by Ann Mah
FROM THE KITCHEN OF ANN MAH
SPICY “MAPO TOFU”
I feel a little guilty calling this mapo tofu, because it’s so far removed from its classic Sichuan roots—the meat (when I use it) is ground chicken or turkey breast, not pork, and the chili paste is Sriracha, not dou ban jiang (the famous, salty fermented soy bean sauce). I eat this when I’m feeling blue—after all, chilies raise endorphin levels! It’s good with a bowl of white rice, but I also like it ladled over a deep bowl of long noodles and hot broth.
SERVES TWO AS MAIN COURSE (WITH LEFTOVERS FOR LUNCH THE NEXT DAY)
1 lb. firm tofu, drained and cut into 1½ inch cubes
½ lb. ground chicken or turkey breast (optional)
2 teaspoons canola or olive oil
1½ inch piece of ginger root, peeled and finely minced
3 garlic cloves, peeled and finely minced
1½ cups water
1½ tablespoons light soy sauce
2 teaspoons Sriracha chili sauce
To thicken: 1 tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 2 tablespoons water
Meat marinade (if using meat):
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon rice wine (optional)
1 teaspoon sesame oil
If using the meat, put it in a bowl and add the marinade ingredients, mixing to stir.
Place a large skillet over medium heat and add 1 teaspoon of the oil when hot. If using the meat, add it to the pan, stirring and mashing it with a wooden spoon to break it up. When the meat is fully cooked, remove it to a clean bowl.
Add another teaspoon of oil to the hot pan, and then the garlic and ginger, stirring until fragrant, 20 to 30 seconds. Add the water, soy sauce, and chili paste; stir. Add the tofu and meat (if using). Bring the mixture to a boil, cover and lower heat until the mixture is at a very gentle simmer. Cook for 20 minutes.
Uncover, raise heat to medium, and add the cornstarch and water mixture. Stir until thickened. Taste and adjust seasonings, adding more soy sauce and chili paste, if necessary. Serve piping hot.
SPAGHETTI CARBONARA
With only six ingredients, I make this simple pasta when I don’t feel like cooking or grocery shopping (which is often).
SERVES FOUR
1 onion
3 to 4 strips bacon
2 cups white wine
1 egg, beaten
1 lb. linguine or thin spaghetti
¼ cup grated Parmagiano-Reggiano cheese, plus more for sprinkling
Fill a large pot with water for the pasta, cover, and place over a high heat to achieve a rolling boil. Peel the onion and finely chop it. Cut the bacon into small squares. Heat a large saucepan over medium flame and add the bacon, stirring until it starts to crisp. Add the onion and stir until it’s wilted, about 8 to 10 minutes. Add the wine to the onion-bacon mixture, bring to a boil, turn heat to medium-low and simmer about 5 to 7 minutes until all the alcohol has burned off and the liquid has reduced by half.
Meanwhile, start cooking the pasta, which should take about 8 minutes. When it’s done, drain it, reserving 1 cup or so of the pasta cooking water. Return the pasta to its pot and pour in the onion-bacon-wine mixture, tossing to coat. Add the beaten egg and continue tossing, adding dashes of the pasta cooking water so the mixture is smooth and supple. Add the Parmagiano-Reggiano cheese and season with salt and pepper. Taste it now! Adjust seasonings if necessary.
Serve immediately and enjoy with the remainder of the bottle of white wine.
SPICY SUMMER PEANUT SAUCE
I love this versatile peanut sauce, which I make during the summer. Drizzle it over shredded, poached chicken and finely julienned cucumbers for a refreshing salad. Or add cold noodles to the mix for a satisfying chilled dinner. If your sauce is too thick when you’re tossing it with the noodles, dashes of cold black tea will help loosen it up.
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup cilantro, washed and dried (including stems)
2-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and roughly chopped
½ cup smooth peanut butter
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 tablespoons sesame oil
2 teaspoons Sriracha
Place all the ingredients in the bowl of a food processor or blender and process until the mixture is smooth. Taste and add more soy sauce or chili sauce if necessary.
