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Chinese Food

--I’m retired from the Auburn University English Department. In 1985 I was privileged to go to China on a faculty exchange program between AU and various Chinese provinces. That first time lasted a full academic year, and I was able to bring my wife, Margaret, and our three children. For me it was a Saul on the road to Damascus experience: I fell in love with the country and its people. Since 1986 I’ve been able to return to China 8 more times, in each case for one semester’s teaching. The country has changed immensely during these 25 years, and I’ve been a lucky man to be able to witness it. [slide of China map] Here’s where I lived and worked.

A Parable

One Saturday when I was teaching in Sichuan, I had to do some shopping downtown that required an interpreter, so I invited my student Hai3 Bing1. She was a lovely and conscientious girl, and we spent a productive hour or two. When lunch time came, I said, “Hai Bing, let’s go eat some lunch.” She hesitated, and I saw mild embarrassment on her face: “Maybe it’s not very convenient,” she said. “Aren’t you hungry? You really ought to eat something,” I replied. Then she said, “You see, it’s because I’m a Muslim. I can’t eat in most restaurants; even if I avoid pork, still they use pig oil [she did not know the word ‘lard’] they use pig oil for cooking most other things.” “But Chengdu is a big city, Hai Bing; surely there must be some Muslim restaurants!” She nodded, “Yes, of course, but I didn’t think you would want to eat in one.” I laughed, “C’mon, take me to your favorite! I’m hungry.”

As I remember, we ate some delicious grilled fish. But during the meal I was curious. “Hai Bing, as a Muslim, do you go to the mosque each week?” “No,” she replied. “I never go to the mosque.” “Do you read the Holy Koran?” No. Do you pray to God when you’re in need? No, never. Hmm. I pondered this a bit. Hai Bing, do you even believe in God? No, she said, I’m an atheist. But Hai Bing! I exclaimed, why do you call yourself a Muslim? “I don’t eat pork” she replied.

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Ordering A Restaurant Meal Today

--In the fall of 2009 I was lucky enough to be able to return, for the 4th time, to teach in Guangdong University of Foreign Studies [GDUFS slide]. It’s a nationally famous school, attracting students from all over the country, who can major in many of the world’s languages, as well as foreign trade, mass communications, and so on. The Chinese believe that girls are better language students than boys, so the classes for English majors are roughly 90% female [M.A. class].

This is a sub-tropical part of China, so the school has a lovely campus [3 campus photos]. The city of Guangzhou itself is big, noisy, hot and dusty [downtown Guangzhou]; but my campus apartment was up in the northern suburbs, at the foot of White Cloud Mountain [photos from my balcony]. From my balcony I could look off to the mountain and down below to a garden. My apartment itself was Spartan but quite all right [apartment photos] for one person.

--When I’m living in China I eat breakfast in my apartment, usually just fruit and coffee. I buy my fruit on the street [fruit vendor], and ideally they will have golden mangoes or, even better, magnosteens from Thailand [two slides]. If you’ve never had magnosteens, watch out! So, breakfast in my rooms, but I always eat lunch and supper in restaurants, sometimes alone but usually with students or friends. I don’t want to waste my time grocery shopping and cooking for myself. This way of life has several disadvantages: first, I spend most of my monthly salary in restaurants; second, my life becomes intensely social—I have to use a cell phone and send text messages—“Xiao Zhang, are you and your roommate Liu free for supper tonight?” And third, I open myself up to the occasional bout of food poisoning; or I unwittingly consume rancid cooking oil, a risk in the grotty little restaurants where I sometimes eat. For example, right off campus is this place: [slide of Xiang Wei Yuan]. This is Xiang Wei Yuan; Xiang means the Xiang River, which means Hunan province; Wei means taste; and Yuan literally means “garden” but is often used for a restaurant, as we do with The Olive Garden, for example. This place looks dubious but has great food, authentic Hunan, so my friends and I take the risk. All in all, it’s an intense and stimulating life, where my work and play blend as one.

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--So over the years I’ve had hundreds—maybe 1,000—restaurant meals. That’s the main reason I’m standing before you—1,000 restaurant meals in China. I’ll walk you through a typical lunch or supper.

--Most places have a menu, often nowadays with color photos of the dishes, though 25 years ago some places made do with a chalkboard [photo] and some places even today have photos on the wall [photo]. It’s not uncommon, especially in south China, to be handed a menu with 500 or more dishes. The more pretentious the restaurant, the more likely to have an English menu [photo of Aomen Dou Lao]; but even ordinary places are easy to order in, if you speak some Chinese [Fisherman’s Restaurant] The dishes can be organized in several ways: by the feature ingredient, or according to its nature as soup or noodles, by cooking method, or by region.

--I have invited four of my students to a place right off campus [2 lunch with students photos]. After we’ve been seated the waitress will ask us what kind of tea we want. Typically we’ll order a pot of chrysanthemum tea, or green tea, or oolong tea. Then she will bring one menu—only one--and likely hand it to me, as I have the biggest face, as the Chinese say. We four will each have our own cup of tea and our own bowl of boiled rice, but we will share all of the dishes. That’s the first big difference between Chinese and Western restaurant meals. Sharing food is as basic a social practice as humans have created. It also allows us to eat a greater variety of foods each time. The fastidious among you might be wondering about hygiene right about now. Imagine that our waitress has brought a large plate of let’s say bell pepper strips in black bean sauce. I extend my chopsticks, pinch a few strips, and carry them to my empty rice bowl. I momentarily raise my now empty chopsticks, then descend into my bowl and carry some pepper strips to my mouth. Notice that I do not eat directly from the communal plate; doing so would be exceptionally crude. I must create a tiny barrier between the communal plate and my mouth. But what if I have a bad cold? Might not my chopsticks contaminate the communal pepper plate? Twenty years ago or so, a Chinese premier popularized a slogan which, translated, might go like this: “Chinese food, Western way of eating.” He was urging that each dish be served with a communal pair of chopsticks to be used to carry food to one’s bowl; only then would we use our own chopsticks. As far as I can tell, this slogan went the way of most propaganda: it was ignored.

