The second installment in my new ‘Eating Chinese’ series is the idiom 种瓜得瓜，种豆得豆, pinyin: Zhòng guā dé guā, zhòng dòu dé dòu. Literally meaning ‘Sow melons and you get melons, sow beans and you get beans’, it’s figurative meaning is synonymous with the English phrase ‘You reap what you sow’. Here is the example sentence:

爸爸告诉我你要努力学习才能上大学，因为种瓜得瓜，种豆得豆. Pinyin: Bàba gàosù wǒ nǐ yào nǔlì xuéxí cái néng shàng dàxué, yīnwèi zhòng guā dé guā, zhòng dòu dé dòu. English: ‘My father told me I must work hard so I can go to university, because you reap what you sow.’

In the recording (at the top of this post), ), first you will hear 种瓜得瓜，种豆得豆 on its own, and then the example sentence. If you're having any problems with playing the recording, you can open it in an external window by clicking here.

Last week, Cam and I had the brilliant experience of visiting the factory of a local company, who produce all manner of traditional Chinese cooking ingredients and foodstuffs. The visit was to research the method of making dou chi (fermented black beans) for my next column in Chengdoo Magazine, which you will see here soon. In the meantime, here are a few photos to whet your appetite.

Dried soy beans, the main ingredient of dou chi.

The soy beans, post soaking and steaming, mid-way through the fermentation process.

The dou chi getting a stir.

The almost-finished product.

We also got to see the company’s doufu ru (fermented tofu) being made, of which they are justly proud. First, the tofu itself is prepared.

The tofu is then left in earthenware containers, called shaigang, to ferment for many months.

Finally, it is mixed with a spicy sauce, packaged and ready to eat.

More on dou chi, and the wonderful Mr Jiang who organized our visit, coming soon…

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.

Though nowadays it's somewhat hard to believe, I was, as a child, a fussy eater. I wouldn't touch salad; I wasn't keen on much fruit; but the foods I disliked most of all were peas and beans in all their varieties. I HATED the mushy peas sold at fish 'n' chip shops, and I despised, despised baked beans, just the merest whiff of which would make me retch.

Eventually though, I was won over (though the baked bean thing continues still), and by the time I went to university, I was a bean addict. In my first year, I cooked an enormous vat of chickpea tagine to raise money for charity; in my second year, the communal house I lived in bought 20 kg sacks of dried beans (and yes, we did get through them all).

Here in China, although beans aren't a stereotypically Asian foodstuff, I am nonetheless spoilt for choice: vegetable stalls abound with fresh green peas and plump broad beans, while the dried goods stores are filled with butter, aduki and black beans.

These last (whose Chinese name, hei dou, also means 'black bean') have become a regular ingredient for Cam and I, and here is one dish that we've particularly enjoyed recently. Though in the picture the beans are still a bit crunchy (I was impatient and didn't let them cook for long enough), I do think it would be better if they were completely soft, and so have indicated this in the recipe.

P.S. If you're worried about the errr, gaseous effects of eating beans, I've heard that if you use a fresh panful of water after bringing the beans to the boil for the first time, this can lesson their impact.

Black Bean and Butternut Squash Dip

About 3 handfuls of dried black beans
500kg of butternut squash
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
1 and 1/2 teaspoons of cumin seeds, roasted and then roughly ground
2 teaspoons of dark soy sauce
2 teaspoons of Thai-style chilli sauce
A handful of fresh coriander leaf, roughly chopped.
Salt to taste

1. Soak the black beans in plenty of cold, fresh water for at least 6 hours; once hydrated, change the water and then boil until soft and buttery (about 2 hours).
2. Peel the squash and discard the seeds, cut into even chunks and then boil until cooked, about 10-15 minutes.
3. Mash the cooked beans and squash together until smooth.
4. Add the garlic, cumin seeds, soy sauce, chilli sauce, salt and almost all of the coriander leaf and mix well.
5. Transfer to a serving bowl, garnish with the rest of the coriander leaf and serve. This dish is particularly tasty when eaten with fresh and crusty wholegrain bread.