SALT AND PEPPER SHRIMP SALAD
In the book, I imagine Isabelle’s mother making this shrimp salad, but in reality this is my dad’s dish. A creative cook, he’s been using this salt-pepper-sugar mixture since I was a kid (and probably before then). Over the years, the dish has evolved into a fresh, fusion salad that’s ideal as an easy and elegant first course.
1 lb. shrimp (about 12), peeled, cleaned, and patted dry
1 tablespoon minced garlic
¼ cup minced green onions
2 tablespoons pine nuts, lightly toasted
2 to 3 tablespoons dry cocktail sherry (pale)
2 tablespoons salt-sugar-pepper mixture (recipe follows)
2 tablespoons cornstarch
Olive oil for stir-frying
For the salad:
4 cups arugula or mixed salad greens, washed and spun dry
½ tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon sesame oil
Salt-sugar-pepper mixture:
2 tablespoons sugar
4 tablespoons salt
6 tablespoons ground black pepper
This is a master batch for your spice cabinet. You can increase the quantities to make more and store it in a bottle.
Toss arugula or salad greens with the vinegar and oils and distribute evenly to four salad plates.
Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a wok or sauté pan until smoking. Toss the shrimp with the salt-sugar-pepper mixture (about 2 tablespoons) and add at once to the hot pan.
As the prawns cook, sprinkle them with 1 tablespoon cornstarch. Add more oil if needed. Turn the shrimp and repeat with another 1 tablespoon of cornstarch; the cooking process only takes a few minutes.
When the shrimp have just turned pink, add the minced garlic and toss. Add the green onions and toss. Add just enough sherry to create a sauce that barely coats the prawns. Remove from heat. Add the pine nuts.
Distribute 3 prawns per salad plate. Serve immediately.
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR
Kitchen Chinese is your first novel. What inspired you to write this book? How and when did you start writing it? How autobiographical is the story?
A month after I got married, my husband’s work moved us to Beijing. I found myself in a new city, unemployed (I had left my job in New York book publishing to move to China), attempting to build a new life armed only with the rudimentary Chinese that I’d learned in college. My first year in Beijing was the hardest as I struggled daily with identity issues—I thought of myself as American, but almost everyone else viewed me as Chinese.
Like Isabelle, I found my feet once I started working as the dining editor at a local English-language expat magazine. There, I met people who had chosen to live in Beijing—as opposed to the majority of expatriates, who had been assigned to the city—and their passion, not to mention their excellent Mandarin, helped demystify the city and ignite my own enthusiasm. Through the magazine, I also made local friends who gave me a window into the lives of Chinese twenty-somethings. And of course our daily staff lunches at local dive restaurants were the best introduction to Chinese cuisine that I could have hoped for. As I ate my way through China’s regional cuisines, and discovered a lot about the country along the way, the idea for this book began to germinate—though I knew it would have to be fiction because I wanted a spicy story!
When I started the book, I was working full-time and I would snatch time to write during my lunch break, on weekends, and not-so-busy times at the magazine (I hope my former bosses aren’t reading this, but if they are—I’m sorry!). Aside from finding the time to write, the hardest pa
rt was simply continuing to work on the book, to keep going even though it had an audience of one: my husband. For a long time he was the only other person who knew about the book, but luckily he is very discreet—and extremely encouraging.
Obviously, Isabelle’s story was inspired by some of my experiences, but our stories are not identical. For one thing, we came to China under very different circumstances. For another, I was happily married while living in Beijing, while Isabelle must navigate the single scene—that was fun to write about, but I was quite content not to experience it firsthand! Isabelle’s family is actually a composite of many different families—some Chinese, some not. As it turns out, Asian parents don’t have the monopoly on guilt! Finally, Isabelle is much braver and less squeamish than I am—I would never even consider setting a toe into a Chinese public shower room, for example—and she navigates her adventures with a grace and openness that I admire. She is also much funnier than I am—and lucky enough to have a sister.
