Braised Spare Ribs with Pasta

It's great to be back to No Free Lunch! I'll mainly blame my absence on a particularly busy time at work, plus caring for a baby at home. The other reason is that we've had to go dairy and soy free, at least for the time being. This threw a huge wrench in the works for my cooking, as long time readers will know my love for both cheese and various fermented soy bean products. This has left me in a bit of a rut, cooking-wise, and a lot of our old standbys have gone out the window. Recently, I've developed this dairy and soy free braised spare ribs recipe. It's loosely inspired by Mark Bittman's simple braised ribs recipes featured his book, Mark Bittman's Kitchen Matrix. This is where I got the idea to have ribs with pasta. It's a winning combination, and I don't miss the dairy too much here.

Adding some umami-rich ingredients to braises is an idea that's been floating around the internet for a while (Kenji was an early proponent on Serious Eats). Soy sauce and parmesan rinds are usually my go-to choices, exemplified by my chicken and mushroom pasta from a few years ago. Although soy sauce isn't in that recipe, I have subsequently included some mushroom-flavored dark soy sauce. Since we've had to give up both soy and dairy, I've turned to tomato paste and anchovies for this recipe. I also love some acidity in this type of dish, and include the usual splash of vinegar. If you don't have to omit dairy, I couldn't fault adding some grated parmesan at the table, but we did not do that, of course.

The other benefit of braised ribs is that they are an ideal food for a baby! We have been introducing Shayna to food using baby-led weaning, where we let her explore food on her own rather than feeding her purees. Early on, babies need food with a long shape to grab onto, and ribs provide this with a built-in handle. She's taken to them like a star!

Pork Congee (粥)

Congee, known as zhou in Mandarin and juk in Cantonese, is a rice porridge popular in many parts of Asia. I recall my grandparents making it from time to time, but my memory for what theirs was like has faded over the years. Until today, I had never attempted to make it, but the cold weather inspired me to give it a go. My research turned up a lot of variation in how it's made, particularly in the rice-to-liquid ratio and the length of cooking time. I'm going for the Cantonese version, which seems to feature one of the lowest (1 to 20) ratios. Over the cooking time, the rice breaks down and thickens the broth. As first attempts go, I think the congee turned out very well, though I have some tweaks in mind going forward and plan to document those.

My recipe here is based on a combination of the basic juk from ArChan Chan's Hong Kong Local cookbook and the pork congee from Chinese Cooking Demystified. I also consulted a few other sources on the internet. As mentioned above, the 20-to-1 ratio appears to be the standard for Cantonese-style juk, which comes to 1/2 cup rice to 10 cups liquid. I think next time I will increase the rice a bit to get a heartier result. Some recipes out there go as low as 7 to 1. The key to achieving the proper texture in the porridge is by breaking down the rice. Traditionally, this is done with a very long cooking time, but some modern recipes (including Chan's) start by freezing the rice overnight to speed that up. Freezing is known to break down fibers in food. Normally, this is a bad thing, which is why people typically advise not thawing and refreezing meat, but here it works to our advantage.

Congee can start with plain water but often uses stock. Here, I made a simple pork stock from a shoulder bone I had in the freezer. When I break down a shoulder for char siu and other things, I save the bone with a good amount of meat left on it. The meat gets super tender and we sometimes just eat them with a little soy sauce and scallions (known as "pork snacks" in our house). It's natural to toss them in the congee. I made the stock the day before and kept it in the fridge. The rest of the seasoning is simple and can be adjusted to taste - salt, white pepper, ginger, scallion, and MSG (if you want). Congee is a bit of a blank slate and there are many possible add-ins and sides. Century eggs are a popular option. I didn't have them on hand, but will be on the lookout.

Upgrade: Fish-Fragrant Eggplant (魚香茄子)

I first wrote about fish-fragrant eggplant (yuxiang qiezi) back in 2017. That post was already the product of quite a bit of experimentation. In the years since, the dish has remained a family favorite and we've had it many times both at home and from restaurants. In that time, I have continued to tweak the recipe. The basic structure of this new version is consistent with my previous one, but subtle changes can bring great improvements. A great lesson from the upgrades series has been that recipes aren't settled things. Make the food that you like, which is not necessarily what someone else wrote down.

The dish continues to be built around 1 1/2 lb. of Chinese eggplants. Traditionally, the eggplant is deep fried, and that's how you would get it at a Sichuanese restaurant. Eggplants absorb a lot of oil, so they have to be pressed to expel it before continuing on. Getting a pot of hot oil ready is a hassle for what amounts to a single step in the recipe, so I previously got by with stir frying the eggplant. This also takes a long time and doesn't quite achieve the right effect. Instead, I now "air fry" the eggplants to brown them and drive off moisture. This can be done unattended while you prepare the rest of the ingredients. I also do the same for dry-cooked string beans. 

The other big change is in the sauce. In my old version, it's simply too salty, so I cut the soy sauce in half. Instead, I lean into the sweet-and-sour aspect of the dish and bring up both the vinegar and sugar. The result is a more nuanced flavor which is no longer dominated by the soy sauce. I now like to add some ground meat to the dish, a familiar flavoring method seen in other Sichuan dishes like mapo doufu and the aforementioned string beans. Traditionally, only a small amount is used (1/4 lb. would probably be about right), but I like to bulk it up a bit to make this the main event in a dinner for two. In a meal for more people, I would make a separate meat dish. To make this vegetarian, the pork can certainly be omitted and the stock replaced with mushroom broth. As with my other versions of Sichuanese dishes, I split the spicy doubanjiang with Koon Chun bean sauce to take the heat down - feel free to adjust to taste. 

