guilty dinner

My kitchen table is cluttered with the artifacts of my life - Mandarin books, painting supplies, imported chocolate, the days wages in pink Chairman Mao-graced bills, a deck of Yaoji playing cards, an address book.

And dirtied dishes from a hurried lunch, that might have been washed had I hot water in my kitchen.

Amidst the disarray, I set my dinner on the table one bowl at a time, before heading back to the kitchen for the next.

With nowhere to set my chopsticks and for the sake of time, I drive my chopsticks vertically into the rice, headlong, in the very way that someone in China never should.

vertical chopsticks: a big no-no

Standing one’s chopsticks vertically into their rice bowl conjures up images of the long sticks of incense that are burned at the wake of a loved one who has just passed away.

Standing one’s chopsticks vertically into a rice bowl is akin to smearing the name of a loved one.

In the West, it is impolite to play with one’s silverware; in the East it means dishonor.

A foreigner, fresh off the plane and ignorant of local ways, may be forgiven by locals, but will never be understood and will hardly be forgotten.

In my haste to delve into my steaming hot dinner, I thrust the bamboo chopsticks into my rice bowl and head back to the kitchen for the rest. I have done so not out of intentional disrespect, for truthfully, there is no one else within these walls to dishonor.

On this night, I eat alone, in a closed apartment on a quiet residential street of the capital city, with only the hum of an aged Hitachi R-176H refrigerator to keep me company.

I dine alone and so, have only this guilt to share.

the dinner

Sear the Anaheim Peppers: seared and succulent

ingredients: Sear the Anaheim Peppers
oil
garlic
dark soy
black malt vinegar
salt

Smash the Cucumbers: crunchy, savory, fresh

Ingredients: smash the cucumbers

2 asian cucumbers
6 cloves garlic
salt
roasted sesame oil
black malt vinegar

winter melon soup: soothing and refreshing

ingredients: winter melon soup

oil
garlic
sichuan peppercorn
vegetable bouillon
winter melon
salt
water
cilantro

goodbye bellow, hello boombox

verbal vending

The thought of a peddler shouting out the day's services and goods is sure to bring a sense of familiarity... at least in China.

Even if you have never been to China, you can readily imagine a peddler slowly riding a bicycle through the street, shouting out to the residents.

oral history

I owe a special thanks to a friend, back in OR, for sharing a recent NPR story, relaying the venture of one Chinese businessman set to share the sounds of China with the world.

By banking the sounds of the people of China, Qin Jie (秦杰) is doing more than just sharing culture and turning a buck, or a yuan. He is preserving the very sounds that are on the brink of extinction, due to modernity and economic development.

China's 56 races and countless dialects have a lot to lose in this day and age, but so also have much to give. Now, the race is on to capture all that defines the expanse of China and her many peoples, one [sound] bite at a time.

brink of modernity

With the world's largest population and impressively expanding economy, it is no surprise that the modernization of China is having a large impact on her people and also the culture.

At worst, one might imagine the horrors of tradition simply lost with the passing of a generation. But then, modernization also and often reveals itself in small and surprising ways.

goodbye bellow, hello boombox

What is not commonly known is that these peddlers are often not using their own voice to advertise their services. Gone are the days of the past.

The physical demands on their vocal chords and lungs, alone, are enough to leave any passing customer marveling in a mix of sympathy and equally grand admiration. The call is unique, not only to one's profession, but also to each vendor.

Rhythmic and melodic, a few words aim to clarify how your day will be made easier by answering their calls.

But today, these calls are increasingly digitized and broadcast over small portable speakers. The familiar tinny sound of a poor recording coupled with low qualities speakers does not reduce the effectiveness of the sales pitch.

jiangxi, de'an

For example, the [recorded] sounds of a street peddler, literally peddling, selling steamed breads on a scathingly hot August afternoon on a dusty deserted road in De'An, Jiangxi province, southern China:

steamed breads and dirt roads greet modernity: my latest ringtone*

While visiting a good friend in his hometown province of Jiangxi, we walked from his house to his brother's home in the nearby countryside. From the edge of the small town (100,000 residents) to the adjacent countryside, we follow a dirt road that soon becomes a trail.

