It took me almost half a century to work up an interest in Mongolian barbecue. It was all the rage in Manila back in the mid-80s, and even then I had doubts about the origins of the dish (Taiwan, as it turned out), or that I would find it to my liking. At least now I can confidently say that I won’t be going back for seconds. As in at all.
Oh, it wasn’t that bad — certainly not as bad as it looked, which was kinda sloppy. And believe me, I wasn’t expecting anything resembling barbecue, either. Give me some credit here.¹ But if it’s stir-fry I fancy (because that’s what Mongolian barbecue really is), I will make my own, thank you. Keber ko kay Kublai.²
But boy oh boy, the dishes I could have whipped up from such a wide array of ingredients! Everything was pre-sliced, I thought I had died and gone to cooking heaven. And that was as much appreciation as I could muster. If I happened to diss your favorite meal (or disabused you of the notion that it is in any way Mongolian), I apologize, but there’s no way my parents would eat that stuff even if you threw all the camels in the Gobi into the deal.
If you are wondering what all of this has to do with the salad above, that’s because for the longest time, I had thought that Mongolian barbecue was vegetarian (go figure). With the advent of cable in our neck of the woods, I could tell you that a Mongolian nomadic dwelling is called ger and not yurt (that’s Russian), yet I took it for granted that locals got their greens from somewhere, perhaps from an oasis just off the frame. Dumb, yes? If those sunflower sprouts cost ₱150 for 100 grams in these temperate climes, I do not want to know how much they would go for in the desert.³
In any case, Metro Ayala surprises me at times. Compared to its produce selection, Rustan’s and S&R are pretty conservative.⁴ I might as well have been Mongolian, encountering those sprouts (and beech mushrooms) for the first time, I was so excited. So what if the sprouts were too “sprouted” to qualify as microgreens? At least they were fresh (shhh, I opened a pack on the sly to check). Therese and I each grabbed one. There might not be a next time.
My first instinct was to make a stir-fry, because the greens reminded me of mung bean sprouts and of the pea-shoot stir-fry I had at Choobi Choobi⁵ a while back. “Are you nuts?” Therese had said. “Salad!” Well, why not have it both ways? They went very well with pork char siu — and the whole meal cost less than an eat-all-you-can bowl at Kublai Khan.
As with all other greens, I let the sprouts sit in iced water until using. Cold water firms up vegetables and brings out their color (and gets rid of dirt as well). Give it at least an hour to re-hydrate your greens, especially if they are a few days old. If you have a spinner, use that to get rid of excess liquid, but a colander works just as well, only longer.
For the salad, I thinly sliced half an onion and steeped the slices along with the sprouts to soften their bite. At the last minute, they were tossed with carrot and cucumber shavings and a simple vinaigrette of olive oil, lemon juice, honey, and salt. (I could’ve done without the dressing, actually. The sprouts were pleasantly sweetish on their own.)
For stir-fry, I sautéed the other onion half (also thinly sliced) with minced garlic, then added the sprouts to the pan. Working quickly so as to keep the greens from wilting completely, I added a dash of soy sauce, a dash of chicken broth, a pinch of sugar, plus salt and pepper to taste, then turned off the heat, noting that mung bean sprouts are hardier than sunflower. If you leave them in the pan too long, they turn stringy.
But Therese was right. While the stir-fry was good, sunflower sprouts are too darn expensive, and salad is the best way to showcase their taste and visual oomph. As Mr. Shooli liked to say—
But why would I know anything about that? I never watched that show⁶ even when there was nothing else on TV! Mongolia is an interesting place, but if you ask me, Jun Urbano and the Taiwanese (who until 2002 claimed the country as part of their territory) do it no favors — one for being unfunny, and the other for perpetrating a culinary joke on the world. The pencil at least has a sterling reputation. If you want quality, you insist on a Mongol — or, as we used to say in grade school in the ’70s, at the very least one that was not made in Taiwan, then synonymous for substandard and unappealing. Now note that Mongolian barbecue first appeared in Taipei restaurants around that time. There’s perspective for you.
¹ To summarize: Mongolian barbecue is neither Mongolian nor a barbecue. For real Mongolian barbecue, see khorkhog. «
³ This observation pertains to a very particular region of the country, which is mostly what the Discovery and National Geographic channels feature. Still, as per a 2008 study (PDF), Mongolia’s overall vegetable consumption outweighs domestic supply capability 2:1. The high altitude and harsh climate render the country unsuitable for widespread/varied crop cultivation. The price of food alone contributes to much of inflation (PDF). «
⁴ Mere impressions. No hard data here. As for SM, I hardly go there because of the traffic. «
⁵ But what you should really try are the Chilean mussels in a bag — fantastic! The one time I ordered crispy pata, it was perfectly crispy on the outside but the flesh was way too tender. (How did they do that, anyway?) Also, I suspect they use processed (instead of fresh) coconut cream in the ginataang monggo. «
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