million people take train trips within a span of a couple of weeks. Logistically, that is amazing. Think about that for a second. Imagine if every man, woman, and child in the United States tried to take a train ride within a two-week period. It would be insane. That's what we have here. It's the biggest annual human migration in the world. The point is, if you are a tourist and you are trying to buy tickets, you have to be prepared for the possibility that all tickets are sold out. Or, in a slightly better scenario, you can get tickets, but they are standing room only tickets.
So travel is a pain. Additionally, most shops (especially small ones, like where you can buy street food) close down for a few days or a week right at the new year. This can be inconvenient if you were planning to do anything in China while you were here.
On the other hand, it's a pretty great holiday. It's especially great if you have Chinese friends who are willing to include you in their family events. I am fortunate enough to have a friend like that. When Leslie and I lived in China, Zoe was our best Chinese friend (she still is, in fact). Her family has always been incredibly welcoming and this time around was no exception. She included me in four days worth of events, the highlight of which was on the 24th (the second day of the dragon year) when we went to her husband's family's village in the countryside. They picked me up early for the half-hour drive to the village. The family occupied several homes in the village itself (Zoe's mother-in-law and father-in-law both came from the village, so that's a lot of family members), so we had breakfast, lunch, and dinner at three separate houses. All of the homes were spartan in furnishings, with concrete walls, wood burning stoves, and no heating.
It was relatively cold out (right around 32 Fahrenheit, I suspect), so many family members and one tall foreigner gathered around a ceramic pot filled with smoldering embers. Each of the three meals was a true feast. We had pork, cabbage, mushrooms, tofu, beef, liver, eggs...all sorts of things. Not to mention, of course, the copious baijiu and cigarettes that were constantly foisted upon me by all of the male relatives.
Outside of the meals, firecrackers were lit, mahjong was played, and good company was had. I should also note that this was an important year to visit this family because a family member (one of Zoe's father-in-law's brothers) had died, so everybody had to make an extra effort to visit this year. An interesting cultural note is that most families in China hang red banners around their doors for the new year, to bring good luck on all of the inhabitants in the coming year and (theoretically) ward off evil spirits.
These red banners are hanging on almost every door in China right now. If, however, a member of a household has died in the past year, the family signifies this with yellow banners instead. Here's the outside of the house where the deceased had lived:
As I've ridden through the countryside on trains between cities, I have seen a couple more of these. It's a thoughtful and quiet way to indicate a family's woes.
So, as I said, Chinese New Year is a mixed bag in terms of whether or not it's the right time to visit China. It's difficult to move about the country or do much of anything, but you'll have the opportunity to hear thousands of fireworks and firecrackers going off at once in every corner of the city (imagine the 4th of July, except every household is setting off their own pyrotechnics). If you are extremely lucky like me, you will have chances to see a different side of China than you normally would. In my book, the verdict goes clearly to the side of "yes, it's the right time to come." So long as you know what you're getting into, it's an incredibly special experience--one that is celebrated annually by more than a sixth of the world's population.
Chinese New Year, or "Spring Festival" as it is usually called in China, is an interesting time to travel through China. On the one hand, it's a real nightmare trying to go anywhere or do anything. It's traditional for families in China to be together for the holiday, and modern China is full of migrant workers, college students, and others who live far from their families. Everybody is going home at once, which results in what is called Chunyun. Basically, several hundred million people take train trips within a span of a couple of weeks. Logistically, that is amazing. Think about that for a second. Imagine if every man, woman, and child in the United States tried to take a train ride within a two-week period. It would be insane. That's what we have here. It's the biggest annual human migration in the world. The point is, if you are a tourist and you are trying to buy tickets, you have to be prepared for the possibility that all tickets are sold out. Or, in a slightly better scenario, you can get tickets, but they are standing room only tickets.
This is the train station in Shanghai more than a week before the Spring Festival. Several days later, this place would be packed.
So travel is a pain. Additionally, most shops (especially small ones, like where you can buy street food) close down for a few days or a week right at the new year. This can be inconvenient if you were planning to do anything in China while you were here.