In 2001, we took this trail by foot. By August of 2008, the family had acquired 2 electric motorbikes to save the time and sweat of the 20-minute bipedal commute.

Even in the heat of that August sun, I requested that we romanticize the trip and go on foot. With so much to absorb, I didn't want my parents to miss anything. Pausing for a timely pit-stop, I was delighted to be present for what was to come over the crest of the hill.

A peddling peddler, riding our way, selling steamed breads.

And while a peddler selling steamed breads is not so unusual in a small village in China, I was intrigued by the fact that the vendor was using, not his voice, but a taped recording of his announcement.

I fumbled to ready my camera and was lucky enough to capture his passing. Priceless.

my parents and our friends at their home in De'An, Jiangxi

vending today

Over the last year, I have heard the calls of Beijing's vendors for scissor and knife sharpening, as well as candied haw fruit kebabs.

Occasionally I also see a cardboard or plastics recycler, calling out to make his presence known in a residential street.

Even in grocery stores, it is impossible to avoid the ranting of brand-name representatives who hope to win your loyalty with a free sample of instant coffee, strawberry-filled double chocolate wafers, or the latest skin-firming, kilo-trimming yogurt.

"buy 10, get 2 free", but only a local knows that

"Buy 5, Get 1 Free" [买五送一] is a very common sale here, and any mindful shopper is sure to benefit from this phrase on even the first trip to the market.

surprisingly, liquor in a sports-bottle is not advertised verbally

verbal ads

Being a [mostly illiterate] foreigner, I personally want to believe that the custom of shouting out the services to potential customers was born more out of necessity, than out of a purposely flippant intent to ingrain the latest discount in my mind. According to one source, an estimated 9-10% of the local population is illiterate -giving another reason for keeping ads verbal and not simply written. And that statistic does not even include the foreigners!

The sale 'calls' are actually quite helpful to the illiterate, if a bit tiring on the ears. Imagine being on the verge of picking out a comfort of a yogurt selection and need not even look up to know that it is possible to be adventurous and thrifty by choosing another brand boasting of the latest wheat and aloe, honey, or jujube flavors. The salesclerk verbalizes that bargain for your glazed eyes.

Here in China, if you keep your ears tuned, you just might find the next bargain of your lifetime.

And the vendors can save their voices for an evening's round of karaoke.

*This 'mantou' ringtone is available to anyone interested, just send me a request via email.

tread, trains, taxis, tokens

Traveling across Beijing at night -by public transit- can be a challenge, but is always an adventure.

This is true not only for someone who spent their entire life in small towns where public transit was essentially nonexistent, but it is an equal mystery for people who were raised right here in the city, perhaps some blocks down the street.

bicycle by day, taxi by twilight

Bicycles are locked up and the subway shuts down, as it must, when the foot traffic slows. Particularly in China, when night time falls, so do the lights dim, the eyelids droop in waning lackadaisical enthusiasm. This is not entirely true, but most locals would agree.

The foreign community and younger Generation X, on the contrary, may even perk up once the sun hints at setting, and the most experienced of taxi cab drivers swear by the night shift.

taxi master

Indeed, the cabbie of China is referred to as 'Master' (师父), and with full justification granted.

The drivers know that anyone still wearing tread on the soles of their shoes after 11p is entirely dependent on them for any distance over 2 blocks traveled. Business is business!

stranded in the city

While Beijing is rather neatly composed of concentric asphalt 'ring' roads (somehow, the 10+ lane highways are still referred to as 'roads', perhaps because a road is more lovely than a highway?) , the blocks themselves are rather imposing.

To find the next major intersection may require the downing of an energy drink or a changing of the socks. At nighttime, this may not be what the typical pedestrian had in mind.

It isn't for lack of safety that pedestrians hail the next taxi upon setting foot to curb. It may, though, be for lack of familiarity (did I mention, it can be rather intimidating finding your bearings in a concrete, let alone foreign, city? At night? Without stars to point the way? And with a limited vocabulary, should you get lost?) Some might say that 'outsiders' know Beijing like the back of their foot, which is to say, not very well.

Furthermore, the popular and often visited evening venues of Beijing are not necessarily located in adjacent districts. The main University District is brimming with quick minds and thirsty palates, and the night is ever young in Beijing, where many bars double as cafés and smoothly switch from Dos Equis to Espresso while the sun is not yet risen.