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But let’s return to the girls and me. Since we’ll be sharing the dishes, we need to discuss what to order. If I’m really tired I’ll just hand the menu to a student and say, “you girls decide.” But I usually enjoy leading our little discussion about what to order, and I like talking to the waitress. There’s an artistic element in ordering a set of dishes. So I’ll probably ask the students, “How many of you cannot eat hot peppers?” But since we are in Guangzhou I needn’t bother asking, since most cannot; by contrast in Sichuan or Hunan I would take peppers for granted. So today, at most one fiery hot dish. Let’s see, there are five of us, so we’ll need to order 6 dishes. If it were five boys, I’d order 7 dishes. If I were treating five university officials to a banquet, I’d double-check my bank balance beforehand, and then I’d order 12 dishes plus numerous appetizers. But back to the students. Since I’ve eaten in this restaurant before, I remember 2-3 especially good dishes and a couple to avoid. After perusing the menu and consulting students, we’ll probably order something like this: [Slide 10 “Dishes for a typical restaurant meal”] [Read List Aloud]

--Now let’s look at an actual menu. In some ways it is not typical, as it’s from a 5-star Marriott hotel in Guangzhou, with a mostly Chinese but often Western clientele. But it’s purely and authentically south China food. I’ve had to do some cutting and pasting so you can read the menu, and it ends up being 10 pages [10 photos of Food Street menu—hold on screen a good while…]

--As you can see, these Chinese are serious about food. What else do you notice here? Any comments? (Note e.g. how many internal organ dishes.)

--All right. Having ordered, we continue sipping our tea and chatting, and over the next half hour the dishes arrive one by one.

--Here I should point out an interesting difference between Chinese and Western dining. As you know, in a traditional French restaurant the dishes will be served in a strict order, according to a kind of culinary syntax; and it would be possible to violate this “grammar” by e.g. having the cheese or dessert course arrive before the fish! The Chinese do not seem to have such a strict order, with two exceptions: first, cold dishes will arrive immediately—since they don’t have to be cooked. Examples of cold dishes would be preserved eggs [photo], peanuts, or jellyfish [photo]; and second, maybe a bit of a surprise to you: the more formal the meal,

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the more likely it will be that rice or noodles are brought only at the end of the meal! After all, if you’re throwing a banquet for the Communist Party Secretary, you want him to focus on the expensive dishes—the shark-fin soup, the fat frogs flown in from Cuba, the delectable abalone—not on something as cheap and common as rice.

--If I had more time I’d talk about the Chinese banquet as a cultural institution. There’s nothing quite like it in our country.

--To return to the students and me, waiting for our dishes. When eating we will use only our chopsticks and a porcelain spoon. Did you know that Chinese and Japanese chopsticks differ? [Japanese, then Chinese slides] When eating in China, knives and forks seem barbaric, like weapons, to stab and cut. Such implements are used only in the kitchen. Our chopsticks at most pinch the food or spear it, or push the fish off the bones. In China we escape the brutality of meat…

--Speaking of which, I must mention the culture shock I experienced, not in China, but after returning to Auburn after a whole year in Changsha. My first day back my friend Chuck had us over for supper, and deposited, on my plate, a slab of pulsating meat, a grilled strip steak oozing blood. I had to push my chair back from the table, and I suddenly understood one reason why they would call us barbarians!

--Back in the restaurant, the first dish to arrive is our boiled shrimp [photo]. Chinese restaurant tables are usually round and have a big heavy glass lazy Susan in the middle. The waitress will probably set the shrimp dish in front of me, in respect to my age. As you can see, the dish is very simple and straightforward. The color is vivid, an important value. Think about peeling each shrimp, dipping it into a sauce of soy and vinegar. One at a time. It would slow you down, right? Yes, slow down—why are you in such a hurry? Look at your food, smell it; talk to your friends.

--My student Bao Xiao Wei I absolutely cultivated—especially after learning that her father’s job was to write restaurant reviews for Guangzhou newspapers—my God…She is the person who taught me how to shell a certain kind of shrimp—the kind in the photo. You don’t brutally behead him. You pull carefully, so as to preserve the shrimp’s brain—which is a vivid yellow color. The brain is tasty, and good for you. I didn’t ask her if eating it would make me slightly smarter.

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But hold on. Maybe instead of shrimp we ordered a steamed fish [photo]. Typical south China fish. If we were in east China, say Nanjing, the fish might be sweet and sour…[photo]…. But if we were in Changsha it might be a peppery Hunan steamed fish head…[photo] By the way, the fish in this photo is the same kind of carp that has invaded some of our Midwestern rivers and threatens the Great Lakes. We should catch and eat those fish! A no-brainer source of protein!

--Next comes the soup. We’ve chosen a mild sweet corn and crab meat soup [photo] or an equally bland winter melon soup, served in the melon itself [photo]. We use our small soup bowls, a big porcelain ladle, and porcelain spoons.

--Soon our poultry arrives. We’ve ordered a common dish, simply roast duck with a garlic and young ginger dipping sauce [photo]. Imagine that instead of eating in a restaurant we were harried commuters needing to pick something up for supper. Maybe we’d stop at the duck stall. [hanging roast duck then 2nd one] Of course even a simple chicken can be served in an ornamental fashion [photo of wenchan chicken

--We’re slowly eating our seafood and poultry, and sipping our soup. Next to arrive is our bean curd. This food, common all over China, is made from coagulated soy milk, and its flavors in China are especially subtle. Bean curd—Chinese call it doufu--appears in many sizes and shapes; it can be boiled or fried, it is often fermented to yield a strong cheese-like condiment. I must say a few words about chou doufu: this means stinky bean curd, and it is often sold as a snack at outdoor night markets. [night market photo; then stinky doufu photo] No one would make it at home, as the odor is so strong, even though the taste is surprisingly mild. I’m fond of it. And it’s quite popular. It even gave rise to a political joke: how is capitalism like stinky bean curd? Answer: smells bad but tastes good. But stinky bean curd is unthinkable for our south China lunch. Instead we will order a delicately flavored braised bean curd with black mushrooms [photo]. A similar alternative would be deep fried doufu with oyster sauce [photo].

--For our fifth dish—the meat dish—we have a wealth of choices. Since we want to order something typical of south China, it should be pork. Now if it is in the winter, or if I’m feeling self-indulgent, I may order something like Hong Shao Rou

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pork [photo]. This is fatty pork belly simmered in soy sauce and wine. Sinfully rich and delicious. This was reputed to be Mao Zedong’s favorite dish. …But let’s imagine we are in Sichuan—in the West—instead. Then we might order Yuxiang rou si [photo]. The name means “fish-flavored meat shreds.”