You lived in China for several years. Was living there what you expected? Were there things that surprised you about the country or the people?
Before I moved to Beijing, I had only been there once, for a weekend when I was eleven years old. I had a vague memory of vast avenues and fleets of bicycles, and I had read lots of articles about the pollution. In other words, I had absolutely no idea what to expect.
My first, most visceral, surprise was how easily I could blend into a crowd, and how alienated this made me feel. Living in New York, I was used to being considered a minority, and it was initially disconcerting to be surrounded by faces that so closely mirrored my own. But the longer I lived in Beijing, the more I began to realize that I wasn’t blending in at all—in fact, it was much the opposite. Whereas in the States we joke that all Asians look alike, in China, they think all Caucasians look alike—they have trouble distinguishing white people, but they’ll remember a Chinese face forever and I was recognized regularly!
I was also struck by how private Chinese people were, especially compared to Americans. Working as a journalist, I often encountered people who declined to be interviewed about topics as innocent as men’s handbags, or the city’s best Sichuan food. But the concept of privacy extended to friends as well—for example, I have gay friends who have never discussed their romantic lives with me. Also, I know at least three different people who got married in secret without telling anyone until weeks later.
Most of all, however, I was surprised and impressed by the country’s indefatigable sense of optimism. Though nearly everyone I met had been touched by the horrifying events of the Cultural Revolution, each seemed to put the pain and sorrow behind them, to face the future with the confidence that their children’s lives would be better than their own. It’s a feeling that’s both powerful and contagious!
In the book, Isabelle makes the observation that the gift China has given her is the opportunity to realize a dream. Do you think this is true for many foreigners who choose to live there?
I think it can be a little easier for foreigners to shine in Beijing, if only because of their overseas experience. Much of Chinese culture is still rooted in status, and having a degree from a foreign university (especially a prestigious one), overseas work experience, or speaking fluent English, are all greatly admired. It’s especially true in the performing arts like acting, modeling, or music, where simply having a foreign face or accent can really set you apart. I have several American friends in Beijing who are pursuing their artistic dreams successfully, whether it be playing bass in a rock band, leading a modern dance troupe, or starring in English-language instructional videos. They are all very talented, but as one friend once said to me, “In the States, I’d be a cog in the wheel. In China, I’m inventing the wheel.”
There’s also the powerful sense in China of a world made new. Beijing vibrates with a tireless energy—restaurants open and close within months or sometimes even weeks, a block of buildings can be destroyed in a morning, skyscrapers seem to mushroom overnight—and the feeling of change is palpable. With all this change comes an incredible feeling of opportunity: with a little money (things are still relatively inexpensive in China), and some elbow grease, anything is possible, especially as the country develops its modern cultural identity.
So, yes, I do feel that China is a place where opportunities abound and dreams are realized—but I don’t think it’s unique in that sense. In fact, I was just reading an article the other day about second generation Indian-Americans moving to India to pursue work in creative fields. As people become more mobile—and cultural identity more flexible—I think we’ll see many more young Americans—from all sorts of backgrounds—moving overseas to follow their dreams.
How did you become interested in cooking?
My parents like to tell the story of how, at three years old, I climbed up on the kitchen counter to watch my father chop vegetables, and shouted, “Bang the garlic, Daddy!”
So, I guess you could say my interest in food and cooking was cemented at a very early age. As a teen, I loved to bake and was also mad about England—I would prepare elaborate tea parties for my family, including fresh scones and finger sandwiches—once, I even made crumpets from scratch! As I’ve grown older and traveled the world, I’ve come to realize what an important tool cooking is—for me, food is the most vital connection to learning about new cultures.
