Kitchen Chinese (34 page)
Most of all, however, I was surprised and impressed by the country’s indefatigable sense of optimism. Though nearly everyone I met had been touched by the horrifying events of the Cultural Revolution, each seemed to put the pain and sorrow behind them, to face the future with the confidence that their children’s lives would be better than their own. It’s a feeling that’s both powerful and contagious!
In the book, Isabelle makes the observation that the gift China has given her is the opportunity to realize a dream. Do you think this is true for many foreigners who choose to live there?
I think it can be a little easier for foreigners to shine in Beijing, if only because of their overseas experience. Much of Chinese culture is still rooted in status, and having a degree from a foreign university (especially a prestigious one), overseas work experience, or speaking fluent English, are all greatly admired. It’s especially true in the performing arts like acting, modeling,
or music, where simply having a foreign face or accent can really set you apart. I have several American friends in Beijing who are pursuing their artistic dreams successfully, whether it be playing bass in a rock band, leading a modern dance troupe, or starring in English-language instructional videos. They are all very talented, but as one friend once said to me, “In the States, I’d be a cog in the wheel. In China, I’m inventing the wheel.”
There’s also the powerful sense in China of a world made new. Beijing vibrates with a tireless energy—restaurants open and close within months or sometimes even weeks, a block of buildings can be destroyed in a morning, skyscrapers seem to mushroom overnight—and the feeling of change is palpable. With all this change comes an incredible feeling of opportunity: with a little money (things are still relatively inexpensive in China), and some elbow grease, anything is possible, especially as the country develops its modern cultural identity.
So, yes, I do feel that China is a place where opportunities abound and dreams are realized—but I don’t think it’s unique in that sense. In fact, I was just reading an article the other day about second generation Indian-Americans moving to India to pursue work in creative fields. As people become more mobile—and cultural identity more flexible—I think we’ll see many more young Americans—from all sorts of backgrounds—moving overseas to follow their dreams.
How did you become interested in cooking?
My parents like to tell the story of how, at three years old, I climbed up on the kitchen counter to watch my father chop vegetables, and shouted, “Bang the garlic, Daddy!”
So, I guess you could say my interest in food and cooking was cemented at a very early age. As a teen, I loved to bake and was also mad about England—I would prepare elaborate tea parties for my family, including fresh scones and finger sandwiches—
once, I even made crumpets from scratch! As I’ve grown older and traveled the world, I’ve come to realize what an important tool cooking is—for me, food is the most vital connection to learning about new cultures.
Cooking is something I enjoy, and I am extremely grateful for it. Unlike writing, which is a process that I find tortuous, it’s an easier way to create. I find taking raw ingredients and turning them into something totally different—a cake, a pie, a bowl of soup—transporting, even miraculous. Of course there are times when I don’t feel like cooking—especially if I’m on my own, when I’m more likely to eat a grilled cheese sandwich. I suppose, as with writing, I prefer to cook for an audience! Nevertheless, once I get started, I always find cooking contemplative yet absorbing, very sensory, and it can be either solitary or social. Plus, it gives great pleasure to others (except maybe the dishwasher!).
What are your favorite books about food, either novels, nonfiction, or cookbooks?
From the minute I found out about the concept of reading, I wanted to do it. And from the minute I started, I loved reading about food. When I was small, I loved all the Little House books, but especially
Farmer Boy
, the story of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s husband, Almanzo. I was fascinated by the descriptions of food, particularly his breakfasts of ham and apple pie (pie for breakfast!), or freshly fried doughnuts and cider, or evening snacks of fire-popped popcorn, immersed in a glass of creamy milk. Laura’s diet was grimmer, but I loved the story of the maple sugar boil, when she and her sisters make candy by pouring the newly boiled sap onto clean snow.
As a teenager I was a raging Anglophile, which started when my dad gave me some collected works of P. G. Wodehouse. I realize he’s quite a controversial figure now, but I loved Wodehouse’s silly, madcap tales of Jeeves and Bertie Wooster. Plus
they were always eating things like kippers and bangers, or hot buttered toast with Gentlemen’s Relish, all washed down with cups of scalding tea—oh, it sounded like heaven! Combined with a large dose of Agatha Christie (Miss Marple was always eating things like Victorian seed cake)…well, that probably explains my teenage mania for tea parties.
