New Ways to Boost Your Grain Power 2: Congee!

 fig. a:  Danny hearts Chinatown

There were numerous things to like about Lucky Peach's special on "Chinatown"(#5, Fall 2012)--it's an  issue of the magazine that we've gone back to repeatedly, and every time we seem to find something new hiding within.  But probably our favourite feature was the one on Danny Bowien and his love affair with Chinese food.  This might seem self-evident for a story about the chef of Mission Chinese Food NYC appearing in an issue on Chinese-American foodways, but Bowien is Korean-American and he grew up in Oklahoma, and the impression you get from the article is that New York's Chinatown continues to be a source of complete wonderment.  As Chris Ying puts it in the foreword:

On his days off from cooking Chinese food at Mission Chinese Food, Danny eats Chinese food.  Whenever I come to New York, he immediately brings me to Chinatown to show me what new gem he's unearthed.

The article features some typically tripped-out Mission Chinese-style Chinese-American fare, like Bowien's "Chinese McDonald's" spread, consisting of pigtail nuggets with seaweed fries and three dipping sauces (sweet & sour, General Tso, and spicy mustard), but we were most attracted to the more traditional recipes that bookend it.  (After all, the title of the article is "Cooking What Chinese People Eat:  Recipes by Danny Bowien.")  And we were especially attracted to the recipe for rice porridge, a.k.a. congee, that kicks off the article.

Montreal isn't much of a congee town.  At least it's not enough of one to support a large congee-centric enterprise such as a Congee Palace, Congee Village, Congee Garden, or a Congee Queen (or a Palais Gruau, Village Gruau, Jardin de Gruau, or a La Reine du Gruau, for that matter).  And, frankly, neither of us could claim to be too well-versed in the pleasures of congee--we'd only had disappointing experiences in the past.  But there was something about the purity and the simplicity of this recipe, something about the ingenious technique behind it, that intrigued us.  Plus, we'd prepared and eaten countless Asian breakfasts of all stripes over the years, but we still didn't know a whole lot about Chinese breakfast, aside from dim sum and cold leftovers out of the takeout containers, and Bowien made a pretty good case for it:

...there's no more fundamental Chinatown breakfast dish than rice porridge.  It's total stick-to-your-ribs stuff that'll keep you full the whole day.  It's quick and cheap, and couldn't be simpler to make.

As an additional bonus, the recipe involved toasting the rice, which made it ideal for this series.  So a few weeks ago, we went to our local butcher to pick up an organic chicken, we measured some jasmine rice, we opened up our issue of Lucky Peach, and we got to work.



 fig. b & c:  preparing the bird

Rice Porridge, a.k.a. Congee

1 whole chicken, preferably with head and feet
1 celery stalk
1 carrot
2 cups white rice
8 qts water
cheesecloth
2 chopsticks

toppings of your choice (such as toasted sesame seeds, chopped cilantro, egg yolks, salmon roe, smoked eel, sea urchin, etc.)

Salt the chicken heavily inside and outside the cavity.  Make sure you rub salt under the wings.  Stuff the cavity with the carrot and celery stalk.  Refrigerate overnight. 

Bundle the chicken in a large piece of cheesecloth and tie it off.  The cheesecloth needs to be big enough that you'll be able to tie the excess cloth to the side of a stockpot in a knot. 

Toast the rice in a dry stockpot over medium heat.  Don't rinse the rice first.  Here, you want the starches on the surface of the rice to thicken the porridge.  Also, be careful not to burn the rice.  Stir constantly until it is lightly toasted and aromatic--just a few minutes.

Add the water and bring to a boil over medium heat.  Starting with cold water and boiling over medium heat (as opposed to high heat) will yield a lighter, cleaner soup.

Once the porridge boils (be patient, this will take a while), lower the chicken in and tie the cheesecloth to the handle of the pot, so the bird doesn't sit on the bottom and burn.  

 fig. d:  venting the pot

Vent the pot with a pair of chopsticks by balancing the chopsticks on opposite ends of the pot.  Point one toward you, and the other away from you, then rest the lid on the chopsticks.  (Bowien notes:  "My cooks used to burn this porridge because they thought they knew a better way to vent the pot, but this is the way grandmothers do it.  Trust me."  We note:  this method works perfectly.  It both vents the pot and catches the condensation.  The result is an ideal cooking temperature and maximum flavour.) 

