Mandarin pancakes
A Peking duck dinner is a feast built from a single ingredient. It starts with nibbling on a taco-like snack of the delicately crisp skin tucked inside thin mandarin pancakes with a lick of earthy bean sauce. That’s followed by a simple stir-fry featuring the gamey meat with lots of fragrant ginger and scallion. Finally, a rich soup infused by the remaining bones and bits is offered to cleanse the palate.
It’s a production that until recently I didn’t have the gumption to tackle. I let the pros at Chinese restaurants do the work. But those meals were rarely as regal as those described in books. Though the skin was always crisp, the flesh was sometimes mealy or the pancakes were mass-produced and characterless. When the courses arrived too fast and overlapped, flavors got jumbled up, diminishing the overall experience.
I was never truly satisfied, but making the Chinese classic myself seemed like a culinary deed of derring-do, beyond the reach of mere mortals. Then, around Lunar New Year in February, I decided that I’d had enough with paying for so-so duck dinners and would try to master Peking duck three ways. After several months of trying, I think I’ve succeeded.
The first and biggest hurdle was figuring out the duck itself. There’s an entire mythology around it. The duck must be whole and has to be eviscerated through a hole in one of the armpits; you have to pump air between the skin and flesh to detach the skin so the fat will drip off during roasting (the key to creating the signature crisp-yet-not-oily skin). The skin needs to be scalded, rubbed with diluted sugar syrup and then dried in chilly, open-air conditions. Finally, the duck needs to be cooked suspended over a live fire, preferably stoked by fragrant jujube wood.
That’s a lot to do for one dinner. But rather than ducking the issue, I took it as a puzzle to solve.
The armpit requirement was not possible, but obtaining a freshly killed duck with its head and feet intact was not hard. Chinese markets and Chinatown poultry shops sell plenty of well-priced ones. Even better, most ducks bred for consumption in America are of the Pekin variety, also known as Long Island duck. Was the Kitchen God on my side or what?
Blowing air into the duck didn’t require vast lung power and a bamboo straw, or operating an air compressor as Ming Tsai did on the “Battle Duck” episode of “Iron Chef.” I used what was available at my home: the plastic foot pump that came with my exercise ball. (A bicycle pump would work too.) I “sewed” up the cavity with a bamboo skewer and used a paring knife to cut a tiny hole at the base of the duck’s neck. The duck inflated like a charm.
Scalding and tanning the skin are typically done as a two-step procedure with the duck suspended from a meat hook. That proved overly fussy, so I combined the steps. I put away the hook, placed the duck on a baking sheet and simply ladled over a hot soy, honey and wine mixture, a tip from Chinese food expert Ken Hom that yielded extra savor and a mahogany color.
At first I tried leaving the duck to dry in my cool garage, but it started to take on a slightly funky smell. Instead, I air-chilled my next duck in the refrigerator for a couple of days and at the end, the duck had developed an enviable tan reminiscent of the Bain de Soleil commercials of my youth.
The duck-drying days bought me time to make mandarin pancakes and, maybe most important, figure out how to bring the entire meal together -- the roasting, stir-frying, brewing of the broth and, ultimately, serving of the meal.
Restaurants that specialize in Peking duck have special ovens and trained staff. Plus, they are always a duck ahead of their diners, meaning there is broth constantly simmering. My workarounds included cooking the duck on a vertical roaster to facilitate even heat circulation, prepping as much in advance as possible, keeping the stir-fry simple and fast, and doctoring up canned chicken broth for the soup.
As it turns out, the pancakes can be refrigerated for days and freeze beautifully for weeks. I realized after several trials that once the duck is roasted, its glossy skin stays crisp for a good hour, allowing me to start the broth, assemble the stir-fry ingredients and even clean up the kitchen a little bit before guests arrived.
Sure, I had to run back and forth between the kitchen and table during the serving, but it was worth it. My family and friends were as amazed as I was that terrific Peking duck could be made at home in a regular oven with no super-special equipment.
I had slain the mythological beast and come out with a darned good duck.
Nguyen is the author of the blog Viet World Kitchen.
