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[Ethnic ] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010 ww Getting Acquainted with 's Regional Cuisines

By Kimberly J. Decker, Contributing Editor

You‟ve got to hand it to the Chinese. In addition to inventing fireworks and the compass, they may have introduced Americans to the concept of regional ethnic , too. After all, who didn‟t grow up visiting their local Great Wall Mandarin or Jade Garden Sichuan/ restaurant when the taste for something “exotic” struck?

Yet such only hinted at a complexity in that mainstream Americans are only beginning to explore. “It always A Regional Rising Star starts out with the generic brand of Chinese cuisine,” says Philip Chiang, co-founder, P.F. Chang‟s China Bistro, Scottsdale, AZ, Immigrants, chefs, consumers: All conspire “but now, especially in the major cities on the coasts, restaurants to make not only Chinese, but Asian in general, the rising star of the dining are serving many more specific kinds of dishes—like places that firmament. According to Chicago-based serve just northern-style noodles.” Practitioners of Chinese cuisine Mintel‟s “Ethnic Foods—U.S.” report from can raise their art to this next level because not only has Sept. 2009, Asian food shows the fastest immigration formed regional expat communities with a taste for growth among ethnic foods in new product home, but those expats have brought the ingredients and know- activity, landing more than 5,200 new products in Mintel‟s Global New Products how to make recreating those tastes possible. Database between Jan. 2005 and June 2009. The firm predicts the segment will “What I‟ve seen more of these days are people venturing into continue to grow by 27% from 2009 through these communities of immigrants for the great food,” says Robin 2014, ringing up $800 million in FDMx (food, drug and mass merchandiser, excluding Stotter, culinary R&D , P.F. Chang‟s. “Americans today have Wal-Mart) sales by the end of that period. an appetite for experiencing and understanding different styles of Chinese . Chefs in America have a great interest in the The primacy of Chinese food in the Asian regionalization and differentiation of the cuisines of China. And you segment is well established. Fully 43% of also have Chinese-American chefs and chefs from China itself respondents to a Mintel survey claimed to have prepared Chinese at home in the doing some unbelievable food.” last month, and 54% had visited a . But those consumers are ready For manageability‟s sake, it makes sense to view China‟s culinary for Chinese cuisine 2.0. “Many patrons are traditions through the points of the compass: Canton in the south, reporting that they want more authentic Chinese cuisine in Chinese restaurants,” the Shanghai in the East, Beijing in the north, and Sichuan in the west. report says, “yet they believe they are not receiving the „real‟ dishes that would be Southern comfort served in China.”

Guangzhou (the province formerly known as Canton) is the region whose cuisine first arrived in America with immigrant laborers. A strain of simplicity runs through their cuisine. As Chiang says: “You have to remember that the first Chinese were farmers and peasants. They weren‟t the high-class aristocrats from Canton, and so they ate more rustic, „poor-people‟ food.”

But what was “poor” then would strike today‟s disciple of fresh-seasonal-local as a triumph of enlightened . cuisine could pass for ‟s Eastern cousin, a market-driven approach that eschews elaborate prep, seasonings and cooking methods for flavors and presentations that let ingredients speak for themselves. www.foodproductdesign.com Page 1

[Ethnic Cuisines] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010

The emphasis on minimal seasoning runs mainly to , white pepper, fresh , and green onion, and on uncompromising freshness. The Cantonese traditionally “don‟t use chiles or heavy ,” Chiang says, nor do they use heavy prep methods. “The style of cooking is , , . You won‟t see the fiery that they use in the North.”

Baby pea shoots tugged from the earth and stir-fried with a touch of garlic and fermented black bean epitomize the Cantonese knack for sublimity through simplicity. Other illustrative dishes include chicken with black mushrooms and snow peas, and steamed catfish with fresh ginger, a splash of and garlic chives.

Guangzhou is also where reigns, in both paddies and . It‟s present at every , either as steamed grains, as a restorative call jook, or in soft, silken-textured noodles made from the flour. As with any other , range from fat to skinny, but a particularly Cantonese twist involves rolling wide, flat sheets into tubes, sometimes around fillings of , shrimp or churro-shaped Chinese fritters called you tiao, or sometimes just by themselves.