Cook at medium heat for 45 minutes to an hour.  The rice should be very soft but not completely exploded into mush.  Pull the chicken out and shock it in ice water.  Once it's cooled, you can slide it and use it as a garnish or any other application that calls for a nicely poached chicken.  Because that's exactly what you get:  a nicely poached chicken with hints of rice flavour. 

Season with fish sauce and salt.  Bowien suggests:  "Garnish with chopped cilantro, sesame seeds, an egg yolk, and your choice of toppings--smoked eel, ikura, uni, whatever." 

 fig. e:  Danny Bowien's rice porridge

Bowien claims that this recipe produces "4-6 servings," but, in fact, it makes enough for at least 12.

 fig. f:  we heart leeks

We followed his advice to a point, but instead of going the seafood route, we went the pork and vegetables route.  Specifically, I made some sweet & sour Chinese-style ribs, and Michelle sautéed some leeks, as well as some baby bok choy.  Why?  Well, we were pretty sure it would taste great.  Plus, there must have been something about Bowien's description of rice porridge as "total stick-to-your-ribs stuff" that struck a chord.  And, finally, we had a feeling that sweet & sour caramel would be a pretty nice thing to drizzle over the congee as a finishing touch.  We were right.

The result is the very definition of comfort food, as delicate, satisfying, and warming a variation on chicken soup as you're likely to find.  The texture is somewhere between risotto and cream of wheat, if that makes any sense.  It may be "total stick-to-your-ribs stuff," but it's definitely not stodgy.  And it's also another great way to increase your grain power.

aj

Qing wha'? Qing Hua! 2nd rev. ed.

fig. a: the remains of the soup

"Soupes raviolis."

Yes, that's what the window reads: soupes raviolis. We'd seen the sign before, but didn't realize soupes raviolis = dumpling heaven.

Qing Hua is a tiny little shopfront establishment that sits in the basement of a building at the corner of St-Marc and Tupper. There's seating for maybe 20. The menu consists entirely of three options: dumplings, salads, and soups. The dumplings make up about 90% of the menu and are the star attraction. To emphasize this point a bilingual placard on the wall explains in just a few short words the long and glorious history of the Chinese dumpling.

fig. b: 1400 years' history

Dumpling options are broken down into three categories: vegetarian/seafood, seafood/seafood with meat, and pork/beef/lamb. Orders range in price from $6.49 to $13.99 and contain about 18-20 dumplings (we didn't bother counting because, frankly, we just couldn't wait to dig in). We'd been told that an order of the beef noodle soup with fresh, hand-pulled noodles was a must, but apparently the folks at Qing Hua won't be offering the beef noodle soup for about a month, because the chef suffered a noodle-related injury (we didn't ask too many questions). So we went with the wonton soup instead, and it was a stunner. You see, it's all about the dumplings, and at Qing Hua every single dumpling is made to order. When our orders of freshly steamed pork & cabbage and pork & shrimp dumplings arrived we nearly cried. Our favorites were the shrimp & pork dumplings--each of them contained a whole shrimp, and they were a little brothier than their siblings. We recommend having them with the Chinkiang vinegar and a few droplets of the chili oil from the fixin's bar.

fig. c: the menu

Afterwards, we noticed a FOR RENT sign in a window just down the street. It was only a 3 1/2--probably a little tight for the two of us plus our two beloved cats--but we looked at one another and said the exact same thing: "We could get take-out! All the time!"

Qing Hua Dumpling, 1240 St-Marc, (438) 288-5366

Note: Qing Hua has moved. They're now at 1676 Lincoln Ave. (near Guy). The phone # remains the same. So does the quality. They're just as good as ever.

One-Two Punch

fig. a: one

fig. b: two

This has got to be one of the world's great combination punches: Sichuan chiles + Sichuan pepper. The first blow packing considerable amounts of heat, the second providing an odd numbing effect that allows one to somehow consume all that firepower. It's certainly one of our favorites, and last week when the two of us found ourselves feeling a bit under the weather, we knew that that lethal Sichuan kick was just what we needed. We also knew we wanted something brothy, something like Water-Boiled Beef, so we turned to our good friend Fuchsia Dunlop to see what she had to say.

