Review of Chu Han Chuan Qi

The Chu Han Contention, the story of the struggle for supremacy between two factions of a rebellion that resulted in the rise of the Han dynasty, is one of the great epics of China. It features a huge ensemble of complex characters, shifting alliances, and stunning battles that determined the course of Chinese history and became the sources for several idioms, folk tales and national legends. As such, it has been the subject of numerous TV series and films. I already have one of both, and my purchase of 2012's Legend of Chu and Han marks the first time I have procured a TV series about an historical period that I already have covered. Why not? After all, I have made the pilgrimage and all.

Me at Han GaoZu ChangLing (top) and HongMen (bottom)

It's also one of the longest historical TV series in my possession. Prior to ordering, I had read online of skepticism as to whether the history of the Chu Han Contention could really provide enough material to stretch into 80 episodes without taking significant liberties. I'm pleased to say that it was actually generally true to the source material, with only a few, mostly non-obstructive fictional bits of dramatic garnish thrown in. In fact, my other (and shorter) series about the same period, 2003's The Story of the Han Dynasty (which I am using as the standard henceforth), had left out quite a bit of the historically very detailed story. Legend of Chu and Han, on the other hand, covers all the bases, at least within the rebellion/contention period itself. If anything, they could have gone on a little longer (I'll get to that in a bit).

The scale of the series is also enhanced with the deeper treatment of the Qin side of the conflict; nearly all the characters in that camp are given a much larger slice of screen time, instead of turning them into caricatures or human plot devices. Zhang Han and Sima Xin, especially. A bit of license was taken with the whole (seemingly entirely fictional) Qin princess subplot, however, but it was not as bad as some romantic fiction I have seen in other series.

Lead characters are generally cast well. While there were some concerns online about whether idol Peter Ho could take on the role of Xiang Yu, I thought he did a good job with the brooding, stubborn warrior type. Come to think of it, I have only seen him play this role, specifically as Yang SiLang in 2006's Young Warriors of the Yang Clan and Lv Bu in 2010's Three Kingdoms. The eyebrows and hair helped with the "tiger look" too. As expected, Chen DaoMing also did well playing Liu Bang's flawed good guy role.

One character I liked a lot was that of Fan Zeng, played by Sun HaiYing. Strategists in Chinese TV tend to be articulate pontificators, whereas he would fumble and gesticulate now and then, yet maintaining dignity and wisdom in his portrayal. Even a little humor, like when he almost tripped while sizing up Liu Bang and Zhang Liang from a distance. Zhang Liang, his counterpart played by Huo Qing, was a little more traditional in that role, but still written and portrayed well. Members of Liu's Pei County gang was also given expanded roles, and a good deal of time is spent early on with introducing them and their relationship with Liu. Zhou Bo and Guan Ying were not only included, but had significant screen time, and Xiao He's screen time and importance was increased a lot (as should be the case).

Lv Zhi was written well too; a credible case for why she turned out so ruthless was offered in this series. Qin Lan, who also happens to be a real looker, did a good job portraying her transition. Conversely -- and this is not to justify her eventual fate -- consort Qi was portrayed as being not as innocent as she is seen historically. Connecting her to Battle of Dingtao, incidentally, is actually a good example of the keen sense of the writers. Another female character given more importance and time was Consort Bo; while a bit of license was taken with her early story, the writers did justice to her significance for the Han dynasty. Consort Cao was also given a much bigger role, although I doubt that this was necessary or even historically accurate. Overall, though, excellent writing that manages to fill 80 episodes without dilly-dallying.

Costumes and sets in the series are top-class, and armor/weapon design is very good. While the CGI battle/siege "bird's eye" scenes look a little, well, CGI, close-up battle scenes are executed well. The frequent focus on bloody soldier-to-soldier engagements and actual attack and defence techniques adds to the grittiness and realism of the war epic. The occasional focus on individual stories extended beyond the battlefield too. This may have not been executed perfectly all the time, however. For example, one thing that later became a sort of inside joke for me was the noticeably repeated use of two particular very recognizable extras in a number of different minor speaking roles.

Cinematography is overall extremely good, and I loved the inclusion of deep focus and tracking shots, including those on the battlefield. Thankfully, one of my Chinese war film/TV peeves -- wire fu -- was nowhere to be found.

