SERVES 3 TO 4 AS A MAIN COURSE, 6 TO 8 AS PART OF A MULTICOURSE MEAL
This is one of the most popular cold noodle dishes in the China Moon repertoire. The combination of chili spice and fresh orange zing with slithery noodles and crunchy peanuts spells heaven for most of our customers and staff.
With the seasoned oil and the fabulous “goop” on hand, this dish can be whipped up within minutes. The dressing may be made well in advance, but for finest flavor the noodles and other ingredients should be tossed together just prior to serving.
Fresh bean sprouts (the leggy sort with a tiny green head sprouted from mung beans) are at their best when they are terrifically white and crisp, with tiny peaked ears at the head end and an unbroken tail. That’s a fresh bean sprout! They are delivered daily to Chinese markets and can be found in open tubs. Older and wimpier ones will be broken and limp; they’re not worth buying.
To store fresh bean sprouts, blanch them as soon as possible in unsalted boiling water for 15 seconds. (This rids them of their grassy taste and seals the color.) Then, chill in ice water. They can be refrigerated in water to cover for 2 or 3 days without losing their crispness; drain the sprouts just before using.
In fanatic Chinese homes (equipped with many hands for menial labor), plucking the heads and tails of bean sprouts was a mark of refinement in the food. If you have someone you hate, give them this job. Otherwise, enjoy your bean sprouts heads, tails, and crispy middles!
2½ tablespoons China Moon Chili-Orange Oil (page 15)
1 tablespoon “goop” from China Moon Chili-Orange Oil
2 tablespoons black soy sauce
2 tablespoons distilled white vinegar
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
½ pound very thin (1/16 inch) fresh Chinese egg noodles
½ pound fresh bean sprouts
¾ cup finely shredded carrots
½ cup thinly sliced green and white scallion rings
¾ cup slivered coriander leaves and stems
½ cup chopped roasted peanuts
Coriander sprigs for garnish
1. Combine all of the dressing ingredients, whisking to blend. Set aside, leaving the whisk in the bowl.
2. Fluff the noodles in a colander to separate and untangle the strands. Bring a generous amount of water to a rolling boil over high heat. Add the noodles and swish gently with chopsticks until the noodles are al dente but cooked, about 2 minutes. Drain promptly, plunge briefly into ample ice water to chill, then drain thoroughly.
3. Blanch the bean sprouts in boiling water for 15 seconds. Refresh in ice water. Cover with cold water and refrigerate until ready to use. Drain well just before using.
4. Re-whisk the dressing. Scrape the dressing over the noodles and toss well with your fingers to coat and separate each strand. Scatter the bean sprouts, carrots, scallions, coriander, and two thirds of the chopped peanuts on top; then, toss lightly to mix. Taste and adjust, if needed, with a dash more sugar to bring forth the heat.
5. To serve, heap the noodles in bowls of contrasting color and garnish with sprigs of coriander and a sprinkling of the peanuts.
MENU SUGGESTIONS: On the Chinese end of things, these noodles mate perfectly with any of our smoked foods, such as Tea and Spice Smoked Quail (page 160). We’ll often use the noodles and a green salad on an antipasto plate along with Wok-Seared Beef Tenderloin (page 253). If your mood is more Western, the noodles go well with burgers or most anything from the grill.
I grew up, culinarily I speaking, in northern and central Chinese homes where noodles were a Big Deal. They were bought freshly made, ideally in the hours immediately preceding the meal, from a vendor in the local market who kneaded and cut them on the spot. Once home, they were cooked in unsalted water to differing degrees of doneness, depending on both the style of the dish and also the condition of the head of the household’s teeth. (Some of my adopted Chinese parents were quite old.) The merits of the different noodles were debated fiercely. It was a matter of familial pride.
In both of my Chinese families, we went on regular outings to eat noodles around town. This was serious business, and everyone got dressed up. In my second family, the noodle scouting went on literally around the clock: By day we would comb the city markets and alleyways to ferret out the elusive Best Noodle, and by night the quest would continue into the wee hours to discover the Best Noodle Stall, streetside eating being a nighttime scene. There was one downtown favorite that opened at noon for spicy cold Szechwan noodles, and another adjacent to the botanical gardens that got going only at midnight for steaming noodles topped with a gingery meat sauce. We ate bowlfuls.
The attention to noodles in my Chinese households verged on madness. It was more than once seriously suggested that if I wished to claim a marriageable skill, I could do worse than to learn how to cook a truly great pot of noodles. I pooh-poohed it then, believing that I would someday marry into a Chinese family and continue pounding the streets in search of great noodles, with never a downslide in the quest. However, I returned to America and married a Caucasian, and indeed Pasta à la Maison (a mélange of macaroni with fresh veggies) is perhaps my greatest culinary contribution to our household.
At China Moon, the vast majority of noodles that we use are wheat-based egg noodles, as befits my mostly northern Chinese palate. We buy them in several shapes:
Very thin fresh egg noodles, about 1/16 inch thick uncooked, are what we use in all of our cold noodle dishes and in our everyday pot-browned noodle pillows. They have maximum surface area on which to hang a tangy dressing and a great ability to tangle perfectly in a skillet. Once poached—a matter of only several minutes—they swell to a thickness of ⅛ inch. We occasionally use these very thin egg noodles in a stir-fry, but the wok must be very fast and hot, or they go gloppy in the sauce.
This style of thin egg noodle is widely available both fresh and frozen in 1-pound bags in Asian markets. They should be white or only a very pale yellow. Gray indicates old noodles; sunburst yellow means the manufacturer dumped in food dye instead of egg. The fresh noodles freeze nicely. Defrost slowly in the refrigerator for best texture.
This thin type of egg noodle is often called “angel-hair” and is available fresh in many of the Italian-style pasta stores.
If I am unable to find fresh egg noodles, I use a good brand of dried Italian noodles in their place. I avoid dried Chinese noodles, which I find flavorless.
Broad Chinese egg noodles of a ribbony, fettuccine-like character and shape are our favorite for stir-frying. Poached until al dente, they then can be stir-fried to a perfect doneness with little fear of a mushy ending. Broad noodles make pretty beds for shapely ingredients like prawns and sausage coins that can nestle in the loops without getting lost in the tangle.
Broad egg noodles also make a terrific, textural noodle pillow. They are a bit rakish because they won’t compact as well in the skillet as their obedient thinner cousins, but in noodles as in life, a little wildness has its charm.
These broad Chinese egg noodles can be purchased fresh or frozen in 1-pound bags. The noodles should be white or only the very palest yellow.
If Chinese fresh or frozen noodles are unavailable, I substitute fresh or dried Italian fettuccine. I do not use dried Chinese noodles; they have no character.
Shanghai noodles is the name our San Francisco manufacturer gives to a style of fat and lopsided noodles that really hold their sauce. A close relative to the appealingly lumpy noodles made in many northern Chinese homes, this factory-made noodle may be a California-Chinese regional specialty. The strange shape is wonderful in stir-fries. Fresh Shanghai noodles are ⅛-inch thick uncooked. Boiled, they swell to nearly twice their thickness.
If your Asian market does not carry them, look for a similarly thick fresh or frozen Chinese noodle. Typically packaged in 1-pound plastic pouches, they freeze reasonably well. Defrost in the refrigerator for best texture. Any thick fresh or dried Italian spaghetti will do, if the Chinese item is nowhere to be found. Avoid the dried Chinese species; it is virtually flavorless.