Upgrade: Pork Fried Rice

It's hard to believe I posted my very first recipe on this blog ten years ago today. That makes me feel pretty old. At the time, I was one semester into graduate school, living by myself, and figuring out cooking as I went along. I look at some of those early recipes and laugh about how wordy they were despite the simplicity of the dishes. I thought the best way to celebrate this anniversary would be to "upgrade" that first post. A lot has changed since then, but plenty has stayed the same: look carefully and you'll see both the original wok and spatula still in service. After all these years, fried rice remains a staple weeknight dinner and I'm still as much of a fan as I was then. 

Fundamentally, I stand by the original recipe even though I probably never made it like that again. It was quite gratifying to learn (many years ago) that my future in-laws started making fried rice after reading that post. Instead of making the pork, they would get pork from a Chinese takeout to put in it. Although it amuses me to this day, I don't exactly disagree with the approach. To tell the truth, I rarely cook meat specifically for fried rice. Usually, I use a few pieces of lap cheong sausages or char siu from the freezer. So, let's consider this one a special occasion fried rice, fit for a ten-year blog anniversary. I switched from pork loin to the ever-versatile pork shoulder and applied the same marinade from my more recent beef chow fun recipe. These days, I rarely stir fry meat without a marinade.

In recent years, I always include some kind of vegetable in fried rice. Napa is my most commonly used choice, but I happened to have some Shanghai bok choy on hand this time. Another change from the 2012 recipe is how I cook the eggs, a technique I learned from a Kenji video. You can save a little time by pushing the rice over and cooking the eggs in the other half of the pan. I continue to serve with Worcestershire sauce, but also enjoy some Lao Gan Ma chili crisp to spice things up.

Upgrade: Mapo Doufu (麻婆豆腐)

I first made mapo doufu seven years ago, the first of my many adaptations from Peimei's Chinese Cook Book. Although I love the dish, Ariel did not, and stopped making it for years. Recently, I've reexamined the recipe and come to the conclusion that it needed an upgrade. My new version offers plenty of savory sauce, a well-balanced spice level, and delicious silken tofu, while not being overly oily. I'm pleased to say this one won her over. It helped to leave the mouth-numbing Sichuan pepper on the side and allow individuals to sprinkle it on their own portions. I enjoy it, but not everyone is a fan!

The tofu is the centerpiece of the dish. Peimei recommended deep frying the tofu before adding to the sauce. Not only do I find this completely unnecessary, I think it's wrong. No mapo doufu I've ever had involves that. In my old version, I stir fried it, but I don't do that now. The tofu can remain soft and simply warm up in the sauce. Since I'm not frying it, a firm tofu is also not needed. Instead, I recommend soft silken tofu. It will break up a bit, but that's fine. Silken tofu usually comes in a carton instead of a plastic tub and can typically be found at Asian markets.

Another major change here was increasing the amount of sauce. I like lots of sauce to serve over rice. To balance the spice level, I mix the Sichuan-style hot bean paste (doubanjiang) with Koon Chun bean sauce. This is not traditional, but keeps it balanced. If you like it spicier, feel free to shift the balance towards more doubanjiang. I used the chunky version of the Koon Chun sauce, rather than the ground one. The final major upgrade is the stock. I used my homemade pork stock, made by simmering two pork shoulder blades with ginger and scallion for a few hours. The stock is unsalted; using a salted stock could result in the sauce getting too salty.

Pork Shoulder Stew

Braising is one of the best ways to get great value out of inexpensive cuts of meat. Beef chuck and chicken leg quarters are great for this, but my favorite is the ever-versatile pork shoulder. I've gone a few different directions with this over the years, from a Mexican-style pulled pork to the Chinese hongshao style. This time, braised the pork in the classic French way, with a mirepoix base, white wine, mustard, and herbs. It's the kind of thing I imagine might be eaten in the French countryside, but given I haven't actually been there, I'm probably just blowing smoke. "Authentic" or not, this dish was very easy to put together, has phenomenal flavor, and is made completely from basic, staple ingredients.

I broke down the pork shoulder (a Boston butt from Sam's Club) in my usual way, ending up with a bit of fat saved, four pounds of strips for char siu, and the two pounds of pork chunks and bone for this recipe. I usually save the bones to make pork stock, but since I just made some a few days ago, I decided to throw the bone into the stew. The bone typically has some extra meat on it, which I never let go to waste. This also helps to infuse the braising liquid with even more flavor.

The recipe itself is pretty loose, and I'm confident there are many variations that would work. I had a very large onion (about a pound) and carrots and celery adding up to about 10 ounces, but use what's available. From this base recipe, one could easily add some smoked meats, like bacon or sausage. More vegetables, such as tomato or cabbage, would be interesting additions. I always like some kind of starch with a stew. We had mashed potatoes, but crusty bread, egg noodles, rice, or just boiled potatoes would all do nicely. Whatever the choices, a hearty stew like this is a perfect dinner for a chilly February. 