But then there are those who are simply out with friends, and the night gets away from them. Or rather, the day sneaks away and leaves all with nothing other than darkness to share. Dinner primes the palate for a fermented beverage, which might be followed or paired with a duel at the billiards hall or a jiving at a local music joint. It may be with purpose, but it is often without intent that the night is suddenly upon them, and the clock is too soon to strike midnight.

trains, no more

There are perhaps no sadder words exchanged between the transit operator's voice over the loudspeaker and the hopeful, but now helpless, passengers. After paying the ¥2 fare, flock after flock of Nightowls are left to climb or descend the stairs once again, back to the level of the street.

And the Master Cabbie is awaiting their return to the curb:

WuDaoKou subway station is popular... when it's running

like fairytale, like fear

I could almost swear that on one of those evenings, I saw one girl limping up those subway station stairs carrying a single glass slipper.

Being as I've recently moved from the University district to a [local] residential area, I too have learned the hard way that the Subway waits for No One. And it is just as well.

will the doors be open?

first time, the lesson

The first time I misjudged the last train to pass through the connecting station, I saw no other alternative than to hail the Master as if obeying a greater order of the urban universe. Having already paid my subway fare of ¥2, the master greeted me at the curbside with his blinker, and I... bid farewell to another ¥23.

It was a fare well spent, however, with not a yuan lost to regret. Aside from the plush seats and door-to-door service, I shared a great conversation with the Master. A private conversation with the common local makes for an enjoyable commute.

He, a native of Beijing, preferred the night shift... because he understood that the night wanderers swarm to the red 'for hire' light of a taxi as do insects to the electric blue killer lamps. Business is rockin', or 'red' as the locals say. He was just 3 years older than I, which we figured out because I am a snake and he is a tiger. -So says the the corresponding zodiac of the Chinese lunar calendar.

A short ride of 15 minutes, coupled with inquisitive conversation, and I was home sooner than the subway could have delivered my commuting tail. And back in my humble abode before the clock struck midnight, to boot!

still in Beijing!

second time, the smarter

A couple weeks later, however, daylight once again teased with the lengthening of the spring day, giving the night ample time to sneak up on me, before I could make the necessary one of two subway transfers.

However, on this evening, it was unclear as to whether there was another train yet to come. Or whether the lights had accidentally been left on to tease where indeed no train would arrive.

I stood pondering aloud (in Mandarin) with the others who hovered in angst, and reasoned aloud that the possibility of the last train coming to save us... was slim. It was the end of hopeful naiveté at best, and we slowly took to the stairs with what little pride we had left.

It is in this fine moment of desperation, when the mind is struggling to cope with extreme disappointment and is toying with regret over timely responsibility, that the bond between fellow passengers can be stronger than any social anthropologist could pry from the grips of any algorithm:

The man who had, in fact, beat me to the unforgiving doors of the transfer station turned to me and asked where I was headed. East and slightly north, near Subway Line 5, I say. He suggested we carpool, dare we fall only half the victim that each of us was destined to the taxi Master.

How could I turn down an offer like that?

As I learned on the walk up and out of the station, he was newly back to Beijing after 5 years studying abroad in Germany. He had guessed that I was Russian or German, but had not expected my Mandarin to be at [whatever] level that it is. And so, we talked our way out to the street side and hailed the next Master to deliver first me, and then him.

Before parting, I contributed a ¥20 towards the fare total, as he was still not yet halfway to his destination, and he left his email with promise of a coffee (only a Chinese living in Germany for 5 years would promise such a toast.) It seems the next time we meet, the night will have receded and the day will brim with promise of a brew.

And so, I discovered once again, by way of this humble reminder, that the world is small. That people want to be and are friendly. That cities are social by nature. That strangers can meet. That the Masters do not win every time.

third time, the charm

Interestingly, there is something undeniably mystic about the number 3, which has been a subject of science fiction and superstition alike for millennia.

And tonight's journey homeward proved to be no exception. It was indeed the third time [tardy] that showed me the Way of Three.