--Finally, the waitress brings our sixth and last dish, a simple vegetable. South China has a wealth of green vegetables, many of which cannot easily be found in our country outside of Asian markets. [photo of green vegetables]. You can get most if not all of these in Atlanta. These vegetables are best if stir-fried very quickly under high heat. For this meal we’ve chosen gai lan in garlic sauce. [photo]

--To look back over the meal [photo]

--Notice that nothing raw was served. And we ate no dessert. Chinese generally eat far less sweets than we do.

--Please Ask Me Some Questions!

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{GOOD TIME FOR A BREAK?}

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Part 2: The Chinese Food World

--Now I want to step back and place Chinese food in some larger contexts, especially geography and history. Let’s begin by looking at a few maps.

--First, to help orient ourselves, here is a map of China superimposed on the USA. As you can see, they are very nearly the same size. Beijing is on the same latitude as Philadelphia; Guangzhou and Havana.

--This map shows the population density of China. We could draw a diagonal line bisecting the country, and more than 90% of the people live in the eastern half. In recent years the Chinese government, for both political and economic reasons, has encouraged large numbers of Han Chinese—the majority ethnic group—to resettle in the sparsely populated west, especially in Tibet and in Xinjiang. There are movements for independence or at least greater autonomy in both provinces [political map of China]. But to return to my main theme, more than 90% of the people live in the eastern half of the country.

--The Economist magazine published an interesting map a few years ago. [China population equivalents map] It shows population equivalents between Chinese provinces and various countries in the world. Thus Sichuan province has as many people as the whole nation of Germany; France and Hunan province; The Philippines and Guangdong province; Spain and Yunnan province; and so on. When you live in China, you never wholly get used to the sheer number of people. And the Chinese themselves will tell you that overpopulation exacerbates every other problem.

--Chinese thinking about their nation’s geography is dominated by two great rivers, the Yangtze River and the Yellow River [map of two rivers]. Both originate in the highlands of the West, flow east, and empty into the Pacific Ocean. Like Americans, Chinese think in terms of the North and the South; the dividing line is the Yangtze River.

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--North China is a treeless expanse of plain and plateau that extends south from the Great Wall over the area drained by the Yellow River and its tributaries. Chinese civilization began in the north, in the lands watered by the Yellow River [map of Yellow River]. You’ve no doubt seen maps showing how the population center of America has slowly—over the decades--moved west and slightly south [USA pop map]. I have not seen a comparable map of China’s historical movement, but it’s clear what it would look like. It would show a steady shift of wealth and population to the south and east. This is largely because of the phenomenal productivity of irrigated rice, which stands alone among grains [map of rice-growing regions]. Only recently have cold-hardy strains of rice enabled it to be grown this far north. A map showing rainfall in China reinforces the point [China rainfall map]. The darkest areas here receive more than 59” of rain annually. The comparable figure for Auburn is 52.6” Thus South China is a region of rice fields and terraces, lakes, rivers, and canals; hilly or mountainous areas not under cultivation are often covered with trees and thick vegetation. It has the nation’s best farmland. Population densities are higher, and the people are generally better nourished.

--In the time of Confucius, 2500 years ago, there were no Chinese south of the Yangtze River. Of course there were pre-Han inhabitants, who the Chinese called “Southern Barbarians.” They seemed wild and exotic, much like Apaches. Their modern descendants can still be found in remote inland areas of the south, and their picturesque villages are popular attractions for Chinese tourists.

--the South became an integral part of China very slowly, over more than a thousand years. First to be colonized was the lower Yangtze River basin, the area called in Chinese Jiangnan, meaning south of the river, whose main cities were Hangzhou and Suzhou. In the year 610 AD the system of waterways known as the Grand Canal linked Hangzhou with the northern capital at Changan [map then painting of Grand Canal]. Completion of the canal ushered in a period of extremely rapid population growth in the Lower Yangtze region and made it the agricultural and economic center of the country. Hangzhou even became the capital of the entire nation during the 12th and 13th centuries, when Beijing was overrun by northern invaders. In fact during the turbulent centuries from 800-1100 AD large waves of northern Chinese refugees fled south, including elite families who sometimes brought whole armies to protect them, with dispossessed peasants

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following in the wake. The southeast coast was settled rather early, and from there settlers moved inland.

--The Sinification of South China might seem to resemble the march of the white man across the American West. In both cases a technologically superior people pioneered and colonized an enormous territory, easily sweeping aside opposition by local cultures. But there were striking differences in the way this was done. The first difference is the time scale. The settling of the American West took little over a century, while the Chinese move south and east took well over 1000 years. More important is the difference in fates the native inhabitants suffered. The Native American lost not only his land and his culture; he usually lost his life as well, to a disease he had no resistance to, or to a bullet. In the American West there was little assimilation or intermarriage. In China, by contrast, the eradication of native cultures was more benign. The Chinese did not so much displace as slowly absorb the natives. Countless groups very gradually—over many generations--gave up their original ways and became Chinese. They adopted Chinese dress, customs, food, and of course the language. Chinese settlers tended to mix freely with the natives, marrying their women and of course raising their kids as Chinese. Later this term we will return to this topic when we consider the Chinese language and its regional differences.

--Let’s turn now to consider traditional Chinese agriculture. –But maybe you have a question or two?

So, turning to traditional Chinese agriculture. A key theme here is recycling. The practices of old China would put any modern organic gardener to shame. No nutrients were wasted. Human manure was fed to dogs and pigs, which are more efficient digesters—they can use as food up to half of what we excrete. Animal dung and excess human waste, after composting, was spread or ladled onto fields. And this is the reason why the Chinese do not eat raw foods. Other substances were also recycled: inedible plant material; ashes; worn-out sandals, pulverized bricks, algal blooms from ponds, and above all the mud scraped from canal and stream bottoms.

--before the time of chemical pesticides, the Chinese developed pest controls they could eat. Thus the fish ponds of east China are filled with ducks and frogs.

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--Cultivation sites were chosen with great care. High, well-drained sites were used for vegetables; mid-level sites that could be flooded or drained were used for rice, which must be irrigated when young and dried off when ripening; lower sites, usually flooded, were used for water crops; still lower ones for fish. This siting was governed by the folk science of feng shui. [Slide] Feng means wind; shui means water. Many westerners regard feng shui as magic or superstition, and it certainly can have those attributes, but in essence feng shui is based on empirical observation. It is the science of siting human constructions to maximize benefits to users. Among other aids the master uses a feng shui compass [slide of compass], and I happen to have brought mine to class today. I’ll pass it around.