I’ve always admired Julia Child, even before I ever thought I’d move to Paris, so it was a delight to read her memoir,
My Life in France
. Of course, reading about her adventures at the Cordon Bleu cooking school was fascinating, but I loved this book most for its spirit. Julia was thirty-six when she moved to France; she had no expertise in the kitchen—and certainly no idea she would become one of America’s foremost authorities on French cuisine. But she did—and her story reminds me that life-changing opportunities can arise at any age.
I have way too many cookbooks. One standby is
Italian Easy: Recipes from the London River Café
by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers (published in the UK as
The River Café Cookbook Easy
). The recipes are very simple, but focus on delicious, different combinations of flavors and foods—and there are lots of creative ideas for pasta. My only quibble is that the recipes often call for unique and expensive ingredients, so I usually pull out this book when I want to make a special dinner for my husband. I’ve also developed a renewed appreciation for
Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home,
by Julia Child and Jacques Pepin. I actually prefer this to Julia’s
Mastering the Art of French Cooking
, which I find a little fussy. The recipes are simpler—classic and French, but homey—and I love how the two quibble over technique, each providing their own advice (which often disagrees). Plus, I recently made the book’s boeuf Bourguignon for a French friend, who said it tasted just like a French person had made it. This was the highest praise, I assure you!
Finally, they don’t discuss food much, but the following three
books on China resonated with me for a long time, especially as each tells the story of a foreigner in Beijing. In
Hand Grenade Practice in Peking
, Frances Wood recounts her year spent as a British exchange student at Peking University, in 1975, during the Cultural Revolution. Her account of spartan dorm life and education through labor—the Communist party determined that she would learn more in the field planting rice than in the classroom studying Marxism, Leninism, and Mao Zedong—is witty, honest, and sensitive. In
Peking Story
, American David Kidd shares his story of marrying into a wealthy Chinese family and living in their vast ancestral Beijing courtyard home during the last days before the Communist party came to power in 1949. It’s a fascinating glimpse into a rarified world that has totally disappeared—and the epilogue, in which Kidd visits the family again in the 1980s, is heartbreaking. Finally, as the wife of a diplomat in China, I was drawn to the novel
Peking Picnic,
by Ann Bridge, who shared my circumstances, albeit in the 1920s, during the tumultuous warlord era. It’s an old-fashioned story—complete with a few off-color descriptions of locals—but Bridge weaves an atmosphere of old Beijing that is dreamy yet vibrant.
What types of food do you enjoy cooking, Chinese or otherwise?
Like Isabelle, I grew up eating Chinese food every single night, with very little variation. My dad, who is an excellent cook, made dinner each night, and though he has a wide-ranging palate, it was my mom’s distinct preference for Chinese fare that dictated our meals.
As a result, I find that what I most enjoy cooking is a variety of different cuisines—I cannot eat Chinese food every day, but nor could I eat French cuisine, or spaghetti, or sushi every day.
(Except Indian food—I sometimes think I could exist on masala dosas.)
I usually make Chinese food during the week, when I crave something easy, fast, and healthy (you can sneak a lot of vegetables into a stir-fry). But unlike my dad, who really did make three or four different dishes every night, I tend to cook just one enormous pan of something, like a huge stir-fry.
I enjoy experimenting with North African food, discovering the play of spices, the contrast between sweet, sour, spicy, and salty. I studied Italian cuisine in Bologna, where I learned how to make decadent lasagna—and where, after watching Italian women labor for hours over sheets of dough, stretching, pulling, and rolling, I knew I would never make fresh pasta at home! Right now I live in Paris, where I am discovering the seasons by shopping in the open market—who knew sea scallops abounded in winter? I’m also enjoying the ritualized formality of French dinner parties, which involve four courses, eaten slowly and savored.
In fact, there’s only one thing I don’t like to cook: bread. I find the process of rising and kneading incredibly stressful. Plus, it always comes out heavy, lumpen, and dry, and I usually think, Why didn’t I just buy a loaf at the store?