Paying careful attention to exit the subway station at it's southeast exit, I knew I would be rightly positioned to take a taxi in the direction of my apartment (east) without stumbling across an intersection, taking a sky bridge, or having to direct the master through a U-turn (all the while, with hairs raised in fear of being led down a more 'scenic' route.)

Deciding not to fight the rest of the flock for the next taxi, I walked eastwards to where the crowd no longer ventured.

And there It was.

It was as if fate itself had led me to no other place than... the bus stop. How obvious! Could it be possible that there a bus would pass by my apartment and save me from the squeeze of the Master's fare?

After studying the bus stop charts for 3 different buses, desperately searching for something resembling anything close to the one of four characters in my street name, a bus #689 pulled up. And there, lit up above the door was the bus' sign with two of these very characters! It could no more have called me out by name!

Barely believing my luck, I rushed aboard to verify with the driver whether it could maybe, just possibly, be truly headed where I was hoping to head. A nod of his head and a swipe of my transit card later, I found a seat - but not before counting the number of stops until I could walk the last 10 minutes to my address. Home, sweet home.

At ¥0.40 (as opposed to ¥23), I did not even attempt to restrain the twinge of pride that crept over me in the course of that minute.

I think next time I miss my last trusty subway train, I might hitch-hike door-to-door.

pineapple spiral

The Spring and Summer seasons of Beijing meet with street intersections laden with vendors selling wares of pottery, services... and fruit.

oh, pineapple quarters: real sweet treat

For the affordable sum of ¥1, the common people pause on a typical afternoon to enjoy a quarter of a pineapple on a stick - a cooling and tangy refreshment to ward off the dryness and heat of Beijing.

The vendors wheel their goods up to the street curb, pull off a tarp that covers a bounty of fresh fruit, and set blade into action.


fashion meets function

The carving of pineapples is an art.

It is also a very efficient way to carve the pineapple, for the waste removed is minimized, so as to maximize yield. It is done with the fluidity of hands well-practiced and technique well-harnessed.


grandma knows best

My Grandmother grows a score of pineapples in her Floridian yard each year, saving the plumed core and replanting it for an ever-giving harvest. It is only with patience that one raises their own pineapples, and experience warns that a pineapple picked in haste is even slower to ripen.

The perfect pineapple is ready for eating when a tender leaf can be easily plucked from its center; lifting a pineapple so, its own weight should release the leaf.

With this in mind, it was time to try my hand at this art of carving pineapples and see if I could tame this flowering fruit in my very own kitchen.


do try this at home

I set out to pick up a small, but well-ripened pineapple at the local supermarket, which ended up sweet-talking a mere ¥4 from my wallet:

fibrous green plumes and plumply golden flesh

The first task is to fashion the wild mess of leaves into a handle:

trimming of the leaves: the handle

Remove the loose leaves that do not stay tight at the core, useful as a handle during the rest of the carving. Be careful not to cut too deeply at the base of the core, lest your *handle* snap at a later step in the vigorous progress (ask me how I know!)

Using a long, sharp [butcher] knife, graze the outside of the fruit, careful to minimize the removal of worthy flesh.

a shave gets down to the bare stubble

the tool rules

At last, I happened upon the unique tool at a local market (¥5), made specifically for carving pineapples. I decided to take it home and see for myself just how hard it is to carve up a beautiful spiraled pineapple:

3 remarkable teeth, 1 remarkable tool

Not surprisingly, the actual technique and process of carving is not as easy as the vendors make it look. Yes, it must only be learned the hard way: sheer first-hand experience.

nose pointing down, teeth digging in

I also discovered that a secret may lie in selecting a ripe, yet firm, fruit. I chose the pineapple shown here based on ripeness alone. While in this state, it would carve up just fine with a knife, it rendered itself too juicy to handle the firm pushing demanded by the tool.

Nonetheless, even a 'new hand' (新手）, with a bit of luck, will find it possible to obtain satisfactory, if rudimentary, results:

the spiraled pineapple: sweet success!

I have learned a thing or two about carving pineapples: What may be ripe for the tasting may be too supple for the carving.

And 'lo, though I am not a master carver -yet- my taste buds will never know the difference!

eggs benedicite

Making eggs in Beijing can be an exciting deviation from the regular breakfast duty...

the delicious eggs benedicite

Last year, my roommate's mother would visit from Tianjin, a coastal city some 3 hours East of Beijing by slow train. In fact, Auntie would more so *visit* Tianjin and *reside* in Beijing to cook and clean for her 21-yr old daughter, who was self-studying French and supposed to be looking for a job.