Cantonese cuisine gives the lie to the notion that simple is plain. Guangzhou, after all, is the home of , that procession of cart-borne treats savored over relaxed talk and -sipping. Among the classics are intricately shaped pork and shrimp dumplings wrapped in translucent rice-paper skins, light-as-air root fritters and steamed buns filled with Cantonese barbecued pork, a sticky-sweet treat that‟s a stark contrast to the fluffy white enveloping it. As Chiang says, “Dim sum is simple, but boy is it labor-intensive.”

That skill has earned Cantonese chefs high regard among Chinese-cuisine cognoscenti. An oft-repeated saying has it that the luckiest of all eat in Guangzhou, for nowhere else will you find such exquisite fare. “Traditionally, in China Cantonese was the food,” Chiang says. “And it still is, basically. If you want to eat well, you eat Cantonese. It‟s changed a lot, but it‟s the most-refined cuisine, partly because it‟s so simple.”

Cosmopolitan cuisine

On the opposite end of that simplicity spectrum—but just up China‟s eastern coast—is a region whose heart beats in Shanghai. Here, the clean lines of Guangzhou give way to foods notorious for their heady, full-bodied, some even say oily, flavors and textures. In cosmopolitan Shanghai, the richness on the table matches the wealth that fuels this most-populous, vibrant metropolis in China.

As a recently established commercial hub incorporated only within the last two centuries, Shanghai has few traditional foods to call its own, functioning instead as a melting pot for regional influences, especially from nearby Jiangsu, Anhui and Zhejiang provinces. “Shanghai was the trade route,” Stotter explains. “It‟s the business center. You have all these different ingredients blowing through and mixing with the foundation cuisine, so you have a kind of fusion.”

The River waters the rice and blesses fisherman with a reliable source of income. Rivers, tributaries and ponds have earned Shanghai the nickname “Venice of the East” and, along with a productive aquaculture, keep woks filled with of all sorts. “They‟re big on shrimp in Shanghai, and there‟s a lot of freshwater fish and crabs,” Chiang says.

Shanghai diners also enjoy braised and poultry—braised anything, in fact. “There‟s a lot of braising,” Chiang says. “And they braise with this classic that‟s made of , Shao Hsing rice wine, — rock sugar, usually—and . This is their „red-cooking sauce,‟ and it‟s very Shanghainese.” The deep, almost caramelized, flavors that develop during red-cooking, coupled with the aforementioned oiliness, are www.foodproductdesign.com Page 2

[Ethnic Cuisines] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010 signatures of Shanghai‟s style. “And they love vinegar,” adds Chiang, particularly Zhenjiang black rice vinegar, which can match balsamic for its mellow sweetness and depth.

Regional Shanghai specialties that have achieved global renown include massive lion‟s head made of pork that are red-cooked or simmered in broth; Yangchow , the inspiration for countless confetti- colored implementations served at American Chinese restaurants; Westlake fish, another beneficiary of red- cooking; and xiao long bao, the famous Shanghai soup dumplings stuffed with pork, crab, mushrooms, vegetables and a nugget of gelatin that melts into “soup” as the dumpling steams.

“They prepare their vegetables fairly simply in Shanghai, kind of like the Cantonese,” Chiang says. And as a city that works, Shanghai is also a city that eats on its feet, spawning a rich street-food scene. Day or night, you‟re never far from skewers of grilled duck gizzards, mini bowls of silken and pidan, the “century eggs” preserved in a rub of clay, ash, salt, lime and rice hulls until grayish, gelatinous and sufficiently stinky.

Courting contradictions

The courtly cuisine of Beijing, China‟s capital, is a bundle of contradictions. “It is the seat of government, so there is a lot of fancy—what‟s known as imperial—cuisine,” says Chiang. Picture battalions of chefs tending bathtub-sized woks atop blazing stoves, churning out dozens of courses for high-ranking Mandarins at palace banquets. Perhaps no dish better exemplifies this style of cuisine than , its crispy-glazed skin a sweet, scarlet foil to the succulent, savory beneath. Tucked into flaky Mandarin pancakes slicked with hoisin and a sprinkling of green onions, it‟s highfalutin‟ finger food.