--I’ve mentioned the phenomenal productivity of irrigated rice. At the center of the traditional diet all over China is grain—either rice or noodles--and vegetables. [2 rice field photos]

--For most Chinese meat was an insignificant part of the diet. Yet even here the Chinese were efficient. The major domesticated animals were pigs and chickens, both excellent converters of cheap food into meat. Unlike cattle and sheep, they did not need grazing or special feed. Of course chickens also lay eggs. Pond fish, too, have good conversion ratios. In recent years, especially in big cities, beef from Australia and America, and lamb from NZ, have been appearing on billboards and tv ads.

--Chinese efficiency also led them to neglect tree crops. Fruit’s low nutrient value and vulnerability to theft made it traditionally less important, though its popularity is growing. Nowadays affluence and good transport and distribution systems mean abundant fruit, much of it superb quality, especially in the big cities. Besides the Chinese grown tangerines and mandarin oranges, there are the delicious litchi [photo] and long ans (“long an” means “dragon eyes”) [photo]. Red apples from Washington state are commonly available, as well as tropical fruits from Thailand. I remember with fondness my daily breakfast in Nanjing: two golden mangoes [photo] and a cup of strong coffee from the Swiss bakery right off campus.

--Rich gourmets and hungry peasants led the Chinese to try a wide range of foods and learn to make them edible. By contrast, most people outside of east Asia waste or do not use a large percentage of the world’s resources by refusing to eat insects,

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dogs, game animals, most vegetables except the very blandest, and even internal organs, fish and shellfish.

--Traditional Chinese agriculture represents a labor-intensive, land-intensive, hyper-efficient biological option in farming, in contrast to America’s “mechanical” option, with its enormous use of energy and a very wasteful approach to land.

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--Now I’d like to move into the present, and talk about Chinese foodstuffs today.

--I’ve found most Chinese people to be modest—they seldom boast; but when it comes to Chinese food, though, that’s another matter: they smile to think of it, and they consider their food the best in the world; it is a source of great pride, one of the glories of their culture.

--tremendous emphasis on freshness and quality of ingredients; traditionally this meant that many foods were seasonal, though fresh because of it; today, Chinese markets are moving toward the Western practice of year-round food. This is in some ways an ominous development [supermarket photo]. But you can’t blame harried people for wanting to save time. When shopping in Auburn, my Chinese friends are pleasantly surprised by how cheap eggs are; but for the most part they look with contempt at our factory-raised chickens, our limp seafood, our pitifully small variety of vegetables.

--Even crummy looking street markets tend to have beautifully fresh food [photos 21-34]. Notice the photo of 8-10 varieties of mushroom #24. Remember, this is just one small corner of a big market. Contrast these mushrooms with the number and quality available to us in Auburn! What we Americans put up with!

--All right, pop quiz. #26 What is this offered for sale in the market. Hint: we have it in Auburn; 2nd hint: we don’t eat them.

--#28 [After showing chicken cages: ] Ha! A story for you. One day in this market I asked a friend, “Show me how you go about choosing a live chicken to buy. What exactly do you look for?” We stopped by these cages and she pointed at a beautiful white chicken. The vendor grabbed its legs and handed her to Xiao Yu. As she examined the chicken I saw her brushing the feathers apart and looking

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closely at the chicken’s anus. “To see if it’s sick?” I asked. “No,” she replied, “I’m looking for sand… Sometimes they feed them sand to increase their weight.” A savvy shopper, my friend!

--The pork market photo—ha! From the old days.

-- These big fish would be very expensive, suitable for a banquet to butter up a high official; probably the equivalent of $300.

--Foods are usually boiled, steamed, or stir-fried; boiling is most common, because of rice and because of the importance of soup; soup noodles are the most common snack; steaming is usually done with bamboo steamers over boiling water [2 photos]; stir-frying is most famous—ingredients are made or cut small and thin, then cooked quickly in very hot oil—hard to do in American kitchens because our burners are not hot enough. When Margaret and I remodeled our Auburn kitchen I discovered I’d need a zoning variance for the kitchen if I wanted to do authentic stir-frying! [flaming wok photo] Don’t try this at home.

--other cooking methods are common, especially in restaurants: roasting; deep frying; braising; food is almost never eaten raw, and not so long ago some people even peeled their grapes one by one. Undercooked vegetables are probably the most common cause of food poisoning. That and rancid, re-used cooking oil in cheap restaurants—a recent scandal.

--seasoning is almost always used; the most common are soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, ginger, and onions. There is little of the compounding of spices one finds in Indian and southeast Asian food. Chinese tend to find Indian food too spicy and evasive. And here we can see again the absolutely key Chinese concept of balance or moderation: while the foods of India are considered “too spicy”, the foods of Japan and the West are regarded as too bland and too simple. Balance…clarity…and purity. Here is a shrimp curry from India [photo]; looks delicious to me! And here again is our Chinese boiled shrimp dish [photo]. These Chinese values— Balance, clarity, and purity--so important when judging a human being—are also used when thinking about food.

--A couple of Chinese spices deserve special mention. The star anise, with of course an anise flavor, is used especially to flavor meat stews. And brown pepper,

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also called Sichuan pepper—though it is not in fact a pepper-- is very distinctive, aromatic and complex, but still nearly unknown in the Western kitchen. [photo] It’s really important in the cooking of west China, especially Sichuan. Eating Sichuan pepper induces a tingly numbness in the mouth and is often used in conjunction with hot red peppers.

--now some comments on specific foods. In Chinese “chi fan”—“to eat rice” also simply means, to eat. A very common greeting is “Ni chi fan, ma?” –“Have you eaten?” Rice is the staple food of half the world’s people. In China it is usually boiled in water until fluffy. Cook the rice longer in a bit more water and you have baby food. Use still more water and you have zhou, what we call congee, rice porridge. [photo] And let me pause here and say that if you were to choose only one Chinese food to learn how to cook, it should be congee. Congee is incredibly versatile. It is the standard breakfast fare; it can be eaten at any meal; it is even good for a hangover, as I discovered by accident. One of the five recipes I’ve printed up for you to try is congee. Use ½ water and ½ chicken stock to boil the rice, toss in some leftover chicken and some green onion pieces, and you have a fine meal. Or, sauté some cheap catfish chunks in soy sauce, then add them to the congee. Leftover pork, Chinese pickles, almost anything. In Guangzhou my favorite congee was called “fisherman’s congee”, since it used leftover bits of seafood and shellfish. Remember that long restaurant menu we looked at last week? Here again are the congee dishes offered: [photo] Any one of these would be a lunch.