On the other hand, it's a pretty great holiday. It's especially great if you have Chinese friends who are willing to include you in their family events. I am fortunate enough to have a friend like that. When Leslie and I lived in China, Zoe was our best Chinese friend (she still is, in fact). Her family has always been incredibly welcoming and this time around was no exception. She included me in four days worth of events, the highlight of which was on the 24th (the second day of the dragon year) when we went to her husband's family's village in the countryside. They picked me up early for the half-hour drive to the village. The family occupied several homes in the village itself (Zoe's mother-in-law and father-in-law both came from the village, so that's a lot of family members), so we had breakfast, lunch, and dinner at three separate houses. All of the homes were spartan in furnishings, with concrete walls, wood burning stoves, and no heating.
It was relatively cold out (right around 32 Fahrenheit, I suspect), so many family members and one tall foreigner gathered around a ceramic pot filled with smoldering embers. Each of the three meals was a true feast. We had pork, cabbage, mushrooms, tofu, beef, liver, eggs...all sorts of things. Not to mention, of course, the copious baijiu and cigarettes that were constantly foisted upon me by all of the male relatives.
Outside of the meals, firecrackers were lit, mahjong was played, and good company was had. I should also note that this was an important year to visit this family because a family member (one of Zoe's father-in-law's brothers) had died, so everybody had to make an extra effort to visit this year. An interesting cultural note is that most families in China hang red banners around their doors for the new year, to bring good luck on all of the inhabitants in the coming year and (theoretically) ward off evil spirits.
These red banners are hanging on almost every door in China right now. If, however, a member of a household has died in the past year, the family signifies this with yellow banners instead. Here's the outside of the house where the deceased had lived:
As I've ridden through the countryside on trains between cities, I have seen a couple more of these. It's a thoughtful and quiet way to indicate a family's woes.
So, as I said, Chinese New Year is a mixed bag in terms of whether or not it's the right time to visit China. It's difficult to move about the country or do much of anything, but you'll have the opportunity to hear thousands of fireworks and firecrackers going off at once in every corner of the city (imagine the 4th of July, except every household is setting off their own pyrotechnics). If you are extremely lucky like me, you will have chances to see a different side of China than you normally would. In my book, the verdict goes clearly to the side of "yes, it's the right time to come." So long as you know what you're getting into, it's an incredibly special experience--one that is celebrated annually by more than a sixth of the world's population.
Re Gan Mian
If you go to Wuhan, the one must-try dish is the Re Gan Mian (热干面). This dish is a staple for residents of Wuhan, typically eaten for breakfast (but available any time of the day). The Chinese name translates literally to "hot dry noodles." It's worth noting that that "hot" refers to the temperature and not the spiciness. Re gan mian is simple, but quite tasty. The noodles are made a special way so that they do not stick to your teeth. They are long, round noodles, akin to spaghetti. They are pre-cooked the night before so that when you order them, they only need to be flash-boiled for about 30 seconds. After the boiling, the cook drops them in a bowl, tops them with sesame paste (sometimes peanut paste, but sesame is more authentic), and your choice of pickled vegetables, radishes, scallions, sour vegetables, and spicy sauce (la jiao). All that remains is to mix it up and eat.
This stuff is delicious. Most noodles in China are served in a soup of sorts, which is why re gan mian (which is not served in a soup) is called "dry." The sesame paste adds a nice grainy texture to the noodles, which are just the right amount of sticky. Re gan mian will only set you back about 3 - 5 yuan, which is a great price for a filling breakfast. Highly recommended.
This stuff is delicious. Most noodles in China are served in a soup of sorts, which is why re gan mian (which is not served in a soup) is called "dry." The sesame paste adds a nice grainy texture to the noodles, which are just the right amount of sticky. Re gan mian will only set you back about 3 - 5 yuan, which is a great price for a filling breakfast. Highly recommended.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Peach Tree Jelly
Tao Jiang (桃浆), roughly translated, means "peach tree jelly." Although you might be able to find it all year in Hangzhou, it is typically eaten in the summer. When I first heard about this snack, I figured that it was something like a peach jam or jelly that you could use as a condiment. The truth is actually much more interesting. The base of the Tao Jiang is sap that comes from the peach tree. It is collected in rock-hard, irregularly shaped, crystalized clumps, about the size of a walnut.