Meatloaf

Community and church cookbooks are remarkable historical artifacts to those interested in the evolution of food and the preservation of our culinary heritage. As far as No Free Lunch is concerned, such books were instrumental in recreating party salad and klub. My grandmother, Irene Storey, was a pillar of her Twin Cities church and contributed numerous recipes to their cookbook. One of these was meatloaf. While it's not a dish I particularly remember her making, we had meatloaf somewhat regularly when I was a kid, and it was also in regular rotation at the business school cafeteria at Carnegie Mellon. It's safe to say it's a comfort food for many people all over the United States.

As a true American classic, there is tremendous variation in meatloaf recipes. For my version, I wanted to stay true to the structure of the fairly basic church version while incorporating ideas from more modern recipes. I consulted my usual group of online sources, including Kenji, Alton Brown, Adam Ragusea, and Elise Bauer. Typical meatloaf recipes do have a lot in common: about 2 pounds of meat, some kind of vegetables, and texture modifiers including eggs, breadcrumbs, and milk. Ketchup-based toppings are also a frequent addition. The unique features of this recipe, retained from the church cookbook, are the Worcestershire sauce and an additional egg not present in most I've seen. The main change I made is adding more vegetables and cooking them before folding into the meat. The classic meat blend consists of beef, pork, and veal, similar to a traditional meatball. As veal is hard to find these days, I did a 50/50 blend of beef and pork, which is also what I use for hotdish. There's a lot of room for experimentation with different meat blends. 

The cooking method also varies quite a bit from recipe to recipe. Adam Ragusea hand-forms the loaf. Elise Bauer bakes it in a loaf pan. Alton Brown uses the loaf pan to form the meatloaf, but flips it out for cooking. Kenji cooks it in the loaf pan for a while, then flips it out to finish. As the church cookbook is silent on this issue, I went with Alton's method. This allows us to get a nicely formed loaf while also maximizing surface area on which to spread the ketchup topping. I used a 9x5 inch silicone loaf pan (I think we got it at Aldi), and the meatloaf came out easily. A slightly smaller pan would also work fine, yielding a taller loaf. 

Since I had 4 pounds of meat, I made two meatloaves. I froze most of it after slicing, in preparation for busier times once classes start. The recipe given here is for one loaf, but the pictures show the doubled recipe. I made one with bacon on top and one without. The bacon adds some smokiness, but is definitely not necessary and makes the loaf a little tricky to cut. The end result of both was a tender, juicy meatloaf full of flavor. The only thing I would do differently is to put on more of the ketchup topping. There's also plenty of room for experimentation with different seasonings beyond this classic version. Mashed potatoes make a perfect accompaniment, which can be easily done on the stove while the meatloaf is in the oven. 

Sichuan-Style Braised Spare Ribs (紅燒排骨)

This recipe is based on one I meant to post back in May, but I wasn't quite satisfied with how it turned out. The original was my version of Pei Mei's Sichuan-style beef stew. It is a dish in the hongshao (red cooked) style of braised meat, similar to Chairman Mao's pork belly. This time, though, I decided to adapt it to spare ribs, which I had in the freezer. The result was thoroughly enjoyable. Although I still prefer the pork belly version, this is a nice change of pace. The ribs fall right off the bone and the sauce pairs well with rice. While I'm not sure this would be considered an "authentic" Sichuan-style recipe, I do think I've respected the style, and it turned out well.

The main difference in terms of seasoning between this and Chairman Mao's pork belly is that it swaps out the sugar for doubanjiang, the hot bean paste which is a cornerstone of Sichuan flavor. Using just two tablespoons gives the sauce a background heat, but doesn't take over. It is, however, very salty. This makes it effectively immortal in the refrigerator, but can be overpowering. While the rice does balance this out, I might compensate by cutting the soy sauce back a bit next time. Other than the garlic, everything else here has appeared in my previous hongshao recipes. The pork stock I used is the same as in the Chairman's pork. If you like Sichuan peppercorns, they can also be added. With how big the flavors are in this dish, it works well with a simple green vegetable as a side. We had stir-fried snap peas.

Breaded Tenderloin Sandwich

Indiana was my home from 2011 to 2018, a period of time which not only birthed my career in academia, but also this blog and my interest in writing about food. Indiana is surrounded by places with famous local specialties, including Cincinnati (chili), Louisville (hot brown, mint julep), and Chicago (pizza, hot dogs, Italian beef, and more). Although it's not as well known in other parts of the country, most Hoosiers would probably tell you the breaded tenderloin sandwich is their state's most iconic food. Versions of this sandwich can be found at restaurants all across the state. There are subtle variations in how they are made, but if the pork cutlet doesn't hang well outside the bun, it's not a tenderloin. I've seen some as big as a few inches on each side. My personal favorite tenderloin was from our local spot in West Lafayette, Dog N Suds, located just around the corner from our old house. A side of cheese curds and root beer in a frosty mug completes the experience. 

