Xi’an food: Yangrou Paomo: Mutton broth boiled with unleavened flatbread (YRPM)
— Wiggling around what theme I should stick to for my blog, I have come across to the idea of food. I am not a foodie but my hometown Xi’an, China, is a mecca for many food lovers. Especially for those of street food. I rarely get excited by a dish or cuisine. But resonating Maroon 5’s “Memories” about drinks, I believe a cuisine or taste brings back memories, too. I just want to keep writing. Hopefully food is the vehicle for now carrying me forward, until I find the new one. Here is the first piece.
Xi’an’s fame mostly comes from Terra-cotta. But for many locals, the underground army brings them a distant pride, whereas Xi’an food brings a selfish joy. The list of Xi’an food is a long one — hope I can cover some in my blog, and the top pick sees no challenge. It’s YRPM.
It’s a Halal food, or Muslim food. Modern life has changed ethnic food a lot. But Xi’an’s over two million Muslim population, called Hui people, assures that some traditions and tastes will survive the time.
Be prepared that you are one of the chefs making this feast. Sitting down in the restaurant, you will receive a large bowl, called “ocean bowl”, and two unleavened flatbreads, or buns. They call the bun “Mo”, or “dead Mo” as it’s non-fermented, stiff, and inedible yet. It falls into the category of naang or pita in Islamic food but is smaller and half baked —not sticky after boiled in mutton soup. Then comes the labor work. You need to finger tear the stiff bun into small granules. How small? Depends on how patient and hungry you are. Don’t worry it would mess up with the mutton broth. The broth is supposed to wake up the dead bun but never intrude. How long you have to stay on the labor work? Well, watch the life of a typical YRPM fan in downtown.
In the early morning, he goes to the breakfast store to have a bowl of Hulatang –a batter-like dark spicy soup. On the way to the tea house, he stops by a YRPM restaurant and picks up the ocean bowl and buns. Immersing in the loud local opera –Qinqiang, for 4 hours or so, he never stops tearing down the bun. Checking out the tea house, he goes back to the YRPM restaurant. In five minutes, the final product of his labor is put on the table. Soup is soup, bites are bites, they never mess up. On the top are slices of mutton or beef, bean vermicelli, and minced scallions. A tiny plate is served with a couple of pickled sweet garlics and chili sauce. Should he pre-announced, a few coriander leaves will be added.
You think he has done the very first step in the morning? Think again. The mutton broth, in an ocean pot, starts to heat the night before. Long time simmering is a wide recipe of thick soup in East Asia, but the Muslim chefs have their well-kept secrets. When it’s ready, the soup remains clear with a slight aura between green and yellow. It’s still clear even after the boiling –Soup is soup, bites are bites.
They say the taste of the mutton soup is penetrating. So true for YRPM. That’s why the reviews on it are so polarizing. For those who hate it, they keep social distance from it. For those who love it, it’s a ritual. The meat itself — two or three slices of lamp, is served in a mellow posture. They crumble right into the mouth. They might lose a little edge after the super-fanned boiling. This is where the transparent bean vermicelli steps in — crispy and brisk.
Overwhelmed by the mutton flavor? The pickled sweet garlics come to rescue –a strong smell to mitigate another strong smell. The glaring red chili sauce is hated by old fans –they believe only the sweet garlic is the best match. But it’s increasingly popular among younger generations –it spices up not only the flavor but also the yellowish look of the broth. In some old-fashioned restaurant, therefore, the waiter would come to tell you, “If you want to add the sauce, don’t stir it. One bite of Mo, one bite of sauce. Do it correctly, you can see the clear soup even at last swallow.”
Chinese food looks to three essentials: appearance, smell, and taste. YRPM has done the extreme on all three fronts — good or bad. Whether like it or not, without having an ocean bowl of YRPM, you’ve never come to Xi’an.
Fun stories:
— How it was promoted. Hundreds of years ago, a king, when he was still a pauper, almost starved to death. Enticed by an incredible smell, he came to a YRPM restaurant. But he had no money. Lying outside, he took his last food — two pieces of dead Mo, and tried to bite with the smell. The kind restaurant owner found him. He asked the king to tear the bread into pieces and cooked it with hot mutton broth. The king had the best meal in his life. He promoted it across the country after he became the king.
— The tearing work is so important that the master chef in the kitchen alters the cooking according to the granule quality. Too big or too uneven? It must be a tourist; a haste cooking is served. Small and uniform, a regular customer; he will cook carefully. Sometimes he even knows the customer’s name by the granule quality so that he can cook in the preference. Now most restaurants have installed machines to shred the bread. But labor work is always there.
— YRPM is so local that some fans believe any cooking out of the town loses its flavor. The same conspiracy that you can’t have a home country meal in a foreign land. But how amazing that YRPM only stays in the city.
