Free Why the Chinese Don't Count Calories by Lorraine Clissold Page B

to local tastes so as to give us the illusion that we are cosmopolitan in our eating habits. The nature of the Western diet does not encourage promiscuous eating, instead it forces people to choose one main ingredient per meal, be it a cut of meat, a topping for pizza or pasta or a sandwich filling, and this leads people into the habit of eating the same foods over and over again, foods that are not necessarily providing total satisfaction or sufficient nourishment.
    After a few years in China I became completely at ease with fungus and beancurd in its many varieties, and was not averse to seaweed, but I still found that while the students on my cooking course genuinely wanted to learn about Chinese food, they were very conservative about what they were prepared to eat. We would take a trip through the market and pass through a tempting array of street stalls, where I would buy a few of the green eggs that my children, as Dr Seuss fans, considered to be a natural partner to ham. After three months in quicklime, the yolk of these eggs turns black while the white becomes a transparent, greenish jelly. The objective of the process, which I imagine was discovered by accident, is to achieve a new combination of textures. The yolk becomes creamy and the white transforms to something akin to gelatine. At lunch-time we would peel and quarter the eggs and dress them with a simple mixture of minced ginger, soy sauce and sesame oil. My advice was always to close your eyes and take a bite. Those who had the courage to try were pleasantly surprised.
    The Chinese know when to stop eating since they are relaxed in the knowledge that the next meal will be as good and filling as the one they are savouring at the time. And the nature of Chinese food is such that they have time to savour it because they use chopsticks to select small pieces from the array of dishes in front of them. With less food per bite, but more bites overall, the meal is both physiologically and psychologically satisfying. When the stomach is given enough time to realize that it is full and the mind has time to recognize this feeling, the overall sensation of satiety is very different from the one of physical engorgement that we often associate with being full in the West.
    Learning to eat Chinese style
    In my early days in China I used to watch Xiao Ding arrive every day with a steel container. These, I soon learned, are used all over China to keep food warm away from home. The smell of her meal would always make me realize how hungry I was, whether or not I had eaten my own lunch. I was desperate to exchange my sandwich and salad for a feast like hers, but a mixture of shyness and uneasiness in our relationship prevented me from enquiring about the contents of her lunch-box, which appeared to provide a meal that was so much more satisfying and filling than the food I was accustomed to.
    One day I sat with my mouth watering as she devoured a pile of little dumplings, each one oozing fragrant juices, and decided that I had to pluck up the courage to ask her to teach me to make some. She was reluctant at first, telling me that because our two food cultures were so markedly different, I would never be able to enjoy Chinese food on a regular basis. But when she eventually relented we had a riot – and I found the first of many uses for the enormous Beijing cabbages that are piled up all over town throughout the winter.
    Jiaozi – boiled dumplings
    Chinese families get together on the eve of Chinese New Year and make little dumplings called jiaozi . Both the act of making them and the shape and form of the dumplings symbolize unity, the new moon and the idea that everything goes full circle. Perhaps Xiao Ding thought about all this when we started our culinary journey together, or perhaps someone had told her that all foreigners like dumplings. For me, at least, it was a symbolic moment and jiaozi remain our favourite family dish.
    Jiaozi have an infinite variety of fillings,