To make a batch of the jelly, you let the crystals soak in cool water for at least half a day (usually more), and then throw them into some boiling water. At this point, you can add some extra flavoring, such as goji berries and osmanthus blossoms. After you let it cool, it's time to scoop it out into a bowl or cup and eat.
The final product is sort of like jello sitting in a thin syrup (with some berries and flowers floating on top). The sap crystals retain their basic shape, but have a texture like grainy gelatin. Because of the cooking, their orange color has oozed out of the crystals and into the water, so the jelly itself is colorless. It's a nice snack--just a bit sweet, and probably very refreshing in the summertime. Definitely worth a try if you happen to find it. Depending on the season, you can probably expect to pay 3 - 5 Y for a cup of Tao Jiang.
To make a batch of the jelly, you let the crystals soak in cool water for at least half a day (usually more), and then throw them into some boiling water. At this point, you can add some extra flavoring, such as goji berries and osmanthus blossoms. After you let it cool, it's time to scoop it out into a bowl or cup and eat.
The final product is sort of like jello sitting in a thin syrup (with some berries and flowers floating on top). The sap crystals retain their basic shape, but have a texture like grainy gelatin. Because of the cooking, their orange color has oozed out of the crystals and into the water, so the jelly itself is colorless. It's a nice snack--just a bit sweet, and probably very refreshing in the summertime. Definitely worth a try if you happen to find it. Depending on the season, you can probably expect to pay 3 - 5 Y for a cup of Tao Jiang.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Beggar's Chicken
Hangzhou is well-known in China for being one of the country's most beautiful cities. The city's West Lake (Xi Hu) is a major tourist draw, as well as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Like many cities in China, it has a history of several thousand years, and it holds the distinction of being the national capital for at least a few of those years (most recently in 1279), which means there is lots of history to be found if you are into that sort of thing. I came not, though, for the sights or the history, but for the food. Hangzhou has several famous dishes that are not typically street foods, such as the candied lotus root and the dongpo pork, both of which are well worth a try. If it's street food you are after, though (and I am), you will be glad to find that Hangzhou's most famous dish--beggar's chicken (叫化鸡) (Jiao Hua Ji)--resides right on the border between restaurant food and street food. Beggar's chicken has only one ingredient: a whole chicken. The magic comes in the preparation. There are three steps to preparing beggar's chicken: 1) Wrap the chicken tightly in lotus leaves; 2) Pack clay around the lotus leaves; and 3) Bake the chicken in a special oven or over an open fire.
It sounds simple (and it is), but the result is fantastic. After cutting open the top of the package with scissors or a knife, you can dive right in with your fingers (some vendors will provide plastic gloves for this part).
The chicken is so tightly packed that none of the juices have escaped during cooking, which results in a soft, succulent flesh that pulls right away from the bone. A bit of flavor from the lotus leaves seeps in as well, giving the chicken a slightly different taste. Beggar's chicken is a little bit more expensive than your standard street food (20 - 30 Y), but it's definitely worth it. You do, after all, get a whole chicken for that price.
Here's what it looks like when it's still wrapped in clay.
It sounds simple (and it is), but the result is fantastic. After cutting open the top of the package with scissors or a knife, you can dive right in with your fingers (some vendors will provide plastic gloves for this part).
Mmmmmmm....
The chicken is so tightly packed that none of the juices have escaped during cooking, which results in a soft, succulent flesh that pulls right away from the bone. A bit of flavor from the lotus leaves seeps in as well, giving the chicken a slightly different taste. Beggar's chicken is a little bit more expensive than your standard street food (20 - 30 Y), but it's definitely worth it. You do, after all, get a whole chicken for that price.
If you look carefully, you'll see a chicken foot there...as I said, this is the whole chicken.
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