But the story behind this culinary icon reveals the paradox that, despite being China‟s imperial seat, Beijing lies in a geographically tough neighborhood. The northern plain is the kind of place that either wears you out or makes you stronger. Winter winds sweep down the Gobi from Siberia, depositing dust and freezing lake and land alike for half the year. With summer comes either drought or drowning floods of the Yellow River. Either way, the sandy, barren soil has taught northerners not to expect the bounty that‟s a matter of in the Yangtze Delta or along Guangzhou‟s coast.

But those desert winds also brought us Peking duck, for it was their hot, dry air that first parched the skins of marinated fowl hung outside huts to dry, creating without effort the crispness that chefs now labor hours to mimic. Nature‟s fickle hand shapes Beijing‟s cuisine elsewhere, too. “You have to take in the climate,” Chiang says. “In the winter, because it‟s so cold, all the vegetables are pickled.” That necessity has turned art, with everything from hardy Tianjin cabbages to mustard greens, turnip roots and wild fungi, salted, dried, fermented and otherwise preserved not only to extend their life, but to enhance umami, as well.

In accordance with the saying, “South of the Yangtze, rice; north of the Yangtze, wheat,” Beijing and its environs have little capacity for rice cultivation, making this a land for sturdier, cold-weather grains like sorghum, millet, barley and wheat, which plays a prominent role in northern diets. “It‟s wheat-based agriculture,” says Chiang, “so they do a lot of dumplings, they have a lot of noodles, and you see a lot of —more breads than most people realize. They even have sesame breads that are almost like Muslim pancakes.”

That‟s no coincidence, as northern China has long been the target of Muslim, Mongol and Manchurian invaders, all of whom left behind a legacy of their feasts. Consider the Muslim penchant for lamb that‟s almost unique to northern China. “It‟s more mutton than lamb, actually,” Chiang says, “very heavy.” Then there‟s Mongolian and , which have traveled beyond Beijing to restaurants the world over. The latter www.foodproductdesign.com Page 3

[Ethnic Cuisines] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010 evolved from the nomadic practice of cooking freshly slaughtered meat—often skewered on a saber—over the flame-heated surface of a horseman‟s shield. As for Mongolian hot pot, it‟s a fondue-like affair wherein diners dunk thin slices of beef, seafood and vegetables in a broth that cooks the food and then serves as a digestif soup when all is said and done.

Way-out West

The vast Western region of Sichuan, Hunan and their neighbors are ringed with soaring mountains and cut by rivers of icy snowmelt. This is China‟s agricultural heartland. While the region is appreciated domestically for producing much of the food that feeds China‟s billion-plus, outside it‟s associated mainly with one thing: spicy food.

“It‟s a lot of fiery flavors, a lot of chile and garlic,” Chiang says of . Hunan enjoys a similar reputation, again “because of the chiles.”

But chile is hardly all there is to China‟s wild-west cuisine. Sichuan and Hunan foods are marked by an earthy rusticity and disparate influences that flavor everything from ingredients and prep techniques to philosophies of eating. Take Buddhism, a two-millennia-old import from India that to this day manifests in a rich vegetarian canon. Spicy pickled vegetables, locally harvested , foraged mushrooms and an entire repertoire of dishes based on bean curd—the most famous being ma po tofu—add substance and excitement to meat-free menus.

The Indian legacy also appears in curry-style and a bolder use of spice than found elsewhere in China— fitting given the region‟s spot on the spice routes. To the south is Vietnam, Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. Through migration and marriage, it, too, contributed to Sichuan‟s complex culinary lexicon.

That complexity has forced Sichuan and Hunan chefs to master flavor blending and balance. Much is made of the “seven flavors” of Sichuan, which chefs carefully calibrate within and between dishes: sweet from or maltose, sour from vinegar, salty from soy or salt, fragrance from garlic or ginger, bitter from green onions or leeks, nutty from sesame seeds and oil, and a trademark heat from chiles.

Added to these is the tingly sensation—more than a mere flavor—of . Neither a peppercorn nor a chile, it‟s the outer pod of a tiny used throughout Asia for its lemony notes and trigeminal effects, a consequence of the compound hydroxy-alpha-sanshool, which appears to stimulate several nerve endings simultaneously, setting off a mild state of sensory mayhem. (Once banned from the United States for fear of introducing citrus canker, Sichuan peppercorns heated to 160°F have been permitted entry since 2005.)

