by Jen Lin-Liu
Craig had asked the question I was too timid to pose. “But aren’t you tricking the angels if you only go to prayers at five?” he said, in his journalistic deadpan.
“No, it’s not a problem,” Elvis said defensively.
Thankfully, around then I’d met Mahmood, a guide who worked in our ragged three-star hotel. As Mahmood took me around town, I was impressed with his decorum. He opened doors for me and poured me tea, and stooped to rearrange chipped blocks on the sidewalk so people didn’t trip. I was even more impressed when I found out he was fasting for the entire month, while going about his usual routines. He offered to help me through my fast.
We agreed to start by meeting for a predawn meal of rice pilaf. I’d gone to bed early the night before but hadn’t slept well. That evening, Craig and I had eaten at a Pakistani restaurant, opened by a family of women from Pakistan who’d crossed into China several years before and made a steady business out of feeding traders from their country. We’d had a delicious beef and chickpea stew called queema, and chapatis, grilled flatbread that resembled Chinese ones. We’d washed the meal down with many cups of chai. It must have been the chai. We tossed and turned, and Craig finally inflated his camping mattress and settled onto the floor. When at last I drifted off to sleep, I had strange dreams involving the cooking school. I’d employed a midget and the kitchen had morphed into an ice cream parlor selling soft-serve. I was abruptly jolted from the dream when my alarm went off at four-thirty. In the dark, I went downstairs and found an empty lobby. I called Mahmood to wake him up.
A thin crescent moon shined as we walked toward the restaurant. Apart from a donkey cart that rolled by, the street was empty, but in front of the restaurant, diners in various degrees of wakefulness waited at outdoor tables. A bright-eyed chef stirred an enormous wok of rice pilaf. I wondered why he looked so alert. It turned out that during Ramadan, he reversed his routine, waking up around sunset to prepare dinner, and going to bed only after he cooked the morning meal. “You can come tomorrow at one in the morning if you want to watch me make polo,” he said cheerfully. I could barely muster a polite response.
The chef poured black tea that was as strong and smooth as Earl Grey, a special treat for Mahmood, one of his regulars. “Where are your friends?” the chef asked him.
They were all still asleep, my guide said. As the month went on, he explained to me, it got harder to stick with the fast.
We started with nang—good for an empty stomach, Mahmood said. We followed that with grapes, a salad of tomatoes, onions, and green peppers, and, finally, the main attraction: a heaping bowl of rice pilaf. Though I hadn’t been hungry when I sat down, my appetite got bigger as I ate.
Mahmood advised me to adopt the chef’s strategy and sleep during the day. “Sleeping is a good way to kill time.” He was amused by the expression, which he’d just learned. “Don’t exert yourself. Don’t use your brain too much.” As we gnawed hunks of mutton off their bones, my fasting partner mentioned that he’d recently guided a group of European women who didn’t eat meat. He’d never met vegetarians before; the concept was foreign on most of the Silk Road.
I explained that vegetarians avoided meat for health, moral, or environmental reasons, or simply because they didn’t like the taste of it. To Mahmood, those reasons were revolutionary. Perhaps some people could do it, he allowed, but not Muslims. “The Koran says that we must eat meat, halal meat, and we should be thankful for it. To not eat meat would affect the natural balance of the world.”
I got two-thirds of the way through my pilaf before I was simply too full. My guide finished his before saying, “You’re supposed to eat more in the morning, less at night. You will appreciate your food much more tonight!”
We walked to the main square to see how many other people were eating. The night market around the square was emptying out as a small stream of men headed toward the mosque. I asked Mahmood why only men were out. Only men went to mosque, he said, and maybe some of these men didn’t have women to cook for them. That figured.
I went back to the hotel, where Craig was still sleeping. I downed half a liter of water just before the sun cracked the horizon, and fell back asleep. But my rest was disturbed by a constant urge to pee. And, annoyingly, when I woke at nine to go to Hayal’s for my cooking lesson, I was thirsty again.
“You can’t suddenly expect to become a camel just because you’re fasting,” my husband said as I left for class.
Hayal was disappointed to hear I was fasting.
“It’s not going to save you,” she said, kneading a large mound of dough for laghman, the Hui version of hand-pulled noodles. “You have to study the Koran and accept Islam if you don’t want to go to hell.” Plus, she’d labored over the noodles for me, stretching them using the same method as the noodle makers I’d seen back east. She hadn’t spun them as thin, though, so thankfully they were a little less tempting. But she held out a spoonful of the stew that would top the noodles, like a witch with a potion. “Here, have a taste,” she said.
The flavor of Sichuan peppercorns and tomatoes lingered in my mouth for hours, as did a dab of homemade mulberry jam Hayal had offered me. She seemed to take it as her personal mission to persuade me not to fast, as if I was disturbing the natural order of the world Mahmood had talked about.
I went back to the hotel to nap. When I woke, I realized that it wasn’t skipping meals that was hard, it was forsaking all liquids, particularly in this arid desert climate at the height of summer. I always carried water with me. I hated feeling thirsty. Some people’s worst nightmare was to die by drowning; the idea of dying of thirst was more dreadful to me. I broke down and guzzled an iced tea from the hotel’s convenience store. I thought back to the fasters I’d seen in the supermarket near the bazaar, challenging themselves by gazing at soft drinks. That should qualify as an Olympic sport, I thought.
