Conjuring Congee, once again

This recipe from Danny Bowien is one that first appeared in “…an endless banquet” way back in 2013—in an entirely different era—but the recipe itself is a keeper, and it’s one that we’ve returned to again and again, especially around this time of year. In fact, the first time it appeared in these pages was on February 24, 2013.

Our latest batch of congee, made just last week, was a response to winter 2021, out of a need for the kind of comfort only chicken soups of all kinds can offer—because that’s essentially what this version is: a supremely comforting, even reassuring chicken soup. But it was also a response to a recent batch of chili-crisp that I made, one that was just begging to be drizzled over a steaming bowl of congee with all the trimmings (or at least some of them).

fig. a: AEB chili-crisp

In addition to the chili-crisp, we dressed our bowls of congee with an assortment of vegetable and herbal accompaniments: simple stir-fried cabbage, simple stir-fried shiitake and cremini mushrooms, chopped scallions, cilantro, an oil-fried egg, and toasted sesame seeds.

If you’ve never made congee before, it’s an incredibly nourishing meal. It’s easy to feed a large crowd with it (as many as 10-12), but it’s also great for a small household—like ours—because the leftovers are equally phenomenal and it freezes well. You could scale back the recipe, but unless you’re without freezer space or you live in a temperate climate and don’t have access to an “outdoor freezer” like we do here in Montreal, what’s the point? I guarantee that you’ll be thrilled to have extra portions on hand in the coming days and weeks. I certainly have been. When I had a bowl for lunch the other day, this is what my simplified version looked like:

fig. b: chicken congee, cabbage, cilantro, chili-crisp

Though this particular recipe is all about the chicken—it has everything to do with the wonderfully silky texture that is created as the rice cooks with a cheesecloth-bound chicken suspended in it, as well as the lovely perfumed qualities the chicken takes on as it is poached in the rice—it’s quite possible to make a delicious vegetarian (vegan, actually) version of congee. Just cook the rice in a flavourful and highly umami-rich vegetable broth (one that makes great use of dried shiitake mushrooms, say). When Michelle used to prepare congee at the Foodlab years ago, she did exactly that. Their congee was entirely vegan, as were many of the topping options—and all the more popular for it. And recently I’ve seen another Danny Bowien congee recipe, one for an entirely vegan (or at least easily vegan-ized) kabocha squash version, kicking around on the internet.

Lastly, it’s my understanding that congee is not a traditional offering during lunar new year celebrations. It’s too simple. It’s not considered festive enough. But as many people have noted, the fact that 2021 is the Year of the Ox seems somehow appropriate in the midst of an ongoing global pandemic, given the fact that this astrological sign has everything to do with resilience. And the ox is nothing if not a reliable animal, of course. So now might perfect time for congee: it’s as reliable and comforting a dish as they come, and it’s the kind of recipe that makes for an especially tasty and satisfying show of resilience.

Without any further ado, here’s our AEB take on Danny Bowien’s congee recipe, one that first appeared in the “Chinatown” issue of Lucky Peach back in the fall of 2012:

Chicken Congee

1 whole chicken, preferably with head and feet
1 celery stalk
1 carrot
2 cups white rice
8 qts water
cheesecloth
2 chopsticks

toppings of your choice (such as toasted sesame seeds, chopped cilantro, egg yolks, salmon roe, smoked eel, sea urchin, etc.)

Salt the chicken heavily inside and outside the cavity. Make sure you rub salt under the wings. Stuff the cavity with the carrot and celery stalk. Refrigerate overnight.

Bundle the chicken in a large piece of cheesecloth and tie it off. The cheesecloth needs to be big enough that you'll be able to tie the excess cloth to the side of a stockpot in a knot.

Toast the rice in a dry stockpot over medium heat. Don't rinse the rice first. Here, you want the starches on the surface of the rice to thicken the porridge. Also, be careful not to burn the rice. Stir constantly until it is lightly toasted and aromatic--just a few minutes.

Add the water and bring to a boil over medium heat. Starting with cold water and boiling over medium heat (as opposed to high heat) will yield a lighter, cleaner soup.

Once the porridge boils (be patient, this will take a while), lower the chicken in and tie the cheesecloth to the handle of the pot, so the bird doesn't sit on the bottom and burn.

Vent the pot with a pair of chopsticks by balancing the chopsticks on opposite ends of the pot. Point one toward you, and the other away from you, then rest the lid on the chopsticks. (Bowien notes: "My cooks used to burn this porridge because they thought they knew a better way to vent the pot, but this is the way grandmothers do it. Trust me." We note: this method works perfectly. It both vents the pot and catches the condensation. The result is an ideal cooking temperature and maximum flavour.)

