In the dead of summer in Sichuan province, folks regularly eat incredibly spicy, stomach-burning hot pot with the belief that sweating profusely will cool you off. It makes sense, then, that some of the world's spiciest cuisines (Mexican, Indian, Malaysian, etc.) hail from the hottest climates.

I cook and eat spicy food year-round, even if I have to pour myself an enormous iced drink and blast the fan to enjoy it. My latest dish from two nights ago is a simple but very addictive Sweet Chili-Glazed Tofu. If you're a fan of mapo tofu, like 99.5% of people who have ever eaten Sichuan food, this is another good tofu recipe to try. More tongue-tickling spicy than ma la, with a sweet kick and subtle fruity aroma from cider vinegar, this quickish stir-fry makes an easy one-bowl dinner. With lettuce wraps instead of rice, it also becomes a good backyard cookout appetizer. 

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Other spicy tofu recipes:

Mapo Tofu
Kung Pao Tofu
Hunan-style Braised Fried Tofu
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Sweet Chili-Glazed Tofu

Serves 2

This afternoon, less than 24 hours before hopping on a train to Hong Kong, I was faced with a dilemma. Do I boil some instant ramen noodles and start packing early, to ensure I remember everything and not wait until the last minute? Or do I make myself a good, hearty lunch, while updating my iPod with all the new music and podcasts necessary for a long train ride?

A perpetual procrastinator, I chose the latter.

The plan was to make Kung Pao Chicken (Gongbao Jiding), because that was what I was craving. Then I looked in the fridge and saw a pack of lonely-looking tofu, which would certainly go uneaten before the trip.

"Don't let me go to waste," it seemed to be saying. "Buy chicken another day, when you're not about to go for a 2-week trip."

"Fine," I sighed.

I made Kung Pao Tofu instead. It wasn't chicken, but it was less wasteful and kept in line with my eat-less-meat resolution. (Of course, I can only hold up for so long, since the wonton soups and Cantonese roast ducks in HK are too irresistable.)

Remember when I wrote about the kaleidoscope of tofu available in China? Here's a couple I picked up today at the market:

The lighter colored pack is 豆干 (dòu gān), the super firm kind I like to use in dishes like caramelized tofu. The other was new to me, and intrigued me because the name on the packaging: 啤酒肉片 (píjiǔ ròupiàn) literally reads as "Beer Meat Slices." I know the character for "meat" in Chinese can also mean the flesh of any food, from pigs to pineapples to tofu. But the "beer" part I couldn't figure out, since it wasn't listed as one of the ingredients.

My search for quick vegetarian dishes continues. Going out 3 nights in a row with our vegetarian friends from London has convinced me that while it's a bit inconvenient to go meatless in China, it's not impossible. While I'm not considering becoming a strict vegetarian, my conscience dictates that eating more vegetable and grains and having meat only once or twice a week is better for good ol' planet Earth. (The conscience thing I can blame on Fast Food Nation, this Michael Pollan article, and having lived in gentrified Brooklyn, which probably has the highest concentration of vegetarians outside India and San Francisco.)

Pad See-Ew is a Thai noodle dish that can be made with meat or without.  (Some people call it Thai-Chinese, because the technique of stir-frying noodles came from Chinese immigrants.) It's a lot like the Cantonese chow hor fun, with thicker sauce and the addition of egg. I have had it countless times in Thai restaurants, but never thought to make at home until I came across Blazing Hot Wok's recipe from earlier this year. This dish has fewer ingredients than Pad Thai and is easier to make, perfect for those lazy "crap, I'm starving but my fridge is practically empty" days.

In my attempts to eat healthier when not dining out, I have been trying to think of filling vegetarian dishes to make at home. Because of deadlines and pure laziness, 7 out of the last 8 meals I made at home was farfalle with cherry tomatoes and olives. And as much as I love pasta, and this oh-so-fragrant Palestinian olive oil Jacob brought back from his last trip to NYC, my stomach was crying out for a change.

I love that in China every market has no less than 5 or 6 kinds of tofu available, ranging from the silky soft kind you steam to extra extra firm bits meant for braising. For this Caramelized Tofu and Almond Salad Bowl, you can use either regular extra firm tofu blocks (the kind usually found in supermarkets in the States) or drier tofu skin squares (China or Chinatown.) Just cook the latter for a few minutes longer.

The caramelized sauce that results from sautéing the tofu in this recipe ends up being a delicious dressing for the salad. Vegetable-wise, I used a very basic mix of lettuce and shredded carrots, but you can also add mushrooms, sprouts, edamame, etc. for variety.

So easy, so filling.