If you're still unfamiliar with Dunlop's 2001 instant-classic Land of Plenty: Authentic Sichuan Recipes Personally Gathered in the Chinese Province of Sichuan (as we were until just a few months ago), and you love the searing heat and sophistication of real Sichuanese cuisine, you're in for a treat. Land of Plenty is a remarkably comprehensive cookbook that's honest, and forthright, and full of heart. Its opening section begins with a passionate and insightful introduction (our favorite part: the section on "Diffferent Food Traditions" that discusses homestyle cooking, street food, and banquet cooking [!]), continues with detailed and fascinating overviews on "basic cutting skills," "cooking methods," "equipment," and stocking "the Sichuanese pantry," and, really, the book never lets up. Seriously, just when you think Dunlop can't possibly have anything more to add, she drops in appendices on "the 23 flavors of Sichuan" (e.g. #4: hot and numbing flavor) and "the 56 cooking methods of Sichuan" (e.g. #6: bao: "explode frying").

With Dunlop as our guide, we'd been traveling through Land of Plenty for a number of months, but we'd yet to make her Water-boiled Beef, which she actually gives another name. If you've never experienced the full power of this benign-sounding dish, Dunlop's introduction sets the scene:

Sichuanese people joke that outsiders, wary of the fiery local flavors, order this dish in restaurants in the hope of eating something mild and soothing... In fact, it's sensationally hot... It's not for the faint-hearted, but if you have a taste for spicy food, it's fabulous, and perfect for a cold winter's day when you need firing up with energy and warmth. As they say in Sichuan, it'll make you pour with sweat, even on the coldest days of the year.

As a result, though Dunlop notes that the dish's name (shui zhu niu rou) simply means "beef boiled in water," she calls her version Boiled Beef Slices in a Fiery Sauce.*

Sound like fun? It is. You see, as if that Sichuan chile-Sichuan pepper one-two punch weren't enough, Water-boiled Beef's combo actually contains one last furnace blast: what Dunlop calls "lashings" of chili bean paste, a pungent, powerful chile and fava bean concoction.

fig. c: three

Don't settle for imitations. Look for the real thing. This brand's the best we've found here in Montreal.

fig. d: Imperial Sichuan pepper

Also, if you haven't tried Philippe de Vienne's "Imperial" Sichuan pepper, we highly recommend that too. No other Sichuan pepper we've encountered is as potent or as floral.

And just how does one go about making Water-boiled beef? We're glad you asked.

Water-boiled Beef

1 head of celery (about 1 lb), fibrous outer edges removed, chopped into 2" x 1/2" sticks
4 scallions, gently crushed and chopped into matching 2" x 1/2" sticks
a small handful of Sichuan chiles (roughly 8-10), snipped in half, seeds removed
1 lb lean beef (flank steak, for instance), sliced against the grain into 1" x 2" strips
salt
1 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine or medium-dry sherry
1/3 cup peanut oil
2 tsp Sichuan pepper
3 tbsp chili bean paste
3 cups chicken stock, preferably homemade
2 tsp dark soy sauce
6 tbsp cornstarch mixed with 6 tbsp cold water

Add 1/4 teaspoon of salt and the Shaoxing rice wine to the beef strips, mix well, and allow to marinate while you prepare the other ingredients.

Heat 3 tablespoons of oil in a wok until hot but not yet smoking. Add the chiles and the Sichuan pepper and stir-fry until fragrant and the chiles are just beginning to brown (taking care not to burn them, however). Immediately slide the spices into a bowl, leaving the oil in the wok. When they have cooled down a bit, transfer the spices to a cutting board and, using a cleaver, chop them finely, then set them aside.

Return the oily wok to the stove and heat over a high flame. When it begins to smoke, add the vegetables and stir-fry for a minute or two, adding 1/4-1/2 teaspoon salt to taste, until they are hot and just-cooked but still crunchy. Transfer the vegetables to the serving bowl.

Heat another 3 tablespoons of oil in the wok over a high flame, until just beginning to smoke. Turn the heat down to medium, add in the chili bean paste, and stir-fry for about 30 seconds, until the oil is red and fragrant. Add the stock and the dark soy sauce, season to taste with salt, and return to a boil over a high flame. Add the cornstarch mixture to the beef and stir well in one direction to coat all the pieces. When the sauce is boiling vigorously, carefully drop in the beef slices. Wait for the sauce to return to a boil and then use a pair of chopsticks to gently separate the slices. Simmer for a minute or so, until the beef is just cooked, and then spoon it onto the waiting vegetables. Pour the sauce over top.