The tenderloin has a lot in common with cutlet dishes from around the world, which regular readers know I love. The breading process uses the classic flour-egg-breadcrumb combination, but the breading is usually coarser and more heterogeneous than a Wiener schnitzel. I used crushed saltine crackers to achieve this, and I think it worked very well. Most diners cook the cutlets in a commercial deep fryer, but for the home version, shallow frying in a skillet gets the job done. The pork is meant to be the star of the show, and the supporting players are up to personal preference. The bun is a usually a basic hamburger bun. The classic toppings are ketchup, mustard, and pickles, but feel free to add others. We put in some lettuce and Kewpie mayonnaise. I had some cucumbers that were on their way out, so I made my own pickles loosely based on Kenji's recipe. 

This is a pretty simple recipe, but one that transports me back, much like the Duane Purvis All-American. Tenderloins do show up in Iowa, as well. The only place I've seen them in South Dakota (so far) is Tastee Treet in Yankton, which serves it with a piece of cheese. While that would never be done in Indiana, it's an interesting variation. It reminds me a bit of how Germans like to sauce their schnitzels, to the horror of Austrians, who only garnish theirs with a lemon slice. When it comes to such debates, if it tastes good to you, you did it right.

Chairman Mao's Red-Cooked Pork Belly (毛氏紅燒肉)

Red-cooked pork belly is popular in many parts of China, with each region having its own version. I first mentioned this dish in this year's birthday special, but I have been working on the recipe since last year. My love for red-cooked pork belly goes back further still. I still remember eating Dongpo pork belly, the local specialty, in Hangzhou back in 2009. It's become almost a must-order at Chinese restaurants. My recipe is based on the Hunanese version, which first came to our attention at the wonderful Lao Szechuan restaurant in Sioux Falls. Maoshi hongshaorou translates to "Mao family red-cooked meat," though rou by itself typically implies pork. The name refers to this supposedly being the favorite food of Chairman Mao, who was a native of Hunan. He may have been wrong about many things, but definitely not this. In my opinion, it's one of the world's most delicious foods, and as you will see, not too difficult to make.

This recipe is my own, but I used several different sources in my research. These included Peimei (volume I, in the Western China section), The Woks of Life, The Kitchn, and Asian Dumpling Tips (based on Fuschia Dunlop). My main frustration making this and other hongshao dishes is what to do with all the liquid. Many recipes claim it will reduce during cooking, even though that cooking is covered. This makes no sense. Peimei says nothing at all about it. What I did here is uncover the pan and continue cooking for another 30 minutes, then remove the pork and boil it down. I don't go as far as some, which reduce it to just a coating for the pork as I like a little to soak into the rice when serving. The extra uncovered cooking also ensures the pork gets incredibly tender, which the initial hour does not always achieve. A lot of fat renders out of pork belly during cooking, but no source I have found mentions skimming. The fat left in the sauce is what gives the pork its characteristic sheen when coated.

The Mao-style pork belly seems to differ from other hongshaorou varieties in its inclusion of spices. The seasoning profile is quite similar to my recent post on Noble Consort Chicken. I used ginger, star anise, and Chinese cinnamon. Chinese cinnamon, also known as cassia, is distinguished by thicker bark than the more common Ceylon cinnamon. The sauce is sweetened with rock sugar, which I got at a Chinese store, but it should work fine with regular white sugar. With my supply of Shaoxing wine gone, I've gone back to Amontillado (Pastora, a cheap one from Trader Joe's). It's definitely not the same, but it does work. The pork is from Costco. We usually cut it up when we get it home, and then freeze in two batches.

The last ingredient I want to mention is pork stock. I made this myself from two pork butt bones, simmered for about 5 hours with ginger and scallion. It's super meaty tasting and I'm looking forward to trying it in other dishes. I also stripped the meat off the bones and added some light soy sauce and scallions for a delicious treat Ariel called "the most unbelievable thing you've ever made." Since I had it, I threw it in here, but you can certainly just use more water. As with all my homemade stocks, I don't add salt until I actually cook with it, and this dish is a perfect example for why that is. With the amount of soy sauce I used, hongshaorou the salt level is just about right as it is. Remember, you can always add more, but you can't take it away.

Upgrade: Ragù alla Bolognese

I've previously posted two recipes in the category of meat sauces: a quick one from all the way back in 2012 and a recreation of Dad's late '70s version in 2015. This time, I'm going back to the roots of the style. Ragù alla bolognese is perhaps the most famous of all meat sauces. The dish originates in the northern Italian city of Bologna. It's a classic with a long history, so I did quite a bit of research ahead of time. The version in The Silver Spoon (Il cucchiaio d'argento - sort of Italy's answer to The Joy of Cooking) is a very traditional and simple take: just mirepoix, ground meat, tomato paste, and water. Traditional bolognese lacks any garlic or herbs and has relatively little tomato content. This is contrary to how I typically construct a quick pasta sauce. Instead, bolognese is all about showcasing the meat, which it does very well. There is so much flavor here, I didn't find myself missing those familiar standbys. 

I also consulted some more modern interpretations, including those of Kenji, Marcella Hazan (Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking), and a few others I found online. I constructed my version to respect the traditional version as much as possible, so I am keeping herbs and tomatoes to a minimum and also leaving garlic out. At the same time, I am including some of the more common ingredients that show up recipes I have found. Pancetta is a common addition, which I have switched out for the more affordable and accessible regular bacon. White wine, milk, and chicken stock provide the cooking liquid. The cheese rinds are my personal addition to give a little flavor boost during cooking. 

