Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City (Part 5 of 5)
Reposted from the web
Summary: Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City is presented here as a firsthand travel account in clear English, beginning with this scene: Chongwen:. The account keeps its focus on Beijing Muslim History, Southern Beijing, Hui Muslims while preserving the names, places, food, and historical details from the Chinese source. This is part 5 of 5.
Part 5 of 5
Shopkeeper Bai didn't mind people watching him bake; I was right there many times, and besides, can you really learn a great craft just by watching? I remember the general order: use half-leavened dough and mix in the edible alkali evenly. Once the dough has rested, it shouldn't be too hard. Roll out the dough, then add sesame paste (zhimajiang) that has been thinned with oil. Use your hands to pull, stretch, and spread the paste evenly, then sprinkle on some salt. Roll it up into a log and seal the edges. Set it aside to wait for the rest of the sesame flatbread (shaobing) dough portions. Seal the edges of the dough portions, flatten them slightly with a rolling pin, and brush the half-finished pieces with soy sauce. Take the soy-brushed dough pieces, dip them into cleaned sesame seeds, and line them up in the large flatbread griddle (bingdang). I watched the process, and there is really no mystery to it. Using real, honest ingredients is what truly matters. The young assistant dips the dough in sesame seeds, making sure the whole surface is covered; he does not just lightly touch it.
I have thought about why it is hard to find the original taste of these flatbreads, and the key is one word: baking. At Old Bai's shop, the delicious smell comes from the coal-fired oven. The oven is over three feet tall, with a layer of white clay on the outside, reinforced with large wire hoops on the inside to hold enough heat with its fireproof materials. The most important thing is the temperature inside the oven: if it is too high, the outside burns while the inside stays raw. If it is too low, baking for too long ruins the crispness. This is the real skill, and you have to admire it. The fire glows red, but you cannot see any flames. Exactly how hot is it? You can only understand it by feeling, not by words. In fact, it is just a matter of practice making perfect. Take some things for example: you might understand them clearly when watching, but if you try to do it yourself, it immediately goes wrong.
Let's talk about Old Bai's sesame flatbread (shaobing). When the dough in the large pan is browned on both sides and can stand up, Old Bai lifts the pan to feel the heat, then lines the flatbread dough around the edge of the stove. People waiting are often impatient and like to rush him. Old Bai stays calm and unhurried, turning back to continue his routine with the flatbread dough. After a short while, the toasted aroma pushes right into your nose, and Old Bai picks up long iron tongs to flip them over. A little later, they come out of the oven one by one. Each one is round and puffy, golden brown, and perfectly shaped. A little too long and they taste burnt, a little too short and the aroma doesn't come out; this is what you call just right.
You want me to describe how it feels to chew that flatbread? It is crispy and golden, with the flavors of flour, oil, sesame, savory sauce, and even a hint of salt all blended together; the temptation is impossible to resist. There are at least twenty layers, and the steam rising from them is both piping hot and fragrant! Put it this way, Hui Muslims hold them with both hands, afraid of dropping a single sesame seed or even a tiny crumb of dough!
The sesame flatbreads at the Bai family shop are available all year round, but they are constantly in high demand by all the neighbors. Sorry about that! You will have to wait a bit longer, which is a common occurrence. Actually, their other types of flatbreads (huoshao) sell just as well, and before the moon is even bright in the sky, they are all gone! It is not that there are leftovers; people want to buy them, but there is nothing left to buy. I have eaten the spiral-shaped flatbread (luosizhuan), and it really does not break; if you really played with it, you could stretch it out three to five feet. The puffy two-layered flatbread (huoshao) is great stuffed with spiced beef shank or sheep head meat, and you would drool just thinking about the taste.
I remember very clearly, it was three days after the Mid-Autumn Festival that year. For my grandfather's 80th birthday, my second uncle took me to see Manager Bai to ask if he could bake some longevity peach buns (shoutao). Grandpa Bai asked for my grandfather's Chinese zodiac sign and birth date, then agreed to the request right away.
Early that morning, the shop assistant delivered eighty longevity peach buns. The tips of the longevity peach buns were bright red. A pale yellow color you won't see anywhere else. The smell of beans, flour, and that special roasted aroma hit us, drawing in a bunch of us little foodies. The worker asked my uncle what ingredients were in the gloves. Sift the red bean paste through a fine sieve and carefully prepare the sweet osmanthus flowers. Mix steamed flour with white sugar, then bake and crush the black sesame seeds. Add green and red shredded candied fruit, mixed nuts, and crushed walnut and almond bits. Finely grind small dates from north of Beijing, and add lotus root starch and jasmine flowers. I was stunned listening to this, and even my well-traveled uncle could only nod in agreement. Is Manager Bai not here? My uncle asked the waiter in passing.
I am here! Turn slowly, sorry to trouble you, watch your step! Following the voice, Master Bai walked into the main hall carrying a large wicker tray (poluo). Huh, what is that? The whole room was filled with puzzled looks. Master Bai kept them guessing, Let everyone take a guess, is it another longevity peach (shoutao)? Or is it sesame flatbread (shaobing)? You are both wrong, take a good look!