--For most Chinese people, who eat rice three times a day, every day, it’s best if the rice has as little flavor and texture as possible. It’s neutral, a very bland food. Now think about the word “bland” for a moment. For us, it means a lack of something, right? Something strong or specific. But not for the Chinese. A whole book—entitled In Praise of Blandness--has been written by a French philosopher on the concept of “blandness” in Chinese culture. It’s a fascinating book. Here all I can say is that in China blandness does not mean a lack of something; it is a positive characteristic; and some of the greatest poems and paintings are celebrated for being bland. Here’s a proverb I like [photo]: “A gentleman’s friendship is as bland as water.” When I’m living in China, I happily adapt to bland rice at each meal. In Auburn I want rice with flavor, so I usually eat jasmine rice from Thailand, which is fragrant.

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--Wheat is widely grown in north and west China. It is used to make a large variety of bread and bun-like foods, as well as a huge variety of noodles. Rice flour is also used to make noodles. Dumplings deserve a few words. In Chinese restaurants in America a dumpling called “pot-stickers” often appears on menus, usually as an appetizer. These dumplings, called jiao zi, are extremely popular all over China. Most often they are boiled or steamed. Only leftover dumplings are fried. They can be stuffed with a pork and cabbage mixture—the most common—or shrimp, lamb, many other things. They tend to be bland, so when ordering jiao zi I always ask the waitress to bring little dipping dishes of soy sauce, vinegar, and hot pepper sauce. By the way, the little Chinese restaurant right on this floor has good steamed dumplings on their lunch menu; give them a try!

--In south China, especially in Guangzhou and Hong Kong, a beloved institution is morning tea. Its ritual is well established. One sits at a table in a crowded and noisy restaurant, usually full of small kids, and orders tea: I usually ordered oolong or chrysanthemum tea. As one sips the tea, one waits for the dim sum carts to be wheeled past [2 photos of dim sum cart]. Each cart features a dozen or more “small eats”, often dumpling-like, usually kept hot in a bamboo steamer. Some people bring the Sunday paper, it’s a leisurely well-lit place, a custom thousands of years old. I’ve had very good dim sum in San Francisco, and it can be found in Atlanta.

--Continuing to speak of grain, all traditional Chinese liquor is made from grain. Wine from grapes, both domestic and imported, is growing in importance, but it is still a niche product. Chinese beer is often very good, and every city has its local brew. You will be familiar with Qingdao beer, founded by the Germans and named for the city governed by the Germans early in the 20th century. But most Chinese alcohol is made by fermenting and distilling grain, to yield a drink much like bootlegger’s white lightning. It is very strong and for most Westerners an acquired taste. Alcohol is usually drunk with meals, especially banquets, where getting tipsy, if you are a man, is tolerated. But the Chinese have perhaps the lowest alcoholism rate of any alcohol-drinking culture. Getting drunk means loss of face, and Chinese culture teaches moderation in all things.

--The Chinese drink par excellence is of course tea. Much tea comes from leaves of a camellia plant. Its leaves are always picked by women, who are fast and

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precise. The most celebrated is green tea; it is carefully dried but not fermented; lightly fermented is oolong tea; more fully fermented is black tea, which the Chinese call red tea, from its color in the cup. The delicate chrysanthemum tea is a beautiful clear amber [photo]; jasmine tea has a wonderful aroma. Many many other teas exist, including one called kung-fu tea! If you want to explore the history of tea, you should go to the source, the Tang Dynasty (8th century) writer Lu Yü whose book The Classic of Tea launched the hyperaesthetic and ritualized appreciation of tea we find in China and Japan to this day.

--Soybeans from America are exported in huge quantities to China. Everyone knows about soy sauce, but Chinese people eat a tremendous amount and variety of bean curd. For Buddhists, who are usually vegetarian, bean curd, or doufu, is often prepared as a meat substitute.

--Certain important foods came to China only in recent centuries. From the Portuguese came peanuts, valuable not only for its protein and oil, but because it grows in poor sandy soils; peanut oil is the second most common cooking oil, the most common being rapeseed oil aka canola oil. From the new world also came tomatoes and potatoes, both commonly eaten. But in a class by itself is the chili pepper. Introduced by the Portuguese in the 1500’s, it swept through east and south Asia, transforming the diets of billions of people. Chilis are high in vitamins A and C, calcium, iron, and other minerals; it is easy to store and use in pickles; it can be grown anywhere the season is long and warm [2 photos].

--A few words now about animal foods. Chinese avoid eating very few animals, especially aquatic animals. Thus abundant varieties of shrimp and crabs are found, as well as sea cucumbers, oysters, jellyfish, sea snakes, and many kinds of fish. When it comes to fish, Chinese like firm, white-fleshed fish with a delicate taste. But they abhor the stronger, oily fish such as mackerel, tuna, and salmon. This is striking because Japanese restaurants will pay large sums for tuna and the like. An American shopping in China will be struck by the incredible freshness of the fish. Often they are swimming in their own tanks and are sold live. If on ice, their flesh glistens and their eyes are bright and clear. Have you ever seen a Chinese customer buying fish at Kroger’s? No. There are reasons. In Guangzhou a fish killed immediately loses at least half of its value. In South and East China, seafood cooking is kept simple. The fish or shrimp are steamed with some green onions,

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garlic, ginger, soy sauce, wine. One of my favorite dishes is fish-head stew. For a seafood lover, a stay in Hong Kong or Guangzhou is pure heaven! In inland China one is more apt to see sweet and sour fish, a very common dish (though sweet and sour pork is uncommon). From what I’ve seen, fish farming is far more extensive in China than in any other nation. Both freshwater ponds and ocean pens send fish all over the world, and in the years ahead it seems that fish farming can only grow.

--The vast majority of the world’s pigs live on Chinese farms. It is by far the most common meat. Chinese pork traditionally is lean, but today’s pigs are fatter and grow faster. Pork is cooked in innumerable ways, and every part of the animal, even the bristles, are used.

--Poultry are festival fare, and if you are an honored guest your host may invite you to the kitchen to chat as she wrings the chicken’s neck and pulls out the feathers. Chinese chickens have meat with a complex flavor, as they are allowed to eat table scraps and to range freely in the back yard. Duck and goose can be wonderful, not only the famous Peking duck, but such dishes as tea and camphor-smoked duck from east China. Duck is even tasty when preserved, as one sees at food stalls all over the country.