Cook at medium heat for 45 minutes to an hour. The rice should be very soft but not completely exploded into mush. Pull the chicken out and shock it in ice water. Once it's cooled, you can slide it and use it as a garnish or any other application that calls for a nicely poached chicken. Because that's exactly what you get: a nicely poached chicken with hints of rice flavour.

Season with fish sauce and salt. Bowien suggests: "Garnish with chopped cilantro, sesame seeds, an egg yolk, and your choice of toppings--smoked eel, ikura, uni, whatever."

Bowien claims that this recipe produces "4-6 servings," but, in fact, it makes enough for at least 12.

Not-quite-takeout-style Sesame Noodles

fig. a:  sesame noodles in the making

If you read the New York Times's food section, especially its Cooking blog, you're probably already familiar with this one.  Hell, if you pay attention to food tips and trends online with any degree of dedication, you're probably already familiar with this one.  There's a reason it's a New York Times designated Classic--it's been making the rounds for years now.  And that's a good thing, because it's a recipe that deserves to circulate widely.  It's a great recipe and it comes with a great story.

The recipe in question is Takeout-Style Sesame Noodles, of course, and it first appeared in 2007 as part of a story on the advent of Sesame Noodles in New York City titled "New York Noodletown."  The story came courtesy of Sam Sifton, it was populated by legendary figures like Shorty Tang, and it featured lovely passages like this one, on the post-revolutionary wave of Chinese immigration that brought an entirely new style of Chinese cuisine to New York:

Here’s the flickering-newsreel version: The Communists took over China in 1949. Tang and other great chefs began to slip and slide toward the United States soon after, riding to Taiwan with banquet crews loyal to Chiang Kai-shek — and from there to Hong Kong, India, Brazil, East Broadway and the Upper West Side.

They arrived in New York in the years following the 1965 changes in American immigration law and set up restaurants that over time began to offer a new kind of Chinese food, one remodeled first to fit and then to mold American tastes. “Szechuan food,” they called this new style of cooking, and it became as much a part of 1970s Manhattan as cocaine and disco. (The spelling would later shift to “Sichuan.”)

And as New York went, so went the nation: a cold and fiery dish meant to combat the lazy, brutal humidity of a Chinese summer became a staple of takeout menus across the United States.

Sifton's recipe, based on a historical reconstruction by Eddie Schoenfeld, "the affable yarn-spinner and restaurateur who opened Red Farm in the West Village and on the Upper West Side of Manhattan," is an attempt to rediscover the seductive origins of a now-ubiquitous recipe.  And it reappeared in the New York Times this summer, during the Dog Days, for a reason.  As Sifton put it in the quote above, this was "a cold and fiery dish meant to combat the lazy, brutal humidity of a Chinese summer."  Not only is it a tantalizing recipe, but it's an incredibly simple one, one that's conceivable to make even during a heatwave, one that's almost impossible to resist devouring upon completion of the preparation, regardless of the heat, and one that's positively soothing on a hot, steamy day if it's been allowed to chill sufficiently.

Now I didn't grow up in New York City, so I don't share Sifton's nostalgia, or that of "the jokers and memory thieves who while away their days eating and talking about Chinese food in New York City."  I didn't even grow up in a sesame noodle-eating family.  We were devotees of Chinese food, but, for some reason, sesame noodles didn't make it into our stock set of Chinese restaurant staples.  I'd had sesame noodles before, but never like this.  At the same time, god rest Shorty Tang's soul, I didn't have any real commitment to faithfully recreating the original, so I've take the license to improvise just a bit.  My version stays true to the fundamentals of Sifton's version--especially its unparalleled mouthfeel--but it takes a few liberties:  adding scallions and cilantro, bumping up the spice, and switching out cucumber matchsticks in favour of smashed cucumbers.

If you want to start with Sifton's original, by all means, go ahead.  You can find it here.

If, however, you'd like to try out my version, here it is, annotated to indicate the variations I've introduced:

Not-quite-takeout-style Sesame Noodles

1 pound fresh Chinese egg noodles*, 1/8-inch thick

2 tbsp Chinese sesame oil, plus a splash**

3 1/2 tbsp light soy sauce

2 tbsp Chinkiang vinegar***

2 tbsp Chinese sesame paste****

1 tbsp smooth peanut butter

1 tbsp sugar

1 tbsp finely grated ginger

1 tbsp finely minced garlic

2 scallions, white parts only, finely chopped

1-2 tbsp cilantro, finely chopped

3 tsp chili-garlic paste

1/4 cup roasted peanuts, chopped*****

1 recipe Chinese Smashed Cucumber Salad (see below)

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add noodles and cook until barely tender.  (Sifton claims this will take about 5 minutes.  In my experience, using the noodles available in Montreal, it takes about 1 minute.)  Drain, rinse with cold water, drain again and toss with a splash of sesame oil.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the remaining 2 tablespoons sesame oil, the soy sauce, rice vinegar, sesame paste, peanut butter, sugar, ginger, garlic and chili-garlic paste.