Old Bai gently lifted the clean white cloth cover, and a baked tiger appeared, looking so lifelike! It was about two feet long, standing firmly, with eyes that seemed full of spirit, and yellow and white colors that looked just like tiger fur. This is filled with rose-flavored red bean paste, a gift from me to show my respect to you. I hope your family flourishes, stays full of energy, and thrives like a dragon and a tiger! The shopkeeper lost all his usual reserve and quietness, talking non-stop, which made Grandpa so happy that his beard was shaking. Grandpa wondered to himself, how did the shopkeeper find out that I was born in the Year of the Tiger?
Will there be any more animal-shaped roasted foods in the future? I have seen roasted rabbit gods (tu'erye), roasted swallows (shayan), roasted little monkeys, and roasted little ducks, but I have never seen a roasted big tiger. Perhaps the craft was lost with Old Bai's generation. Perhaps Old Bai passed away before he could even think about passing it on. Because Old Bai left too early and did not live to see the happy times.
Old Beijing Stories 2 by Liu Hui
6. A roasted mutton stall in the hutong.
In the past, there were far more than thirty or fifty shops selling roasted lamb (shaoyangrou) in Beijing, with one located every short distance. As soon as you enter the alley, you can smell the aroma of braised lamb (luzhu yangrou). It is just like being at Qianmen, where you can smell the spiced lamb (jiang yangrou) from Yueshengzhai long before you actually reach the shop. Not far into the alley, you see a polished brass tray about two or three feet wide sitting under a fabric canopy. It is shiny and clean, piled with cooked lamb neck, lamb liver (shagan), and lamb offal (yangzasui) in various cuts of fat and lean meat. The meat is drizzled with a layer of oil, making it look incredibly fresh and tender, which immediately makes your mouth water. A sign hanging next to the door frame reads "Newly Added Five-Spice Roasted Lamb" (xintian wuxiang shaoyangrou), and it is very easy to spot. Brass hooks hang above the counter, holding three or four cooked lamb heads with vegetable leaves in their mouths to attract customers. A wooden water basin sits in front of the door with a crossbar above it, from which a string of lamb suet (yangshuang'er) hangs. He also gives away the original broth from his roasted lamb. If you bring your own container when you buy two taels of roasted lamb, you can fill the container with the broth.
Lingering Fragrance: Memories of the Capital by Zhou Shaoliang.
Summary: Beijing Muslim History: Old Halal Notes from the Southern City is presented here as a firsthand travel account in clear English, beginning with this scene: Chongwen:. The account keeps its focus on Beijing Muslim History, Southern Beijing, Hui Muslims while preserving the names, places, food, and historical details from the Chinese source. This is part 5 of 5.
Part 5 of 5
Shopkeeper Bai didn't mind people watching him bake; I was right there many times, and besides, can you really learn a great craft just by watching? I remember the general order: use half-leavened dough and mix in the edible alkali evenly. Once the dough has rested, it shouldn't be too hard. Roll out the dough, then add sesame paste (zhimajiang) that has been thinned with oil. Use your hands to pull, stretch, and spread the paste evenly, then sprinkle on some salt. Roll it up into a log and seal the edges. Set it aside to wait for the rest of the sesame flatbread (shaobing) dough portions. Seal the edges of the dough portions, flatten them slightly with a rolling pin, and brush the half-finished pieces with soy sauce. Take the soy-brushed dough pieces, dip them into cleaned sesame seeds, and line them up in the large flatbread griddle (bingdang). I watched the process, and there is really no mystery to it. Using real, honest ingredients is what truly matters. The young assistant dips the dough in sesame seeds, making sure the whole surface is covered; he does not just lightly touch it.
I have thought about why it is hard to find the original taste of these flatbreads, and the key is one word: baking. At Old Bai's shop, the delicious smell comes from the coal-fired oven. The oven is over three feet tall, with a layer of white clay on the outside, reinforced with large wire hoops on the inside to hold enough heat with its fireproof materials. The most important thing is the temperature inside the oven: if it is too high, the outside burns while the inside stays raw. If it is too low, baking for too long ruins the crispness. This is the real skill, and you have to admire it. The fire glows red, but you cannot see any flames. Exactly how hot is it? You can only understand it by feeling, not by words. In fact, it is just a matter of practice making perfect. Take some things for example: you might understand them clearly when watching, but if you try to do it yourself, it immediately goes wrong.
Let's talk about Old Bai's sesame flatbread (shaobing). When the dough in the large pan is browned on both sides and can stand up, Old Bai lifts the pan to feel the heat, then lines the flatbread dough around the edge of the stove. People waiting are often impatient and like to rush him. Old Bai stays calm and unhurried, turning back to continue his routine with the flatbread dough. After a short while, the toasted aroma pushes right into your nose, and Old Bai picks up long iron tongs to flip them over. A little later, they come out of the oven one by one. Each one is round and puffy, golden brown, and perfectly shaped. A little too long and they taste burnt, a little too short and the aroma doesn't come out; this is what you call just right.