I conceived of this recipe very much in the context of the coronavirus pandemic. Using a full four pounds of meat, it produces a lot of sauce. I froze most of it in bags to pull out for easy meals later. In the spirit of corona cuisine, this recipe would be highly adaptable to adjustments in the specifics. For the meat, feel free to experiment with more pork or something more interesting, like lamb or bison. Traditionally, the pasta of choice is fresh tagliatelle, but that's going to have to wait for the upgrade to the upgrade. I used rigatoni, a choice Marcella Hazan calls "irreproachable." Good enough for me!

Thai Yellow Curry with Pork

Today's post is my first foray into Thai food on No Free Lunch. It's definitely not an area of expertise for me, and I've mostly enjoyed it through restaurants. Ariel is a big fan, so we frequented the excellent Siam House back in Bloomington. These days, we no longer have such easy access. I have attempted pad thai a few times, based on Leela Punyaratabandhu's fascinating, five-part manifesto on the subject. Curry is a core part of the Thai repertoire, and probably the most accessible for home cooks, and that's where I'm starting here. Yellow curry is generally the mildest of the Thai curries, although it's still quite spicy by American standards. I definitely leaned on my Chinese cooking experience making this dish. While Thai cuisine, like many in the region, is influenced by China, it's very much its own thing. Don't take me as an authority on authenticity here (or anywhere, really). I do think I know what tastes good, though, and this dish fits the bill. 

The flavor base of Thai curry comes from curry paste. Most Asian stores have a selection of packaged curry pastes. Commercial curry pastes are very spicy, and even yellow curry paste really wakes up the senses. While making it at home could potentially yield better results, curry paste contains some hard-to-find ingredients. As such, I'm using this one from Mae Ploy. I only used a small amount of what was in this tub. Most curry pastes have a basic recipe on the package, which I used to get some sense of proportions, but ended up putting in a lot more meat and vegetables for the recommended amount of sauce. This yields a much less saucy result than I have typically seen in Thai restaurants. That's fine with me, as I think those usually have way more sauce than needed, but if I did it again I would increase the sauce ratio a bit. I was constrained by only having one can of coconut milk on hand. Increasing the curry paste, coconut milk, and water by anywhere from 50% to double would work.

The recipe is pretty loose here, and having limited experience cooking Thai, I'm not going for high authenticity, just what I enjoy. The pork is based on my recent beef chow fun recipe, but I pushed it in a Thai direction with fish sauce and coconut sugar. I have found coconut sugar in both Asian stores and the supermarket. The pork turned out just as tender as the beef did. The rest of the ingredients can be whatever is on hand. Potatoes and bell peppers are some other good options. I would recommend resisting the temptation to throw everything you have into the curry. I think one meat, onion, and then up to three other items (I used carrots, bamboo shoots, and tofu) is a good rule of thumb. As with fried rice, I like the individual ingredients to still stand out. 

Pressure Cooker Pulled Pork

Pulled pork is a common sight in the Upper Midwest, where it's often prepared in a crock pot with a sweet and sour sauce and served on a hamburger bun. It's usually just called "barbecue," not to be confused with the smoked meats of other regions. The 1950s church cookbook passed down to me has a few barbecue recipes, which can include basically any meat. While I've eaten this style plenty of times, I happen to have gone a different direction with my pulled pork. My style is loosely Mexican-flavored, although it's not intended to be authentically Mexican. I started making my version a few years ago with the traditional 3-hour dutch oven method. It was a natural fit for my first Instant Pot recipe.

I've had an Instant Pot for a while, but have only recently started experimenting with my own recipes. It's the first pressure cooker I've used. The idea of sealing it up and letting it do its thing can be a little intimidating for someone who usually cooks on the fly. This is also why baking cakes is always a bit stressful for me, although I've gotten much better over time. I most commonly use the Instant Pot to make rice, which it does well. It can also shine when making stews and braised meats that usually take a few hours to cook. There is a lot written about the Instant Pot on the internet. What I often find frustrating about the recipes I find is that they aren't precise enough about the settings. High or low pressure and quick or natural release can make a huge difference. Since the Instant Pot doesn't operate by feel like regular cooking, I will be much more precise about it than my other recipes. That being said, the ingredients here are easily substituted and the ratios are variable. If you don't want to use beer, just use more chicken stock.

This recipe is closely built on my original one from 2018. The cut used is still Boston Butt. This is a great value cut of pork if you're willing to put the work into it. You can certainly roast it whole, but you can also break it down into useful parts. I start by trimming off the large amount of fat from the skin side. These can be rendered into lard or mixed into sausage or dumpling filling. Next, I slice off large strips of meat for char siu. If you like, these can then be cut up into smaller chunks for stew or kebabs. Once all the easily cut off pieces are done, I'm left with the shoulder blade and the less-accessible meat. I then cut the remaining meat off the bone, but you don't need to completely clean it off. These pieces will be much more irregular than the initial strips, so they work well for grinding. The pork I used in this post was from this trimming. The remaining shoulder blade with a little meat left on it can then be used to make soup. 

