Charleston to Phnom Penh: A Cook’s Journal by John Martin Taylor

Author:John Martin Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of South Carolina Press
Published: 2022-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Belltowerism and Other Musings on Life in the Provinces

CHENGDU, CHINA, 2014

You can’t live happily in a foreign country by comparing it to other places you’ve lived. And you can’t judge the East by Western criteria. Though I eat everything, and with a smile on my face, there are some foods I’ve never been a fan of. And I don’t mind saying so. It would be an awfully dull world if we all liked the same foods, the same music, or the same designs. I don’t dislike tofu, but, like pasta, who eats it by itself? I’ve had some elegant versions of Chengdu’s famous Ma Po Dou Fu here, but I find most versions simply too oily for my taste, and the one we had at lunch yesterday tasted sweet to me. A teaspoon of sugar is traditional for two or three servings; I’m sure there was at least a tablespoon in yesterday’s. A typical recipe calls for a one-pound block of bean curd in ½ cup of red chili oil—peanut oil seasoned with about ⅓ cup of Sichuanese chili bean paste, a tablespoon of fermented black beans, 2 teaspoons of ground Sichuanese chilies (deep red, medium hot, very fragrant), and ½ teaspoon of ground roasted Sichuan peppercorns (the numbing seeds from the prickly ash tree), plus soy sauce, salt, cornstarch, leeks, a cup of stock, and a scattering of ground pork (though beef is sometimes used) . One of the finest renditions of the dish I’ve had was at the fancy nearby Shangri-La Hotel, where they serve many traditional Cantonese dim sum dishes.

Many foods here swim in even more oil. I’ve seen handfuls of both chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns in the traditional huŏguō (hot pot) cauldrons, into which you dunk the foods you choose from carts wheeled through the restaurants, from mushrooms and green vegetables to pig brains and skewered meats. Everything ends up tasting like the overwhelmingly spicy oil. I always order whatever green vegetables are offered on the à la carte menu, no matter how small or large the restaurant or noodle shop; they’re usually simply prepared. And rice as well. I can always find something I like to eat.

I’m loving much of the street food—much simpler fare, prepared before your eyes: super thin omelets filled with all manner of vegetables, meats, nuts, and fried doughs; lāmiàn (hand-pulled noodles) from a local Muslim restaurant (two dollars for a hearty bowl); dan dan noodles, topped with peanuts, ground pork, and scallions (street vendors sell for about a dollar, but the best I’ve had were, again, at Shangri-La); guo kei—flatbreads—of all sorts, grilled, fried, and baked (my favorite so far, sold near the entrance to the pricey middle school near my apartment, is a ball of dough filled with ground pork and spices, flattened and then fried); and myriad starch jellies.

Because Sichuan is one of the subtropical breadbaskets of the country, there is fresh and local food daily, much of it organically grown. Of course, organic means night soil, so everything must be washed in this special soap that is supposed to kill any microorganisms.

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