You want me to describe how it feels to chew that flatbread? It is crispy and golden, with the flavors of flour, oil, sesame, savory sauce, and even a hint of salt all blended together; the temptation is impossible to resist. There are at least twenty layers, and the steam rising from them is both piping hot and fragrant! Put it this way, Hui Muslims hold them with both hands, afraid of dropping a single sesame seed or even a tiny crumb of dough!
The sesame flatbreads at the Bai family shop are available all year round, but they are constantly in high demand by all the neighbors. Sorry about that! You will have to wait a bit longer, which is a common occurrence. Actually, their other types of flatbreads (huoshao) sell just as well, and before the moon is even bright in the sky, they are all gone! It is not that there are leftovers; people want to buy them, but there is nothing left to buy. I have eaten the spiral-shaped flatbread (luosizhuan), and it really does not break; if you really played with it, you could stretch it out three to five feet. The puffy two-layered flatbread (huoshao) is great stuffed with spiced beef shank or sheep head meat, and you would drool just thinking about the taste.
I remember very clearly, it was three days after the Mid-Autumn Festival that year. For my grandfather's 80th birthday, my second uncle took me to see Manager Bai to ask if he could bake some longevity peach buns (shoutao). Grandpa Bai asked for my grandfather's Chinese zodiac sign and birth date, then agreed to the request right away.
Early that morning, the shop assistant delivered eighty longevity peach buns. The tips of the longevity peach buns were bright red. A pale yellow color you won't see anywhere else. The smell of beans, flour, and that special roasted aroma hit us, drawing in a bunch of us little foodies. The worker asked my uncle what ingredients were in the gloves. Sift the red bean paste through a fine sieve and carefully prepare the sweet osmanthus flowers. Mix steamed flour with white sugar, then bake and crush the black sesame seeds. Add green and red shredded candied fruit, mixed nuts, and crushed walnut and almond bits. Finely grind small dates from north of Beijing, and add lotus root starch and jasmine flowers. I was stunned listening to this, and even my well-traveled uncle could only nod in agreement. Is Manager Bai not here? My uncle asked the waiter in passing.
I am here! Turn slowly, sorry to trouble you, watch your step! Following the voice, Master Bai walked into the main hall carrying a large wicker tray (poluo). Huh, what is that? The whole room was filled with puzzled looks. Master Bai kept them guessing, Let everyone take a guess, is it another longevity peach (shoutao)? Or is it sesame flatbread (shaobing)? You are both wrong, take a good look!
Old Bai gently lifted the clean white cloth cover, and a baked tiger appeared, looking so lifelike! It was about two feet long, standing firmly, with eyes that seemed full of spirit, and yellow and white colors that looked just like tiger fur. This is filled with rose-flavored red bean paste, a gift from me to show my respect to you. I hope your family flourishes, stays full of energy, and thrives like a dragon and a tiger! The shopkeeper lost all his usual reserve and quietness, talking non-stop, which made Grandpa so happy that his beard was shaking. Grandpa wondered to himself, how did the shopkeeper find out that I was born in the Year of the Tiger?
Will there be any more animal-shaped roasted foods in the future? I have seen roasted rabbit gods (tu'erye), roasted swallows (shayan), roasted little monkeys, and roasted little ducks, but I have never seen a roasted big tiger. Perhaps the craft was lost with Old Bai's generation. Perhaps Old Bai passed away before he could even think about passing it on. Because Old Bai left too early and did not live to see the happy times.
Old Beijing Stories 2 by Liu Hui
6. A roasted mutton stall in the hutong.
In the past, there were far more than thirty or fifty shops selling roasted lamb (shaoyangrou) in Beijing, with one located every short distance. As soon as you enter the alley, you can smell the aroma of braised lamb (luzhu yangrou). It is just like being at Qianmen, where you can smell the spiced lamb (jiang yangrou) from Yueshengzhai long before you actually reach the shop. Not far into the alley, you see a polished brass tray about two or three feet wide sitting under a fabric canopy. It is shiny and clean, piled with cooked lamb neck, lamb liver (shagan), and lamb offal (yangzasui) in various cuts of fat and lean meat. The meat is drizzled with a layer of oil, making it look incredibly fresh and tender, which immediately makes your mouth water. A sign hanging next to the door frame reads "Newly Added Five-Spice Roasted Lamb" (xintian wuxiang shaoyangrou), and it is very easy to spot. Brass hooks hang above the counter, holding three or four cooked lamb heads with vegetable leaves in their mouths to attract customers. A wooden water basin sits in front of the door with a crossbar above it, from which a string of lamb suet (yangshuang'er) hangs. He also gives away the original broth from his roasted lamb. If you bring your own container when you buy two taels of roasted lamb, you can fill the container with the broth.
Lingering Fragrance: Memories of the Capital by Zhou Shaoliang.