Pour the sauce over the noodles and toss with the scallions and cilantro. Transfer to a serving bowl, and garnish with cucumber salad (see recipe below) and peanuts.

[If it's particularly hot where you are, you might want to try making this early in the day, when it's cool, then placing it in the refrigerator all day.  Personally, I think the recipe benefits from a couple of hours (or more) in the fridge.]

Other than the addition of scallions and cilantro, one of the major differences between my version and Sifton's version is that instead of adding cucumber matchsticks as a garnish, I've taken to adding a Chinese-style smashed cucumber salad--a recipe that I also found on the New York Times Cooking site, this time courtesy of Julia Moskin.  If you haven't jumped on the smashed cucumber craze, here's your chance.  The technique is brilliant.  The results can be exhilarating.  

Chinese Smashed Cucumber Salad

About 2 pounds thin-skinned cucumbers like English or Persian (8 to 10 mini cucumbers, 4 medium-size or 2 large greenhouse)

1 tsp kosher salt, plus more for cucumbers

2 tsp granulated sugar, plus more for cucumbers

1 ½ tbsp rice vinegar

2 tsp Chinese sesame oil

2 tsp light soy sauce

1 tbsp grapeseed or extra-virgin olive oil

2 large garlic cloves, minced or put through a press

Red pepper flakes, to taste

Small handful whole cilantro leaves, for garnish

2 tsp toasted white sesame seeds, for garnish (optional)

Rinse cucumbers and pat dry. Cut crosswise into pieces about 4 inches long. Cut each piece in half lengthwise.

On a work surface, place a piece of cucumber (or several) cut side down. Lay the blade of a large knife flat on top the cucumber and smash down lightly with your other hand. The skin will begin to crack, the flesh will break down and the seeds will separate. Repeat until the whole piece is smashed. Break or slice diagonally into bite-size pieces, leaving the seeds behind.

Place the cucumber pieces in a strainer and toss with a big pinch of salt and a big pinch of sugar. Place a plastic bag filled with ice on top of the cucumbers to serve as a weight and place the strainer over a bowl. Let drain 15 to 30 minutes on the counter, or in the refrigerator until ready to serve, up to 4 hours.

Make the dressing: In a small bowl, combine salt, sugar and rice vinegar. Stir until salt and sugar are dissolved. Stir in sesame oil and soy sauce.

When ready to serve, shake cucumbers well to drain off any remaining liquid and transfer to a serving bowl. Drizzle with grapeseed or olive oil and toss. Add half the dressing, half the garlic and the red pepper flakes to taste, and toss. Keep adding dressing until cucumbers are well coated but not drowned. Taste and add more pepper flakes and garlic if needed. Serve immediately, garnished with cilantro and sesame seeds.

Moskin's recipe is yet another keeper.  It, too, is great for hot summer days, and it pairs well with anyone of a number of Chinese dishes.  But it's also a great accompaniment for these Not-quite-takeout-style Sesame Noodles.  In fact, a drizzle of the dressing over the noodles adds yet another dimension.

The bottom line:  I literally can't get enough of these Takeout-style Sesame Noodles.  I've been making them repeatedly for weeks.  And everyone I've made them for has flipped out, too.  Picnics.  Potlucks.  Dinner parties.  They don't look like much, but as soon as people taste them, they get stopped in their tracks.  I made a double batch for a small dinner party (4 people) once, because Michelle was going to be showing up late, I knew she'd be wanting some, and I was positive that if I only made a normal-size batch there'd be none left.  I was right.  That first batch got destroyed in under 5 minutes.  The remaining part of the second batch got destroyed within minutes of Michelle's arrival.

All that, and it's totally vegan, too.

Eat well.  Stay cool.

aj

* Please insist on using fresh Chinese noodles.  You can find these in Asian supermarkets and specialty stores, as well as many non-Asian supermarkets [Montrealers:  the PA supermarché stocks them].

** Other sesame oils won't necessarily have the toasted depth of Chinese sesame oil.

*** I'm pretty sure Sifton is calling for clear rice vinegar in his recipe, but I've found I prefer the more complex qualities of Chinkiang vinegar.

**** Ask for this at your local Asian supermarket.  You could use tahini in a pinch (see Sifton's instructions), but it just wouldn't be the same because Chinese sesame paste is like the Lucky Strikes of sesame pastes:  "It's Toasted!"

***** Use the best roasted peanuts you can get your hands on and you'll be happy you did.