--Dog meat was once considered a delicacy. Nowadays it is eaten only in south China, and in winter, for it is thought to be a heating food, no doubt since it is fatty. Oddly enough, the Koreans eat dog meat and dog soup in summer. Maybe it is the Western influence, but one would never serve dog meat at a wedding, and one of my friends, disgusted with her voice when singing karaoke, exclaimed, “My singing is like dog meat at a wedding!” Shopping at a large street market in south China can yield black humor experiences. You will pass by a series of bamboo cages, containing fluffy, beautiful, moist-eyed puppies—these are sold as pets for children; continue walking and you will pass larger cages with mangy, ill-tempered dogs crammed in on top of each other; yes, these are to eat. Here’s a photo from 1986 [photo of dog loin]. In recent years it’s easier to have a pet dog in cities, and one sees more all the time. Maybe for this reason, I think the consumption of dog meat is declining.

--Frog legs and turtle are tasty and expensive, banquet foods; while snake meat, nothing to write home about, is primarily medicinal.

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--After the age of six or so, most Chinese stop eating dairy products, and people stop producing lactase, the enzyme necessary to digest lactose. Milk is considered food for babies, but yogurt, traditionally eaten by people in north and west China, is becoming more popular.

--when writing about specific food, I’m conscious of how much I’m having to omit! The many tasty soups, the egg dishes, the wonderfully fresh green vegetables! I’ve come to the end of part 2. I must move on, to say a bit about regional cuisines.

--Are there any questions at this point?

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{START OF PP3}

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--Chinese Regional Cuisines

--Many ways to classify Chinese food regions. To me it makes the most sense to begin by observing the great division between the wheat and mixed grain regions of the north, where noodles and bread are the staples, from the rice-growing regions of central and south China. The north remains a single great whole, while the south is divided into three: the east, west, and south. Thus I recognize four regional cuisines.

--The East is basically the lower Yangtze valley and the coasts north and south of it [show 2 maps—East China provinces; then NASA map]. The important cities of Shanghai, Nanjing, Hangzhou and Suzhou are here. This is a humid region with weather much like Auburn. A region where land and water, both fresh and salty, meet and interpenetrate. Besides the coastline and the great Yangtze River, there are many smaller rivers and a vast number of lakes, canals, and especially fish ponds. Thus crabs, shrimp, and fish loom large in this cuisine.

--[Google Earth, follow coastline north] Here is the coast of Jiangsu province. Even 2000 years ago it was known as “a land of fish and rice.” Jiangsu is the most densely populated province and the 2nd richest. Let’s look at its Pacific coastline. These fish ponds and fish pens have shrimp, crabs, and fish in vast numbers. I lived in Nanjing in 2004 and 2007 and have many happy memories of restaurants there. Here are photos of two of my favorite: [2 restaurant photos] I nicknamed this one “The Frightening Fish.”

--Eastern cooking is the sweetest in China; it cooks with much oil, vinegar, sweet bean paste, and rice ale. Some of the best vinegar in the world comes from here, aged for many decades, and in earlier centuries, during wars refugees fled the area with nothing but the clothes on their back and their precious vinegar jars [photo of vinegar bottle].

--Shanghai was just a fishing village until early in the 19th century, when trade with Europe and many foreign concessions made it the largest city in China, as well as having the most eclectic cuisine [photo of Shanghai Bund].

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--Now moving down the southern coast, we come to Fujian province. [map] Poor Fujianese have emigrated in large numbers to America and other countries, and if you go back into the kitchen of a Chinese restaurant in Auburn, it’s 50/50 that the cooks will be men who speak little English but who use the difficult dialect of Fujian province. This does not mean that you will be eating authentic Fujian cooking, nor that the cooks were cooks back home; they were likely farmers. The Fujian people love soup, from the clearest essence of chicken all the way to thick stews. As you would expect of a coastal province, they also have abundant fish and seafood. They also have adopted the Mongolian hot pot. A central cone of charcoal is surrounded by boiling broth. [photo of Mongolian hot pot]

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--The cuisine of West China includes three great cities for eating: Changsha, in Hunan province; and Chengdu and Chongqing, both in Sichuan province. [show 2 maps—Sichuan in China; Sichuan, Chongqing, and Hunan] From time immemorial, the foods of west China have been rich, varied, sophisticated, and flavored with a wide range of pungent spices and herbs. The chili pepper, introduced in the 16th century, completed the picture. Some dishes are delicate, but the region is especially known for its hot, spicy food. One of the signature traditions of Chongqing is the hot pot. [2 Chongqing hot pot photos]. This dish is known for its abundant use of both brown peppers and chili peppers. Another famous dish that pairs the two spices is Ma Po Dou Fu, a dish I often make at home; it’s one of the recipes I’ve printed for you. Besides brown and chili pepper, it uses ground pork, brown soybean paste, green onions, and cubes of bean curd; it is easy to make and delicious. [photo of Ma Po Dou Fu] Another good spicy dish from Sichuan is Pig Ears in Red oil [photo]. You can buy pig ears at Kroger’s in case you’re wondering. My favorite noodle dish in Sichuan was dan dan noodles [photo].The name is interesting. “Dan Dan” means “shoulder pole” [photo]; in the old days these noodles were sold by traveling vendors from shoulder pole vessels.

--Mao Zedong, as some of you know, was from Hunan province. His favorite restaurant in the capital city, Changsha, where I lived and worked for a year, was the Fire Altar [photo]. My students treated me to some traditional Hunan dishes.

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{laser point to chou doufu} Can anyone identify this dish? Speaking of Changsha, I wonder if any of you can guess what kind of shop this is? [photo of “mystery shop”]

--West China food emphasizes rice and noodles, pork, cabbages and white radishes. [photo of white radishes]. In America we use the Japanese name “daikon” for white radishes. They don’t taste like red radishes but may be used in place of potatoes or turnips. River fish are important, as are “mountain foods” such as bamboo shoots, fungi and mushrooms, game, wild roots and herbs, and nuts, especially pine nuts and walnuts, which were introduced long ago from Iran. [2 photos, white fungus soup and cloud ears]

--I probably should mention one more famous food of the West: sour and hot soup [photo] You can get this in most American Chinese restaurants, but as usual it will be inauthentic. In Sichuan it is strongly flavored with rice vinegar and white, brown, and chili peppers. The soup has very thin strips of pork, coagulated duck’s blood or pig’s blood, bamboo shoots, and it’s flavored with much ginger, daylily buds and tree fungi. If you want to make it yourself and can’t get duck’s blood, you can substitute boiled chicken livers.

