Mister Jiu's in Chinatown: Recipes and Stories from the Birthplace of Chinese American Food [A Cookbook]

Mister Jiu's in Chinatown: Recipes and Stories from the Birthplace of Chinese American Food [A Cookbook]

JAMES BEARD AWARD WINNER • The acclaimed chef behind the Michelin-starred Mister Jiu’s restaurant shares the past, present, and future of Chinese cooking in America through 90 mouthwatering recipes. ONE OF THE TEN BEST COOKBOOKS OF THE YEAR: The New Yorker, San Francisco Chronicle • ONE OF THE BEST COOKBOOKS OF THE YEAR: Glamour • “Brandon Jew’s affection for San Francisco’s Chinatown and his own Chinese heritage is palpable in this cookbook, which is both a recipe collection and a portrait of a district rich in history.”—Fuchsia Dunlop, James Beard Award-winning author of The Food of Sichuan   Brandon Jew trained in the kitchens of California cuisine pioneers and Michelin-starred Italian institutions before finding his way back to Chinatown and the food of his childhood. Through deeply personal recipes and stories about the neighborhood that often inspires them, this groundbreaking cookbook is an intimate account of how Chinese food became American food and the making of a Chinese American chef.   Jew takes inspiration from classic Chinatown recipes to create innovative spins like Sizzling Rice Soup, Squid Ink Wontons, Orange Chicken Wings, Liberty Roast Duck, Mushroom Mu Shu, and Banana Black Sesame Pie. From the fundamentals of Chinese cooking to master class recipes, he interweaves recipes and techniques with stories about their origins in Chinatown and in his own family history. And he connects his classical training and American roots to Chinese traditions in chapters celebrating dim sum, dumplings, and banquet-style parties.   With more than a hundred photographs of finished dishes as well as moving and evocative atmospheric shots of Chinatown, this book is also an intimate portrait—a look down the alleyways, above the tourist shops, and into the kitchens—of the neighborhood that changed the flavor of America. “Mister Jiu’s is a restaurant truly inspired by San Francisco’s Chinatown and at the forefront of this historic neighborhood’s ongoing evolution. This book is filled with recipes and photographs that remind me of why I love Chinese cuisine. It is also the story of Brandon Jew’s journey to achieve the hardest thing in cooking—authenticity.” —Corey Lee, chef of three-Michelin-starred Benu and author of its namesake cookbook Brandon Jew (周英卓) is a native San Franciscan and the chef and co-owner with Anna Lee (the Missus) of Mister Jiu’s, a Chinese American restaurant in the heart of North America’s oldest Chinatown.   Tienlon Ho (何天蘭) is a writer originally from Columbus, Ohio, where the best Chinese food was always in her family’s kitchen. She lives with Jon and Quin in San Francisco. Introduction Chinatown is just waking up. On Waverly Place, aunties stroll past the colorful facades lining the two-block alley to burn incense at the temple that has served this neighborhood for more than one hundred seventy years. Here, in San Francisco, in the oldest Chinatown in North America, things move on a longer timeline. I’m meeting Betty Louie, a landlord with a restaurant space—28 Waverly. Only two businesses have stood on this spot. The first was Hang Far Low, which, for decades, beginning in the 1850s, was the city’s grandest restaurant. Nearly a century later, this space reopened as the opulent Four Seas. Now, in 2013, the Lim family is beat. They’re ready to pass on all 10,000 square feet. For a kid who trailed his grandma through the markets and did gung fu in the Chinese New Year parade, this building should be legend. But the neglected entrance doesn’t look familiar. The dark-red staircase, covered in worn carpeting, is lined with faded photos of past guests—politicians, Chinese dignitaries, and celebrities; near the top, a grinning Vince Vaughn. Inside, we’re greeted by silence. The long, mirrored bar is empty. The dining room too. The signs of life are outside. Out the balcony doors, across the street, pork belly hangs to cure on a fire escape, set against flapping laundry and the tip of the Transamerica Pyramid. The shops on the main streets threaded with red lanterns and gilt are welcoming their first tourists. The kitchen is missing all the proper sounds, just the drip of faucets over a long wok station. But a cook is hanging his life’s work in the kitchen’s picture window: a row of beautifully lacquered roast ducks. They are a culinary feat; air pumped between the skin and fat, a boiling water bath, followed by days of continuous basting until they are roasted to a gleaming mahogany. How many lifetimes, centuries ago, did it take for cooks to perfect the process? There’s more, Betty says, pointing up. I follow her upstairs to a massive banquet hall. Everything in it is a throwback. There are murals on the walls, a stage, a parquet dance floor, and golden lotus chandeliers. There’s the lingering aroma of celebration—cognac and firecrackers. That’s when I remember; I’ve been here. My uncle celebrated his wedding with a massive banquet in this room. A legion of st