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Beijing, March 9, 2010 - In our family, the clash of cultures is most apparent when it comes to a simple pot of porridge. Cantonese pork porridge
My husband wants it made of millet, unseasoned and served with his favorite Beijing pickles. I prefer the smooth silkiness of slowly simmered rice, seasoned with a good pork broth and served with tiny savory meatballs, a few slivers of just-cooked liver and a sprinkling of spring onions.
My son, born and raised in Singapore, has grown up favoring the Chaozhou version, with grains of rice immersed in a heavily seasoned fish broth full of pepper and preserved Tianjin cabbage.
But we do agree on one thing. This is comfort food eaten when you are stressed, under the weather, recuperating from illness or simply suffering from too much of a good thing - like all the delicious Lunar New Year goodies we have just ploughed through.
My husband grew up in Beijing at a time when food was scarce and every little bit of grain treasured. His grandmother was a frugal woman who wasted nothing. When she made millet porridge, it was served with cabbages she'd pickled herself, or little cubes of radishes she had carefully saved from the tops and tails that would have been otherwise discarded.
Times were hard then, but our man swears he has eaten nothing tastier since, even though we have tried to replicate the millet gruel and pickles many times. Perhaps the old adage is true - hunger is the best sauce ever.
My memories of porridge are confined to those made with rice.
When we were younger, in Hong Kong, breakfast was a bowl of plain rice porridge, creamy smooth and snowy white, seasoned with a pinch of salt and a dash of oil and served with a crispy dough cruller - or you tiao.
Every mouthful was one full of contrasts - the velvetiness of the porridge and the crisp crunchiness of the dough. Sometimes, if we were lucky, we also got a spoonful of fried peanuts dusted with sugar and salt which was a heady foil to the plain porridge.
Congee was also served for lunch or dinner, and the porridge base was always rice that was cooked in water or broth until the grains had almost completely dissolved. It was the ingredients that made the difference.
There was porridge with minced beef rolled in puffed up deep-fried rice noodles, porridge with thin strips of preserved cuttlefish and softened groundnuts, there was salted pork and century eggs porridge, and there was pork porridge.
Pork porridge was my favorite because it had little bits of everything in it. Tiny meatballs floated in the smooth congee, and there were usually two or three slices of velvety sliced pork, and a big sliver of liver, marinated in ginger juice or Chinese wine and cooked just right.
Eating that bowl of porridge was like a treasure hunt. You never knew what you may spoon up next.
When we relocated to Singapore, we discovered the joys of supper. There were always many new things to try, but one of our favorites was the all-night Chaozhou porridge outlet at the food center near where we lived.
Here, little bowls of rice congee would be dished out along with a kaleidoscope of side dishes. Steamed fish, cold crab, braised trotters, stewed intestines, tofu simmered in soya sauce and five-spices, salted vegetables braised in lard you could have a feast fit for several kings.
But that was the secret. You had to keep the portions very small, and the whole point was to titillate the taste buds, and not curdle cholesterol levels.
The same stall also offered fish porridge, done Chaozhou-style, which was simply well-seasoned fish broth ladled over a bowl of soft-cooked rice.
Often, the fish that accompanied the porridge would be served separately, thinly sliced, lined up on a plate, then drizzled with a fragrant mixture of salt, sesame oil, coriander leaves and spring onions. This would be quickly tossed up and tipped into the steaming hot broth - an excellent way to make sure the fish would never be overcooked.
A wedge of laver - dried seaweed - would accompany the soup.
As the last snow in March floats over Beijing, a bowl of savory porridge may be the comfort food you may want to try this weekend. Here is the recipe for pork porridge, to warm the tummy and please the palate. It may take a little time to cook, but I assure you it is well worth the effort.
Ingredients:
500g soup bones
100g pork fillet, sliced
100g pig liver, sliced
300g minced pork
150g Sichuan vegetables (zha cai) (about 1 whole vegetable, sliced)
1 bunch coriander leaves, chopped
1 teaspoon ginger juice
1 tbsp Chinese wine
1 cup long grain rice, rinsed
Sesame oil
Corn flour
Salt and pepper
Method:
1. Cut pork fillet into thin slices. Marinate with a pinch of corn flour, salt, pepper and sesame oil. This process is called velveting and tenderizes the meat.
2. Wash liver and pat dry, cut into thin slices. Marinate with ginger juice, corn flour, salt, pepper and sesame oil.
3. Chop up the Sichuan vegetable (zha cai), and mix into the minced pork, adding corn flour, salt, pepper and sesame oil. Stir the mixture vigorously in one direction until it comes together. Use a teaspoon to help shape into little meatballs and set aside.
4. Keep meat, liver and meatballs covered and chilled while the porridge is boiling.
5. In a large pot, bring 3 liters of water to a rolling boil. Add the pork bones and simmer 30 minutes. Skim off surface scum.
6. Remove bones from stock and add one cup of washed rice. Let the porridge simmer slowly for at least two hours. It's ready when the rice grains have fully "flowered" and the porridge is smooth and velvety.
7. Bring the porridge back to a boil, add meat slices and the meatballs.
8. Add liver slices last. Remove from heat and serve at once. Garnish with sliced dough fritters (you tiao) and fried chopped garlic, or maybe spring onions and coriander leaves.
Foodnotes: The secret to good porridge, Cantonese-style, is to make sure the rice is cooked thoroughly. It has to break down completely so there are no whole grains left. To help it cook faster, here is a tip from my mother: Add a tablespoon of oil to the washed rice and gently rub the grains with your hands until the oil is completely absorbed. I have no idea why, but this works for me every time and the result is always a very smooth congee. I am pretty sure the likes of Harold McGee would be able to explain the science behind it, but in the meantime, try it.
