Sighing over Fresh Shrimp in the Grain Rain
As long as the shrimp are fresh, rich, oily sauces are superfluous. The Cantonese method of blanched shrimp is a classic example of returning to simplicity and authenticity.
Private Dish: Tasting the Freshness of Shrimp
During the Grain Rain season, the most vibrant ingredient is undoubtedly shrimp. Eating more of it is also beneficial for improving one's temperament and stabilizing emotions.
Grain Rain is the last solar term of spring, and there's a saying, "After the Clear Brightness festival, the snow stops; after the Grain Rain, the frost ends." In this final solar term of spring, people can consume foods that help alleviate mental stress and regulate mood, such as shrimp.
Rich, Oily Sauces Are Too Much
I've become obsessed with cooking shrimp myself.
This isn't out of any special affection for shrimp or a pursuit of some mythical aphrodisiac effect. It's simply because shrimp are easy to cook, much simpler than dishes like scrambled eggs with tomatoes, and you're less likely to ruin the taste.
However, simplicity brings a new challenge: how to maximize the umami of the shrimp? Some people advocate eating raw shrimp. Although I enjoy it myself, I must emphasize that raw shrimp, at best, offers a pleasant texture, not true umami. Once you've had shrimp cooked just right, you'll understand why the English words for "sweet" and "umami" are the same.
As long as the shrimp are fresh, even rich, oily seasonings seem superfluous. I'm not a big fan of methods like spicy chili shrimp or grilled skewers. The Cantonese method of blanched shrimp is the classic example of returning to simplicity and authenticity.
After eating blanched shrimp for a while, I felt it wasn't fresh enough. The shrimp's umami comes entirely from the juices within its body. Boiling a large pot of water and blanching them repeatedly risks some of that precious umami leaking into the water. So, after some thought, I figured steaming would be better.
I'm against steaming shrimp with the shell split open. What I want is the "original flavor and juices." But as I steamed, I discovered that the steam itself carries umami, so I was still losing something. Don't think I'm being superstitious or imagining things. When Cantonese people make double-boiled soup, they cover the pot with a layer of wet paper—who would dare say you can make a good soup with the lid off? In the end, the only option left seemed to be the microwave. It generates heat through molecular motion, which drives out moisture but not the umami. It's a true case of "keeping the juices for oneself," and the dried-out shrimp meat has a more concentrated flavor, making it even more fragrant. I recalled that the legendary chef Huang Zhenhua of Guangzhou Restaurant was said to bring two chickens into the kitchen but only be able to serve one perfectly, embodying the same philosophy of concentrating essence.
Keeping the Juices to Oneself
"Keeping the juices to oneself" is a technique that makes food more savory and sweet without adding any extra ingredients. That's why Cantonese people pay special attention to "sealing" the fish when pan-frying. A piece of meat that has lost its juices is often left untouched at a banquet. Those skilled at frying food usually like to coat the surface of their meat with a batter of egg and rice flour, something akin to tempura, all to preserve the juices inside.
My upgraded method now is to marinate the shrimp in half a bottle of beer for half an hour, then drain them and microwave for five to six minutes. The beer isn't overpowering; it just leaves a faint malt aroma on the shrimp. Although they have a slightly dried-out texture, since we have a special fondness for beef jerky and raisins, these "half-shrimp jerky" are naturally all the more tempting.
Although I've had many well-made "Dragon Well Shrimp," I still find that having the shrimp peeled by the restaurant, which causes the juices to escape, is too rigid. It loses its vibrancy and life. What does it mean to have a "taste like chewing wax"? It's the consequence of losing all the essence. From a psychological perspective, a woman draped in a thin veil is sexier than a completely naked one. That's why a smart woman won't strip bare for a man; she always leaves something for him to discover, which is a pleasure for both. My photographer colleague's father, in his seventies, wrote a poem titled "A Veil for a Young Maiden." He truly understands the art of eating shrimp.
Of course, this is how I cook at home. When running a business and serving customers, it's a different story. The public likes seasonings. Just look around in recent years, besides shrimp, crab, and sashimi, how many pieces of plain, unadorned meat do you see?
Chilled Shrimp:
The Bigger, the More Satisfying
"Bigger is better"—this saying applies not just to丰胸 cream ads, but also to eating sashimi.
The larger the river prawn, the more delicious it is, and even the head is full of meat. When eating chilled shrimp, you eventually have to dig them out from the ice at the bottom of the bucket with your hands. The coldness seeps through your fingertips, and on a scorching summer day, it not only satisfies your appetite but also your sense of touch.
Some people are connoisseurs of shrimp heads. They lift the hard shell to suck out the brain inside, which offers another kind of umami, slightly salty. If you encounter a shrimp with roe in its head, it's a delightful surprise, like "receiving a fine gift." The price for large river prawns is much higher than for regular ones, but once you've tried them, you understand what "you get what you pay for" means.
Drunken Shrimp:
The Fresher, the More Enjoyable
Every Shanghainer will talk to you about drunken shrimp with the same familiarity as Sichuanese people talk about hot pot. Lu Xun, though not a Shanghainer, also loved to talk about drunken shrimp. However, he was a bit too upright: "At Chinese banquets, there is a dish called drunken shrimp. The fresher the shrimp, the happier and more elated the eater becomes. I am an accomplice in making these drunken shrimp, having clarified the minds of honest but unfortunate youths and heightened their senses, so that if they should ever suffer disaster, they may taste double the pain, while at the same time giving those who detest them the pleasure of watching this more acute pain, for an extra enjoyment."
Blanched Shrimp:
The Freshest Shrimp Is the Most Delicious
For fresh shrimp, blanching is the best way to honor them. My partner, Huang Hao, told me that blanching shrimp freshly caught at the seaside is far more delicious than those kept in a restaurant's seafood tank—a truly tempting thought. While adding shrimp to a hot pot seems high-class and trendy, getting the cooking time right is a matter of personal skill.
However, my old friend Zhuang Cheng advised me against ordering blanched shrimp in restaurants. The reason is that the water used for blanching in large establishments is often reused and has become murky, not only causing flavor transfer but also posing a risk of contamination. I didn't believe him at first, but later I got a chance to peek into a hotel kitchen and saw the blanching water—it looked like it had been soaked in lime, a bubbling white liquid. Only then did I appreciate how good a simple pot of clean water at home is. Cantonese people have a preference for mountain spring water, which is the top choice for brewing tea, congee, and soups. Sweet spring water is a perfect match for blanching Shanghai bok choy or shrimp, but the cost is something to consider, unless you're willing to drink the water after blanching the shrimp.
Dragon Well Shrimp:
The Smoother, the Sexier
To say shrimp is "sexy" is mainly because shrimp possess several characteristics of a beautiful woman: "smooth as congealed fat, soft as if boneless, quiet as a maiden, agile as a hare." Completely naked yet with a full bust and hips—what is one to do?
To remain composed and pure of heart, perhaps a cup of tea is in order.