The tea assuaged my hunger until sundown, when Craig and I met up again with Mahmood.
“How was your day?” he asked me brightly.
“Not great,” I said weakly.
We drifted around the evening market, trying to decide which item we’d eat at sundown. I came across the buns that looked like cinnamon raisin bagels again. They were baking in a tonur in the ground, around which a large line had formed. Little rounds of dough stuck to the inside of the oven to rise and brown, after which they were pulled out with an iron rod, one by one, and placed upon sheets of newspaper that were haphazardly thrust into the hands of the nearest shopper.
“Oh yes, gush gerde,” Mahmood said. “That bread is so good we have a song about it.” He began to sing a song in Uighur that went something like “Gush gerde, gush gerde, my mother makes gush gerde . . .” My mouth watered with anticipation as I stared into the oven.
We queued up. By a stroke of luck, sundown hit just as a batch of buns came out of the tonur. The baker shoved one into my hands. I juggled it like a hot potato before taking a bite. It was hot and crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside, just like a Lower East Side bagel. Perhaps it was something about the water or the hearth, or something about my hunger, but I could truthfully say that it was the most delicious bread I’d ever tasted. And the memory of that lamb bun would linger with me for the rest of my trip.
CHEF ZHANG’S HAND-ROLLED NOODLES/ANDREA’S PASTA
Serves 4
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups water for Chinese noodles or 4 extra-large eggs for Italian pasta
MAKE THE DOUGH:
Heap flour on a large, flat surface and make a well in the center.
For Chinese noodles: Pour 1 cup of water into the well and work it into the flour, mixing with your hands. Slowly add more water, about ¼ cup at a time, mixing thoroughly until all the flour has been incorporated and the dough is soft, pliable, and smooth.
For Italian pasta: Pour the eggs into the well and beat them with a fork, working in some of th
e flour, then continue mixing with your hands until all the flour has been incorporated and the dough is soft, pliable, and smooth. If it feels dry, knead in a few drops of water.
Transfer the dough to a clean surface and knead by hand or with a stand mixer for 3 to 5 minutes, then cover the dough with a damp cloth or wrap it in plastic and let it sit for at least 30 minutes.
ROLL OUT THE DOUGH:
Make sure the rolling surface is clean and dry, then dust it with flour. Break off a quarter of the dough to work with, leaving the rest under the damp cloth or wrapped in plastic. Knead the dough briefly, then flatten and stretch it with your hands into a rectangle. Sprinkle the dough with flour and flatten the dough with a rolling pin, forming a long rectangle about ¼ inch thick and about a third the width of the pin.
Starting with the end closest to you, flatten a small section of the dough, rolling the pin back and forth in a rapid and forceful motion. Pause frequently to sprinkle the rolling surface, the dough, and your pin with flour. Once you’ve flattened the first section, liberally flour the surface of the dough and roll it onto the pin, then move on to the next section, pushing down on the pin to make the layers thinner and wider (though not wider than the width of the pin). Unwind the dough occasionally and sprinkle it with additional flour to make sure the layers of dough don’t stick together. If the dough gets too difficult to work with, cut it in half crosswise and work one half at a time. Once you’ve flattened all the dough, unfurl it and check that it’s uniformly thin (but not paper-thin), flattening any thicker sections with the pin. The dough should be no more than 2 millimeters thick.
Wrap the dough once more around the pin, then, holding the pin above the board, unroll the dough so that it folds over itself in S-shaped layers about 3 inches wide. With a sharp knife, cut the dough crosswise. For standard Chinese noodles or taglioni, cut the dough into 1/8-inch-wide strands. For fettuccine, cut the dough into ½-inch-wide strands. Shake the noodles lightly with your fingers to separate the strands, then set them aside on a surface or plate sprinkled with flour while you roll out the rest of the dough, a quarter at a time.
COOK THE NOODLES:
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Drop in the noodles/pasta. Boil Italian pasta for 2 to 3 minutes, Chinese noodles for 4 to 5 minutes. (Chinese prefer softer noodles.) Italian pasta may also be allowed to dry for 2 to 3 hours before it is boiled, a step that will help to give it an al dente texture.
Remove the noodles/pasta from heat and drain. (Chinese noodles are often bathed quickly in cold water to stop the cooking process.)
Toss the Italian pasta with Arrabbiata Sauce or the Chinese noodles with Chef Zhang’s Pork Belly Sauce (recipes follow). Or use another sauce of your choosing. Serve immediately.
ARRABBIATA SAUCE
Serves 4
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons tomato paste
One 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
½ teaspoon dried red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon sugar
¼ cup red wine
¼ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Freshly chopped parsley
Heat the olive oil in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the onions and garlic and cook for a few minutes, until the onions are soft. Stir in the tomato paste, crushed tomatoes, red pepper flakes, sugar, wine, salt, and black pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Stir in the parsley and remove from the heat. Mix with Andrea’s Pasta and serve immediately.