Swiftly rinse out the wok and dry it well. Heat another 3-4 tablespoons of oil in the wok until smoking. Sprinkle the chopped chiles and the Sichuan pepper over the beef dish and then pour over the smoking oil, which should sizzle dramatically. If you move quickly, the dish should still be hissing and sizzling when you bring it to the table.

Serves two as a main dish, four with rice and two or three side dishes.

Did it work? You bet. That Water-boiled Beef was a knockout.

aj

* See? What did I tell you? Honest and forthright.

New York, New York 3: The Great N.Y. Noodle Wars

One reason we could afford to be cavalier about our bbq bust at the Big Apple Barbecue Block Party was because by that time we were already in the midst of the survey (an ever so brief one, given we were only in New York for 2 1/2 days) we'd decided would be the focus of our trip: noodle shops. Noodle shops? Well, Michelle had had an almost monomaniacal fixation on New York's noodle shops and on Momofuku in particular for several months before we made it down. She'd been following the press on Momofuku and its delirious take on Asian street and counter food closely, but things reached critical mass when Momofuku chef David Chang's girlfriend paid a visit to Les Chèvres a few weeks ago. Michelle got to talking her up, she got herself even more revved up about Momofuku than she'd been up to that point (I wasn't sure that was possible), and when she came back from her shift that night she just looked me dead in the eyes and said, "Pack your bags." So, we went to New York knowing we were going to be paying Momofuku a visit, but when we arrived we hadn't yet settled on a theme for our visit. Which tour was it going to be? In search of real Italian-American pizza? The Latino explosión? Kosher Cuban-Chinese, the untold story? We looked into the pizza option quite seriously: we solicited opinions, gauged preferences, and took notes. Based on our research, we decided that no pizza survey would be complete without a trip to the legendary DiFara in Brooklyn, where every pie is made with care by the proprietor, Dom, and the artichoke pizza involves gently sauteeing the artichoke for a full 30 minutes before topping the pizza with it. The thing is, we'd heard that DiFara had been closed unexpectedly a couple of times in recent months for reasons having to do with health. Dom's getting up there in age, we were told, and seeing as he's the only one who handles the pies at DiFara, they haven't always been able to open up on schedule recently. We called DiFara repeatedly over the course of a couple of days but never managed to get through. After everything we'd heard and read about the place, the thought of carrying out a pizza survey without going to DiFara and having some of that artichoke pie seemed anti-climactic, to say the least, so we started to consider alternatives. And seeing as we were already had our sights set on Momofuku and, god knows, we're starved for quality noodles shops of any and all stripes here in Montreal (Michelle tried to impress this upon Mr. Chang's girlfriend: we need quality Asian counter food here now), we just shifted gears a bit and started to think "noodles." Suddenly the geography of our research changed quite drastically; now, all of a sudden, instead of having a quest that might very well have taken us from South Brooklyn, to Lower Manhattan, to Harlem, we were very much concentrated on the East Village and Chinatown and that suited us just fine.

fig. a: just some of the mysteries of Chinatown

Now, among all the other things that are radically different about New York's food culture as compared to that of a city like Montreal, one of the most striking is just how politicized it is. People have their opinions here in Montreal, sure, but they're rarely all that vehement about them. They're divided over things like where to find the best bagels, the best smoked meat, the best steak, and maybe the best Portuguese, Greek, or Indian, but it's rare that you feel like you've touched a nerve with someone when you bring up such matters. In fact, we find ourselves constantly trying to provoke these kinds of heated discussions, but unfortunately no one ever takes the bait. Go to New York, however, talk to the right people, and you find that nearly every food issue is highly divisive, splintering people into myriad competing camps. For a city of its size, Montreal's culinary side is impressive, but New York has so much more to offer and so many more people who take these things seriously, and the stakes are so much higher. I guess it should come as no surprise that culture wars are waged each and every day there over the subject of food. Bring up the topic of noodle shops with any New Yorker who happens to take their dining seriously and you might very well end up in a firestorm.

Ultimately we settled on four noodle shops, two Chinese and two Japanese (definitely not tons for a survey, but not bad considering we hit three of them over a 15-hour span). We lapped up the BBQ dishes at N.Y. Noodle Town, like the BBQ duck and the spare ribs, and the dumplings at Wonton Garden (like these lovely shrimp dumplings)

fig. b: shrimp dumplings at New Wonton Garden

always blow our minds, but it was the Japanese noodle dishes we were craving the most because Montreal is a veritable desert in the Japanese noodle department and neither of us has quite been the same since we left Vancouver behind, where we'd eaten ramen, udon, gyoza, and other Japanese noodle bar classics regularly.