Auntie grew up on the farm and still found comfort in taking the longer road. She conserved gray water for later flushing the toilet instead of using *clean* water. She made steamed buns from scratch, along with stuffed buns, date buns, dumplings, salads, sweet potato porridge, and fried eggs.

And I was quite the lucky girl for having many opportunities to taste her many delectable dishes; here, I will share with you the rewards of just one of her dishes, but not without a savory twist.


the fried egg

I learned from Auntie that the best of eggs are fried, one at a time, in a wok with plenty of oil and just the right amount of salt. The edges are crispy, the center soft. And unlike the typical attempt at cooking up an egg, this version of the fried egg stays in one piece as you lift it from the pan and onto your plate.

Of course, no recipe would pass through my hands without some altering, and here is the story of two lil' country eggs that got fried in the big city:

It was a chilly morning in the last days of the 3rd Moon. Not only were there one too many egglings in the basket, but the collective shivering was akin to the chattering of teeth. They could stand it no more and were ready to crack.

There was only one thing to do, and that was for the most brave and martyrous of the egglings to embrace the deshelling of innocence and venture into the Kitchen Unknown, referred to in lore as the Hot Oil Baths of the Land of Wok.

Egglings no more would they be; their destiny would be realized and they were ready for the frying. But little did they know, for the Hot Oil Baths of the Land of Wok was to be just the beginning of one sweet and spicy tale...

the real story

...Don't be shy with the oil. Plain vegetable oil will suffice, and the wok ought to begin with a shallow pool of oil about the diameter equal to the length of an egg. Place the wok over a med-high flame.

Once the oil has heated to temp, carefully crack open the egg and drop the egg into the shallow pool of oil. The water content of the egg will cause a sizzle and pop, and a pot lid serves two purposes here: 1) to shelter the splattering of hot oil, and 2) to steam the egg from above. A sprinkle of salt wishes them well on their way.

secret of the "over-medium" egg: steam

A fried egg is best handled in one piece, and the setting of the whites atop the yolk helps to firm up the egg in its entirety.

the egg wades bravely in oil

When the edges of the egg have turned a crisp golden and the top has clouded over, remove the cover and carefully slide a thin metal spatula under the egg, transferring to a warmed plate with lid. Repeat with twice as many eggs as there are hungry waiting mouths.

the romance of Chinese dining is kindled here: garlic and ginger

With the leftover oil from frying the eggs still heating, quickly add the minced garlic and ginger and toss, sauteing until golden. A medium flame will ensure that the sugars do not caramelize too quickly at the edges before the centers have softened.

brown sugar and spice

When the garlic and ginger threaten to jump out of the wok, satisfy their yearnings with the sweetness of brown sugar (jujube molasses sugar picture above) and the spice of red pepper flakes. The sizzling will cease and the mix will become viscous with everything that Buddhism shuns.

the finish: vinegar and salt bath

When the sugar has softened, add white vinegar and the salt. The mix will turn back into a wet sauce and take only a moment over the flame before begging to be poured over the eggs.

Though the heat of the spice is countered near perfectly by the sweet of the sugar, a bit of crunch will further satisfy any dental sulkings.

For this, simply slice up a [long, skinny, firm] Chinese cucumber and top with salt and sugar before dousing with white vinegar. Shake well for a thorough coating; this version of sweet and sour pickles is meant to have a bite, i.e., should be strong like a pickle, not delicate like a salad:

sweet and spicy meets the crunch: fried eggs benedicite

And not only were the egglings fried in the end as expected, but so too were baptized in the sweet and spicy waters where a tangy pickle awaited their savory succulence.

