Yangshou, China

I will be honest. When the Mister and I decided to head to China, I may or may not have had visions of unending buffets, stretching out as far as the eye could see. I also had visions of elastic waist pants. You know, to accomodate the All You Can Eat experience I was preparing myself for. One thing I did not prepare for was the subzero temperatures that were waiting to turn my fingers blue as soon as we had landed in Beijing. I spent the hour taxi ride from the airport cursing myself for not packing my fleece lined pants, while the Mister just slept. And snored, loudly. 
The next morning we found out that not only was China cold, but it was big. Really big.

In fact, China has roughly 1.3 billion people, in comparison to the US's 3 million, making it the world’s most populous country. And of those 1.3 billion people, imagine just how many dumplings the average person would be able to consume on a daily basis. And with at least six different varieties of dumpling out there, I’m thinking the number is close to a squillion. I felt like every day I personally ate my requisite squillion, and there were still some to spare.

As we travelled south from Beijing, we were met with so many different regional cuisines that my head began to spin. One thing remained the same, however. And that one thing was dumplings. Glorious dumplings. And in Yangshou, we were going to learn to make them for ourselves.

Steamed Pork Dumplings
adapted from Cloud 9 Restaurant

1 lb ground pork

4 oz canned mushrooms (you can substitute with shiitake, but when I made these, the canned mushrooms were convenient and tasted fine)

3 tbsp of spring onion (scallion), chopped

¼ cup shredded carrot

1 tsp vegetable oil

4 drops sesame oil

¼ tsp black pepper

A pinch of sugar

1 tsp salt

Wonton skins

Bamboo Steamer *

Finely chop the mushrooms, onions and carrots into a fine dice and mix with the ground pork. Season the filling with oils, salt, pepper and sugar. Fill wonton skins with approximately 1 tbsp of filling and fold accordingly.

If you have a bamboo steamer, fit the steamer over a pot of boiling water and steam for 10 minutes.

*Since I do not have a wooden steamer at home, I made a makeshift steamer out of my cast iron skillet and lid, a few chopsticks, and a plate. I placed the skillet over the heat with a cup or so of water in it. I placed the chopsticks on the bottom of the pan, and balanced the plate (holding the dumplings) on top. I then brought the water to a boil, put a lid on the pan, and “steamed” the dumplings for 10 minutes. Worked like a charm.


Dipping Sauce
1/4 cup reduced sodium soy sauce

2 tbsp. rice wine vinegar

1 tsp.sugar

1 clove garlic, minced

1 tsp.grated fresh ginger

1/4 cup chopped green onion

1/4 tsp crushed dried chili peppers

Mix all ingredients together and dip your dumplings to your hearts content.

See below for a wonderfully illustrated guide on how to fold Asian dumplings from Cooks Illustrated.

Santiago, Chile

Travelling from Argentina to Chile, the only thing I had on my mind was avocado. Everyone I spoke with before leaving the US had told me to expect to see that creamy, green fruit just about everywhere. And I did. But when I think fondly back to Chile, avocado is the farthest thing from my mind. Because the true, first star of my personal Chilean show was soup. Cream of Pumpkin Soup.
As a traveller by nature, and partially by profession, I usually pride myself on making solid plans, and sound decisions when I travel, anticipating the unanticipated. Except this time. I mean really, how often does weather.com lie to you. Oh wait, quite a bit. So bags packed for slightly different weather, the Mister and I arrived in South America ill equipted for the cold snap that the accompanied the unexpected volcanic eruption that preceded us. To put it plainly, we froze our butts off. And avocado's, while tasty, do not warm the chill that has set into your bones the way that an utterly amazing soup would. And did.

I felt like my fingers had never not been numb, as I had fruitlessly pushed around the pages of my horribly out of date Lonely Planet. We were cold and we were hungry. And we had been in Chile for less than 24 hours and we were just done. And the closest restaurant would just have to do, we didn't even care anymore. The Confitería Torres, as I found out later, is one of the oldest restaurants in Santiago, with the location that we visited open since 1910, and the oasis that we stumbled into that cold and dreary night. And while our main dishes were beyond delish, and the Pisco Sours had their own warming capabilities, the real star of the show was the Cream of Pumpkin Soup. I don't know what it was - but this soup just worked. Like over a first crush, I still swoon, just a little bit, when thinking about that salty, sweet bowl of caramel coloured heaven.

When we returned home to the hot and sticky North American weather, I still couldn't get that soup out of my head, and decided to contact the restaurant (in Spanish!)  directly. Barely a day went by before they were kind enough to send me the recipe (again, in Spanish) to try. After weeks of craving, the soup was mine. The surroundings definitely lacked the old world charm of Santiago, but if I closed my eyes, my apartment seemed to melt away, spoonful after spoonful.

Cream of Pumpkin Soup
adapted and translated from Confiteria Torres

(I am also halfing the recipe - when I made the full version, I ended up with enough soup to feed an army. A half recipe will yield about 2.5 quarts)

1 29oz can of pure pumpkin puree
3 scallions
1 1/2 tbsp butter
3- 3 1/2 cups of chicken broth
salt and pepper to taste
1 1/2 tsp fresh grated ginger
3- 3 1/2 tbsp heavy cream

Cut onions into slices, including the white. Melt butter in a saucepan and cook the onion without browning and add the pumpkin, cooking for about 3 minutes. Cover with broth and cook for 30 minutes. Add ginger and grind with an emulsion blender in the saucepan. Strain the mixture twice (very important for a creamy soup). Return to heat and add the salt, pepper and cream and serve immediately.