In the mid 1970s, a good wintermelon was hard to find. As were garlic chives and Chinese mustard greens. At least they were in southeastern Ohio, where I grew up.
So my father sent away to big-city Chinatowns for seeds and planted various strange-looking vegetables and herbs in a corner of the back yard where he’d spread a truckload of topsoil over the yellowish-clay earth.
Just about everything he tried grew beautifully, and I loved eating the spicy garlic chives stir-fried with dried tofu, and the soft, nearly transparent cubes of stewed wintermelon.
One day my parents couldn’t wait to taste Dad’s latest garden exotica–xiang tsai, or “fragrant vegetable.” My mother prepared it simply, floating just a few delicate sprigs of it on a clear chicken broth.
With the first spoonful, I was totally repulsed. I’m pretty sure my eyes bugged out as if to say, “What the (expletive)…!!” which I couldn’t actually come out and say because I was only 8.
The taste was palpably strong, like heavy fumes in the mouth. Like when my family would take a summer road trip and, stuck fast to the Buick’s black vinyl seats because Dad didn’t believe in air conditioning, we would pull in to the Shell station, where I could virtually see–and definitely smell–the gas fumes wafting in through the rolled-down windows. To me, “fragrant vegetable” would always be “carsick tsai” and was to be avoided at all costs.
Imagine my surprise when, more than a decade later, I went to my first decent Mexican restaurant and tasted it in the salsa.
What I’d always thought was a rare and terrible Chinese green turned out to be ordinary cilantro, and this time it was delicious–still strong, but fresh and clean, almost citrusy.
Why was it so good when it used to be so bad? Was it particularly well-suited to Mexican food, or had my tastes changed over time?
After relishing it in a Chinese eggplant dish and on a Lebanese lamb pizza, I concluded it was the latter, and have been cooking with it ever since.
There is hope now that one day my children, too, will outgrow their revulsion to such horrors as button mushrooms, or to the very aura of said mushrooms when they approach their side of the pizza.
Or maybe, on some future road trip, they might consider eating a vegetable, fragrant or not.
SPICY EGGPLANT WITH CILANTRO
Serves four to six
1/4 pound lean ground pork
1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons soy sauce
3 teaspoons cornstarch
4 Japanese eggplants
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons minced fresh ginger
1 green onion, minced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup chicken broth or water
1 tablespoon garlic chili paste
2-1/4 teaspoons sugar
2 teaspoons Asian sesame oil
1. In a small bowl, mix meat with 2 teaspoons of the soy sauce and 1 teaspoon of the cornstarch. Cut unpeeled eggplants crosswise, diagonally, into 1/2-inch thick slices.
2. In a wok or large skillet, heat 2 teaspoons oil to smoking over medium heat. Add ginger, onion and garlic. Saute until aromatic, 30 seconds. Add meat; stir-fry until no longer pink. Remove with a slotted spoon; set aside.
3. Add remaining oil to pan; heat to smoking over medium-high. Add eggplant; stir-fry until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Add cooked meat, cilantro, broth, chili paste, sugar and rest of soy sauce. Bring to boil; stir. Reduce heat, cover and cook until eggplant is tender, about 10 minutes.
4. In small bowl, mix remaining 2 teaspoons cornstarch with 2 tablespoons cold water. Add to eggplant, bring to a boil and cook, stirring, for a minute or two, until sauce is thickened.
5. Put in serving dish; drizzle with sesame oil. Serve with hot cooked rice.
ROASTED TOMATILLO SALSA
Makes about three cups
1 1/2 pounds fresh tomatillos
3 unpeeled garlic cloves
2 jalapeno peppers
1/2 cup fresh cilantro
1 coarsely chopped medium white onion
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/4 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon coarse salt
1. Husk tomatillos and rinse under warm water to remove the stickiness. Broil tomatillos, garlic cloves and jalapeno peppers about 1-2 inches from heat, turning once, until tomatillos are slightly charred, about 8 minutes.
2. Peel garlic. Stem, split and scrape seeds from jalapenos with a small knife blade. (If you like hotter salsa, leave the seeds in one.)
3. Place tomatillos, garlic, jalapenos, cilantro, white onion, lime juice, sugar and salt in a food processor or blender. Pulse until all ingredients are finely chopped or pureed. Add more salt to taste. Chill. Serve with tortilla chips.
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dchen@tribune.com
