Chinese Food Menu Take OUt Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures: 2015

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Chinese Food Buffet Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Chinese Food Buffet

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Red-Cooked Pork I remember a time when pork belly was shunned in the U.S. as a fatty, undesirable cut of meat. But thanks to a few big-name chefs, this unctuous piece of hog is gracing some of the country's most popular dining spots. David Chang's Berkshire pork belly in a bun may have been the most lusted-after dish in New York in the past 5 years.
Which is why I'm surprised red-braised pork is still not very popular outside of China. It's one of the least fiery dishes in the entirety of Hunan cuisine, and very easy to make at home. What omnivore can resist a dish of braised pork cooked with sugar, cinnamon, chilis, and star anise? The smells alone are intoxicating, and make me jittery with anticipation as I count down the minutes until braising is done.
The version of hongshao rou I like best is from Fuchsia Dunlop's Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook: Recipes from Hunan Province. (Did you know this was Mao Zedong's favorite dish? The satisfaction of eating it, of course, transcends ideology.) An especially helpful tip Dunlop gives is to first plunge the meat into boiling water; partially cooked pork belly is much easier to cut. To make the sauce, you simply caramelize the sugar, add water and the whole dried spices, then let simmer for less than an hour. (Also see Red Cook's version, which includes garlic and no chilis.) A simple bowl of white rice is the best absorbent for the fragrant and hearty sauce.
Notes on the skin: you can remove the skin before cooking, but I hardly ever do. The skin and the fat is 80% of what makes hongshao rou so darn good. When I teach this dish in my Hunan cooking class, inevitably a few students will carefully pick off all the fat.
I have to wince and look away. 1 pound pork belly
2 tablespoons peanut oil
2 tablespoons white sugar
1 tablespoon Shaoxing wine
1-inch piece ginger, peeled and sliced
2 pieces star anise
2 dried red chilies
1 piece cinnamon stick or cassia bark
2 tablespoons light soy sauce
Salt and sugar to taste
Scallion greens, thinly sliced, for garnish
Dunk the pork belly into a pot of boiling water and simmer for 3 to 4 minutes until partially cooked. Remove and set aside until cool enough to handle. Slice into 1-inch cubes.
In a wok, heat the sugar and oil over low heat until the sugar melts and turns golden brown. Add the pork and Shaoxing wine.
Add enough water to cover the pork, along with ginger, star anise, chilis, and cinnamon/cassia. Bring the liquid to boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 40 to 50 minutes. Keep extra water nearby in case too much water evaporates.
With 5 minutes left of cooking to go, turn up the heat if liquid needs to reduce further to sauce-like consistency. Stir in the soy sauce. Season to taste with salt and sugar. Transfer to serving dishes and garnish with scallion greens.

Chinese Food Buffet Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Tuesday, 3 February 2015