--Before I leave West China, a few words about the food of Tibet and Xinjiang. [2 maps of Tibet and then Xinjiang in China] These two provinces, in China’s far west, are both politically restive. You know about the agitation for Tibetan independence or at least for greater cultural autonomy. Much the same is occurring in Xinjiang, where the Uighurs, a Muslim minority, tend to resent Chinese sovereignty [Uighur protestors photo then old men photo]. I’ve never traveled in Xinjiang, but I’ve often eaten in Muslim restaurants where Xinjiang food is served. Here’s a peppery chicken stew I liked [photo].

--In the summer of 1986 I spent a few days in Lhasa, the Tibet capital city. After I recovered from my altitude sickness, which took about a day and a half, I found Tibet culturally fascinating, probably the most exotic place I’ve ever been. It did not look or feel anything like the rest of China. I found the Tibetan people open and friendly. [3 photos. Novice monk, man praying, child in window] But to be honest, the food is dreadful. After two days of eating stringy beef and yak butter,

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and drinking yak butter tea, all I could do was seek out Chinese food. [3 photos, of beef, yak butter, yak butter tea]

--Now let’s shift our attention to south China, and specifically to Guangdong province, adjacent to Hong Kong. This is where I taught most recently. Guangdong is both the richest and the most populous Chinese province; its economy is roughly the same size as Turkey or Indonesia [map of Guangdong in China]. The provincial capital, Guangzhou, is a major city of some 6 million people; it is also known in the West as Canton, which gives us the word Cantonese, to refer to the food and to the dialect of Chinese spoken there. [3 photos, Guangzhou and Guangzhou Opera House]. Here’s the new opera house, designed by Zaha Hadid.

There’s a famous Chinese proverb: “Live in Hangzhou, marry in Suzhou, eat in Guangzhou, and die in Liuzhou.” Since these cities are supposed to have, respectively, the most beautiful views, the most beautiful girls, the most delicious food, and the best wood for coffins. Dine in Guangzhou, or Canton. In the West many people wrongly consider the chow mein, chop suey, and sweet and sour glop served here to represent Cantonese food. Canned pineapple or fruit cocktail? Unthinkable.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to find good Cantonese food in this country, apart from San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York.

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Of all the Chinese cities I’ve lived in, Guangzhou is THE city for eating. And that’s a main reason I’ve spent more time there than anywhere else. Drive past a restaurant at 2 in the morning, and the tables are packed. Most urban Chinese until recently have lived in tiny apartments, so social eating is almost always done in restaurants. You don’t invite friends home for dinner—you meet in a restaurant. Chinese political corruption is best measured by the number of banquets high officials are invited to. I had a friend who was an “electricity tiger” –that is, a high official in the metropolitan power company. He had a terrible time keeping his weight down, and his wife worried about the amount of white lightning he consumed several nights a week. Every halfway decent restaurant has a whole row of private dining rooms, each sporting a big round table suitable for 12-16 diners, who can gorge themselves away from the eyes of envious citizens. Now the picture

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I’ve been painting is a nation-wide thing. Guangzhou simply carries it to greater extremes. These people care about food. They talk about it, they spend lots of money on restaurant meals. Even students tend to be deeply knowledgeable, and they will tell me gravely, “food is very important in my family.” Thus standards are high. The Cantonese insist above all on freshness. A fish should be bought from a tank, where one can see it swimming gaily around. Crabs should be crawling all over each other, even though their claws are held shut with rubber bands. A typical market in a working class neighborhood will be amazingly stocked with the freshest of vegetables.

Besides high quality ingredients, Cantonese cooks exercise great care over two other variables: temperature and timing. When cooking shrimp, a few seconds means the difference between success and failure. No other cooks have mastered so many techniques of cooking, and I have seen restaurant menus running to 500 dishes. Even some tiny sidewalk cafes can turn out hundreds of dishes. But if you remember the photo of boiled white shrimp I showed you, the best dishes are often very simple. The pure taste of shrimp is the point here. Food should be revealed. It should be beautiful.

In an earlier part of my remarks on food, we went through a restaurant experience, eating with my students in a Guangzhou restaurant. I also mentioned the beloved Cantonese custom of morning tea. Let’s look more closely. Its ritual is well established. One sits at a table in a crowded and noisy restaurant, often full of small kids, and orders tea: I usually ordered oolong or chrysanthemum tea. As one sips the tea, one waits for the dim sum carts to be wheeled past [photos of 3 dim sum carts]. Each cart features a dozen or more “small eats”, often dumpling-like, usually kept hot in a bamboo steamer. Some people bring the Sunday paper; it’s a leisurely well-lit place, a custom hundreds of years old.

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Last week I spoke about morning tea and dim sum. Let’s look at some typical dim sum foods [photos of shrimp dumplings, dumplings, chicken feet--then packaged chicken feet, siu mai, stuffed peppers, fish soup, stuffed bean curd skin, glutinous rice balls, egg custard, congee, assorted desserts]. These are all typical but are but a small selection of what’s commonly available.

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My main problem, when going out for morning tea and eating dim sum, was that the food was so delicious that I didn’t pace myself, as the Chinese all around me were doing. I must have looked like a peasant, or maybe a foreign barbarian. This should be slow food. Bring along my favorite conversationalists. [Feng Z] Chew slowly [WH]. Sip our tea [old friends]. We have all the time in the world.

{END?}

--Before we leave south China, I should say a word or two about exotic foods. One hears legends that the Cantonese eat rat fetuses or monkey brains, as well as dogs and cats. The latter two are certainly eaten, dog especially in winter, as its fatty meat is considered warming. But I’ve never seen or heard of anyone eating rats, unless during wars or famines in earlier centuries. Snake meat is a somewhat common banquet food, though it is treated more as a conversation piece than as anything delicious. I’ve eaten deep-fried baby scorpions. Probably the most dangerous food I’ve eaten is puffer fish, also known as globefish [globefish billboard photo]. As the board suggests, this is the restaurant’s signature dish. As in Japan, the cooks must be well-trained; otherwise this fish is deadly poisonous.