What advice would you give to a beginning writer and/ or cook?
First, I would say: consume. If you want to be a writer, read, read, read. Read everything—fiction, nonfiction, the newspaper, magazines (both highbrow and pop culture), the classics, and pulp fiction. This will help give you a sense of different styles and voices, with the ultimate goal of developing your own. Likewise, if you want to be a cook, eat. Save your pennies and splurge on amazing meals. But also wander ethnic neighborhoods in search of crowded restaurants. Spy on your neighbors’ table and order
what they’re eating. Also, experiment with new flavor combinations, or buy a new vegetable at the farmer’s market because it looks cool and you want to try it. Explore and discover what you like and dislike.
Second, develop a thick skin. For cooking, you’ll need it to survive nicks, scrapes, and burns, all of which will occur no matter how careful you are. Writers need a tough, protective layer, because they face a lot of discouragement. Unfortunately, they hear the word “no” often. You have to be brave enough to persevere in the face of despair.
Third, make sure you have excellent tools. This is more important for cooking, when sharp knives and heavy pots and pans make all the difference in slicing, dicing, and heat distribution—you don’t need a lot of fancy gadgets, just good quality basics. Obviously, writers only really need a pen and notebook. But to this I would add a good dictionary or computer spell-check—no one wants to read a short story littered with typos (and editors notice these things)—as well as a thesaurus (I like Rodale’s
Synonym Finder
).
Fourth, as the old joke goes: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice! Practice! Practice!
Are there restaurants you would recommend in Beijing and Shanghai? What is the dining scene there like?
As China’s capital, Beijing reflects the diversity of the country. In fact, each of China’s twenty-two provinces has a government office in Beijing, and almost all of them have restaurants that serve the cuisine of their region. These are state-run eateries, with absolutely no ambiance, but the food is extremely authentic—some even fly in special vegetables or other hard-to-find ingredients! One of my favorites is the Sichuan Provincial Government Restaurant (5 Jianguomen Gongyuan Toutiao, Dongcheng district, tel: 86 10 6512 2277), where the chefs skill
fully blend chilies and Sichuan peppercorns—I can still feel the tingle of their
mapo doufu
on my lips. I also love the refreshing salad of giant mint leaves and “crossing the bridge” noodles at the Yunnan Provincial Government Restaurant (in Chinese, Yunteng Shifu—7 Donghuashi Beili Dongqu, Chongwen district, tel: 86 10 6711 3322 X7105).
If you want to taste Beijing’s northern cuisine—stodgy and wheat-based—
zhajiang mian
noodles are a must. I like the bustle of Beijing Style Noodle King (35 Di’anmen Xijie, Dongcheng district, tel: 86 10 6405 6666). As for Peking duck—everyone has an opinion, but my favorite is still the elegant, crisp-skinned bird at Made in China in the Grand Hyatt hotel (1 Dong Chang’an Jie, Dongcheng district, tel: 86 10 8518 1234).
Alas, I don’t know Shanghai as well as I’d like. But I still dream about one restaurant there, a tiny dumpling shack called Jia Jia Tang Bao (90 Huanghe Lu at Fengyang Lu, Huangpu district, tel: 86 21 6327 6878). The décor is quite dismal—think McDonald’s. But the soup dumplings (in Chinese,
xiaolongbao
), which are stuffed, folded, and steamed to order, make you forget your surroundings—they’re delicate, with a rich meaty flavor and a luscious squirt of soup within. And, believe it or not, a basket of fifteen dumplings is only 7.50 RMB—that’s less than one dollar!
You’ve lived in New York and currently live in Paris. How do these cities compare to Beijing? Do you miss China and would you ever live there again?
Of course, the differences between Paris and Beijing outweigh the similarities. But the two actually have more in common than one might think. They are both very old cities, very proud, very historical. Both bear battle scars—in Paris, it’s not uncommon to see statues or monuments dedicated to the monarchy that were defaced during the French Revolution; the same
is true in Beijing, where many old buildings were destroyed during the Cultural Revolution. As capital cities, both represent the diverse regions of their respective countries, and attract residents from all over. Also, both have thriving and enthusiastic food cultures—though they realize them in very different ways.
