The Whole Hog (Part I): Pork Broth

April 17, 2015 by Wenxiao Guo Tiano

By my estimation, there are currently 3 gallons of pork broth parked in my fridge. This heralds the commencement of weeks filled with spring soups, tonkotsu ramen, posoles, all built upon a base of rich, meaty, umami porkiness.

Why pork? Um, hello!! I'm Chinese ... But in case your DNA doesn't come automatically mutated with an obligatory pork addiction, trust me, it's the most delicious stock of meat stocks, and wouldn't it be a shame if you never tried it? Pork bones return the highest savory profile, yielding depth of flavor and texture that outshine chicken and beef (that's a fact, not an opinion). Also, it has the highest ROI (return on investment), cuz pork bones are dirt cheap.

Head to your local ethnic grocery store. Odds are the Stop & Shop or Whole Foods in town aren't gonna be carrying pork bones (but high five if they do).
Give the bones a rinse and place them in the biggest pot(s) you have. I divided my 8 lbs. (that's 8 pork legs sawed in half = 16 pieces) between 2 cast irons.
Cover with water, pop on the lid(s), set over high heat, and bring to a jolly boil.
Once it's been boiling for ~5-10 minutes, you will see grey scum rising to the top. Skim this off with a spoon. You may have to repeat this step if more scum accumulates.
When scum production ceases, lower the heat and simmer. The longer you simmer, the richer the flavor, so let it go as long as you can. I aim for at least 5 hours, but there is no such thing as too long. Honestly, if you could simmer it until the bones literally disintegrated, that would be ideal. Seriously.
Tip: Cartilage is a good metric for minimum simmer time. When it splits and peels easily off the bone, you know you've rendered some respectable pork essence.
Strain and add S&P to taste. I usually stick to just S. I'll add P as I'm using the stock. It will keep for 3-5 days in the fridge. I parse the rest into 4-6 c. portions before freezing.
Now, the road diverges: You can either just throw out the bones you've strained, OR you can pick off all the tender meat bits and all the gooey, gelatinous soft cartilage and tendon. I know. I'm thoroughly grossing some of you out right now. But, again, I'm Chinese (and thus have been eating this stuff that's actually SUPER tasty and fun all my life), and maybe you're being a little close-minded (just because it's outside the purview of a limited eating history). If nothing else, go digging for the marrow!! I mean, you pay like $16 for a couple of spoonfuls at your local haute haunt, right??!!

Really, 3 gallons is nothing. Having recently bought a house, it's taken some time to settle in and reestablish routines and habits. By next week, I ought to have ~10 gallons of a variety of stocks in frozen anticipation. As with so many quirks of mine, it is often impossible to parse out whether they are entrenched, semi-conscious learned behaviors of a Chinese immigrant or simply good sense.

For the better half of my childhood, my mother vigilantly clipped coupons every weekend. For $200 a month, our family of 3 (this is pre-little bro) ate like kings, or at the very least, like grand dukes. By deduction, the diligence with which Mom clipped coupons was an indication that money was definitely tight, but the food we ate ... For pennies on the dollar, she would literally transform bones into dinner.

In my pantry there are always a few cartons of store-bought stock. After all, you never know when the zombies will come, but homemade stock is a no-brainer for me. It's cheaper and tastier and healthier. No matter how you look at it, it's just better.

Easter weekend, my (very Italian) mother-in-law sent me home with the ham bone, because she knows and loves me so well. Yeah, that's part of the 3 gallons :)

About a Burger

April 15, 2015 by Wenxiao Guo Tiano

I am not a sweet girl. That is to say, I don't have a sweet tooth and rarely crave sweets, although plenty of people would tell you that I also lack a sweet disposition. And they wouldn't be wrong. I don't do niceties. I find them tedious and superficial. I'm more of a brutally honest, got-an-opinion-I-wanna-share (generally a strong one) kinda gal. My propensity of having something to say is inexhaustible until I am exhausted. (My husband is a very very patient man.) So can you even imagine just how persistent a food craving might be for this little piggy? (Me, that's me!) Trying? Now multiply that by an exponential factor of your choice. Ok, quantitative emotional math aside, just trust me: My cravings demand immediate satisfaction.

I woke up craving a burger. Actually, I'd say ~75% of my food cravings are for burgers. Guess it's the 'Merican in me :) That, or I have to 'fess up to belly-flopping onto the New American Gastropub bandwagon. Its truffle-oiled claws are sunk deep...

Rummaging around in the pantry, I find some ingredients that will do just fine.

Had I ground beef, it would have been simple:
form patty --> pan fry to medium --> bun, condiments, and serve.