Upgrade: White Macaroni Hotdish

Hotdish is one of the iconic dishes of the Upper Midwest, particularly associated with Minnesota. Church cookbooks are full of them, and many families have their own house recipes. My family has two, both macaroni-based styles, which we refer to as "red" and "white." This also gives you a convenient wine pairing. The red kind uses tomato soup, and comes from my maternal grandmother. The white kind, which was one of my earliest posts, comes from my paternal grandparents. Although we lost all three of them in the last few years, their legacy lives on through traditions like these. Today, I'm revisiting the white hotdish to how I make it now, a better version than could muster at the tender age of 23. To this day, it is still one of my top comfort foods, and I'll be making it for years to come.

There is a lot of variation in what can go in a hotdish. In Molly on the Range, Molly Yeh gives a four-part breakdown of creamed soup, vegetables, meat, and starch. Yet, with the exception of starch (I think), all of these are negotiable. Her own tater tot hotdish eschews the soup for a homemade mix of milk and stock, while my family's red hotdish uses tomato soup. I've even winged it with just canned tomatoes. My original recipe for this hotdish had no vegetables (just mushrooms), though I now include onions. You could easily replace the meat with more mushrooms to make a vegetarian version. Starches vary greatly, and can include pasta, rice, wild rice, potatoes, or even crushed crackers. The starch component is what holds the dish together and turns a soupy mess into a hotdish. Thinking about this basic formula, shepherd's pie might be the proto-hotdish. The Jewish noodle kugel, Italian lasagna, and Greek pastitsio are certainly cousins, at the very least.

The biggest difference between this version and my original is the scale. This recipe is designed to use a full one-pound box of macaroni, which I wouldn't have done back when I lived alone. With two of us, I like making it bigger so we can have leftovers for a few days of quick lunches. Although I've scaled up the overall size, I've left the amount of meat at one pound of mixed beef and pork, which corrects the overly meaty balance. Adding onions and more mushrooms gives the whole thing a little more variation. For the topping, I use a mixture of grated Swiss and Parmesan and some breadcrumbs for a little crunch. The Swiss is just a basic supermarket block, as the subtlety of gruyère is kind of lost on this dish. That said, I still prefer real Italian Parmigiano-Reggiano for this, which will give you a little nuttiness. Cooking at a high temperature for 45 minutes leads to a soft interior and crisp crust.

Let's talk about the soup. I had actually meant to get this post out several weeks ago, but messed up the recipe by not using enough soup. This hotdish should be creamy and gooey, and the macaroni should be well-coated before baking. I found a giant 26 oz. can, which is about what you need to adequately coat the full pound of pasta here. A regular-sized can then forms the base for the topping, making for a total of 36.5 oz. of soup. I'm not sure the full can was needed at the end, but it doesn't hurt and I wasn't going to save a half can of soup. If you only have three regular cans instead, the total amount will be 31.5 oz. This leaves about a half can for the topping, which should work fine.

Steamed Pork Cake (蒸肉餅)

This Cantonese steamed pork cake might be the least photogenic food I've ever made. Despite its humble appearance, though, it's packed with flavor and easy to make. As you might have guessed, this is true home style food. I have some vague memories of my grandparents making something similar, but it was so long ago that I'm not quite sure. The basic concept is a giant pork burger that is something of a blank canvas. This recipe mixes in ham, mushrooms, and water chestnuts. The Woks of Life has done versions with preserved vegetables and salted fish. I think Chinese sausage, sauerkraut, or even shrimp would work, too. Being cooked entirely by steaming, there is no browning and this dish relies on its ingredients for flavor. We get some umami bursts from the mushrooms and a little crunch from the water chestnuts.

This recipe is adapted from the Joyce Chen Cook Book, which is a very interesting piece of culinary history. Published in 1962, it predates even Pei-Mei's books. Chen understood very well that American cooks would have difficulty finding certain ingredients, and builds substitutions into the recipes. For example, she doesn't even bother with Shaoxing wine and goes straight to the sherry substitution. If you can get good Shaoxing wine, go with that, but if not, amontillado is my preferred alternative. It's also a bit odd in that everything is measured by volume, even the pork. I've converted some of the measurements to weight where it makes sense to do so. 

The most notable ingredient here is the ham. Chen discusses this issue at length, saying that getting Chinese ham in the United States is nearly impossible. That is as true now as it was in 1962, especially in South Dakota. It might be possible to get good ham in a Chinatown somewhere, but I'm not sure. Chinese hams are dry cured, so some other similarly-produced ham is the best substitute. Chen recommends Smithfield ham, a dry cured ham from Smithfield, Virginia. The most accessible alternative might be prosciutto. I used regular supermarket ham, which didn't really add much to the dish other than some texture. As with many dishes, Chen also uses MSG here, which I didn't have. I compensated by increasing the soy sauce and mushroom a bit. 

Joyce Chen had a huge role in spreading appreciation for Chinese food in the United States. Her influence was especially felt in Boston, where she ran several restaurants and had a short-lived cooking show with WGBH. Her rebranding of potstickers as "Peking ravioli" is particularly funny to me. Her recipe for Peking ravioli is pretty standard and quite similar to mine. However, it seems that Peking ravioli evolved in Boston Chinese restaurants into their own thing. Ariel says the dumplings she grew up eating are not quite what we make at home, but couldn't quite pin down the difference. When she took her first bite of this pork cake, she exclaimed that it tasted just like Peking ravioli. Next time we find ourselves in Boston, I'll be doing some research, by which I mean eating dumplings!

