Despite my pledge to eat healthier, I'm still on an Indian-Chinese food kick this week.  Following up my fried Gobi Manchurian, I decided to make fried chicken lollipops. A good excuse would be that this is a handy appetizer to know in case I ever host a last-minute party.

Since chicken is one of two meats that are popular in India (the other being lamb), it's not surprising that cooks would get creative with a little drumstick. All you need is a paring knife to cut the tendons and scrape down the meat so the meat forms a nice round ball at the end. And the end result is wings that are much less messy to eat, especially when you're dealing with the hazards of a spicy, sticky sauce. 

I first made lollipops way back in culinary school in my hors d'œuvre module. My chef-instructor hinted that this was his original idea, and that he deserved credit if we were to ever offer them on our own restaurant menus. I was impressed, until later when I began to see these not only in Indian-Chinese restaurants but also on the Food Network. So much for original ideas. At least you can rest assured that this is a better lollipop method than jamming chicken nuggets on popsicle sticks.

It's the end of July. Which means that journalists, foreigner tourists, and mainland Chinese alike have started flooding into town for the Olympics. In the next few weeks, many of them will probably eat their fair share of Kung Pao Chicken, which has been designated the official dish of the 2008 Summer Games.

Why not a native Beijing dish, like Peking duck? My guess is because Peking duck is labor-intensive, somewhat expensive, and suitable only for large groups. The humble Gongbao Jiding(宫爆鸡丁) from Sichuan province, however, is easy to prepare, cheap, and more filling than a Clif Bar if you're eating alone. Heck, the sporting venues could even sell it in the stands, as the Chinese equivalent of caramel popcorn or hot dogs. And since Kung Pao Chicken doesn't contain offal or an awkward English translation, Westerners absolutely love it. 

From my post in May on Kung Pao Tofu:

"The origin of (Kung Pao Chicken) is much debated. One popular theory is that Ding Baozhen, a Qing Dynasty emperor, enjoyed eating it so much that the dish was named after his officlal title, Gong Bao. Most people believe it to be of Sichuan or Hunan origin, though this NYTimes article says otherwise. What is important, though, is the sensational salty, sweet, sour, and spicy flavors and mingling on the palate.

Every time I am at a congee shop, I wonder if the congee business might be the most lucrative and relaxing in the restaurant industry. Your main ingredients are rice and water (and stock, but that's also mostly water), which are dirt cheap. You make one big vat of porridge beforehand. Your menu can be vast, but each of those variations (pork, egg, seafood, whatever) requires just a tiny bit of cooking or heating up at the end. And congee is such amazing and versatile comfort food that people will flock to it for breakfast, lunch, or hangover relief.

My latest congee "effort" makes use of stir-fried chicken and goji berries. The latter is because I had leftover meat from my Orange Sesame Chicken, and the former because I just bought an expensive bag of organic gojis that I should cook with instead of snacking on like raisins. I don't know how many of the antioxidant claims attributed to gojis are true, but I'll keep eating them if they are reputed to help your eyesight. (Food blogging and other frequent computer usage doesn't exactly do wonders for myopia.)

While I sometimes complain about Chinese food in the U.S., there are certain foods and restaurants I love and miss. One such place is a tiny kosher restaurant near Boston that serves unabashedly Americanized Chinese food. The food was good in the low-brow indulgent way that Kewpie mayonnaise and powdered Milo on ice cream are good. And given the depressing state of "authentic" Chinese food in the Boston area, I ended up eating there about every other week during my college career.

Taam China was close to my very Jewish university, so it seems that everyone who patronized the restaurant either attended or graduated from the same school. I was frequently the only Asian face there other than the staff's, which probably lent the place a tiny whiff of authenticity for the duration of my meal.

This winter has been brutal in China, and no part of the country has been spared. Even in Zhongshan in the south, about the same latitude as Florida, it has been so cold that I have to wear a down coat. The same down coat I wear up in Beijing. According to my father, last year it was so warm during Spring Festival he could wear a t-shirt out. Not so this year (and we have global warming to thank) Although it's about 15 degrees Celsius warmer here, the dampness creates a bone-chilling type of cold, the same type of cold you get in London, Paris, and Shanghai.

Cold weather makes me long for piping hot dishes, like clay pot braises. Last night I decided to make clay pot chicken, and adapted a Vietnamese-style braise from Chef Charles Phan of San Francisco's Slanted Door. One of the major changes I made was the amount of fish sauce. The original recipe called for 3 tablespoons, which I would not recommend to anyone hoping to keep a decent-smelling kitchen. (See Vietnamese Caramelized Pork.) I reduced the amount to 1 teaspoon or a few drops, which is plenty for enhancing the flavors of the dish.

You can also make this dish both mild or spicy. I tossed in seeded Thai chilli, which added a mild tinge; for more spice, just leave the seeds in.

Clay Pot Chicken
Adapted from Chef Charles Phan, via Epicurious

Serves 4

The Cantonese often go ga-ga over Hainanese chicken, a dish prepared by boiling a whole chicken in pork and chicken stock. It originated on the island of Hainan, became a national dish of Singapore, and is enjoyed anywhere on the globe where the Cantonese dine.

Chicken without sauce allows you to taste the freshness of the skin and meat, much like eating shimp with nothing but a spritz of lemon. But no offense to Hainanese chicken - sometimes your tastebuds just cry out for something savory that just melts off the bone.

Soy-braised chicken is a simple casserole dish can be whipped up within 30 or 40 minutes. An earthenware casserole dish is ideal, but a medium sized pot also works. (My mother once said that moist-cooking methods with a lot of soy sauce is bad for metals...maybe any food scientists would like to explain why?)

Soy-Braised Chicken

Serves 4

500 mL (2 cups) soy sauce*
750 mL (3 cups) water*
1 piece ginger, peeled and sliced
45 mL (3 tablespoons) sugar
10 mL (2 teaspoons) cinnamon
5 mL (1 teaspoon) star anise
4 pieces chicken, thighs or wings or combo
1 scallion, roughly chopped

*More if needed to cover chicken at least 3/4 of the way, but maintain the 2 parts soy sauce to 3 parts water ratio.

Begin heating soy sauce and water over medium flame. Add ginger, sugar, cinnamon, and star anise.