Let's talk about: Tofu (Part 1)

Tofu holds a special place in a lot of East Asian hearts.  I would dare say that for every non-Asian who despises tofu for its “lack-of”s, there will be at least ten Asians who would staunchly support tofu.  All East Asian cultures have some sort of specialty meals featuring the by-itself-flavorless-but-oh-so-versatile “soy meat.”  It’s an ode to joy for many vegans or vegetarians who may have struggled to maintain good protein levels prior to tofu’s introduction to mainstream America.  

Besides the usual firm and soft varieties that most Americans can purchase from their local mega marts, there’re also tofu “flower”, fried tofu, dried tofu, and countless other variations readily available on the shelves of Asian markets.  If we present all these varieties to a non-Asian, he would first get dizzy, then picked out the fried tofu for their stir-fry.  After all, fried food is always the most popular item in any menu-- especially if the other option is “unknown,” or worse yet, “bland.”  “Blandness” seems to be the worst offense that plain tofu can commit, but those in the know would use this “blandness” and turns it into something beautiful.  

Because of its “blandness,” regular tofu is much like an unpolished diamond-- there’re a lot of potential waiting to be unlocked in this ugly-looking rock.  When paired with the right partner, this block of ugly-looking rock will shine much like a correctly-faceted diamond.  One of the most famous Cantonese renditions of this diamond-in-the rough story is “Magistrate (Jiang)’s tofu” (太史豆腐).  It looks nothing special, but once you bite into it, you will be greeted with a luxurious mouth-feel like sleeping naked on silk sheet and a luscious chicken and ham taste mingled with a taste of soy.  To create this contradiction, the tofu is simmered in a rich chicken and ham broth (this is a standard stock in the Chinese food repertoire) for at least 30 min (the longer the better), until the flavor penetrates into the tofu block.  Heat control is important because heavy boiling would destroy the tofu block.  This process is controlled by diffusion, and the whole process feels almost like a dialysis procedure.  As the name implies, this dish was invented in Magistrate Jiang’s kitchen.  Speaking of Magistrate Jiang, his kitchen was probably THE kitchen in its time, inventing many great dishes that most unfortunately didn’t get passed down due to their complexity.  His kitchen was famous for turning common ingredients into a spectacle--  mostly because Magistrate Jiang was sick of cuisines made with exotic, expensive ingredients.  

If Magistrate’s tofu is not your cup of tea, there are other ways to turn tofu’s blandness into a canvas for flavors.  Ma Po tofu, a fairly famous dish even in American lexicon, uses tofu as the carrier of its heat and spices.  Ma Po was not some fancy Chinese spice-- she was a widow with freckles on her face (some said her face was slightly pock-marked-- but whatever makes a better story).  She invented this spicy and tongue-numbing tofu dish and sold her creation in a small street side stand to laborers.  The tofu dish was named after her nickname, Ma Po, which described her visage (and the fact that she’s a lady... an older lady).  This is made with star anise, sichuan peppercorns (this creates the numbness), and spicy doubanjiang (spicy fermented bean paste, wiki here).  Meat was a requirement in the original dish, which can be omitted for vegetarian consumption (it’s not as good without meat...).  After cooking the doubanjiang, tofu is added to the wok to cook for a couple minutes (tops.. tofu has a tendency to excrete water into the sauce the longer it cooks).  After adding cornstarch solution to thicken the sauce, the dish is now ready to eat.  

In comparison to the tofu in the two dishes above, tofu flower (豆腐花) is much harder to find in the US.  It is much softer, silkier and “looser” (just like a delicate flower), which makes it very hard to transport and consequently difficult to be placed on the supermarket shelf.  If eating regular tofu is akin to eating a 300 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet, then eating tofu flower is like eating real silk-- it has a much smoother texture.  Usually, a tofu manufacturer (including shops that specialize in all non-sauce soy products) is the place to find tofu flower. Typically, tofu flower can be made into a savory or sweet dish, with the sweet version immensely more popular than the savory version.  A savory version typically includes dressing the tofu in soy sauce, meat, shiitake mushrooms, green onions, and sometimes pickled vegetable.  This goes very well with a bowl of rice.  

The sweet version deserves special attention.  No American would have imagined to turn tofu in a dessert (besides making it into protein shakes), but the process is really simple:  add sugar and voila, you have gotten yourself a bowl of sweet dessert with a rich, fresh soy taste.  My mom would add a sugar syrup made with brown sugar and ginger (ginger is there to reduce the “chilliness” of the tofu-- this is some Cantonese folklore...  I can’t quite explain it) to the tofu flower to smitten it up.  However, my favorite rendition is adding slightly chunky brown sugar directly onto the tofu flower.  The chunky crunch on the brown sugar contrasts with the silkiness of the tofu makes it a very fun dessert to eat.  A combination of both a very light syrup and crunchy brown sugar would be paradise-- light gingery taste combined with soy and the complex flavor of brown sugar would lift any spirits up.  When I was living the high life in something-similar-to-Section-8 housing in Hong Kong,  I dreamed about getting this much-anticipated-but-low-supply dessert whenever the opportunity arose.  Back then, the building did not have gate or security guards, so hawkers would come into the building, going floor to floor to sell the treats.  They didn’t come very often-- I would say maybe once a month tops, with decreased frequency over time (hence the much-anticipated-but-low-supply).  When they reached the floor, they would yell “tofu flower” repeatedly while wheeling their cart to the entrance of different wings in the common area so the hallway would project their voices and they would be heard.  After begging and nagging my parents a little bit, they would issue a “go ahead” and I would run out the door (and gate-- we all have gates in front of our doors), money in hand, with the largest bowl we have (usually, that’s the common soup bowl) then dash straight to the cart.  The cart sells both cold and hot tofu flower, and the cold one is usually pre-seasoned with sweetness.  I would ask the hawker to fill the bowl with the hot tofu flower (my mom thinks hot is better because it’s less likely to contain salmonella and is “fresher”).  He would take out his thin, round metal “spatula” with a parabolic shape (it’s more like a bent up piece of metal..) and proceed to “peel” thin layers of tofu flower, and gingerly but swiftly deposited it into the bowl.  He would then ask if I would like to have it sweetened-- which I giddily obliged.  Then, he would pile on several heaping tablespoons worth of chunky brown sugar onto the tofu flower.  I would carefully take that back to the house so my family can enjoy the after-meal dessert.  I still remember the last time I had this treat through these hawkers.  The hawker was a lean, middle-aged man with olive skin (clearly a outdoor construction type guy), with his skin-white-as-snow wife, and two very active kids.  The hot tofu flower was carried in a fairly large rice cooker.  As the man dosed out the tofu flower, the little kids ran around, chasing each other, screaming in joy, while the mom tried to calm the two kids down.  As the pot opened, I smelled a burnt tinge, but since I was very eager to have the treat, I ignored the warning sign.  I took the bowl home-- gingerly-- like I usually did, and proceeded to chow down the tofu flower.  Only this time, instead of the crunchy, soy, sweet taste, it left a burnt taste in my mouth.  The guy burnt his whole batch of tofu flower!  How anticlimactic!  My very last bowl of section-8 tofu flower ended with a very burnt note...  

Hopefully, this gives you a better understanding and respect for this diamond-in-the-rough.  With proper handling, the pasty white tofu can turn into whatever you want it to be (and yes, it can do what the pie does in American Pie-- if you heat it up, that is).  Sky’s the limit!  Let its inner beauty shine!