Sweet and Sour Spareribs (糖醋排骨)

Sweet and sour spareribs are the first recipe I've done from the "Eastern China" section of Pei-Mei's first volume. This region includes Shanghai and the surrounding provinces of Zhejiang, Jiangsu, and Anhui. Although this is the region of China I've personally spent the most time in, I didn't delve into the local specialties as much as I should have. When I started researching this post, I quickly discovered sweet and sour spareribs are a famous Shanghai-style dish. The name tangcu paigu literally translates to "sugar-vinegar spareribs," which definitely describes it well. While the recipe looks simple, the deep frying does turn it into a bit of a process. The end result is everything I want from a sweet and sour dish: crisp, tender meat in sticky but complex sauce. Serve with rice and let the sauce soak right in and don't be afraid to get in there and clean off the bones. 

Back in 2015, I made Pei-Mei's Cantonese-style sweet and sour pork. Despite the similarity in names, the two dishes couldn't be more different. Although both dishes use the double frying technique (also commonly done with french fries to get maximum crispiness), the Cantonese pork is dredged in a corn starch coating, whereas these ribs are not. They get a nice brown crust similar to what you would see on fried Buffalo wings. The sauce made for the ribs is dark brown from the combination of soy sauce and black vinegar. The Cantonese version has a reddish sauce based on ketchup and white rice vinegar. Both are great dishes, but this one really shows sweet and sour dishes go far beyond the box we often put them in. 

The ribs are the central ingredient. I don't often see spare ribs cut across the bone like this, so I always snap them up when I can. We got these at Costco a few months ago and froze them. The sauce has the usual suspects of soy sauce, Shaoxing wine, and black vinegar. Since this was a quick marinade and sauce, I went with all light soy sauce, but putting in a bit of dark in the mix wouldn't be unwelcome. While the end result was excellent, it was a little on the sweeter side of what I look for in a sweet and sour sauce. As such, I've noted in the ingredient list that the amount of vinegar can be increased to taste. My recipe is a rough doubling of the original, with some adjustments made.

I've been reading a lot Pei-Mei recipes recently, and she deep fries a lot of food. As I've mentioned before, I find deep frying a hassle and don't do it often. However, the crispy-fried meat is, to me, a cornerstone of sweet and sour dishes. It's also an interesting novelty to deep fry spare ribs, a cut that's usually braised or smoked in western cuisine. My research also confirmed this is the traditional approach for this dish. You could probably get away with stir frying, baking, or broiling, all at very high heat, but you won't get the same evenly browned, crispy ribs.

Spring Rolls (春捲)

While most of my interpretations of Pei-Mei dishes are quite obscure from an American point of view, spring rolls are one of the most iconic Chinese dishes. In addition to being a classic dim sum item, they are also popular in other parts of Asia, such as Thailand and the Philippines. Fillings vary greatly. Pei-Mei's version has a mix of pork, cabbage, and shrimp which would also be great on chow mein (omit about half the corn starch). The Chinese name chunjuan does translate directly as spring (the season) roll. These spring rolls are tasty and crispy, and a good traditional example of the dish.

Let's dig into some specifics of the recipe. Pei-Mei recommends using "lean pork" and cutting into strings. I honestly misread the recipe and used ground pork, which was perfectly fine. For the vegetables, the recipe just says "cabbage" on the English side. On the Chinese side, baicai can be either what we call napa cabbage or bok choy. Napa is what we had, and I think it's probably the better choice, since its a bit thinner. Like a lot of Pei-Mei's recipes, this one involves soup stock. This is made relatively easily by simmering chicken and/or seafood with a little green onion and ginger. I make mine with shrimp shells I save every time we eat shrimp. Western-style stocks usually involve onion, carrot, and celery and will have a different flavor, but should work in a pinch.

For the skins, we found frozen ones at a Chinese store and defrosted in the refrigerator the day before. Pei-Mei says the recipe makes 20 spring rolls, we only got 14 out of it. I think we could have stretched that to 15, but definitely not 20. Pei-Mei is fairly vague about the rolling procedure, but it read to me as rolling straight-on, whereas most recipes I've seen online roll diagonally (Woks of Life, for example). In retrospect, I would do the diagonal fold next time, as the way we did it, you get twice as much wrapping on the ends as in the middle. They still fried up perfectly fine, though, so it's rather forgiving. Overall, they turned out well, but were a little too salty for my taste. As such, I've marked the added salt in the sauce as optional. 

Char Siu Chow Mein (叉燒炒麵)

When we're in need of a quick, easy meal, we often turn to char siu. I usually make a few pounds at a time, and it holds in the freezer quite well. Along with fried rice, char siu chow mein is my most common way of using char siu to put together a meal. I've been making this for several years, and it's definitely become a family favorite. Chow mein was also one of grandpa's favorites. He liked to put a little hot Chinese mustard on it, while grandma liked chili oil. I put a little of both on mine. This recipe makes enough to enjoy dinner for two and lunch the next day, which is always a plus when you're stuck at home.