How To Make Chinese Food Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

How To Make Chinese Food

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Chinese Scallion Pancakes Scallion pancakes was the first recipe I had in mind when I decided to start making cooking videos. It's a simple dish, but one where it's very beneficial to see the process in video or photos before starting out. In my new cookbook The Chinese Takeout Cookbook, I have a photo guide on rolling out the pancakes, but it seemed fitting to do an accompanying video as well.This recipe is a more simplified version of a recipe involving yeast that I first published in May 2009. But it's no less delicious. The secret to getting flaky layers is all in the folding. Just watch the video and refer to the recipe below! Of course, there are countless Chinese restaurants where you can satisfy your cravings for scallions pancakes. They make great appetizers when the entrees happen to take longer than five minutes. They absorb the sauce of your moo shu pork like a sponge. And your vegetarian friends can eat them with abandon. But I've eaten or seen too many that are too thick, too oily, or lack the flaky layers that define Chinese scallion pancakes. Also, they aren't supposedly to be as enormous as a Frisbee. As with many other foods, scallion pancakes are really best made at home and served hot off the stove.For the dough, all you need is flour and water. The basic ratio I use is 3 parts flour to 1 part water, but of course, there are many variables to getting the dough right. Some flours are higher in protein content, so they absorb more water. Sometimes in more humid climates you'll need a bit more flour, and in dryer climates you'll need a bit more water. However, the 3:1 ratio works well in most circumstances, so start with that and adjust if you need to. Once you get used to rolling out the dough, these pancakes will easily become part of your reportoire. There are few ingredients, most of which are pantry staples. And once you coax the dough into little patties, they can be refrigerated or frozen for future use. The one requirement is to put your woks away; use only a flat-bottom skillet for pan-frying.(For the recipe from 2009 using a yeast dough, see here.) Chinese Scallion Pancakes Serves 6 Ingredients 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more if necessary1/2 cup warm water3 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil, plus more as needed 3 scallions, thinly sliced 1 teaspoon saltMake 'Cowboy' Breakfast Hash in 15 Min! Instructions Oil a large mixing bowl and set aside.In a separate large bowl, mix together the flour and water until a smooth dough forms. If the dough seems sticky, as it tends to do in humid weather, add a little more flour (starting with 1 tablespoon and up to 1/4 cup total, if needed) and mix again until the dough is no longer sticky.Roll out the dough on a lightly floured work surface and knead for 5 minutes. Place the dough in the greased mixing bowl and turn until it is lightly covered with oil all around. Cover the dough with a barely damp toweland let it rest for 30 minutes.Flour your work surface again and roll out the rested dough. Divide the dough in half, then roll each half into a 1-inch-thick cylinder. With a pastry scraper or butter knife, slice the dough into 2-inch-long segments. Dust your rolling pin with flour and roll out each segment into a 5-inchcircle.Lightly brush the top of each circle with peanut oil, about 2 tablespoons total for all the pancakes. Sprinkle with the scallions and salt.Roll up each circle into another cylinder, making sure the scallions stay in place.Coil the dough so that it resembles a snail.With a rolling pin, flatten again into disks about 1/4 inch thick. The pancakes will get a little oily from the scallions popping through the dough. Place the rolled-out pancakes on a plate and repeat with the remaining dough. If you stack the pancakes, put a piece of parchment paper between each layer to prevent sticking. (Whatever you don’t cooking immediatelycan be frozen for future use.)Heat a nonstick flat-bottomed skillet or cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat and add the remaining 1 tablespoon oil. Working in batches, pan-fry the pancakes until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes on each side. If the sides or middle puff up during the cooking, press them down with a spatula to ensure even cooking. (You may also need another tablespoon of oil between the batches.) Transfer the pancakes to a plate, cut into wedges, and serve, either alone or with chili sauce or soy sauce and vinegar on the side.

How To Make Chinese Food Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Easy Chinese Food Recipes Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Easy Chinese Food Recipes