Turkey, though, needs a bit of a boost. Finely chop garlic, onions, sage (or whatever fresh/dried herb(s) on hand); sweat on low until onions are translucent; season with S&P to taste.

Assemble like so. (Note: Key notes and measurements in the subtitles, friends, so read 'em.)

The Aromatics:

1/2 a head of garlic, 1/2 a medium onion, LOTS of herby herbaceousness.

Turkey Lurkey Joins the Party:

~1/2 lb.

A Liberal Dose of Breadcrumbs:

A mounding 1/4 c., preferably unseasoned but definitely all about Elizabeth Warren.

One Egg to Rule Them All:

One egg to find them, one egg to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

MASH. IT. UP!

Form patties. Pan fry over medium. Cheese me.

Tips: Cast iron is a great indoor sub for the grill, cuz it get's screaming hot for a good char. I start with the lid on for a minute or two to let the patties steam. This ensures that the turkey is thoroughly cooked in the middle. Remove lid and sear two minutes on each side to get that delectable crust. If you're working with beef, skip the lid and go for the pink middle, obvi. Under normal circumstances, I'd throw the patties under the broiler for a minute after topping with cheese, but as we've established, my oven is basically a dormant Smaug, so I popped the lid back on for a wee minute to get a nice melt.

ET VOILE! Did I sneak some fresh guac on top? You bet I did, cuz #everythingisbetterwithguac. And what about the little nuggets nestled in its side? As every good burger needs some fries to hold hands with, I threw together some fried pickles. Read on, my hungry friend, read on.

The (Un)usual Suspects:

Dill pickles, halved; rice flour; egg wash; bread crumbs.

A Dusting of Flour:

Coat pickles thoroughly. Reg AP flour will do, but rice flour is finer = better adhesion for max crunch.

Egg Bath:

One egg to...you get the idea. Again, we want complete and thorough coverage here.

For the Crunchiest *CRUNCH*:

Sift in some panko crumbs.

Uneven Breading = Uneven Crunch (Which Is Cool):

Really press the pickles into the breading. Clumpy breading is totes OK. Naked pickle is def NOT.

Tips: Measurements vary depending on how many pickles you are frying and how big. Just make sure that you have sufficient flour, egg, and breadcrumbs to thoroughly cover the pickles along each step. In the gallery, I show the pickles in a pile for visual effect, but it's best to coat the pickles two or three at a time in each step. For a perfect fry, you need to create actual delineated layers, like rings of a tree, not a paste mixture of flour, egg, and breadcrumbs.

These fry up really REALLY quickly. I cannot stress that enough, so don't drop them in until you are ready with paper-toweled plate on the side and spider (that's a skimmer for you non-Chinese) in hand. Once the pickles progress into golden-brown goodness, get 'em outta there to drain! They will continue cooking for another minute or so. Mix mayo with a dash of Sriracha and maple syrup for a dipping sauce (or, you know, whatever combo works for you).

Burger coma is a unique variation of "meat sweats" for me, perhaps even a category unto its own. There is no satisfaction quite like the satiety that comes from downing a tasty burger and crispy fries. There are moments in life, mundane and remarkable, in which I feel decidedly American. For someone who generally feels very Chinese in America and very American in China, these moments devoid of conflict and dualism are savored for their clarity and simplicity. Until my next burger craving, then, which will definitely be sooner rather than later.

Upon a winter dreary, while I pondered, cold and weary...

March 05, 2015 by Wenxiao Guo Tiano

It's snowing again. *!!#$%^&@?@&%^!* As if the 100 inches of snow lounging outside my kitchen window weren't sufficient reminder of winter's unwelcome squatting rights.

Time to buffer the cold with a little heat. Chili spice is a versatile ally: we eat spicy food in the wintertime to stay warm, and we eat spicy food in the summertime to stay cool. It's science.

At home, that is, at my parents' in Wisco, there is always a supply of homemade chili oil in the fridge. My father is a chili head and garnishes just about everything with a heaping dollop. At the Guo residence, it's not drink for drink with Dad, but spice for spice, and he always wins, face shiny with sweat, eyes glazed with victory. My father once told me a story from his childhood. One winter in China was so brutally cold that his friend rubbed the inside of a raw chili on his face to stay warm. "We all told him not to, but he couldn't stand the cold anymore. He was actually quite warm and comfortable outside during the day, but the burning sensation was unbearable when he came inside in the evening!" Daddy giggled, reaching for another spoonful of chili.

At any given moment, there are 5 to 10 chili advocates forming a delegation in my pantry. Gochujang, Cholula, spicy miso, chipotles en adobo, pickled serranos, ghost pepper powder, and of course the king, Sriracha. Each has its appropriate time and place, but none of them can compare to the nutty, mellow, prolonged burn of homemade chili oil.