The End.

ingredients: eggs benedicite

vegetable•oil
2 country•eggs
sprinkle•of•white•salt

vegetable•oil
1/2 bulb•garlic
1/2" ginger•root
1/2 t brown•sugar
1/2 t red•pepper•flakes
1 T+ white•vinegar
1/2 t white•salt

1 sliced•cucumber
1 t white•sugar
1 t white•salt
2 T white•vinegar

roots & fruits

Roots of Communication, Fruits of Language

As a foreigner, learning to speak Mandarin in her very motherland is akin to being born a second time, but this time through the aging eyes of experience. The early stages of learning a second language is more so an exercise in silence; body language takes precedence over the spoken word. It is a powerful experience to transition from having an educated foundation to at once being illiterate and near mute. Listening skills must be honed before the tongue can be tamed. Simple truths in life abound across cultures: A smile is universal. Curiosity is reciprocated. Language is only a framework for communication.

Another language may not translate in full the feeling behind an original thought; each is unique and therein lies the beauty. It is not enough to simply master a language in terms of vocabulary and grammar, for the subtleties of communication lie not only in what is said, but how it is communicated. Learning another language presents an opportunity to graft the wisdom of one onto the voice of the other.

The Chinese language is truly a ripened fruit born from the roots of more than 5,000 years of history. Spoken Mandarin harnesses a thought and tames it for communication. Written Mandarin captures a feeling and liberates it via the joining of ink and paper. The very thought wrapped by humans around an abstract concept was born into a single character. While any language evolves over time, to learn Mandarin is to taste this fruit of bygone days. The wisdom of years past are worn into each character and each formulated thought.

The path to fluency in Mandarin is a journey that reminds one of their own humanity and how their native tongue is but one way to view the world. There is an opportunity to share overseas what is taken for granted at home. There is an opportunity to experience firsthand what many will only read from a book. Each day we live and breathe and learn not only another language, but we have the opportunity to gain this wisdom of the past and apply it to the present day.

While English and Mandarin are natively spoken from two vastly different perspectives, there is a common essence to our humanity that persuades louder than any difference might dissuade. It is a reminder that the real essence of communication is but a common ground upon which both English and Mandarin are deeply rooted.

c.20080621

ambassador pie

My matrilineal apple pie recipe may have its roots in Ohio, but it is now budding in Beijing.

the surrogate tart pan

Today's creation began with an invitation to my boss and her husband for pie and tea. I asked if that would be of interest to them, knowing that desserts are not as popular here as in the West.

He really likes apple pie, she says. McDonald's apple pie. She is not such a big fan.

It was actually a relief to hear that she was not impressed with the deep-fried canned-apple-filling of a so-called dessert. It meant that there was still plenty of possibility that she would enjoy a real homemade apple pie.

imports

And so, the proposed apple pie called for the running of a few special errands, if it were to come to fruition. Butter can be found at the local grocery story, but only a Chinese brand and a similar New Zealand brand. My taste buds have not adjusted to either, as they [consistently] taste too much like a block of already souring butter.

And so, I found myself biking to Carrefour, the French supermarket, in search of butter. There, I have choice of not only French, but Danish butter - both of which offer the familiar sweet creamy flavor. Just what is needed for the perfect pie crust.

The tart pan pictured above was purchased at Ikea - one of the few places in Beijing that offers such oddities. I use it for pies here, mainly because its large size allows me to share with a larger number of people.

Shortly after arriving, I familiarized myself with several appliance stores in search of a reasonable oven. It was almost inconceivable to have a kitchen without an oven, and so I made an extra effort to bring one home. Breads, cakes, muffins, dingerators, and rolls are just a few of the goodies born as a result of that quest.

risk à la mode

Anyone who has eaten any of my desserts (or savories) knows that it is all I can do to resist altering a recipe. Once you have a grasp on the essential components of a recipe, it is quite possible and eve more so tempting to substitute or add on to a recipe - even one that is quite perfect in its original form. With the world as a pantry, why limit yourself to the recipe at hand?

Here in Beijing, I have two other excuses. Without my recipe box or favorite books on hand, I am left to an insipid surfing of online recipe collections. Simple hunts for ingredients turn into wild and often fruitless chases to distant and overpriced grocery stores. And so, I often opt for the improvised recipe - one that speaks of days past, but works with ingredients and utensils on hand today.

It is risky.

It is also quite often the most rewarding way to work in the kitchen. Ingredients seem poised in suspenseful support, ready to blend with flavors otherwise taboo. Utensils reinvent themselves and work double-duty in the name of culinary missions. Adrenaline seems to dance in the air like a wand that orchestrates the utensils about the ingredients.

making of a pie

Though I have made many an apple pie, it seems as though each attempt is my first. The making of a pie is as much art as it is skill - an effort that is rewarded sweetly each time.