Cooking is something I enjoy, and I am extremely grateful for it. Unlike writing, which is a process that I find tortuous, it’s an easier way to create. I find taking raw ingredients and turning them into something totally different—a cake, a pie, a bowl of soup—transporting, even miraculous. Of course there are times when I don’t feel like cooking—especially if I’m on my own, when I’m more likely to eat a grilled cheese sandwich. I suppose, as with writing, I prefer to cook for an audience! Nevertheless, once I get started, I always find cooking contemplative yet absorbing, very sensory, and it can be either solitary or social. Plus, it gives great pleasure to others (except maybe the dishwasher!).
What are your favorite books about food, either novels, nonfiction, or cookbooks?
From the minute I found out about the concept of reading, I wanted to do it. And from the minute I started, I loved reading about food. When I was small, I loved all the Little House books, but especially Farmer Boy, the story of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s husband, Almanzo. I was fascinated by the descriptions of food, particularly his breakfasts of ham and apple pie (pie for breakfast!), or freshly fried doughnuts and cider, or evening snacks of fire-popped popcorn, immersed in a glass of creamy milk. Laura’s diet was grimmer, but I loved the story of the maple sugar boil, when she and her sisters make candy by pouring the newly boiled sap onto clean snow.
As a teenager I was a raging Anglophile, which started when my dad gave me some collected works of P. G. Wodehouse. I realize he’s quite a controversial figure now, but I loved Wodehouse’s silly, madcap tales of Jeeves and Bertie Wooster. Plus they were always eating things like kippers and bangers, or hot buttered toast with Gentlemen’s Relish, all washed down with cups of scalding tea—oh, it sounded like heaven! Combined with a large dose of Agatha Christie (Miss Marple was always eating things like Victorian seed cake)…well, that probably explains my teenage mania for tea parties.
I’ve always admired Julia Child, even before I ever thought I’d move to Paris, so it was a delight to read her memoir, My Life in France. Of course, reading about her adventures at the Cordon Bleu cooking school was fascinating, but I loved this book most for its spirit. Julia was thirty-six when she moved to France; she had no expertise in the kitchen—and certainly no idea she would become one of America’s foremost authorities on French cuisine. But she did—and her story reminds me that life-changing opportunities can arise at any age.
I have way too many cookbooks. One standby is Italian Easy: Recipes from the London River Café by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers (published in the UK as The River Café Cookbook Easy). The recipes are very simple, but
focus on delicious, different combinations of flavors and foods—and there are lots of creative ideas for pasta. My only quibble is that the recipes often call for unique and expensive ingredients, so I usually pull out this book when I want to make a special dinner for my husband. I’ve also developed a renewed appreciation for Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home, by Julia Child and Jacques Pepin. I actually prefer this to Julia’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which I find a little fussy. The recipes are simpler—classic and French, but homey—and I love how the two quibble over technique, each providing their own advice (which often disagrees). Plus, I recently made the book’s boeuf Bourguignon for a French friend, who said it tasted just like a French person had made it. This was the highest praise, I assure you!
Finally, they don’t discuss food much, but the following three books on China resonated with me for a long time, especially as each tells the story of a foreigner in Beijing. In Hand Grenade Practice in Peking, Frances Wood recounts her year spent as a British exchange student at Peking University, in 1975, during the Cultural Revolution. Her account of spartan dorm life and education through labor—the Communist party determined that she would learn more in the field planting rice than in the classroom studying Marxism, Leninism, and Mao Zedong—is witty, honest, and sensitive. In Peking Story, American David Kidd shares his story of marrying into a wealthy Chinese family and living in their vast ancestral Beijing courtyard home during the last days before the Communist party came to power in 1949. It’s a fascinating glimpse into a rarified world that has totally disappeared—and the epilogue, in which Kidd visits the family again in the 1980s, is heartbreaking. Finally, as the wife of a diplomat in China, I was drawn to the novel Peking Picnic, by Ann Bridge, who shared my circumstances, albeit in the 1920s, during the tumultuous warlord era. It’s an old-fashioned story—complete with a few off-color descriptions of locals—but Bridge weaves an atmosphere of old Beijing that is dreamy yet vibrant.