This is a relatively simple dish, which relies on the core trio of napa cabbage, char siu, and egg noodles. I'm still using my second char siu recipe (from 2016), though I've been experimenting with maltose instead of honey. The egg noodles can be reliably found at Chinese stores in their dried form. Look for a bag of thin, yellow noodles with pictures of chickens on it. Fresh noodles sometimes be found in the refrigerated section. One of these days, I'd like to try making them at home. A nice variation to this is to add some thinly sliced garlic in with the napa cabbage. For a vegetarian version, you could replace the char siu with black mushrooms.

Dry-Cooked String Beans (乾煸四季豆)

Somehow, it's been over two years since I've done an interpretation of a Peimei dish. Since moving to South Dakota, my access to Chinese vegetables has been irregular. The only ones to be found in Vermillion are napa and the big white bok choy. I'm not a huge fan of the big bok coy (as opposed to the smaller, green Shanghai bok choy) and, while I like napa, it's better as a component than as its own dish. As such, I've turned more to broccoli and string beans to fill in. 

Dry-cooked string beans are one of the most recognizable dishes from Sichuan province in western China. The Chinese name ganbian sijidou does directly translate to "dry-cooked string beans." Traditionally, the beans are deep fried, which dries them out and gives them a wrinkly appearance. Much of what I've read about the dish online looks for ways to get around the deep frying, which is kind of a hassle. Interestingly, Kenji uses a broiler. I've chosen to stir fry. 

The interesting exotic ingredients here are the preserved vegetables. Peimei's recipe calls for zhacai, while others I've seen use yucai. Both are varieties of Sichuanese preserved mustard greens. As I don't have access to either right now, I used sauerkraut instead. It didn't occur to me while I was cooking, but it hit me when eating that Peimei's recipe lacks garlic. I think this would really kick it up a notch, so I've included it in the recipe.

Jägerschnitzel

As many of you no doubt know, I'm a great lover of schnitzel of all stripes. All the way back in 2012, I wrote a post on Wiener Schnitzel vom Schwein and in 2015, I did the Japanese version. One variety I haven't done yet is the breaded tenderloin, an Indiana staple I'll have to start making for myself pretty soon. As I've discussed before, schnitzel is a very well-traveled little dish. As I understand it, Austrians are quite particular about how a Wiener schnitzel is prepared and served (with lemon and potato salad) while saucing schnitzels is more of German thing. I haven't asked an actual German or Austrian about this, so don't quote me. Whatever the origin, jägerschnitzel is a classic and an excellent one at that. 

The term jägerschnitzel means "hunter's schnitzel" and refers to a cutlet with a mushroom sauce. There seems to be a lot of different opinions about what exactly is in the mushroom sauce and whether or not the cutlet should be breaded. As usual, I read several recipes I found online and concocted my own based on my preferences. While the classic Viennese style demands veal, I usually use pork or chicken (boneless thighs pounded thin are great for this) for my schnitzels, as both are cheaper and easier to get. On the topic of breading, I sort of split the difference and dredged the cutlets in just flour, skipping the egg wash and breadcrumbs. The flour coating promotes a nice crust on the meat, but by not breading I also dodge the shallow frying process. This uses a lot less oil and you can get straight into making the sauce without having to clean up in between.

Ingredients

Cutlets

• Pork chops (I made 2, but there is enough sauce for about 4 cutlets)
• Salt
• Black pepper
• Paprika
• Garlic powder
• Flour for dredging
• Vegetable oil as needed

Sauce

• 8 oz. mushrooms, rinsed and sliced
• 1/2 onion, diced
• 1 Tbs butter
• 1 Tbs flour
• 1/2 c red wine
• 1 c chicken stock
• 2 splashes Worcestershire sauce
• Pinch of dried thyme
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Vegetable oil as needed

Instructions

Prepare the mushrooms and onion ahead of time so they will be ready to go when it is time to make the sauce. If your chops have a bone attached, remove them and trim off large sections of fat. Place the meat in a gallon-size bag and pound to about 1/3 inch thick.

My chops had a weird little bonus piece

Heat vegetable oil in a saute pan on medium-high heat. Use enough oil to cover the bottom of the pan. While the oil heats, season the cutlets with salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic powder. Dredge in flour. When the pan is hot, shake off excess flour and place in the pan. Cook for a few minutes on each side, until the outside is well browned and meat is cooked to desired temperature, adding oil as needed. A little pink on the inside is fine for pork, and will prevent it from drying out. When done, move the cutlets to a plate and cover with foil. You may have to cook the cutlets in batches or multiple pans if you have a lot of them.

Mushroom and onion after butter was added

Add more oil to the pan. Saute the mushrooms and onions together until onions are well softened and mushrooms have cooked down. Season with salt and pepper. Add the butter and stir in as it melts. Add the flour and cook together a few more minutes, stirring frequently. 

The finished sauce

Deglaze the pan with wine and reduce for a minute. Pour in the chicken stock and add thyme and Worcestershire sauce. Bring to a boil and reduce by about half, or to desired thickness. The sauce should be a medium thickness, still pouring easily but not spreading all over the plate.

Serve the cutlets and spoon the sauce all over them. This recipe makes enough sauce for about 4 cutlets. Extra sauce can be stored in the fridge for a few days.