Every apple pie begins with the union of flour and butter in their simplest form:

step-01. cutting butter into the flour with [pastry cutter(s)]

I begin with 200g of unsalted butter (Présidente, ¥22), 2-3 heaping cupfuls of flour, and a pinch of salt (aiming for a double-crust.) I like to use cold butter, though it does present a challenge in its slowness to blend with the flour. Above, egg beaters substitute for a surprising closeness to a pastry cutter, an essential for ease of pie-making.

Unsalted butter, because the goodness of a crust is in the pure creamy flavor which is enhanced by the flakiness of the crusty. The pinch of salt can be omitted if desired, and its amount can otherwise be controlled.

Back in the US, I would use all-purpose unbleached flour. Here in Beijing, any flour I use is all-purpose as far as I'm concerned, even if it is in fact otherwise.

step-02. pea-sized butter-balls

Cut the butter into the flour until it reaches a somewhat silken and pea-sized texture. A butter knife suffices to clean the pastry cutter of choice should it get clogged up mid-process.

step-03. a fragile step

Water or milk is needed to bring the dough crumble into a workable dough. Using a fork, lift the crumbles as you pour a small amount of water, not exceeding 1/2 cup. The dough should be wet enough to hold together but not so sticky that it feels wet.

Working the dough too much with the fork will result in a chewy crust. No one likes a chewy crust. Crusts are born to be flaky, and that requires a delicacy in prepping the dough. The right balance can often be found only after several attempts at making pie crust. Short-cuts such as store-bought or ready-boxed crust will be obvious to any pie connoisseur.

step-04. forming a dough ball

After adding a bit of water, test the dough by first forming a ball, then flattening it on the counter.

I like to grab half of the dough and pull it into a recognizable mound on the counter-top. Here, pastry chefs would probably interject to say that a cold, stone countertop is best (to prevent the butter from warming as it is worked.) I am lucky enough to have stone countertops in Beijing, my first, in fact!

First push the mound of dough on all sides, and then push down on the center, keeping the other hand firmly at the side.

If the edges do not hold tight and flour falls loosely, be a bit more liberal with the water - the dough is dry. If the dough sticks to your hands, then you should add flour - the dough is wet. Do so cautiously, so as not to overly lessen the butter:flour ratio.

step-05. rolling [out the] pie shell

Only the rolling pin can give an accurate verdict on dough quality. Ease of rolling indicates the quality is good. Difficulty indicates you may not want to turn this loose on company.

Secrets to rolling out a round crust include 1) experience, 2) patience, 3) rolling equally in all directions, 4) rolling from the center outwards.

Dough begs to be pulled and stretched into open spaces, not pushed and forced into closed corners. I believe there is a more profound parallel to life hidden in the desires of dough.

As the dough is stretched into shape, the butter and flour slide past each other, bringing the inside to the out. The dough will thin, and in the process, virgin butter will cling to the rolling pin. Sprinkle flour on the shell before flipping (and you will end up with flour underneath the disk; this is much easier than trying to lift the shell and put flour on the counter.)

step-06. denying flour its reign

Depending on your [or your oven's] speed, you may want to preheat (150ºC or 350ºF) the oven now. To do so without getting flour all over the kitchen, use a plastic bag as a glove, which can easily be donned and discarded as you move between tasks (for example, taking pictures at each stage of the process.)

step-07. scallop away

Apples are needy fruits and require two crusts, top and bottom. Above, I rest the [pie pan] on the shell and scallop around the edge [with a glass] for a perfect fit and aesthetic touch.

step-08. transporting the dough 'seamlessly'

Lifting the dough from the security of the countertop to an airborne state for transferring to the pie pan can be disastrous. My mother and grandmother became experts at folding the shell into quarters and quickly lifting and unfolding into the pan, however non-experts will find this method quick to tear.

