China South of the Clouds

The first afternoon at Zhu Bo’s house, we made stir-fried shiitake mushrooms (香菇, “xiang gu”) with garlic, a simply prepared dish of Chinese broccoli (芥兰, “jie lan”), and a simple chicken stewed with crisp chunks of lotus root, which she called “Ji Dun Ou” or Chicken Simmered with Lotus Root (鸡炖藕). The chicken was pieced simply, cut into the same inch-long chunks that all chicken cooked in China seems to be, and then put into a rice cooker with thick chunks of the peeled lotus root and a couple cups of water. The rice cooker was turned on, and the whole thing was left to stew while we prepared the rest of the meal.

I met Zhu Bo through a friend of hers, a local who spoke English and saw on the expat message boards that I was looking for someone to teach me to make Kunming-style dishes. Zhu Bo was a professional cook of sorts—she’d worked in a few local restaurants—but she had stopped working to care for her year-old son because her parents, who still lived on the family farm, were too far away to watch him. After briefly discussing her background and my interest, and drinking a couple obligatory cups of tea, we agreed to meet up on Wednesday afternoons to cook together.

Zhu Bo spoke no English, and Josh and I spoke almost no Chinese, but it never seemed to matter; we felt like old friends every time we met. We paid for the ingredients and gave her 60 rmb, the equivalent of about $10 for each lesson, an amount that seemed like a lot of money to her and too little money to me, which somehow made it feel fair to everyone.

Each time we met we would walk the two blocks from her apartment complex to the enormous local wet market, passing a grain vendor with huge industrial scales and a small barber shop and the razed block where a brand new luxury apartment complex was slowly taking shape. We would pick up ingredients to make any dishes I was particularly curious about and any seasonal vegetables that looked interesting, then we’d spend the afternoon in her small, soot-covered kitchen, cooking and chatting. In the early evening we’d sit on her couch and eat a bit of everything we’d made, making sure to leave enough for her and her husband to enjoy for dinner.

Zhu Bo taught me to make many things, from local Kunming-style pickles to fried rice with corn, peas, and her mother’s flavorful cured pork, but that first dish of chicken with lotus root is still my favorite.

Chicken Simmered with Lotus Root

鸡炖藕

10- to 12-inch-long piece of lotus root, peeled
2 lbs. chicken, ideally two whole legs with thighs and two more thighs, cut across the bone into ½- to 1-inch chunks
4-inch knob of peeled ginger, mashed with the side of a cleaver
1 to 2 tsp. salt

Cut the lotus root into large, triangular chunks, about 2 to 2½ inches long and 1 to 1½ inches thick, by making angled cuts and turning the root approximately 45 degrees between each cut. (You’ll have about 6 cups.)

Put the chicken, lotus root, and ginger into a medium pot and add just enough water to cover, about 6 cups. Bring the soup to a boil over high heat, then cover the pot with a lid, reduce the heat to very low, and simmer the soup, without stirring, for 45 minutes.

Check the soup to make sure the chicken is cooked through and the lotus root is tender but a little bit crunchy. Add 1 tsp. salt to the broth, stir well, then taste and add more salt if needed. Transfer to a large serving bowl.

Photos: Josh Wand (2)