Lamb skewers
Life without smoke and fire is a lonely journey.
This is not a life quote. It’s about how Xián foodies spend the long, hot summer nights. The temp. barely drops after sunset, but they already can’t wait to flee from the aircon rooms to the street. The cold-skin noodles are ladies’ summer snack. The lamb skewers are men’s summer hack.
The squat-low benches and tables spread until the curbside. Table number services are too fancy for the street stalls. The diners need to stay low so the waiters can see them from afar when soon the crowd gets to hundreds of people. The loud traffic is just a few feet away, the dust swirls in the air, the plastic tables wiggling and squeaking. But nothing in life is so hard that you can’t make it easier by a bundle of lamb skewers. For one second the peanut-sized meat is still sizzling, the steel stick still burning hot; for another, a tooth-strip leaves the stick nice and clean. After a gulp of cold beer — the 750ml bottle straight, all the pain is healed, and life starts to twinkle like the stars in the sky.
Xi’an is, both geographically and demographically, the central point of China. All cultures and traditions come and go, what’s left becomes its hallmarks. Xi’an lamb skewer is originally from kebab — nearly two million muslin population live in the city. When it first came to Xi’an, the giant meat chunk and steel sticks looked intimidating. They were grilled on stone coals, the sulfurous smell plus the special mutton scent scared people away. The history of intersection gives Xi’an chefs –especially the street food ones, profound creativity. After two decades’ evolution, the meat and skewers are now much smaller, special charcoals are used, and a much wider range of condiment is used to mitigate the mutton smell and spice up the taste.
Dropping the original focus of meat, Xi’an lamb skewer has developed its own hardcore –a combination of fat and lean. It’s a subtle cutting work as each piece of meat –the size of a peanut, should show a good proportion between red and white. The grease converts the arid touch after the roast into a delicate tang to the palate. To reinforce the sensation, an oil brush is sweeping the skewers throughout the grill, sometimes catching fire at the skewers and the charcoals underneath.
Some maniacs love the tendon skewers. The hard joint can’t break by teeth unless it’s grilled to near carbon. The rough chowing makes a great match to the cold beer. The roast time is so long that the steel sticks become almost red hot. But the hungry eaters can’t wait, jabbing the sticks to the mouth right away. Then a sizzle is almost audible, followed by a scream and two burning marks at each side of the mouth.
The grill racks, like a mini manger, are smaller than the original. The charcoals are loaded at the bottom, and almost a hundred of meat sticks are loaded on the top. The chef rolls over the sticks in bundles with great dexterity, spreads the condiment powder at intervals. Though rather different from the typical kebab flavor, Xi’an skewers still largely rely on cumin powder. Almost every famous skewer stall in Xi’an has its own secret recipes.
The exultation goes on late into the night. While the rest of the world already quiets down, the countless skewer stalls still glisten around the city with grill fires. The yells and laughs travel even further. Empty sticks pile up on the table, empty beer bottles pile up around the feet. They won’t go away until you check out, as the waiter will come to count them one by one and tell you the bill right away.
Two more recommendations. The roast pita. It’s held by two skewers, grilled the same as the meat, rolling over and spread with brushing oil and condiments. The surface is cut deep to allow the ingredients to come deep inside. It’s brought up in golden color and crispy taste. A great desert in a salty way. The roast kidney. It’s called “man’s power” under an uncanny theory that “eating kidney improves your kidney” –which goes to other organs, too. The tender taste feels great, if you beat the pungent smell.