Japanese noodle stop #1 was Rai Rai Ken and when we got there I thought I was dreaming. It'd be hard to imagine a more perfectly classic Japanese noodle bar. I mean, just look at that entrance.

fig. c: Rai Rai Ken from 10th St.

We started with an order of pan-fried gyoza stuffed with pork and shrimp and a bowl of edamame to nibble on, then made up our minds about our ramen selections. There were four of us out together, so between the lot of us we were able to try every variation of ramen available from their small menu. We ended up ordering two shoyu ramens, one shio, and one miso. All three varieties came with braised bamboo shoots, hard-boiled egg, one of those distinctive pink fish cakes, a healthy slice of pork, spinach, a sheet of seaweed, and diced scallions.

fig. d: perfection incarnate, or shio ramen at Rai Rai Ken

Each of the three broths was delicious, but my favorite was the one I selected, the shio, or seafood broth, which had that perfect combination of flavor and subtlety. The miso broth was one of the boldest, most interesting miso broths I've ever encountered, but I found it a bit too rich for my liking. The shoyu broth was good, but perhaps on bit too strong on the shoyu. All in all, though, these were top-notch ramen soups at very affordable prices, and I can't say enough about the atmosphere. If I lived in New York, I'd be a regular.

fig. e: decor, Rai Rai Ken

The next day, just before hopping on the FDR and making our way off the $24 island, we stopped back in the East Village to take lunch at Momofuku. Truth be told, this was the second time Michelle had gone that weekend: she'd popped in for a snack the day before and had an order of steamed pork buns. The steamed pork bun had been such a smash hit that she insisted that we order them again--ostensibly, so that I could have the pleasure of trying them, but actually so that she might have her third steamed pork bun in two days. Like a good number of the other offerings at Momofuku, the steamed pork buns come stuffed with the restaurant's signature braised Iowa Berkshire pork.

fig. f: steamed pork bun, Momofuku

You can see it there stuffed within a steamed bun, garnished with cucumber and dressed with a teriyaki-like sauce, and the rumors are true: it's some of the most succulent tasting pork you're likely to find. I still love the purity and unity of a good Chinese pork bun--the inspiration behind this version--but Momofuku's was outstanding, if unconventional, and the cucumber was a surprisingly refreshing addition.

We then proceeded to the main dishes and Michelle ordered the house special Momofuku Ramen, complete with a "Berkshire pork combo." Many of Momofuku's specialties are based on the notion of taking some kind of classic dish--a steamed pork bun, say--and staying true to its basic architecture, while making some key substitutions. Their ramen is no exception. Staples like the braised bamboo shoots, seaweed, fish cake, and diced scallions are all there, but peas appear in place of a green like spinach, the egg is poached instead of boiled, Chang replaces the standard cut of pork typical of the Japanese ramen with two different types of his Berkshire pork--his braised pork and a few generous slices of fatty, ultra-flavorful pork belly--and the only broth available is his unexpectedly subtle house pork broth. As tasty as the pork belly was, it had the effect of turning the Momofuku Ramen into an event, and Michelle confessed that the next time she'd opt for the more subdued "ramen with shredded Berkshire pork" (which, at $10, is also $4 less than the Momofuku Ramen).

The true revelation of our luncheon, however, was my Ssäm. I have to confess, at the time that I ordered it, I really had little idea what exactly I was ordering. The ingredients--"Berkshire pork, rice, edamame, onions, pickled shiitake, kimchi"--all sounded great to me, but I was expecting some kind of a fried rice dish, or possibly even a rice-based soup. Then, as we ate our appetizers and took in the scene, we started to notice the cooks assembling an intriguing-looking dish that we couldn't quite place. We studied one cook closely for a minute or two and when we were done we turned to each other and said, "That's gotta be the Ssäm." You see, what Chang has done here is that he's taken a Korean street food classic, bo-ssam--one variation on which involves marinated and grilled pork, a spicy condiment made of soy, garlic, and chili paste, and a pile of lettuce leaves--and teased out some of the similarities it bears to Mexican-American street food, transforming it into a sort of Korean-American burrito, if you can imagine that.