--All right, we will conclude our study of regional Chinese cuisine by looking at the food of north China. Chinese civilization began in the north, in the Yellow River valley [map of Yellow River]. Here is Xian, near where the terra cotta warriors were found. Cities like Zhengzhou and Kaifeng have old and sophisticated cuisines. The North is geographically the largest region, and each province has its own dishes, few of them noteworthy. In the days of empire, the cooking of the capital, Beijing, was the most elaborate of any in the country. The emperor might insist of eating bear paws, camel humps, or ape lips. Nowadays a more characteristic way of eating is the Mongolian barbecue [2 photos] where thinly sliced beef or mutton is grilled along with slivered onions and ginger. Each diner flavors his meat as he likes, using pepper oil, vinegar, sesame oil, soy sauce, and so on.

Peking duck is so famous that I need say little about it. [peking duck 1] No doubt many of you have eaten it, either in China or in this country. Connoisseurs pay little attention to the duck meat, focusing their love instead on the crispy skin. [pd 2] It is eaten with green onions and hoisin sauce, wrapped in a pancake. In Beijing

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I was invited to a famous duck restaurant by my student’s father, who was a high official in the Chinese equivalent of the CIA. We had to rendezvous in a private room, and he dismissed his driver two blocks from the restaurant and walked. Even at this time—1986—he would have faced unpleasant questions if anyone saw him with me.

When I’m in Beijing, I head out immediately for street food, either noodles or, even better, to a jiao zi restaurant for cheap and delicious dumplings. They’re made with whole-grain flour, and they’re usually filled with a pork and cabbage mixture, but shrimp and other fillings, including many vegetarian offerings, are common. You have your choice of three cooking methods: steamed [Beijing photo]; boiled [Beijing photo]; and fried [Beijing photo]. Most Chinese choose steamed or boiled. Left-over dumplings are fried the following day, giving them a nice crispy skin. These dumplings can be ordered all over the country, but Beijing is especially famous for them. By themselves they taste bland, so I always dip mine in a sauce of soy, vinegar, and pepper oil [photo].

--Noodles were almost certainly invented in China, in circa the first century AD. I hesitate even to begin describing the numerous varieties. They vary in many ways: made from wheat or from rice or from beans or other starches; they vary in length and shape and thickness; they vary in their method of production. It’s fun to watch noodles being made. Some are pulled [photo]; others are peeled or shaved with a sharp knife directly into boiling water [photo]; some are extruded. And so on. Actually one of my favorite noodle dishes is called Ants Climbing a Tree [slide]. Bean thread noodles, with minced pork playing the role of ants.--Do you have questions about regional cuisines?

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{START OF PP4}

Chinese Cooking at Home

--Today I’d like to begin by talking about Chinese cooking at home—both in Chinese homes in China and in our homes here.

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--First, a brief glimpse of a master cook at home. An opening scene from the Taiwan movie Eat Drink Man Woman. The father is preparing Sunday dinner for his family. [VIDEO]

Over the last 30 years or so, the home cooking scene in China has changed tremendously, especially for people in the cities. 30 years ago a person would leave work and, on the way back to the apartment, stop in the neighborhood market. Even then the foodstuffs were fresh and beautiful, but they were limited by being local [market photo]. If you wanted to eat chicken or duck, you would probably buy a live bird, tie up its legs and strap him to the back of your bicycle [photo of duck market]. A long spell of feather plucking and neck wringing would await you. Today, you might instead stop at a supermarket [supermarket photo] for packaged poultry. Although most foods are sold near where they are grown or processed, even a shabby streetside fruit market relies on a surprisingly complex distribution system [photo of my fruit vendor].

--The traditional Chinese kitchen is centered around the stove. [Mao stove] Here’s the large stove in the kitchen of Mao Zedong’s family farmhouse. Its design is very efficient, with the wok tightly fitted in the hole, allowing a small amount of fuel to cook a lot of food. Millions of rural Chinese still use these stoves [2 photos of traditional stove]. In north China to this day, the stove is often twice the size of this one in the photo. And the whole family sleeps right on top of the stove, as the bricks slowly release their heat.

--A typical apartment kitchen in 1996 looked like this [slide]. But look now at the new apartment my student and her husband recently moved into [3 photos of Wu Shi Bing’s apartment]. Today Chinese consumers, especially in the cities, can buy any and all of the appliances an American can: a refrigerator, an electric rice cooker, a dishwasher, a high-tech Japanese water heater [slide].

--You can cook good Chinese food at home. You will need a wok; the flat-bottomed type is easiest to use [wok photo]. This one has a nice handle. But you won’t be able to do genuine stir-frying on your stove, unless you have gotten a zoning variance Stir-fried vegetables are often cooked very quickly. Still, many good dishes can be made with less than this much heat. Most Chinese use a cleaver for nearly every task, from chopping the ingredients to carrying them to the wok

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You will also need a thick cutting board A wire strainer and metal spatula are pretty much necessary When you need to clean your wok, you just use hot water and one of these bamboo brushes [wok brush photo] or something similar.

--I’ve seen some websites offering advice for cooking Chinese food at home. Some of the advice is sound, but some is just ludicrous. Stir-frying in olive oil?? Or in sesame oil! Chinese will use the cheapest oil they can find, as long as it has a high smoking point. Thus peanut oil, vegetable oil, or canola oil are all fine. Canola oil comes from the pressed seeds of rape, a beautiful vegetable [field of rapeseed photo].

--You may wonder whether the ingredients for Chinese cooking are locally available. Generally, they are. Many of the vegetables and meats are easy to find. Bean curd we have. Chinese black mushrooms are harder to find, so I usually substitute fresh shiitake mushrooms [photo]. Ginger root and garlic, both indispensable for Chinese cooking, we have. Hot peppers can be found, fresh and dried. Here’s the hot pepper sauce I like to use: [slide]. Soy sauce and Chinese vinegar we have. Oils for cooking and drizzling—like sesame oil—we have. Star anise and brown peppercorns are with the spices. To make certain dishes I must go to an Asian grocery or order online for key ingredients, such as Sichuan pickles [photo], preserved eggs, cloud ears, brown soybean sauce, fermented bean curd [photo], and oyster sauce [photo]. Here’s a photo of gai lan with oyster sauce [photo]. Easy to make at home.

--Now finally let’s look over the five recipes I’ve had printed for you. Do they look like dishes you might want to try to make?

--Do you have any questions? {Do you have a Chinese food story to tell us?}