论文部分内容阅读
IT is sometimes hard for foreigners in China to express to their friends and family back home what exactly it is about their host country that keeps them so fascinated. Whether it is the endless array of dumplings， hot-pot nights with friends， or the tea traditions that instantly put you at ease， I would bet China’s food culture is at the top of many people’s list.
As a newcomer， I realized early on that unraveling the social norms around eating would help me better connect with the country and its people. I also recognized that even beginning to understand a country’s food culture requires far more than consuming it， though I had plans to do plenty of that. I realized I would need to try cooking myself.
So seven weeks after arriving in Beijing， there I was， heading to Sichuan and Yunnan provinces in southwest China to get a taste of the Middle Kingdom outside of its capital city.
Upon take-off， I thought I knew something of Sichuan cuisine， as there are several restaurants purporting to serve this style of food in my home state of California. I know now what I was served was miles away from the authentic versions.
The course started with us being split into small groups and given a shopping list， a traditional basket for market jaunts， and a firm budget of 100 yuan （$15）. Off we went， encouraged by our guides to barter， with me using my very elementary Chinese language skills to try and aid those in the country for just a week. We came back with full baskets and a strange sense of accom
plishment， ready to prepare a feast for the whole group.
Luckily， my group was assigned my personal favorite Sichuan dish， and the one I was most eagerly looking forward to replicating： mapo doufu， a spicy tofu dish. I learned to quickly boil the tofu in hot water before adding it to the stir-fried spices so that the perfect tofu squares do not break， and the appropriate number of numbing Sichuan peppers to add to balance out the notorious chilies that are the region’s signature ingredient. As a former vegetarian， this was a go-to dish for me at Chinese restaurants in the United States. I learned， however， that most chefs here add pork or beef to top off the dish and to add extra flavor.
My abandonment of dietary preferences was a must for the xiaolongbao （soup dumplings） course I recently took in Beijing at the Hutong， an organization running daily cooking classes， market tours and other cultural excursions from a beautiful courtyard in Dongcheng District. A friend visited from New York and we decided to do a cooking course together while she was in town. We thought the dish would be both challenging and fun to make， unaware the only choice for its filling is pork， an ingredient neither of us had ever cooked with. When this was explained by the head chef， my friend whispered to me， with a worried look on her face， that she had never actually eaten pork. “When in Beijing！” we said， laughing anxiously.
Our first task was easy enough. Patiently stir flour， salt and water together in one direction and make the dough for the dumplings. After rolling this out to the intended thickness， size and shape， we were given a false sense of confidence. Then we were given bowls of raw meat to stir gently with chopsticks， adding intermittent spoonfuls of water to fluff it up， as the fat would absorb the liquid. Spring onions， soy sauce and ginger were added to provide additional flavor and remove any gaminess from the meat. Not the healthiest of choices on our part， we realized； nor did we know how close we would get with the final product.
For those na ve like me， the “soup” part of xiaolongbao is a refrigerated cube of fatty pork skin stock made the day before. When the dumplings are steamed， the stock melts inside to provide the liquid consistency.
Our final task was to take the dough， add a “healthy” dose of the pork mixture along with the small stock cubes， and try to skillfully twist the dough into what almost looks like a gift. This brought on class-wide bouts of laughing， sighs and excited exclamations when we succeeded somewhat.
Then， of course， the best part was eating the dumplings straight out of the steamer. My friend Jamie is convinced she ate about 15 before even looking up. So much for our vegetarian lifestyles！ Chinese cuisine had obviously got the better of us. CA
As a newcomer， I realized early on that unraveling the social norms around eating would help me better connect with the country and its people. I also recognized that even beginning to understand a country’s food culture requires far more than consuming it， though I had plans to do plenty of that. I realized I would need to try cooking myself.
So seven weeks after arriving in Beijing， there I was， heading to Sichuan and Yunnan provinces in southwest China to get a taste of the Middle Kingdom outside of its capital city.
Upon take-off， I thought I knew something of Sichuan cuisine， as there are several restaurants purporting to serve this style of food in my home state of California. I know now what I was served was miles away from the authentic versions.
The course started with us being split into small groups and given a shopping list， a traditional basket for market jaunts， and a firm budget of 100 yuan （$15）. Off we went， encouraged by our guides to barter， with me using my very elementary Chinese language skills to try and aid those in the country for just a week. We came back with full baskets and a strange sense of accom
plishment， ready to prepare a feast for the whole group.
Luckily， my group was assigned my personal favorite Sichuan dish， and the one I was most eagerly looking forward to replicating： mapo doufu， a spicy tofu dish. I learned to quickly boil the tofu in hot water before adding it to the stir-fried spices so that the perfect tofu squares do not break， and the appropriate number of numbing Sichuan peppers to add to balance out the notorious chilies that are the region’s signature ingredient. As a former vegetarian， this was a go-to dish for me at Chinese restaurants in the United States. I learned， however， that most chefs here add pork or beef to top off the dish and to add extra flavor.
My abandonment of dietary preferences was a must for the xiaolongbao （soup dumplings） course I recently took in Beijing at the Hutong， an organization running daily cooking classes， market tours and other cultural excursions from a beautiful courtyard in Dongcheng District. A friend visited from New York and we decided to do a cooking course together while she was in town. We thought the dish would be both challenging and fun to make， unaware the only choice for its filling is pork， an ingredient neither of us had ever cooked with. When this was explained by the head chef， my friend whispered to me， with a worried look on her face， that she had never actually eaten pork. “When in Beijing！” we said， laughing anxiously.
Our first task was easy enough. Patiently stir flour， salt and water together in one direction and make the dough for the dumplings. After rolling this out to the intended thickness， size and shape， we were given a false sense of confidence. Then we were given bowls of raw meat to stir gently with chopsticks， adding intermittent spoonfuls of water to fluff it up， as the fat would absorb the liquid. Spring onions， soy sauce and ginger were added to provide additional flavor and remove any gaminess from the meat. Not the healthiest of choices on our part， we realized； nor did we know how close we would get with the final product.
For those na ve like me， the “soup” part of xiaolongbao is a refrigerated cube of fatty pork skin stock made the day before. When the dumplings are steamed， the stock melts inside to provide the liquid consistency.
Our final task was to take the dough， add a “healthy” dose of the pork mixture along with the small stock cubes， and try to skillfully twist the dough into what almost looks like a gift. This brought on class-wide bouts of laughing， sighs and excited exclamations when we succeeded somewhat.
Then， of course， the best part was eating the dumplings straight out of the steamer. My friend Jamie is convinced she ate about 15 before even looking up. So much for our vegetarian lifestyles！ Chinese cuisine had obviously got the better of us. CA