Beijing: Noodling Around

April 2, 2010

By Becca Hensley

It takes fifty noodles to fill a bowl for one person. No wonder Chef Zhang’s arms look like they could move mountains — he does this all day. We watch as he lifts his chunky, handle-less knife high into the air and swipes at an immense thimble-shaped statue of dough. His graceful hacking shoots long, thin (miraculously uniform) ribbons though the air. They glide, hover — then plop into a sturdy pot of boiling water. His repetitive motions, as exact as choreographed Tai Chi, mesmerize us as much as the aroma of the sauces that simmer on the stove.

We huddle in a centuries-old house and exclaim with characteristic American exuberance with each splash. Zhang only breaks his concentration with an occasional half smile, as if embarrassed by our attention. When one of us asks to wield the knife, he shakes his head. “First you must learn to knead the dough,” he says, his words translated by Jin Lin-Liu, Chinese-American master chef, author, and founder of the Black Sesame Kitchen, a cooking school in Beijing where we now gather.

When at last we slurp up the noodles, we moan in delight. Chewy, yet succulent, the noodles have a special porosity that suck up Zhang’s sauces. We choose between a spicy pork topping and a tangy egg and tomato one — though most of us try both. Zhang, a noodle master, taught Jin Lin Liu to make noodles when she apprenticed in his noodle stand in Beijing. Now, roles slightly reversed, he teaches the students that flock to learn Chinese cooking in her experiential school. We meet in a typical hutong (an alley like neighborhood with courtyard homes, once the domain of Beijing’s 19th century upper class) in a kitchen with ceilings so low they nearly graze our heads.

We’d traveled to the Black Sesame Kitchen by bike this morning — a quintessential way to join the throng in chaotic Beijing. Nicknamed the city of bicycles since the Last Emperor sealed off the streets of the Forbidden City to make them his personal bike lanes, Beijing abounds with locals pedaling about on two wheels. Into the streets, we cycled our way past de rigueur sites such as Tiananmen Square with its portrait of Mao and weave in circles around the immense pagoda-land of the Forbidden City. We glided by old men selling sweet potatoes from wheeled carts and women minding bird cages. Most bikes whizzed by us, their riders laden with bushels of sticks, mountains of boxes and inconceivably stacked sacks of food. It took us all morning, but at last we arrive to the crowded hutong. There, we met Jen Lin-Liu to begin our cooking adventure. We were first introduced to Chef Wang.

photos by Becca Hensley

A tall, unflappable woman with a bemused demeanor, she’d instructed us in the art of making dumplings. After returning from a romp through her favorite market, a wondrous place teeming with items most of us have never seen before (black chicken, tofu noodles, unidentified animal parts too strange to name). Following Lin-Liu and Wang, we purchased the fresh items needed for our course — and subsequent meal.

Back in class, we pay close attention to Wang. Simply, we start with flour and water in a bowl. But most of us end up with sticky dough, until Wang corrects our efforts. When we achieve the consistency of worn leather, we roll fat cigars of dough by hand, then divide and flatten, pinch and prod. We imitate Wang’s seemingly simple movements unsuccessfully. At last, she permits us to fill our wrappers with spoonfuls of aromatic lamb and pumpkin, seasoned with garlic and soy sauce. When we try to seal our dumplings with Wang’s grace, we fail. Klutzy fingers make lumpy pillows — and mine are the worst. Even Wang can’t rectify them. Still, when dipped steaming into vinegar and chili, my dumplings turn my shame to ecstasy. They are simply celestial.

When the day ends, we’re far too full to pedal back. Stuffed as dumplings, and limp as wet noodles, we stagger down the alleyways of the hutong to a waiting car, with a bit of the true China still settling in our bellies.

To learn more about Beijing’s hutongs, read this guest post from Approach Guides.

One good book: Serve the People: A Stir-Fried Journey Through China

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