So what happens when you rub raw chili on your skin to stay warm? My father's friend was in agony for hours, and no amount of washing could alleviate the burn. Out of context, this is a hilarious anecdote, and one that never fails to set my father chuckling for a few good minutes. But it is a light-hearted vignette lifted from a much darker tapestry.

In 1969, Chairman Mao sent my father to work on a farm in the northernmost region of China, near the Siberian border. Swept along Mao's megalomaniacal Cultural Revolution and sent to Heilongjiang Province as part of a massive reeducation movement called Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside (上山下鄉運動), he left behind, in Beijing, an invalid grandmother, a mother under house arrest soon to be exiled from her family, a father forced to perform hard labor after being tortured for nine months by university Red Guards, and a terrified younger sister. He had just turned 16 years old.

It was there, on the farm in Dongbei, where winter squats for 9 months and temperatures reach -40C (that's -40F), that my father and his teenage buddies planted turnips, wheat, and soybeans in lieu of attending high school, playing football, chasing girls. Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles from their family, underfed, underclothed, uneducated, these were the circumstances of their most formative years.

You would never know what my father has endured. His humor is subtle yet boisterous. His friendship is enduring, his loyalty Sicilian. His bottomless capacity for love and kindness and laughter is a testament to his strength, his will, his survival.

He told me the tale of the "Great Chili Oil Debacle" when I was probably his age in the story. Now whenever I replenish my stock, I think of his friend, who thought that hot chili balm was his greatest ally against the winter cold.

THE RECIPE. Many years have I fried chili oil; wise to heed my advice you would be.
The RULES OF CHILI OIL I give you (hmmmmmm):

Quality ingredients. Chili oil = dried chili + oil. The fewer the ingredients, the more naked the flavors, so don't cheat on quality here.
Shop smart. Buy dried chili flakes in bulk at your local ethnic food store. $1.99 for 6oz. Don't go overpaying McCormick
Vent it. It's gonna get smoky; you WILL smell like fried chili oil. For some, this is the perfect mating call. For the rest of you, turn that vent on high or do it on the grill range.
Wok it up. Ideally, you want to use a large wok to fry because it provides both a large surface contact area and high sides for mobility and splatter guard. If you don't have one, I would use the largest pot in your arsenal that's at least 3 inches deep. But get a wok. It's the most versatile pan I own.
Don't use olive oil. You want a light, flavorless oil that won't compete with the chili flavor. I like peanut or saff/sunflower.
WEAR YOUR RUBBERS. Rules of the gentlemen's club apply, my spicy friends: look but don't touch! You touch a speck of chili flake. You touch your eye, your mouth, anywhere . . . It's over. I keep a stash of disposable medical gloves on hand.
NEVER STOP STIRRING. From the moment you start frying, do not stop stirring and moving the chili around. Stirring prevents burning. Motion yields chili potion. Whatever mantra you have to tell yourself, because this can go from toasted delicious to blackened char in one second flat.
DO NOT INHALE!! I cannot stress this enough. Do not breathe deeply around the dry chili flakes. You will regret it. Do not breathe AT ALL in the direction of the wok whilst frying, At best you will singe your eyeballs and choke ungracefully; at worst, you could actually send yourself to the hospital. Breathe away from the chili always.

THE FRY:

Dry toast the chili flakes in the wok on high heat. NO OIL. Constant stirring. You want to make sure that every flake gets toasted without burning. You will know you've reached optimal toasting when the flakes smell nutty and the chili powder residue at the bottom of the wok turns black (when the powder burns, the flakes are close behind). ~1 minute for me, but this depends on your pot and flame.
Turn down flame to medium. Start adding oil 1/4C at a time. (Constant stirring!) How much oil you add is up to you. Do you want more of a dry chili topping or more of a flavored oil? Add in increments, letting the flakes absorb the oil in between. You can always add more oil to thin it out, but you can't cook off excess. For my 6oz. package, I used ~1.5C oil.
Turn flame back up to high and keep stirring. You want constant motion and equal distribution, which is why I like the wok. You can push food up the sides of the wok to let them cool while others get their moment to shine in the oil bath, then rotate. I let my chili oil come to a gentle simmer for a minute or two. Obviously if your chili-to-oil ratio is high, don't do this. All told, ~5 minutes of frying in oil.
The color will turn from bright red to a dark crimson, like dried blood. If it's veering toward brown, you've gone too far. Keep in mind that it will continue to fry after you take it off the flame.
Cool, bottle, slather away (on your food, not your body).