It was impossible to not notice that English translation for subtitles had quite a bit of Engrish. Different episodes' subtitles seem to have been handled by different translators, because the same scene ending one episode and starting another often had different subtitles for the same lines. There were also some awkward machine translations that the editors didn't look at closely enough; for example, "韩国" kept getting translated literally, as opposed to in the historical context, which resulted in the odd situation of Zhang Liang trying his best to restore "Korea" in 206 BCE.

One thing I would have really liked is for the ending to have been less awkward. It would have been better to just end after Wei River with the coronation and an epilogue, because what happened after is a whole 'nother TV series (on that note, does anyone have a freaking clue as to where I can buy or otherwise get my hands on an English-subbed copy/stream of Da Feng Ge?). Also, the final battles that culminated in GaiXia were not quite historically accurate; Yu Ji, for example, was not used as bait by Han Xin, and there was no "song attack" either. Considering this, I have to wonder if the crew were under pressure to wrap things up earlier than anticipated. Anyway, this will only bother history geeks like me. Otherwise, Legend of Chu and Han is a winner, and I strongly recommend it.

Chinese New Year homemade nian gao, dinner and art

With a long-awaited special Mid Autumn Festival feast done, I decided to celebrate CNY 4712 with another tradition: nian gao (年糕), or Year Cake.

It's really simple to make. All you need is water, glutinous rice flour and brown sugar in a ratio of 4ml:4g:3g. After dissolving the sugar in the water (first half boiling, second half lukewarm), I whisked in the flour until I got a smooth brown batter.

I poured the batter into a medium oiled tin, and stuck it in a steamer on high heat for about an hour, halfway through which I lay chopped ripe dates (jujubes would have been better) on the top and sprinkled on some roasted sesame seeds (some honey would have be nice at this point, to hold the sesame seeds more firmly to the surface).

After cooling and refrigeration for a few hours, I carried it to work for all to enjoy.

Later in the evening in Abu Dhabi, I managed to convince the parents to go out for authentic Chinese food at Red Castle, one of Abu Dhabi's few options for that cuisine. It was alright, but not as good as some of the places I've been in Dubai in terms of preparation style, availability and attention to detail.

Swiss Art Gate also happened to be doing an exhibition called Year of the Horse at Yas Viceroy Hotel. It was not a Chinese art exhibition per se, but at least it was about horses.

Historical celebrity legend Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival feast

As a long-time Chinese history geek and not-as-long-time kitchen geek, I decided that this year's Chinese Mid Autumn Festival would be the perfect time to bring two of my biggest passions together. I would put myself to work on a possibly unprecedented culinary project, where history, legend and food intermingled at the dinner table.

It's not my first historically-oriented meal; I pulled together a Mayan meal around the time of the last purported doomsday, and did a meal themed on the Three Sisters of traditional Mesoamerican agriculture last year. But this one would be special, because each dish has a legend associated with its conception - a legend specifically associated with a significant figure in Chinese history.

I'd had this in the back of my mind for a while, having already arranged for Chinese beverages weeks before. The morning after Mid Autumn, I began preparations for an historical dinner that would go down in history.

Jiao'er Soup and the legend of Zhang Zhongjing

Legend has it that Nanyang got really chilly during one winter solstice. So cold that the people were suffering from chilblains of the ears. Thankfully, there was a doctor in the house. And not just any doctor, but renowned Han Dynasty physician Zhang Zhongjing (张仲景), whose hometown Nanyang happened to be.

He could not handle a whole town of shivering people with the local clinic, so he had a cauldron set up over a fire, and whipped up a special "food therapy" of dumplings stuffed with meat and herbs, cooked in a soup. He served the soup piping hot to each person, along with two dumplings - which he shaped rather like ears - calling it 祛寒娇耳汤 (chill-expelling "tender ear" soup). The hearty, herbaceous dumplings and the hot soup (and possibly the shape of the dumplings as a psychological supplement) made everyone's ears warm again, and the winter solstice tradition of jiao'er (娇耳) soup began.

I first salted about 400g of chopped Chinese cabbage, and allowed it to strain dry, then squeezing the remaining moisture out (this is important, because you don't want a dripping filling when it comes time to make the dumplings). I then mixed it with 300g minced pork, half a cup of chopped scallions, a tablespoon of light soy sauce, a teaspoon of sesame oil, a pinch of ground pepper, and a teaspoon of cornflour, to make the filling.

