Cam’s friend Mike is in town at the moment, and comes bearing mouth-watering tales from his current home New York. In addition to veg boxes, the Park Slope Food Coop, and Mexican food, he also showed us this photo of a recent dumpster diving haul. Apparently they got about three times as much as what’s shown in this picture.

When I was a student I also used to dumpster dive with my housemates, and it was amazing some of the goodies you could get – I remember we once got several huge fruit pies (which would probably sell for at least 10 pounds a piece) from a Kosher bakery in North London. Here in China too, where just a few decades ago people were starving, I am often amazed at how much food is wasted. With this recent report revealing the disgusting quantities of food wasted in the UK, and the grim outlook for our planet generally, it makes me mad that so-called 'developed' countries like America and Britain are setting such a bad example to poorer countries like China. I guess I just have to keep my fingers crossed for a more environmentally-aware attitude to food in the future.

Yesterday’s Observer Food Magazine contained a lovely article about foodie men and their mothers, and got me thinking about my own early cooking experiences.

Like Hugh Fernley Whittingstall, the first food I made totally by myself were peppermint creams. I was about 8 years old when my after-school childminder, Joy, gave me my first taste of these simple but moreish treats. I liked them so much that I immediately got her to tell me how to make them, and did so, by myself, the very next day.

And of course, like Hugh, Gordon Ramsey and the rest, my mother was a huge influence. Long before she taught me how to make such basics as a roux sauce, spaghetti bolognese and from-scratch salad dressing, I sat and chatted with her while she cooked our evening meals, and must, just by watching, have absorbed a great deal without even realising it.

By about 10, I could make a decent sponge cake single-handed, and it was around this time that I was given my first cookbook, Roald Dahl’s Revolting Recipes. This magical book, illustrated by long-time Dahl collaborator Quentin Blake, includes such gems as Stink Bugs’ Eggs (from this blog’s namesake, James and the Giant Peach)…

…Butterscotch, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory…

…and, of course, Bruce Bogtrotter’s Cake, from perhaps my favourite Roald Dahl book, Matilda.

The funny thing is, I don’t think I ever cooked anything from this book as a child. Funnier still, I nonetheless absolutely loved it. Though the recipes were just a tad too hard for me at that time, that didn’t stop me from poring over the wonderful photos and illustrations, and I remember very clearly how I would often take it down from the cookbook shelf in the kitchen to read while I ate breakfast

While I was home at my mum’s this summer, I realised that this book is perhaps the biggest reason why I now love cookbooks as much as I do. I still enjoy flicking through a cookbook while I eat, and though I may not actually have made many recipes from some of my favourites, they are nonetheless, as the Amateur Gourmet says, among the first things I would grab if my house were on fire.

So, in memory of childhood cooking, cookbooks and Roald Dahl, I present to you the recipe for Bruce Bogtrotter’s Cake. I may not be able to cook it right now (good dairy products and chocolate being rather hard to find in China), but at least I can drool.

Bruce Bogtrotter’s Cake
Serves 1 to 8
From Roald Dahl’s Revolting Recipes

Cake:
8 oz (225g) good quality plain chocolate
6 oz (175g) unsalted butter
6 oz (175g) self raising flour
4 oz (125g) caster sugar
6 eggs, separated, yolks lightly beaten

Icing:
8 oz (225g) good–quality plain chocolate
8 oz (225g) double cream

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F, 180°c or gas mark 4.
2. Line a cake pan with baking paper and butter the bottom and sides of the paper.
3. Melt the chocolate in a Pyrex bowl set in a saucepan of simmering water or in a microwave on low heat. Mix in the butter and stir until melted.
4. Transfer to a large bowl and add the sugar, flour, and lightly beaten egg yolks.
5. Whisk the egg whites until stiff. Gently fold half of the whites into the chocolate mixture, blending thoroughly, then fold in the remaining whites.
6. Pour the batter into the cake pan and bake for about 35 minutes. There will be a thin crust on top of the cake, and if tested with a toothpick the inside will appear undercooked (don't worry, the cake will get firmer as it cools). Remove from the oven, and let cool in the pan on a wire rack.
7. While the cake is cooling, make the icing. Melt the chocolate with the cream in a heavy–bottomed saucepan over lowest heat, stirring occasionally until the chocolate is fully melted and blended with the cream. Remove from heat and let cool slightly.
8. When the cake is cool enough to handle, remove it from the pan and discard the wax paper. The cake is prone to sinking slightly in the middle, so flip it upside down before icing by placing a plate on top and carefully turning over the cake pan and plate together.
9. Carefully spread the chocolate icing all over the cake with a spatula. Allow the icing to cool and set slightly before serving.