A simple solution is to roll the shell up about the rolling pin, allowing it to support the dough in full as it is transferred. Simply unroll the dough starting at one edge of the pie pan.

step-09. shaping the crust

Gently press the pie shell into the pan. The dough ought to be forgiving enough to stretch into shape, but do so with care, else it'll be prone to tear.

step-10. top crust déjà vu

The top crust is usually rolled out immediately after the bottom crust is laid into place, saving the apple prep for last.

step-11. estimating the top crust diameter

Don't throw away that leftover dough! That is what dingerators are made of!

step-12. scrub-a-dub

Once the dough is rolled out and set aside, give the apples a good scrub. I used 7 (Gala-ish) apples of varying size. I paid ¥8, at about ¥5/kg at a local market. Firm, tart/sour apples are recommended, but almost anything (but Red Delicious) will suffice.

step-13. the art of peeling

Peeling apples is no difficult task, at first glance. Maximizing flesh yield by removing as little peel as possible raises the difficulty slightly. Using an old-fashioned apple peeler-corer-slicer is actually a bit more modern than than my trusty method above, and much more fun, if you can find one!

step-14. hard-core

Coring apples is less about taste and more about removing leveling the texture field. Sure, nobody likes the cyanidic seeds, but it is their texture that will first offend. The seed pocket is particularly troublesome if left behind for pie-eaters to discover.

step-15. selective chopping

Peel all the apples first, then quarter and core all the apples. The goal is to minimize surface area exposed to air for prolonged period, which threatens to turn the flesh brown.

step-16. final chopping

My cleaver performs nicely and swiftly in the final stage of apple cutting.

step-17. cinnamon at ¥22

Cinnamon is reserved for salty dishes, mainly meat preparation, in China (and many other parts of the world.)

step-18. make-up for apples

Sugar and cinnamon should be added just to make up for what flavor they do not bring to the pie experience. I admit that I guessed in terms of their portions, and it won't hurt you to try either. A tablespoon of flour will help to absorb some of the juices pulled off the apples by the sugar. Toss lightly until sliced apples are coated.

step-19. together at last

With oven preheated, pour the spiced apples liberally into the pie pan. Stinginess can be tasted.

step-20. tower of apples

As an apple pie has a double crust, an air pocket often forms where the apples soften and settle in the baking process. Adding liberal amounts of apples will ensure that the pie does not look sunken, laden with air instead of apples.

step-21. making a statement

Tradition calls for a design of some shape or form to be cut into the top crust before unrolling over the apples. My attempt at carving '朋友' (meaning "friend") into the crust was perhaps a little too ambitious. Keep it simple, keep it creative.

Generally, the top and bottom crusts are pinched together, but I fashioned this pie to have a scalloped edge from below, with the perimeter of the top crust falling out of sight between the apples and bottom crust.

step-22. final dash of sugar water & crystals

Once the top crust is laid upon the tower of apples, gently massage the apples into a leveled mound, minimizing gaping holes between the crusts. A small gap at this stage will mean a large gap post-baking.

Sprinkle milk or sugar-water over the assembled crust. Tossing a few sugar crystals over the top crust will add to the glisten of the pie as it bakes.

step-23. bake with patience

A pie of this size (10"+) will take approximately 50-60 minutes to bake. Set the timer, but check on it every 15 minutes in the beginning, every 5 minutes towards the end.

step-24. browning... getting warm!

When the crust begins to brown, you are on the home stretch!

step-25. bubbling... even warmer!

Rapid bubbling of juices at the pie's edge indicate a remaining 5-10 minutes bake time. The air should also be heavy with the smell of apples and cinnamon.

step-26. too tempting to wait any longer.

Golden brown, bubbling, and sweet fragrance is an indication that the pie is ready to be pulled out of the oven. I always judge this *moment* by eye.

step-27. stick a fork in it

If you forget to add the tablespoon of flour like I did, you will end up with more juice than you know what to do with, as well as a more visually sloppy pie. But the flavor won't be affected, and as you can see from the above picture, the pie was a hit. I served it with freshly whipped heavy cream.

My mom has honed her pie-making skills such that she can whip up a pie in 20 minutes plus bake time. Well, it's nice to have goals!

Serving apple pie is more than just pie. Though the apple pie existed long before the US was formed, apple pie is now, at least here in China, synonymous with American, hospitality, friendship, and tradition - which is not to overlook the obvious wholesome flavor and delectable goodness!