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First, there's the ugly factor. There they are, in any Chinese provisions shop -- row after row of jars filled with nubs and chunks and leaves in the dullest of colors, ranging from dirty white to olive green and jaundiced beige, bearing no resemblance whatsoever to anything that was ever once alive. Scarier still are the brightly-colored but invariably dirty, sometimes rusty, and almost always dented cans wrapped in amateurish illustrations of what supposedly lies within. They invoke the fear of the unknown.Then there's the stench factor. Most Chinese preserved vegetables stink. It's the nature of preserved foods, a by-product of the fermentation process. We all know that, but it doesn't make their odoriferousness any easier to stomach.Yet - if one can get past the ugly and the smelly, these preserved bits and pieces can be a cook's best friend. Salty and crunchy, sweet or sour or searingly spicy (even, sometimes, all three at once), they are the ingredients that can make Chinese dishes -- from the lowliest rice porridge to savory Sichuan dry-fried string beans -- sing.My favorite specimen is Sichuan preserved vegetable. Sold in bulk in grocery stores, wet markets, and roadside kiosks all over Asia, in the U.S. it's most easily found in red and yellow cans marked "Szechuan Preserved Vegetable" (May Ling Brand). Open one up and (after wincing at the aroma) there lie two or three rubbery knobs of mustard root that's been rubbed with salt and chili powder andl eft to ferment in huge ceramic tubs.I was introduced to this zesty almost-vegetable more years ago than I care to remember, by a Chinese university exchange student from Chengdu (Sichuan). I was a recent college grad preparing for a year at Sichuan University when I met Yu Qiao -- and all his Sichuan University graduate student friends -- at a 'school's out' gathering at my university's Asian Studies Center. Qiao, a moon-faced 28-year-old with a bowl haircut and a bone-dry, razor-sharp wit, was one of the first wave of Chinese students accepted to university on merit (as opposed to Communist Party connections or 'correct' class background) after the end of the Cultural Revolution. We became friends; I offered Qiao a glimpse of 'normal' American college student life and, through him, began to get an inkling of what I might expect to encounter in China.One day we ran into each other at the library. I suggested lunch. He was broke, struggling on a stipend, and invited me back to his place. We walked across campus to the biggest, most run-down student co-op in town. Qiao led me to the basement kitchen. It was enormous, dark, dingy, and disgusting - a decade of grease covering every surface, a putrid stink wafting from the incomplete seal of the fridge, mountains of crusty dishes overflowing the sink.Qiao seemed not to notice. From his cupboard (he'd magic markered his name on a piece of notebook paper and taped it to the cabinet door) he pulled a newspaper-wrapped bundle of wide Chinese dried wheat flour noodles, a moldering piece of ginger and a a handful of loose garlic cloves, a huge summer tomato that had seen better days, a couple of eggs, bottles of cooking oil and soy, a jar of chili paste, and a plastic-covered bowl containing two lumps of preserved vegetable. He rinsed two saucepans in the sink, filled one with water, covered it with a plate, and set it on a gas burner. While the water heated he used a scarred wooden-handled cleaver to roughly chop ginger, garlic, and preserved vegetable and to cut the tomato into uneven wedges. I was dispatched to find two bowls. By the time I'd washed them and shaken off the water, saucepan number two was spitting and appetizing smells were filling the kitchen, crowding out the odors of neglected food and trash long overdue for the dumpster.When the noodles were done Qiao divided them between the bowls, then gave the contents of the other saucepan a final stir with chopsticks before unceremoniously dumping it on top. He kept the chopsticks and, without asking, dug a fork out of a drawer for me. The noodles were steaming, and I carefully ventured a taste. What I put into my mouth was nothing short of a revelation to my midwestern suburban-raised tastebuds, and I gave myself over to the dish's strong, exaggerated flavors and unfamiliar textures. I remember spicy heat so high on the Scoville scale I wanted to scream and garlic so plentiful and pungent I imagined it rushing straight to my pores. I savored the extreme saltiness of the preserved vegetable and the sweetness of overripe tomato, and marveled at the way the vegetable's crunch and toughness played off soft, slippery noodles and tender bits of egg. I'd never eaten anything like those noodles, but I knew that if this was what Sichuan tasted like I would dine well, and in great quantities, over the coming year.I asked Qiao for the recipe. He didn't have one; it was just something he'd figured out how to throw together when his parents were sent for re-education and he took charge of his younger brother and sister.The next day I drove out past campus to the only Asian grocery store in town, where there was always a chance of running into someone I knew -- my Taiwanese graduate assistant and her husband, kids in tow, or one of the Sichuan University graduate student posse. I bought all the ingredients for Qiao's noodles, except the tomatoes. Those I had waiting at home. That night, I took a stab at duplicating the flavors I remembered from Qiao's mangy kitchen. The noodles didn't taste right, so I made them for lunch the next day, and the next, and into the next week, until I was satisfied.The last time I saw Qiao was about 10 years ago. He'd earned his Ph.D. in economics, and was living comfortably in Singapore - married, a new father, working a well-paying job in finance. He was considering returning to China; the Bank of China was dangling a lucrative job in Beijing. I suspect that wherever he is now, his namesake noodles are no longer part of his diet. But I still whip them up from time to time, whenever I crave a bit of Sichuan preserved vegetable, my first real taste of China.