For the dough, I dissolved a teaspoon of salt in 150ml water, and folded it into 300g flour, adding water until all the loose flour was part of the dough. I left this to rest for 15, kneaded it again, let it rest for another 15, and rolled it into a long cord, from which I cut smaller pieces. Meanwhile I started boiling a pork stock.

I rolled each piece into a flat circle, placing a little filling in the middle, and folding over, dabbing water on the inner edge to seal the semi-circular dumpling.

Finally, I slowly dropped these into the boiling stock, and let them cook until they expanded and became firm. Served hot, two a bowl, as the doctor ordered.

Longjing Prawns and the legend of the Qianlong Emperor

A man steps into an ordinary restaurant in Southern China during the Qing Dynasty, clutching his jacket around him. He orders a plate of stir-fried prawns, and shakes off the volatile weather of the day so far. Just then, he remembers the handful of leaves he picked from a field not far from the nearby West Lake of Hangzhou. He tells the waiter that he would also like some tea, and absentmindedly opens his jacket to pull out the fragrant Dragon Well tea leaves. As he does this, the waiter's jaw drops, for under the plain outer jacket is the dragon robe of the emperor of China.

The waiter might have heard tales of the Qianlong Emperor (乾隆帝), who was known for his frequent exploits in disguise. In fact, one of these excursions is said to have resulted in the tradition of tapping the table with three fingers to thank a fellow diner for pouring you tea. But here he was, at their restaurant.

From this point, things descend into chaos. Waiter starts steeping tea. Cook starts with prawns. Waiter can't hold it in anymore, and tells cook about emperor sitting outside. Cook loses cool, and mistakenly dumps tea leaves into prawns, thinking them to be culinary herbs. Waiter brings stir-fried prawns to emperor. Emperor recognizes distinctive aroma of Longjing. And Longjing Prawns (龙井虾仁) was born.

I washed 600g raw, peeled prawns, patted them dry with a strong paper towel, and let them marinate for 15 in a mixture of 3 tbsp egg white and 3 tbsp cornflour. In the meantime, I let 3 tablespoons of Longjing tea (gosh, I'm so glad I still had them) steep in 3/4 cup of boiling-hot water. I strained out the leaves, and set aside about 6 tbsp of the tea-infused water for the stir fry.

I tossed the prawns  marinade and all, with 3 tsp cooking oil over high heat, until they were about half-done, then set aside. I cleaned the wok, and put the prawns ack in, with the tea leaves, tea water, 3 tbsp cooking wine, 1/2 tsp salt, and a little chopped scallion, stir-frying to completion over high with another 3 tsp cooking oil.

Best served super-fresh, so I prepared this just before serving.

Mantou and the legend of Zhuge Liang

Of the great names that come from the Three Kingdoms period, the name of Zhuge "Kongming" Liang (諸葛 "孔明" 亮) stands tall. Synonymous with intelligence, cunning, resourcefulness and loyalty, the "Crouching Dragon" followed the longstanding (and somewhat typically Chinese) tradition of the master strategist, joining the likes of Jiang Ziya, Sun Tzu, and Zhang Liang before him in shining as bright as - or brighter than - those they serve.

After a successful campaign against the southern barbarians led by Meng Huo, Kongming was leading the Shu army on its return march. As they approached the violent waters of the Lu river, locals told them that an offering of human heads would appease the river deity, who would then permit them to cross. Kongming, unwilling to decapitate even his war captives for this purpose, had his men roll dough into human head shapes, steam them, and toss them into the river. The deception worked, and they were all able to cross the river and reach Shu safely. He named the buns mantou (蛮头), meaning "barbarian head", which was later renamed with the homonym 馒头.

I started by culturing a mixture of 3/4 tbsp of yeast and 3/4 tbsp of sugar in 4 tbsp of warm water for 15 minutes, then mixing with 3 cups of flour to make a dough. After leaving the covered dough to rise for about an hour and a half (with it doubling in size, and pushing it back down mid-way), I rolled it into a long sausage and cut out small rolls.

For added visual appeal, I stretched these out and rolled them over themselves.

Leaving enough space between the uncooked rolls, I let them steam until they darkened, expanded and became firm buns. They go great with any sauce, or even by themselves.

Dongpo Pork and the legend of Su Shi

Su "Dongpo" Shi (苏 "東坡" 轼) was a star of the Song Dynasty. An accomplished statesman (a causeway across the West Lake bears his name), he was also a writer, painter, poet, and more.

