Steamed rice. As a kid I thought that it was the pinnacle of Chinese cuisine, the one item on the rolling dim sum cart at Ding How I most looked forward to. You dug in with chopsticks to distribute the pork (and bits of shrimp, if you opted for the special) all around the bowl, coating each grain of rice with the heavy, stewy sauce — Ding How’s steamed rice was all about the sauce — and you were off to Chinese heaven.
A less impressionable person would say that I’m making too much of a rice topping, but like I always say, you had to be there. Ding How’s steamed rice rocked. It still does; the restaurant has changed names several times (today it’s Tsim Sha Tsui at The Terraces in Ayala, and Harbour City elsewhere in Cebu) and now sports a more upscale look from its canteen-like vibe in the ’70s and ’80s, but the steamed rice has (thankfully) remained the same. At least they had the sense not to mess with that. (And it’s really called steamed rice. Or more formally, pork steamed rice. Others call it steamed fried rice, except there’s no way that rice can be fried.)
Can you tell I’m a little obsessed with it? That’s what happens when you can’t just hie off to the nearest Ding How incarnation (which is an island away) to satisfy your craving. What’s a country bumpkin to do? Try to make steamed rice at home, that’s what — with emphasis on “try.” Heck, it only took me decades! So screw you, Ding How; after numerous failed attempts, and some that came maddeningly close, I can now say that I have pretty much nailed the damn thing. Bang the gong.
My first (and biggest) mistake was in the pork cut. Although the dish clearly called for lean meat (as in tenderloin), I stubbornly persisted in using belly for the longest time. All it accomplished was to bolster my belief in a long and slow cooking process — mistake #2. In fact, it takes no more than 30 minutes to prepare the dish, and that is mostly for the sauce, which is cooked separately.
To the sliced tenderloin (diced, actually; my memory somehow insists that the pork was in strips), add a teaspoon of fish sauce, a pinch of salt, and a tablespoon of cornstarch. Mix well (add a little oil to keep the meat from clumping together) and set aside. You will be tempted to add more seasonings, because, yes, the meat is indeed on the bland side. Don’t. That’s as it should be. Like I said, steamed rice is all about the sauce. If you insist, you’re welcome to commit mistake #3. I had to find that out for myself; why shouldn’t you?
Shell and dice a dozen medium-size shrimps (deveined) and set aside. Take the shells, including heads and tails, and sauté in a tablespoon of oil. Stir in a small carrot (chopped), three cloves of garlic (crushed), two small onions (quartered), a knob of ginger (crushed), a dried bay leaf, and a teaspoon of whole black peppercorns. After onions turn translucent, add a splash of Chinese cooking wine. Wait for the smell of alcohol to pass, then pour in two and a half cups of chicken stock (you can also use water and a bouillon cube). Simmer for 15 minutes before straining out the solids.
Add your condiments: a teaspoon each of fish sauce, light and dark soy sauces, and sugar; half of salt, and two of oyster sauce. Simmer for 10 more minutes, then stir in cornstarch slurry (two teaspoons of starch dissolved in two teaspoons of cold water; have I told you about the time I caught Claudine Barreto on TV, tossing cornstarch straight into boiling stock? Shows how much she knows, eh?). Lower heat and keep stirring until sauce thickens to desired consistency. Adjust to taste, but limit yourself to salt and/or sugar (the sauce should be dark enough), then remove from heat.
Even at this point, don’t expect the sauce to smell or taste like Ding How’s. Not just yet. Drizzle two tablespoons of oil in a pan over high heat, wait for it to smoke, then throw in marinated tenderloin. Stir-fry for about three minutes or until the meat loses its raw color. Add the sauce, followed by the shrimp, fresh green peas (if using), and a dash of sesame oil. Give it a stir — then a good whiff. Anyone who knows his steamed rice can tell the real deal by the smell alone, and this one has “Ding How” wafting all over it. Ladle a generous portion over a bowl of rice and dig in.
How’s that for easy? Ding How should be flattered, not least because I’m willing to date myself by insisting on it as my point of reference. There is a ream of speculation about what exactly makes its steamed rice special: ground dried fish, clam broth, a proprietary blend of soy sauce, lots of MSG… At least I can tell you that it is definitely not the last — not in this home-style version. The key, it appears, is common Chinese cooking sense. Sans that, the rest of us will just have to rely on trial and error. Here’s hoping I figure out the sweet and sour pork before I turn 50.
Thank you 😘
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