MITCH IN THE KITCHEN

homemade char siu

I’ve been meaning to do something neat with pork shoulder for awhile now. My Cantonese roots beckoned me to try my hand at char siu, that beautiful, glossy red specimen of pork seen hanging in a Chinatown restaurant window near you. (I don’t actually speak Cantonese beyond the names of my favorite foods, so I call it “cha shao” in passable Mandarin.)

After scouring the internets for an idea of what exactly goes in the marinade, I came across unusual-sounding variations (from Hawaii and beyond) that included ketchup, sherry, and apricot jam. Mmm… no. And then I found this gem of a post on Chowhound telling me that the “richest flavoured sauce comes from generations of boiling down and adding to the original marinade.” Amazing. Just like yogurt cultures or sourdough starters that get passed on, batch after batch. Also note that my char siu is not really red because I didn’t use any food coloring.

(photo of yours truly by Jocelyn)

I also took the extra “Mitch you are crazy” step of using s-hooks from the hardware store and rearranging the racks in my oven to simulate the old-school way of getting a nice sticky (not soggy) glaze on the entire surface of the pork slabs. But you can also use a roasting rack or a regular baking pan and not be concerned with my unusual habits.

This is also an inspiring beginning to a tour of pork shoulders around the world. Next stop: carnitas? Bo ssäm? Pulled pork? Pernil?

Char siu recipe:

2 1/2 to 3 pound boneless pork shoulder
3 tablespoons hoisin sauce
3 tablespoons dark soy sauce
3 tablespoons light soy sauce
1/4 cup rice wine
lots of ginger, grated (I did about a 2-inch segment)
2 teaspoons Chinese five-spice powder
honey for basting (about 1/2 cup)

Cut the pork shoulder into 5-inch long strips (they should be about an inch thick and 1 1/2 to 2 inches wide). Combine hoisin sauce, soy sauces, rice wine, ginger, and five-spice. Marinate pork in this mixture for 8 hours or overnight (throwing it all in a gallon-size zip-top plastic bag is the easiest way to go about it).

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Place pork pieces on hooks (or on a roasting rack or roasting pan). Place a foil-lined sheet pan on a rack placed at the bottom of the oven (you know, the lowest part it can slide in and out of). Place another rack at the top of the oven. Carefully hang pork on the top rack, making sure the pieces don’t touch each other. Roast for 15 to 20 minutes, then baste with honey. The honey can be warmed up a little if it’s too thick, or you can thin it out with some of the reserved marinade. I think I combined a little too much of the marinade with the honey for this basting part and the end result wasn’t as caramelized and sticky as I would’ve liked it to be. I am one of those people who will fight you for the burnt end pieces.

Lower temperature to 325 degrees and roast for another 40 minutes, or until pork is cooked through, basting every 10 minutes or so. You can check the meat with an instant-read thermometer (160 degrees F) or try the finger test (or stop stressing about slightly pink pork… nice restaurants out there do it on purpose). If you’re using the hooks, carefully remove pork using a sturdy pair of tongs and be careful about the drippy juices.

zha jiang mian (noodles with pork sauce)

I’ve been having about one wedding-related nightmare each week. In the most recent one, I was at a Chinese restaurant ordering lunch with my friend Jeanice. After mulling over my options, I decided to get a basket of xiao long bao (soup dumplings). When the gruff, middle-aged manager-cum-waiter came to take our order, I asked him if he also had zha jiang mian (炸酱面). As he walked back to the kitchen to check, Jeanice asked me if my flowers were ready. I dashed out of the restaurant to arrange for flower arrangements, two days before the big day, leaving the possibility of zha jiang mian for lunch behind.

A few days later, I decided this was inspiration enough to make zha jiang mian, possibly the only Chinese dish I’ve come anywhere close to “mastering” (yes, it’s that easy). You can also find versions of zha jiang mian at Korean restaurants (jajangmyeon) and Japanese restaurants. The noodles should be wheat noodles (made from wheat flour), and the sauce should be pretty salty thanks to all the fermented bean products that go into it. Zha jiang mian is usually served with crunchy vegetables on top, typically bean sprouts, cucumbers, and shredded carrots. I like to cook diced carrots in the sauce (what my mom does) and top it with matchstick-sized strips of cucumbers and blanched bean sprouts. It’s a nice contrast of hot and cold, salty and cucumber-y, and soft and crunchy.

vegetable oil
1/2 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 medium carrot, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 pound ground pork
1 teaspoon corn starch
1 tablespoon light soy sauce
3 ounces pressed five-spice tofu (looks like this)
1 tablespoon broad bean paste
1 tablespoon hot broad bean paste (or substitute with more regular broad bean paste)
1 tablespoon sweet bean sauce (or hoisin sauce)
3/4 cup water
sesame oil

thick wheat noodles, cooked according to package directions

Heat vegetable oil in a large pan or wok over medium heat. Add onion and carrot. Cook until onion is translucent.

Combine pork with corn starch, garlic, and soy sauce. Add to pan and cook until pork is browned. Add tofu, bean paste, and bean sauce. Toss to coat everything evenly. Add water and bring sauce to a simmer. Turn heat to low and continue to simmer until sauce has thickened. Add a tiny bit of sesame oil at the end. Serve over noodles with blanched bean sprouts and julienne cucumbers.

the leftover files: bo ssäm sandwich

You’ve probably (definitely, if you’re one of my NYC buddies) heard of Momofuku Ssäm Bar’s bo ssäm, an entire slow-roasted Boston pork butt (note that this cut of meat has nothing to do with a pig’s ass) served with oysters, rice, lettuce, and a quartet of condiments. While it’s enough meat to feed 10 hungry people, only 5 hungover ladies were there to enjoy this glorious spread for lunch this past weekend (see previous post that mentions a bachelorette party). Sunday afternoon, by the way, is a great time to visit the Ssäm Bar; it’s bright and un-crowded inside, the pace of everything is more laid back than it is during later hours of the day, and David Chang himself was there shucking our oysters. Everyone in the kitchen seemed very quiet and focused on their work, a scene that I found strangely peaceful.

After 90 minutes of additional small plates, eating, and pants-loosening, we were spent. Guess who ended up lugging home a 5 pound doggie bag? Ms. Bachelorette, her bridesmaid Jackie, John and I ate half of the pork wrapped in lettuce, the way we did at the restaurant. We all mmmed and agreed that it keeps well and makes for great leftovers. The next day, I piled some of the heated, shredded pork on top of a roll and slathered on some of the sauces that came with our meal (kimchi and kimchi puree, ssamjang, and some scallion oil) to make a Korean-ish pulled pork sandwich. I topped it off with something light and crunchy: cucumbers lightly marinated in rice vinegar, sugar, salt, and a tiny bit of sesame oil. What next, Asian burritos?

Also, if you’re feeling ambitious and don’t mind having your oven on for 8 hours, you can make your own bo ssäm at home. Just call me if you have some leftovers.