I am always on the look-out for finger food ideas. I don't throw too many dinner parties, but when I do, it's nice to have food to distract my guests from noticing my often lack of preparedness, that I'm still chopping, thawing, and menu-planning in the kitchen. Alcohol can do only so much.

Baked chicken wings are a universal favorite, and there's no shortage of easy ways to prepare them. Glazed with teriyaki sauce. Sprinkled with five-spice powder. Curried. Buffaloed. Doused with five types of five-alarm chili sauces.

This recent preparation from my kitchen is a fruity take, blending orange juice, garlic, and soy sauce for a heady citrus fragrance and flavor.  Although I reduced the marinating liquid and brushed it on for an extra layer of glaze, the wings and drummettes didn't turn out as sticky as I thought they would. All the better for digging in with your hands, and ignoring your hostess in the kitchen sweating bullets over the main course.

Orange-Glazed Chicken Wings

1 cup fresh orange juice (from about 2 oranges)
2 tablespoons grated orange zest
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
2 pounds chicken wings or drummettes
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh-ground black pepper

The first time I ever had dan dan mian was years ago in New York's East Village. It was one of those insanely hot and muggy July days, and my friend S and I were walking on St. Mark's Street, sweaty even in tank tops and skirts.

"Where do you want to have lunch?," I asked.

"Anywhere with AC," was the reply.

We ducked into the St. Mark's branch of Grand Sichuan and sure enough, there was a generous amount of AC, along with a particularly surly waitress. We ordered quickly just to get her to go away.

We ate about 4 or 5 dishes, but I don't remember any except the dan dan noodles and cold cucumber salad. I remember the dan dan noodles because they were some of the spiciest things I had ever tasted, at that point. I remember the cucumbers because, despite also being spicy, they tamed the heat in my mouth from the dan dan noodles.

I gulped about 4 or 5 glasses of water during the meal. The food was actually pretty good, but I, being a newbie to Sichuan food, couldn't fully appreciate the complexity of the Sichuan peppercorn. Years later, having had many 4-alarm Sichuan meals, I actually miss and crave the mala sensation (numbing spiciness) if I don't eat Sichuan for a week or more.

What to do when you crave meat with a rich-tasting sauce, but not the feeling of heaviness afterwards? One of the tricks all Chinese cooks use for stir-fries is to mix in a little cornstarch. And cornstarch can be used for more Western-style pan sauces too.

A few nights ago I made pork medallions with a raisin ginger sauce. The dish was easy to whip up; just brown the meat, toss it in the oven to roast, and make the pan sauce while you wait. The sauce is the key to this dish, a nice sweet and tangy alternative to the savory sauces that usually go with roast pork.

Pork Medallions with Raisin-Ginger Sauce
Adapted from Food & Wine

Serves 2

1 lb (450 g) pork tenderloin, cut into 4 medallions
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 teaspoons vegetable oil
1/2 cup (120 ml) apple juice
1/2 cup (120 ml) chicken broth
1 tablespoon soy sauce
3 tablespoons golden raisins
1 teaspoon ginger, freshly grated
1/4 teaspoon cornstarch dissolved in 1 teaspoon of water

Preheat the oven to 350° F (175° C). Season pork with salt and pepper on each side. Heat oil in a large heavy skillet and cook pork over moderately high heat until browned on both sides, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer the pork to a baking pan and roast in the oven for about 7 to 8 minutes, or until the pork is firm when pressed down.

I never thought I would have trouble finding fish sauce in China. Growing up, many of the Cantonese dishes my mother cooked contained fish sauce. In New York's and Boston's Chinatowns, Squid Sauce and other varieties of nam pla were staples in every market.

Even though fish sauce is hardly used in northern Chinese cooking, I didn't think it would be hard to find in Beijing. Even if Thai, Vietnamese, and other Southeast Asian cuisines aren't too popular here, various Cantonese dishes aren't hard to find. But of the 3 supermarkets in my neighborhood, none carried it. I then scoured the Lotus Center in Wudaokou, thinking that with the neighborhood's large Korean population the supermarket must carry all sorts of fish sauce.

Well, I did find it, but not in the sauce aisle. Rather, there was just one kind, amongst imported goods like mirin and shochu. Guangdong province really is like another country.

With fish sauce in hand, I was able to try the Vietnamese Caramelized Pork recipe I found in the NYTimes. It's a good recipe except that it calls for 1/4 cup of fish sauce. That is madness. The point of fish sauce is to use just enough to bring out the dish's other flavors. The first time around I lessened the amount and still my apartment reeked for hours.