CHEF ZHANG’S PORK BELLY SAUCE
Serves 4
1 pound pork belly, cut into 1-inch cubes
¼ cup vegetable oil
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons plus ¼ cup light soy sauce
1 quart water
1 leek, white part only, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 thin, thumb-sized slices of ginger
4 star anise
2 bay leaves
1 tablespoon powdered chicken bouillon (optional)
2 whole dried red chili peppers
½ teaspoon salt
Fill a wok halfway with water and bring to a boil. Add the pork, return to a boil, and simmer for 2 minutes. Drain and set aside.
Place the wok over high heat until it is dry again, then add the vegetable oil and sugar. Stir vigorously until the mixture begins to caramelize. When it is reddish-brown, add the blanched pork, stir to coat with the sugar, then add 2 tablespoons of the soy sauce. Stir-fry for 2 to 3 minutes, then add the water, the remaining ¼ cup soy sauce, the leeks, ginger, star anise, bay leaves, bouillon, if using, red chili peppers, and salt. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about an hour, until the sauce is thick. Discard the bay leaves.
Serve over Chef Zhang’s Hand-Rolled Noodles.
CHAIRMAN WANG’S DUMPLINGS WITH LAMB-AND-PUMPKIN FILLING
Makes 80 dumplings
FOR THE WRAPPERS:
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups water
FOR THE FILLING:
⅔ pound ground lamb
½ cup chicken stock
⅓ cup soy sauce
1 large egg
½ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sesame oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon minced leeks
½ teaspoon minced ginger
2½ cups grated Dickinson pumpkin or butternut or other winter squash
TO ACCOMPANY THE DUMPLINGS:
Shanxi black vinegar
Chili oil
Minced garlic
Make the wrappers: Prepare the dough as for Chef Zhang’s Hand-Rolled Noodles/Andrea’s Pasta. After it has rested, divide it into four equal pieces. Working with one piece at a time (keep the others covered with a damp cloth so they don’t dry out), use your palms to roll it into a long rope, about ¾ inch in diameter. Slice the ropes into 1-inch-long pieces and sprinkle them lightly with flour. Roll each piece into a walnut-sized ball, then flatten it against the counter with your palm, so that the center of each disk, thanks to the hollow of your palm, should be slightly thicker than the edges. Sprinkle flour over the dough and work surface.
Working with one piece of dough at a time, place the rolling pin (preferably a thin Chinese-style rolling pin) right at the center of the disk and roll down to the edge, then roll the pin back to the center. Turn the dough a few degrees and roll the pin over the dough in the same manner. Continue rolling, turning the dough in the same direction, until you have made a full revolution. The dumpling wrapper should be flat and round and about the size of your palm, with the center still slightly thicker than the edges. Repeat with the remaining pieces of dough, dusting the bottom of each wrapper with a little flour and stacking them (do not stack more than eight wrappers together, to prevent sticking). Cover them with a damp cloth to prevent them from drying out while you finish rolling the rest of the dough.
Make the filling: Combine the lamb and the chicken stock in a medium bowl and mix vigorously with chopsticks or a fork, stirring in one direction only for 50 strokes. Add the soy sauce and mix for another 50 strokes. Beat in the egg, salt, sesame oil, garlic, leeks, and ginger. Add the pumpkin or squash and stir for another 10 strokes.
Wrap the dumplings: Sprinkle your work surface again with flour. Place a dumpling wrapper in your palm. Using a spoon, scoop roughly 2 teaspoons of filling and place it in the center of the wrapper. Fold the wrapper in half, taking care not to squeeze the filling beyond the center of the dumpling, and pinch the top of the semicircle together. Seal the open sides, pinching the edges to make pleats (keep all the pleats on one side of the dumpling) and sealing them as you work to the top of the semicircle. If folded correctly, the dumpling will have the shape of a
fat-bottomed crescent and will sit upright rather than tip over when placed on your work surface. Repeat until you run out of filling or wrappers.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat. Add a batch of dumplings—no more than 20 or so at a time—and when the water returns to a boil, cook for another 5 minutes.
Remove the dumplings with a spider or slotted spoon. Repeat with the remaining dumplings, serving each batch immediately, accompanied by a small dish of the vinegar, chili oil, and garlic, quantities adjusted to taste.
VARIATION: For pork-and-fennel dumplings, substitute ground pork for the lamb and minced fennel (bulbs and leaves) for the pumpkin. In fact, almost any meat-and-vegetable combination can substitute for the lamb and pumpkin. (Vegetables with high water content should be sprinkled with salt after they are grated or shredded and allowed to sit for 30 minutes, then squeezed of excess water before they are added to the other ingredients.)
LA MIAN (CHINESE HAND-PULLED NOODLES)
Serves 6
To get a sense of how to make these noodles, you have to see the process performed. Please visit my website, www.jenlinliu.com, for video clips.
4 cups all-purpose flour, plus 2 cups additional for dusting
1 teaspoon salt
3½ cups hot water (about 100 degrees Fahrenheit)