Viet World Kitchen

Finding Asian Herbs and Vegetables for Your Garden

My father loves to garden and my mother loves to cook. I enjoy both as they pretty much go hand in hand. However, I have to admit that I pretty much neglected my garden for most of last year. We hired a nice man named Ricardo to help us keep things tidy but his construction skills were underutilized by the simple tasks that we asked of him: weeding, trimming, and spreading mulch. He went on vacation, promising to check in with us when he returned. Alas, he never called. We got the message. Ricardo let us go as clients.

That said, my husband and I realized that we needed to reclaim our yard ourselves, like we used to back in ... 2011! We spent a couple of weekends filling our greencycle bin and then I attacked my little vegetable garden. It’s nothing fancy, just about 4 feet by 8 feet wide and constructed as a raised bed when we redid our backyard. Every year I plant Asian herbs and a few summer vegetables. After preparing the bed, I went shopping for plants. Isn’t shopping the reward for lots of hard work?

Zha Cai Preserved Mustard Tuber: Ya Cai's Sichuan Sister

If you went looking for ya cai preserved mustard for dan dan noodles, you may have instead picked up zha cai mustard tuber. It’s confusing, the names, the Chinese characters, the lack of consistency at Chinese markets. I had a hard time for years figuring out what was what and where to find them. Both are Sichuan seasonings – pickled and preserved vegetables that add big flavor boosts to food. They can be used in the cooking process or as a garnish. 

Zha cai is pronounced “jah tsai” or “zsa tsai” like cross between actress Zsa Zsa Gabor and chef Ming Tsai. It’s crisp and firm in texture, with a very salty flavor. Zha cai is made out of the stem of Brassica juncea, subspecies tatsai. It's bulbous and awkward looking -- similar to super knobby knees. The stem is salted, dried, seasoned with chile and fermented. That's why it resembles a relic.

On the other hand, ya cai has a finer texture and less of a bite. If zha cai were Laverne, ya cai would be Shirley. If that show is too old for you, think of the two as the Thelma and Louise of Sichuan kitchens. 

Finding Dan Dan Noodles’ BF: Ya Cai Preserved Mustard Greens

Sometimes things are right under your nose and you don’t know it. For the dan dan noodle recipe that I wrote about in the Wall Street Journal last week, I needed a specific seasoning ingredient – Chinese preserved mustard greens, called ya cai (“yaah tsai”). I went to my Chinese market and perused the dried vegetable and canned vegetable section. Nothing. I’d read about the ingredient in cookbooks but none of them told me how to find the stuff – where it may be located or how it’s packaged.

Then, while I was in the refrigerated section looking at tofu (what else) and noodles (for the recipe), I turned around and saw a bunch of boxes filled with index-card size packages of something. Remembering that my friend Victor Fong told me how his family often ate some super salty Chinese pickle with their rice, and that the salty pickle was sold in small packs, I took a look. Lo and behold, there were boxes of ya cai – the good kind made in Yibin in Sichuan province. I’d read in Land of Plenty by Fuchsia Dunlop that the ya cai from that city was famous and prized.

High on Spice: 4 Kinds of Sichuan Peppercorns to Try

The U.S. ban on Sichuan peppercorn imports was lifted in 2005 and the spicy numbing pods have been making their rounds in food-centric circles. Yes, you can buy the Asian spice online and even at Whole Foods! Chinese markets have a big supply these days too. The kind that’s typically found is brick-colored and mostly comprised of potent husks occasionally still holding a dark colored seed. The flavor is menthol like. My tongue usually goes numb from the edges to the center.

It’s a strange Asian spice. The first time I tasted Sichuan peppercorn, I thought I was going to die, like someone had slipped me something. When my dad tried some Chinese candy with Sichuan peppercorn (I got them in Chengdu), he was alarmed by the flavor and effect. “What’s going on?!” he said.

But there’s a wide range of Sichuan peppercorns and I’ve been collecting them in my spice drawer and freezer. The spice is used in many parts of Asian, not just Sichuan, which is why there are variations. Here are four that I’ve gathered:

Mapo Tofu’s Secret Sauce: Dou Ban Jiang (Chile Bean Sauce)

The first tofu dish that I really fell in love with was ma po dou fu (aka mapo tofu) a Chinese specialty made with ground meat, tofu, salty/hot/rich sauce and numbing Sichuan peppercorn. If you have Asian Tofu, the recipe headnote tells the story how as a teen permitted to tag along on an adult lunch, I quietly ate most of what was served while the adults socialized. I wasn’t anti-social. I’d discovered a ridiculously delicious dish.

Over the years, I’ve tried out countless mapo tofu recipes and finally went to Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan province, where the dish originated. It was a central part of my tofu field work because I was looking to explore tofu hot spots and iconic dishes. While I learned a lot about various renditions of mapo tofu – from home cooks and restaurants including Chen’s (a chain built on the original version), I gained insight into what makes truly excellent versions: Dou ban jiang, a seasoning sauce made with fermented broad beans (fava beans) and chile.

The brick-red sauce may seem mysterious but once you try it out in mapo tofu, it lends a wonderfully savory, fundamental funk like no other. If you’ve made mapo with other chile sauces or bean sauces, they’ll pale by comparison to the results made with dou ban jiang.