Besides the stir- and steaming practiced across China, Western chefs do a lot of braising and stewing. Spit-roasting of meats is common, as is dry-frying in minimum oil over a hot flame. “It‟s intense cooking,” Chiang says, “extremely high heat.” The method leaves foods like green beans crunchy, colorful, charred and touched with smoke.

Smoke is another unmistakable Sichuan trait. Chefs smoke everything from river fish to tofu, seasoning the smoker—often just a well-insulated wok—with aromatic tea leaves, dried citrus peel, brown sugar, whole spices and even raw grains of rice. These build yet another layer of flavor, as does a splash of infused oil on the finished dish, applied in a manner “not that different from when Italians drizzle olive oil over their dishes,” Chiang says. www.foodproductdesign.com Page 4

[Ethnic Cuisines] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010

Bringing China home

A finish of flavored oil and a smoky essence: These are hardly beyond the grasp of American palates. Even more-adventurous regional fare has a chance, too, as long as manufacturers deliver it in doses that, while not stripping away regional character, acknowledge American tastes. “You have to make it accessible,” Chiang says. “That means no .” Century eggs and duck gizzards are out, too. Chiang adds that some textures prized in China pose a hurdle here. “Textures that are slippery—forget about those,” he says. “There are just certain textures that Westerners can‟t get into.”

But never underestimate the power of a menu descriptor to tempt diners to try something new. “You have to change your wording slightly so they get it,” Stotter says. “We do that in the menu with things like „Northern- style ribs.‟ And then we have a more Southern-style version that has more of a barbecue sauce on them. One‟s kind of hard-cooked, and the other is more steamed and finished with a light glaze.”

As always, the best route to selling the public on a new taste is to introduce it via platforms that are relatively universal, like ribs—or noodles, which Chiang praises as “inexpensive and easy to eat.”

Stotter agrees: “Noodles and dumplings are extremely hot right now.” He thinks that northern-style lamb, scented with cumin and tucked in a Chinese bun, would be fantastic. “In Middle America, the lamb might not go over so well,” he concedes, “but simply replace it with beef and it‟d be a huge hit.”

Achieving regional identity needn‟t be harder than this. As Andrew Hunter, consulting culinary chef, Kikkoman Sales USA, San Francisco, points out: “Chefs around the world use many of the same ingredients. Sometimes, we make the differences in how you achieve flavor too complicated.” Consider what he calls “the critical components” of flavor in China: ginger, garlic, scallions and chiles. Regardless of region, they‟re pantry staples, he says. “They might use different proportions, but they put those aromatics in every time.”

Moving beyond the basics to regional distinctions may involve as little as introducing “sometimes one or two ingredients,” says Hunter. “ is usually spicy and smoky. And one of the things that I think is so cool about it is that they use this incredible ham. So if a manufacturer is creating a dish, they should identify a signature ingredient from a region—like ham in Hunan, along with a ramped-up amount of chile—that the average consumer can identify.”

True, formulating with genuine Hunan ham may be a logistical bridge too far, but a smoky Virginia variety should do the trick. Sourcing ingredients for regional Chinese flavor needn‟t involve an intercontinental scavenger hunt. “All manufacturers have a core pantry of ingredients,” Hunter says, “and if the developer understands and has studied the flavor development of Cantonese, Sichuan or any other , they can do it with their ingredients on hand.”

Worst case, you may need to find an esoteric chile varietal, but even those are more easily had these days. And while the five elements of sweet, salty, sour, bitter and hot are essential, Hunter says, they can‟t pull things off without help from umami—a sensation at which he believes Chinese chefs are adept. “So many Chinese ingredients are fermented or dried,” he notes, both processes that develop umami.

It‟s little touches like these that nudge a formulation closer to authenticity. But experts ultimately downplay its importance. “We talk a lot about what is authentic now, because so much has changed in China,” Chiang says. “That line of what‟s authentic and what‟s not is being crossed in China by Chinese chefs.” Believing that www.foodproductdesign.com Page 5

[Ethnic Cuisines] Vol. 20 No. 6 June 2010 intention matters more than origins, he points out that Beijing chefs serve local foods in a Western way. Asking just what we should call that, he answers his own question, calling it, simply, “progress.”

Kimberly J. Decker, a California-based technical writer, has a B.S. in consumer food science with a minor in English from the University of California, Davis. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she enjoys eating and writing about food. You can reach her at [email protected].

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