To prepare the dough in a food processor, put the flour and salt in the processor. Combine the water and 1 1/2 teaspoons oil in a measuring cup. Run the machine, adding the liquid in a steady stream through the feed tube. After all the water has been added, let the machine run just until a ball of dough starts forming around the blade. Stop the machine, remove the dough and the scraggly bits. Give the soft dough a few turns on your work surface to form a relatively smooth ball; don’t overwork the dough.
Alternatively, make the dough by hand. Put a bowl atop a kitchen towel to prevent it from slipping while you work. Put the flour and salt in the bowl and make a well in the center. Use a wooden spoon or bamboo rice paddle to stir the flour while you add the water and 1 1/2 teaspoons oil in a steady stream. Aim to evenly moisten the flour and pause, as needed. Add extra water by the teaspoon if the dough seems dry. Give the dough a few turns on your work surface to form a relatively smooth ball; don’t overwork the dough.
Place the dough in a sealable plastic bag and seal tightly, expelling excess air. Set aside to rest at room temperature for at least 15 minutes and up to 2 hours.
Remove the dough from the bag and place on a floured work surface. Roll the dough out into a circle about one-fourth inch thick. Use a 2 1/2-inch round cookie cutter, dipping it in flour as needed, to cut out an even number of circles. (I usually cut 8 circles on this first pass.) Remove the scraps, gather them into a ball, give the ball a few light turns to make them stick together, then replace it in the plastic bag and seal.
To ensure that the pancakes will separate later, brush the top of each circle with some of the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil, making sure you go all way to the edge. Stack the circles in pairs, oiled sides facing each other.
Lightly dust both sides with flour, then roll each set into a very thin circle between 6 and 7 inches wide. Use the rolling pin to first press down on the midline of the dough to secure it in place; a little oil may leak out. Then, roll from the center out, frequently giving the dough a quarter turn to prevent sticking and create a round shape. If the dough sticks, sprinkle on a little flour. The result will resemble a thin flour tortilla. It’s OK if you do not produce a perfect round. Lightly flour the resulting set of pancakes and place on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet. It is fine to slightly overlap the rolled-out pancakes on the baking sheet.
When done with the first batch, roll out the scrap dough and repeat. (I get 4 circles on the second pass and 2 more with the remaining leftover scraps.) You can usually squeeze 1 pair of pancakes from the last bit of scraps; there’s no need to let the dough rest before you re-roll. If the pancakes shrink while they rest on the parchment, give each one a few passes of the rolling pin before cooking.
Preheat a medium skillet or large flat-bottomed wok over medium heat; both nonstick and regular cooking surfaces will work. To cook each set of pancakes, place in the skillet and cook until numerous bubbles appear, 40 to 60 seconds. Use a spatula or your fingers to flip the pancakes over. Let them cook for an additional 15 to 30 seconds, until more bubbles have formed. The dough may balloon up as steam gathers between the pancakes, and a few light brown spots may form. (Cooking each set of pancakes typically takes about 60 seconds in a thin skillet or wok and 90 seconds in a heavy skillet, such as an All-Clad or cast iron skillet.)
When done, the pancakes will be translucent. Lift them out of the skillet and drop or throw them down on the counter. Smacking the pancakes forces the steam out from between the layers, often creating an opening along the edge. Allow the pancakes to cool for about 30 seconds before peeling them apart. Stack the pancakes, fried side-down, in a folded-up dish towel, where they will soften and become pliable. Repeat until all the pancakes are cooked.
Keep the pancakes at room temperature if you are going to be using them right away. The pancakes can be refrigerated for up to 5 days; for less bulk, wrap them in parchment paper and keep in an airtight container. They can also be frozen for up to 2 months. Before using, return them to room temperature.
Serve the pancakes hot and refreshed. Over low heat, steam the stack of pancakes in a folded-over damp kitchen towel for about 15 minutes, until they are hot and pliable. (Put the steamer tray atop the pot of duck broth if it fits well.) Serve the pancakes from the steamer basket or fold each in quarters and arrange on a plate. Present alongside the Peking duck.
Get our Cooking newsletter.
Your roundup of inspiring recipes and kitchen tricks.
You may occasionally receive promotional content from the Los Angeles Times.