Caramelized Tofu and Almond Salad Bowl

Serves 2

If I had to make a list of my top favorite comfort foods of all time, mapo doufu would be at the top along with lamb curry, roast chicken, and anything in a clay pot. I almost always order it at Sichuan restaurants, despite that voice in my head pushing me to try something new. But the craving is too hard to resist. Thinking about the mala taste, the thick sauce that wraps sublimely around white rice, and the silken-ness of the tofu contrasting with the slightly crispy pork all make me surrender to the tried-and-true.

Fortunately, mapo doufu also very easy to make at home. This recipe is adapted from Land of Plenty: A Treasury of Authentic Sichuan Cooking by Fuchsia Dunlop, one of the very few Western food writers to delve deeply into Sichuan cuisine. I highly recommend this book if you're looking for not only recipes but also great writing that brings the sights, smells, and tastes of Sichuan province to life.

When it comes to tofu, the choices that usually come to mind are soft, firm, or extra firm blocks. Of course, there are many other kinds of tofu, a product of curdled soy milk, just waiting to be eaten. Fermented tofu, fried tofu, frozen tofu, smoked tofu, tofu skin, and flavored tofu all have their own uses, which will be covered here in another time. Fried tofu, though, is what I've been experimenting with. My local markets carry a variety that includes triangles, tofu ends, and tofu puffs (more cubed shaped.)

This quick and fiery Hunan-style dish is made by braising pre-fried tofu puffs (豆泡 dòupào) in stock. Slicing the puffs in half or thirds, depending on the size, allow more sauce to be absorbed. I used 3 dried chillis in my version, but you can always tone down the spiciness.

Hunan-Style Braised Fried Tofu
Adapted from Saveur

Serves 4

1 tablespoon peanut oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1" piece ginger, peeled and minced
2 cups chicken stock
1 tablespoon dark soy sauce
1⁄2 lb. deep-fried tofu puffs, cut into 1⁄2-inch thick slices
2 to 3 dried chillis, stemmed and halved length-wise
7 Chinese chives scallions, green parts only, cut into 2-inch pieces
1 tsp. cornstarch mixed with 2 tsp. cold water

I have this belief that bakeries serve a greater social purpose than just providing us with deliciously baked breads and cakes. In crowded cities, at least, where there are car exhaust fumes, garbage outside, and the inevitable collective BO that collects when tons of people are on a given sidewalk, the aromas of rising breads and baking tarts from bakeries remind us that, yes, there is still a rustic, more appetizing side of life. In Beijing especially, a city we've all heard too much about in the environmental news, the bakeries on every other block make days here worthwhile, air-freshening the city in a natural sort of way.

A 10-minute bus ride brings me to this temple of flour and sugar, but within just half a block of my apartment are 3 bakeries selling freshly made breads and pastries. Contrast that with my hometown in suburban Boston, where the only thing that counted as a bakery was Dunkin' Donuts. (Did I mention I come from the birthplace of Dunkin' Donuts? Someone once told me we had 16 in town, something to be, um, proud of.)

While grocery shopping in CBD a few days ago, I came across a bag of organic red lentils. For some reason over the last week I had developed an intense craving for lentil soup, the cheap but oh-so-delicious dish that sustained me during my days as a penniless student. And reading the archives on 101 Cookbooks, in which Heidi rhapsodizes about grains from lentils to farro to quinoa, convinced me to renew my love affair with these healthy and inexpensive staples. I had never cooked with red lentils before, only the green variety, so I snatched them up to try.

Red lentils, despite the name, are actually pinkish-orange in color. They differ from green lentils in that they cook much quicker and become so soft they fall apart. The creamier consistency makes them perfect for curries. After some quick Googling I found a vegetarian recipe easy enough to fit into a hectic day.

If you only have 30 to 40 minutes or so to make a curry for lunch, this is a good bet. For a thicker consistency, use about 3 cups water instead of 3 1/2. I didn't have any cayenne pepper on hand, but you can sprinkle a dash when you cook the tofu for an added red vibrancy. And I like to use cumin seeds because I can toast them and make a much more fragrant dish; however, if you don't like whole spices in your food you can always substitute cumin powder.

Oh the weather outside is frightful...today Beijing almost came to a halt because of the first measurable snowfall this season. My tutoring was postponed, traffic slowed (even by Beijing standards), and both young and old were slipping and sliding on subway steps.

I don't mind snow, having grown up in New England, where there are at least 2 or 3 blizzards a season. (Today was what New Englanders would call a light dusting.) What I don't like is nobody puts salt on the ground. They just try to sweep it away with one of those old fashion straw brooms, which are rather quaint but not too practical. So I too was slipping and sliding all the way too and from the supermarket, one of the many places in Bejing accessible by walking half a block on tiled ground. It's like ice-skating, except not as fun.

Well, c'est la vie. I will live with the slipping like other Beijingers. Back inside my apartment, by the comfort of the stove, it's easy to forget about bleak skies and sub-freezing temps.