Easy Chinese Food Recipes Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

How To Cook Chinese Food Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

How To Cook Chinese Food

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Sweet and Sour Pork For the past few weeks I've been working on a new project that has left me little time for cooking. (On the bright side, that project involves dumplings and will be revealed soon!) In the meantime, I thought this would be a good opportunity to update a recipe for sweet and sour pork that I first shared about 5 years ago. Since 2008 I've made this multiple times, and retested it over and over for my cookbook. It's the best I've found for making crispy pork that's reminiscent of takeout without all the grease and gloppiness. I hope you enjoy it!I grew up with two kinds of sweet and sour pork. Like any American child living in close proximity to a Chinese takeout, I ate a good amount of ping pong ball-sized pork laced with red food coloring. At home, my mother would also prepare her version, using bone-in chunks of pork flavored with a subtler orange-vinegar sauce. In Beijing, I once took a home-style cooking class in which the teacher revealed that her secret ingredient for sweet and sour pork, also what "the better restaurants in Beijing use", was a bottle of locally produced ketchup. Why not the American brand Heinz? Too sweet.
Sweet and sour pork is thought to have originated in Guangdong province. But now that the Cantonese have flung themselves afar, each place they have landed has its own local variation. I'm sure Canada, the UK, Austalia, and other immigration hot spots have slightly different sweet and sour composites.The version I made today is Cantonese "gulou yuk" by way of the American suburb, and polished with an aesthete's mindset. Instead of tougher, fatty cuts of meat with the possibilty of bone, I use lean pork tenderloin, easier to chew and more convenient to eat while concentrating on Daily Show reruns. The cornstarch coating is thin enough for the sweet and sour flavors to seep into the meat. I prefer using fresh pineapple, but if you like your dish sweeter, use canned pineapple and reserve some of the can juices to add to the sauce in place of fresh pineapple juice.Sweet and Sour PorkServes 4 as part of a multi-course meal 1 pound boneless pork loin, cut into 1-inch pieces 2 cups peanut or vegetable oil for frying, plus 1 tablespoon for stir-fryin 1 tablespoon minced garlic 1 teaspoon minced fresh ginger 1 cup fresh or canned bite-size pineapple chunks See a Hawaiian Sweet & Sour Sausage Recipe Batter: 2 large egg beaten 1/4 cup cornstarch 1/4 cup all-purpose flour Sauce: 3 tablespoons water 2 tablespoons ketchup 2 tablespoons fresh pineapple juice, or juice from the canned pineapple, or substitute orange juice 1 1/2 tablespoons cider vinegar 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce 1 tablespoon soy sauce 2 tablespoons sugar Special equipment: Instant-read oil thermometer Prepare the batter for marinating the pork: In a medium bowl, stir together the eggs, cornstarch, and flour. The batter should be liquidy enough to coat the pork. If the batter looks too dry, add 1 to 2 tablespoons of water and stir again. Add the pork and stir gently to coat. Let stand at room temperature for 10 minutes.Prepare the sauce: In a small bowl, stir together the water, ketchup, pineapple juice, cider vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, and sugar until the sugar is dissolved. Set aside. Heat the peanut oil in a wok until it registers 350 degrees F on an instant-read oil thermometer. Working in 2 or 3 batches, add the first batch of pork cubes and fry until golden brown on the outside and cooked through, 4 to 5 minutes. Remove the pork with a slotted spoon and drain on a plate lined with paper towels. Remove any excess bits of batter from the oil with a slotted spoon or fine-mesh strainer. Continue frying the rest of the pork.Transfer the oil to a heat-proof container. (It will take about 1 hour to fully cool, after which you can transfer it to a container with a tight lid to dispose of it.) Wipe up any food remains in the wok with paper towels, being careful not to touch the metal directly with your hands.Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon oil in the wok or a skillet over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and ginger and stir-fry until just aromatic, about 20 seconds. Add the pineapple and the sauce and stir to coat the vegetables. Let ehs auce simmer for 2 to 3 minutes to allow the pineapple to become tender (about 1 minute for canned pineapple.) Return the pork to the wok and toss until well-coated with the sauce. Transfer to a plate and serve.

How To Cook Chinese Food Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Chinese Food Delivery Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures

Chinese Food Delivery

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Appetite for China Turnip Cake (Law Bok Gow) From a Chinese-American kid's perspective, Chinese New Year is a holiday as cool as, or even better than, Christmas. You get lots of red envelopes full of money, big boxes and tins of candy, and big meals for at least 3 to 5 days straight. You don't have to pretend to like any of the re-gifts or fruitcake you receive. And if your mother has free time, which she somehow always finds during the New Year, she'll whip up batches of snacks for you to eat and to give to relatives.One of these snacks, eaten all year round but especially during the New Year, is turnip cake. It symbolizes prosperity and growing fortunes, but a kid's main concern is how good something tastes. (Even many years later, turnip cake is one of the first foods I associate with Chinese New Year.) Although this is a staple on dim sum menus, no restaurant turnip cake compares to the homemade version, which bares the aroma of just-cooked mushrooms and pork even days after it's made.To make this recipe you'll need a firm white Chinese turnip about 10 to 12 inches long and 4 to 5 inches wide. Instead of grating the turnip like many recipes say, my mother slices it into thin strips to be cooked. This gives the cake a firmer texture that holds together better during pan-frying. And the Chinese never eat the whole cake at once; usually we eat a few pieces after the cake has just been steamed, then tightly wrap the rest in plastic and refrigerate. We then pan-fry the rest for breakfast or when friends and relatives come to visit.Speaking of the New Year, I will be spending the next few days in Guangzhou, my birthplace. My family and I will have New Year's Eve dinnner (Tuun neen) with my uncle's family, and then dinner on New Year's day with my dad's best friend's family. The last time I spent New Year's in Guangzhou was 1988, so it will be interesting to see all the festivities, firecrackers, and the famous Flower Street. To everyone celebrating the Lunar New Year, 新年快乐！Other Cantonese recipes to try:Sweet and Sour Pork Vegetarian Congee Wonton Noodle Soup, Hong Kong-Style Turnip Cakes (Law Bok Gow) 3 1/4 cups rice flour 8 dried shiitake mushrooms 2 ounces dried shrimp 6 ounces Chinese bacon (lop yok) or Chinese sausage 1 large Chinese white turnip, about 2 pounds 3 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil 2 teaspoons Shaoxing rice cooking wine 2 teaspoons dark soy sauce 1 teaspoon salt Special equipment: Mandolin, 10-inch cake pan, large wok (with lid) that is bigger than the cake pan In a large heatproof bowl, combine the rice flour and 2 cups of water. Mix well until the mixture is smooth and velvety, and set aside.In a small bowl, soak the shiitake mushrooms in about 1/2 cup of cold water for 10 to 15 minutes to soften. In a separate small bowl, do the same with the dried shrimp. Meanwhile, bring water to boil in a small pot. Place the Chinese bacon in the pot and cook for 3 to 4 minutes to soften. Remove from heat and pat to dry. Finely chop and set aside.Once the shiitakes are done soaking, remove from water, sqeeze out excess water, finely chop, and set aside. Remove shrimp from water, finely chop, and set aside.Peel the turnip, and with a mandoline, slice into 2 cm thick slices. Then cut slices into strips about 2 cm thick. Set aside.Heat 3 tablespoons of oil in a wok. Add shrimp and mushrooms and cook until fragrant, about 3 minutes. Add the cooking wine and soy sauce and stir until the shrimp and mushrooms are well-coated. Add the Chinese bacon, cook for another 1 to 2 minutes, then remove from heat and set aside.In the same wok, toss in the turnip strips and stir-fry for 2 to 3 minutes, adding a bit more cooking oil if necessary. Then pour in 1 cup water, cover the wok, and let the turnip steam for 10 to 15 minutes until just cooked.Pour the hot turnip mixture into the bowl with the rice flour mixture and mix thoroughly, until the turnips are well-incorporated into the mixture. Add the bacon, shrimp, mushrooms, and salt. Stir until evenly distributed. Pour the resulting mixture into a round 10-inch cake pan and smooth out the top.Steaming: Bring water to boil in a large wok big enough to fit the cake pan. Carefully fit the cake pan into the steamer, cover, reduce the heat to a simmer. Steam for 1 hour, or just until the turnip cake is set and is firm to the touch. Check the water level regularly and replenish, if necessary, with boiling water. Carefully remove the pan from the steamer and allow to cool on a rack for about 1 hour.When cooled, run a knife along the edge of the cake to loosen sides. Invert to unmold and flip the cake right-side up onto a cutting board. Slice the cake into rectagles 1-inch thick. You can serve the turnip cake as-is and sliced, or wrap the cake in plastic and refrigerate until ready to stir-fry.Optional stir-frying: Heat a medium to large skillet over medium heat. Add enough oil to barely cover the bottom and fry the cake in batches, about 3 to 5 minutes per side until golden brown. Serve immediately plain or with oyster sauce, soy sauce, or chilli sauce.

Chinese Food Delivery Chinese Food Menu Take Out Recipes Meme Box Noodles Near Me Clipart Images Pics Photos Pictures