This post is a long time in the coming - I went to the workshop where they make this quintessential Sichuan product way back in May, but at the time had all sorts of website problems and so couldn't post. Then, when I'd finally sorted out the lovely new site that you see before you, I'd been recruited to write an article about doubanjiang for Chengdoo Citylife Magazine as the first installment of my new column, so I had to wait until that came out before posting on my blog.

Luckily, the issue carrying my doubanjiang piece came out last week, so I am now free to post the article here! If you don't live in Chengdu and want to see it in the magazine, you can view a PDF version at this address.

So, here it is, with a few minor changes for those living outside China. Enjoy!

Doubanjiang, or in English, chilli bean paste, is one of the most essential foodstuffs in the Sichuanese kitchen. It is a vital ingredient in many of the most famous dishes of the region – Mapo Tofu, Shuizhu Beef, Twice-cooked Pork – and it is also often added in small quantities to jazz up a simple dish like fried rice or noodles.

The literal meaning of doubanjiang, ‘beans mixed into sauce’, hints at one of its two main ingredients: hu dou, the fava or broad bean. Legend has it that these beans were brought to Sichuan by immigrants from the central plains of China after the population of Chengdu was decimated at the end of the Ming Dynasty. By the time they had finished their long journey, it is said, the beans had started to go off in the humid new climate; not wanting to waste what they had brought, the immigrants mixed their beans with local chillies, thereby inadvertently creating what we now know as doubanjiang.

The traditional ingredients in doubanjiang are minimal – fresh chillies, beans, salt and wheat flour. The method for producing it is similarly simple, but makes up in length for what it lacks in complexity. First, fresh chillies are pulverised and left to ferment in large earthen-ware containers; after 5 months the beans and other ingredients are added, and then the whole lot is left to ferment for another several months.

In total, the process of making doubanjiang should take at least a year, although nowadays less scrupulous producers add various extra ingredients – soy sauce, MSG and others – to enhance the flavour and cut down on the fermenting time.

The real, slow-baked deal, however, can be found just outside Chengdu in Pixian, where the Zhao Feng He company has been producing doubanjiang using only traditional methods since 1666. In their courtyard, thousands of earthen-ware pots are neatly arranged according to their level in the fermentation process. The doubanjiang here is mixed everyday, the lids of the pots taken off in good weather, and the product is left to ferment for at least two years before being sold to private customers only. Various ages of doubanjiang are available at Zhao Feng He, including an eight year-old, limited vintage - the finest and most unadulterated doubanjiang in China.

It’s also probably the most expensive doubanjiang in China, so unless you’re a total Sichuan food obsessive I recommend getting something a bit less pricy. In China, you can buy doubanjiang loose from the market, but the packaged versions are, I think, better quality. Various companies advertise their product as real Pixian doubanjiang; check that the ingredients list has no more than five ingredients to be sure you’re getting the good stuff. In Britain and the US, Lee Kum Kee’s chilli bean sauce is a good imitation and available at most oriental shops.

Finally, note that doubanjiang should be used sparingly – it can be almost overwhelmingly pungent if added with a heavy hand.

Doubanjiang Recipe:
Fish-Fragrant Eggplant (Yu Xiang Qiezi)

Adapted from Fuchsia Dunlop’s Sichuan Cookery

2 medium-sized eggplants
Vegetable or peanut oil
1 ½ tablespoons of doubanjiang
3 teaspoons of freshly chopped ginger
3 teaspoons of freshly chopped garlic
150ml of water
1 ½ teaspoons of sugar
1 teaspoon of light soy sauce
2 teaspoons of black vinegar
4 spring onions, sliced into 3cm chunks
1 teaspoon of cornstarch mixed with 1 tablespoon of water
1 teaspoon of sesame oil

1. Remove either end of the eggplants, cut into 4 quarters and then slice each quarter lengthways into 3 or 4 chucks.
2. In a wok, heat up about 3 tablespoons of oil. Add the eggplants when hot, and stir-fry until almost done (about 3-5 minutes). Place into a serving bowl.
3. Wash the wok if necessary, and then heat up another 1-2 tablespoons of oil. Add the doubanjiang and stir-fry for about 20 seconds until the oil is red and fragrant; add the ginger and garlic and continue to stir-fry for about another 30 seconds. Take care not to burn the flavourings – turn down the heat if necessary.
4. Add the water, sugar, soy sauce and mix well.
5. Once the liquid is boiling return the eggplants to the wok and let them simmer for a few minutes to absorb the flavours.
6. Now add the vinegar, spring onions and salt, and cook until the onions are soft. Add the starch and water mixture and stir to thicken the sauce.
7. Finally, turn off the heat, stir in the sesame oil and serve.