The legend goes that Dongpo was presented with pork and wine by the people of Hangzhou, in gratitude for the public works he had constructed. He began stewing the boiled and browned pork with the wine, but was interrupted by a visiting friend. His friend challenged him to a game of weiqi, in which Dongpo got so engrossed that he forgot the meal he had cooking. By the time they were done, the pork was so tender and delicious that it became famous as another of Dongpo's gastronomical achievements. And so, Dongpo Pork (东坡肉) was created.

I cut about 800g of raw pork belly into 3-inch-wide cubes, simmering them in boiling water for about 10 minutes, then browning them in a pan with hot cooking oil.

I then brought to boil a mixture 6 tbsp light soy sauce, 6 tbsp dark soy sauce, 3/4 cup cooking wine, 150g brown sugar, grated 1.5 inch piece fresh ginger, and 12 sliced spring onions. Once the sugar dissolved, I reduced the heat to simmer, and added the pork cubes I had reinforced by tying on all sides with strips of blanched spring onion.

I simmered this for almost 4 hours, adding water to keep it from going dry. Not as good as in Hangzhou, but a unanimous hit, nonetheless.

Mooncakes and the legend of Liu Bowen

Around the middle of the 14th century, China had been under the rule of the Mongols for close to a hundred years. As natural disasters and court intrigue weakened the Mongol dynasty, rebellions erupted across the land, the most significant of which was that of the Red Turbans. One of the most charismatic leaders of this rebel army was Zhu Yuanzhang (朱元璋), a commoner who would soon be emperor. Zhu had in his employment another famed master strategist of Chinese history: Liu Bowen (刘伯温).

To overthrow the Mongols, they required all the rebels to coordinate their attacks and strike the Mongols at the same time. Liu hatched a scheme whereby they would bake messages into cakes (variously, as embedded slips, or in parts pressed into the surface of each cake, so multiple cakes could be assembled into the full message), telling everyone to begin the uprising at the Mid-Autumn time.

The plan worked; Zhu went on to become the founder of the illustrious Ming Dynasty. And thus, the mooncake became a Mid-Autumn tradition.

For the filling, I mixed up 1 cup each of apricot preserves, chopped pitted dates, desiccated coconut, and raisins. Not the most traditional filling, but I had few options. In any case, you should see what they put in mooncakes nowadays.

To make the mooncake dough, I mixed 4 cups flour, 3/4 cup milk powder and  1 tbsp baking powder, and 1 tsp salt. In another bowl, I beat 3 large eggs with 1.25 cups sugar, then added a cooled mixture of 3/4 cup melted butter and 1.5 tsp vanilla extract. Folding all this together gave me my dough, which I let sit in a refrigerator for a few hours to set.

I cut large coins out of the rolled dough, and flattened each out to make a wrapper for a suitably-sized lump of filling, pressing the sealed cake into a flat cylinder.

I didn't have an elaborate cake press handy, so I just carved "明" (the name of the dynasty founded by Zhu) into the top surface of each cake, before glazing with a basic beaten egg-and-water mix, and baking at 190C for about half an hour. Not traditional-tasting either, but they went down VERY well with my guests.

I still had a stash of flower tea from Suzhou, which was perfect for washing down the dishes we enjoyed that night.

Dubai China Night at Homey

Our China interest group on Meetup.com, Dubai China Night, held its monthly dinner at Homey once again. It was my first time attending, and it was nice to make new acquaintances with the members who also attended.

I had been there once before, and was pleased to note that a lot of people shared my fondness for the red rice shrimp rolls.

I also gave the soft tofu and century egg starter a go, mainly considering that it had century egg in it. It was steeped in chili oil, which really went well with the cold soft tofu, and imparted an amazing and novel flavor to the diced century egg.

It was nice to see how many other people in Dubai are interested in Chinese culture and/or had been to China and/or could speak Chinese. I look forward to attending another one when I get the chance.

Now is the time ... it should not be lost!

Desert Monologues course graduation performance. Getting into character backstage to deliver speech one of The Great Declaration as Ji Fa, the Martial King of Zhou.

Follow My Recipe: A Grand Gastronomical Tour of China

http://www.followmyrecipe.me/asia/2011/08/eating-is-more-important-than-emperor.html
Guest entry on a friend's food blog about eating and cooking in China.

China 2011 Videos

I did not take a lot of videos in China, but here are a few of the ones I did take.