fig g: ssäm, Momofuku

Edamame replace the pinto or black beans, kimchi replaces the salsa, and the tortilla is replaced, ever so cleverly, by a mu shu crêpe, but otherwise the dish is assembled in the way a San Francisco-style burrito would be, right down to the foil wrapper. I'm not one to fall for novelties generally, but when something's this outrageous and, more importantly, this delicious, it's hard to argue. News that Chang is planning on starting up a neighboring counter restaurant in the coming months that will showcase the Ssäm the way Momofuku showcases ramen soups comes as no surprise (even if I still can't figure out what that umlauten is there for).

fig. h: decor, Momofuku

The subject of Momofuku--its food, its rock-n-roll attitude, its decor, etc.--elicits by far and away the strongest reactions from New York's culinary cognoscenti, ranging from positive (hip, tasty) to negative (overhyped, arriviste). We'd heard all the arguments and counter-arguments (no pun intended) by the time we sat down to eat. All I can say is that jumping into the fray has rarely been this pleasurable.

My only regrets of the weekend ("You mean, aside from having missed out on barbecue at the Block Party and never having made it to DiFara for that artichoke pie?")? Not ordering Momofuku's Roasted Long Island Razor Clams with "Kurowycky sausage" (recalling the East Village's Eastern European past) and ginger scallion sauce, and, even more importantly, not finding the time for Minca, yet another popular East Village noodle haunt. Next time.

N.Y. Noodle Town, 28 Bowery St., (212) 349-0923
New Wonton Garden, 56 Mott St., (212) 966-4886
Rai Rai Ken, 214 E. 10th St., (212) 477-7030
Momofuku, 163 1st Ave, (212) 475-7899

aj

A Trip to Niu Kee

L-R: Niu Kee as seen from St. Laurent; Pan-Fried Shrimp, Kung Pao Chicken, and Pea Shoots with Garlic
Originally uploaded by ajkinik.

Last night we celebrated our friend Benoit’s birthday by going out to his favorite restaurant: Niu Kee (1027 St. Laurent Blvd.). We got tipped off to this place by our friend Warren about a year ago. He and his friend Raf discovered it after they moved into an apartment just a couple of blocks away from Chinatown. Niu Kee has been a bit of an obsession ever since Michelle made her first visit. She’s been introducing all kinds of people to the mysteries of Niu Kee, and Benoit has definitely been the most ecstatic of her initiates. Michelle and Benoit went there very regularly while I was away in Germany. By the time I returned to Montreal Niu Kee was already legendary.
“Niu Kee makes you crazy,” as Michelle is fond of repeating. The atmosphere has something to do with it. The combination of the restaurant’s simple, no-frills décor, the Chinese melodramas that play on the large-screen television, and the presence of the maitresse d’hotel, a former Chinese opera singer, gives the restaurant a certain magic. But the true magic comes from their kitchen’s use of spice—you see, Niu Kee specializes in hot and spicy Beijing-style cuisine. Order their Hot and Sour Soup, their Kung Pao Chicken, their Pan-Fried Shrimp, their Spicy Eggplant, or anyone of a number of other favorites, and the peppers—especially Szechuan pepper, with its nearly narcotic properties—come fast and furious. Niu Kee is definitely not one of those restaurants that tones down its recipes to appease middle-of-the-road palates—the effects of this symphony of fire are powerful, to say the least—we’re left both cleansed and dazed every time.
Anyway, Niu Kee was where we started the evening and the four of us—Benoit, Michelle, “Mike,” and I—polished off an absurd assortment of Niu Kee’s delicacies. Something about Niu Kee gives you almost superhuman abilities to eat and eat. I started things off with a (not so) small Hot and Sour Soup, while the others split a large Beef Soup with Homemade Noodles. We then lucked out and had some of their Pork with Green Vegetables Dumplings—they’re Michelle’s favorite dumplings, but she’s only ever been able to have them one other time: they’re always sold out. Our mains and sides consisted of Kung Pao Chicken (the best any of us has ever had), Pan-Fried Shrimp, Spicy Eggplant, and Pea Shoots with Garlic. We thought we’d be bringing leftovers home with us, but, NO, somehow, once again, we managed to finish every last bit. It wasn’t even a struggle. “Niu Kee makes you crazy,” indeed.
We trudged back out into the snow in a state of bliss, got into Benoit’s car, and made our way back up north towards Benoit’s birthday party.

aj