Just a quick link to a recent post on Rambling Spoon, the excellent blog of food journalist Karen Coates, that guest stars a photo by yours truly.

And another link to the pdf for the latest issue of Chengdoo Citylife Magazine, which features a (very!) brief overview of Sichuan cuisine that I wrote as the first installment of my new column, Your Chuancai Cupboard.

In a country where you can eat so well for cheaply, you may wonder why you’d ever want to pay much for a meal. In fact, until quite recently, I considered it a little crazy to pay more than the absolute minimum to fill one’s belly; the cheapest food is the best food here, I thought, so why should anyone spend any more of their hard-earned cash than they have to?

But though I still love the inexpensive basics of Sichuan cuisine (Mapo Tofu, Gong Bao Chicken, Fish Fragrant Aubergine etc), my attitude towards fine dining in China has recently undergone a bit of sea change. Perhaps it's because having eaten the classics so many times, I now appreciate the variety of dishes on offer at more expensive restaurants; or perhaps because now, being able to cook these dishes myself, I want something else when I go out – whatever the reason, I am currently on a mission to try out some of Chengdu’s more fancy restaurants, and have recently been to two excellent ones.

The first was at Rong Jin Yi Hao, where Cam and I went for our friend Clare’s birthday. Situated next to the river in the west of town, the restaurant is only 1 floor tall, very unusual for Chengdu, and even more unusual, made almost entirely out of glass. As you enter from the main road, it’s a bit like stepping into a rather glamorous greenhouse: lush fabrics drape from the ceiling, ancient-style furniture lines the walls, and customers lounge on plush purple sofas.

But enough about the decorations, on to the food! Almost everything we ate at Rong Jin Yi Hao I had never had before – particularly memorable were the ducks tongues, served with peanuts and deep-fried quails eggs…

…and these tangy, crunchy Strange-Flavour Broad Beans.

And though I wasn't exactly full when I left Rong Jin Yi Hao (a unfortunate side-effect of fancy restaurants, where rice is almost never served unless you ask for it), I would certainly recommend it for it's unusual and modern interpretations of Sichuan cuisine.

The second fancy restaurant I went to recently was Baguo Buyi. Established in 1996, Baguo Buyi has built a reputation for serving high-quality, authentic Sichuan food, and with 25 restaurants across China, is one of the most famous Sichuanese restaurant chains in the country. The Chengdu flagship branch, originally right in the downtowm, has changed location several times but is now settled in a huge, purpose-built complex (also housing a boutique hotel and tea-house) in the south near the airport expressway.

If all this makes Baguo Buyi sound a little forbidding though, think again – the staff are incredibly friendly, and the interior, though not exactly cozy, is beautiful. The mutli-story building, decorated in a grand-cum-rustic style, contains private dining rooms of various levels of sumptuousness, and tables for all group sizes in the public dining room. The best tables here have a view of the stage for the nightly face-changing, dancing and fire-breathing show, which, although a little noisy, was fun and of a pretty professional quality (the show is free for diners, lasts about 20 minutes, and starts at about 7pm).

Given all that I'd heard about Baguo Buyi my expectations were naturally high, but on the two occasions I ate there it didn't disappoint. Pick of the cold dishes was rabbit with green peppers, the meat strips lying on a bed of wood-ear mushrooms and draped in an aromatic sesame oil dressing swimming in green peppers;

and the pea jelly, the spicy sauce nicely offset by the crushed peanuts.

The hot dishes weren't perhaps quite a good as the cold – the chicken with chillies was, I thought, stingy on the meat and overpriced to boot (though my American co-diners loved the addition of fried potatoes). But the disappointment of that dish was more than made up for by two gorgeous pork dishes: belly pork with green beans was totally sublime, the chunks of meat meltingly soft, the beans cooked yet crunchy, the sauce satisfyingly sweet; and the twice-cooked pork with bread rolls was a nice twist on an old favourite.

So, would I want to eat at Rong Jin Yi Hao and Baguo Buyi everyday of the week? Of course not - even if money were not an issue the food at these restaurants is far too rich for everyday eating. Nonetheless, I will be sure to go them both again - both when I want to linger over my meal, and enjoy some very high quality Sichuan cuisine.

Baguo Buyi 巴国布衣
55 Shenxianshu Nan Lu (the branch I ate at)
神仙树南路55号
Tel: 028-85551168
Also another branch in Shuang Nan:
8 Guang Fu Qiao Bei Jie
广福桥北街8号附19号
Tel: 028-85095777

Rong Jin Yi Hao 容锦一号
Song Xian Qiao Tou 送仙桥头
Tel: 028-87337726

(Some parts of this post first appeared in Chengdoo Citylife Magazine, Issue 23)