I almost thought I couldn't do this week's Salon Kitchen Challenge; given the choice, I cook alone.  While my best cooking is done when I have a muse, or several, to inspire my menu, I need to focus to be able to cook.  While I multitask most of the time, I seem to be unable to coordinate cooking with chatting, and am as result an antisocial cook.  Other people in the kitchen always seem to get in the way, despite their best intentions, or at least distract me.  Distraction can lead me to do things like forget to add crucial ingredients, or burn things which need careful monitoring, such as the time I burned the pine nuts I had meant to lightly toast for a salad.  (I threw those out, much to the amusement of those I was cooking for.  I swear, I am not high maintenance, I just have exacting standards!) Even more than the need to be alone to concentrate, I enjoy the meditative aspects of being alone in the kitchen with my ingredients, and am happier to socialize later over a meal I have prepared well for my guests.

I thought about the type of meal which requires communal cooking which I actually enjoy.  It is the Chinese hotpot or huo guo, which literally translates as “firepot.”  The hotpot has existed for over 1000 years in China, and is thought to be of Mongolian derivation, but this is probably a myth, as it is not a part of modern Mongolian cuisine.  It originated somewhere in Southern China, and spread to Northern China during the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-906).  From China, this meal has spread in many variations in different Asian cultures, and is a treat especially in cold weather.  I grew up eating the Taiwanese version, which involves a clear pork or chicken broth as a base, and various meats, seafood, tofu, vegetables and noodles as the ingredients. 

It’s basically choose-your-own-ingredients, which each diner/cook adds to the bubbling communal broth.  The best part is making your own dipping sauce (in Taiwan, a raw egg is combined with Sa Cha sauce (a soy and seafood flavored “barbecue” sauce) and/or soy sauce,  but you can also add chilies, minced garlic, cilantro, scallions, and any other variety of savories, to your taste.)  People can get very creative with the sauce making. 

My favorite aspect of eating hotpot is not the individual ingredients I have chosen, nor the sauce I have created, but how the broth tastes at the end, when the flavors of each person’s choices have simmered together into an unimaginably rich, fragrant broth.  The complexity of this flavor is the product of the contributions of the many cooks who created this group meal, the ultimate expression of tag team cooking.

Growing up, hotpot was a special meal for my family during the winter.  It was special because, well, the-more-the-merrier, and a chance to gather everyone together around the table for some slow cooking.  I think it was special (and infrequently done) also because there is a lot of prep work involved, and somehow that work didn't always get shared.  These days, my family seems to enjoy hotpot more often, possibly because of the popularity of restaurants serving this, with an infinite array of ingredients laid out buffet style.  When we visited my parents in Taiwan last year, our Christmas meal was hotpot at a local restaurant, and it was fantastic. 

Other variations of hotpot are the Japanese shabu-shabu and Steamboat in Singapore and Malaysia, with flavorings differing upon local tastes and ingredients. These versions are fairly similar to the Taiwanese version I describe above.  The most distinctive variation is served in Southwestern China, in Sichuan and Yunnan Provinces.  I worked for some time in Sichuan, and during my first week there was treated to the local specialty, Ma-La (numb-spicy) hotpot.  Rather than a clear broth, this is a thick, puree-like sauce which reminds me of Mexican mole (with chiles and ground sesame seeds common to both), and gets its name from the Sichuan hua jao (flower pepper), which leaves a not unpleasant numb sensation on the tongue.  Aside from the cooking sauce, the meats offered to me on that visit were memorable: pigtails (curly!) and rabbit ears, among other offal.  I realized that these tidbits were prized, expensive, and offered to me only because I was an honored guest, but I just couldn’t…

You don’t need exotic ingredients to enjoy hotpot cooking.  Just gather the foods, friends and family you love, and gather around a bubbling broth to savor the joy that communal cooking can bring, even to a confirmed solo cook like me.

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Taiwanese Hot Pot

Ingredients

At least two, but preferably more, guests/cooks; the more the merrier!

A variety of thinly sliced meats (hint: slice while frozen to make paper-thin slices), such as chicken, pork, meat and lamb

Fish balls or fish cake

Shrimp, sliced squid 

Tofu

A variety of Chinese greens, chopped (I like whole leaf spinach and Napa cabbage in my hotpot)

Fresh mushrooms

Cubed taro root

Sliced lotus root

Noodles, such as udon, egg noodles, mung bean noodles, rice noodles

Broth, chicken or pork are used most commonly

Condiments: Sa Cha sauce, soy sauce, minced garlic, chilies or chili sauce, diced cilantro, chopped scallions, raw eggs for stirring into the sauce 

Equipment

Traditionally, a large wok over hot coals.

Modern home cooks can use a large, covered electric skillet.  (My parents still use the covered electric skillet they received for a wedding gift in 1967-- used only for this purpose.)

Technique

Bring the broth to a boil.

Each guest/cook selects a variety of ingredients to add to the communal hot pot.  Based on cooking time, meat is usually added first, vegetables just briefly, and noodles at the very end, because they absorb a lot of the broth.  Make sure to have extra broth or water on hand to replenish the broth throughout the meal.  Adjust the temperature to keep the broth at a gentle simmer.  While the food is cooking, each guest/cook makes her own dipping sauce of a raw egg mixed with the condiments of her choosing. 

 © Linda Shiue, 2010