Taiwanese businessman Li Hao-yang (李浩陽) enjoyed ganguo (干鍋), or dry pot, so much the first time he had it that he sought out an old chef in Yunnan Province to teach him how to make the fiery cuisine. Popular in southwest China, the dish evolved from the iron pots that the regions' villagers used to cook with over fire pits.
Since last year, Li's homely restaurant, hidden up an alley off the bustling Tunghua Street Night Market (通化夜市), has brought authentic ganguo to local palates.
"I spend four hours a day stirring and making the oil, and I'm not kidding when I say the work drives me crazy," the sociable proprietor said.
PHOTO: HO YI, TAIPEI TIMES
Because of this meticulous preparation of the hot oil - made from more than 20 medicinal plants - production is limited to 20 pots a day; hence the name of the restaurant.
The glittering, ruby layer of oil looks fiery at first, but once the pungent spices pass to the stomach, the healing powers of its constituent herbs are said to work their magic. Rather than numbing the tongue, the spicy concoction has many layers of flavor, in much the same way perfume has top, middle and base notes.
The menu itself is fairly simple with chicken, lamb, beef, shrimp and fish options. It's best to finish the meat or fish first, and then add broth to the pot full of cabbage, bean sprouts, tofu, pig blood, sticky rice cakes and konnyaku (蒟蒻).
Ganguo lamb (干鍋羊, NT$880 for two) and spicy yellow chicken (麻辣黃悶雞, NT$680 for two) are the signature dishes Li learned from his 70-year-old Chinese culinary tutor. Ginger, chili, green onion and Shaohsing wine (紹興酒) dance across the taste buds. Guizhou sour soup fish (貴州酸湯魚, NT$880 for two) is made of six fermented vegetables and spices. Li says his Yunnanese teacher created this recipe especially for him because the original dish would likely lead to the closing of the restaurant if the public health bureau found out about it.
Diners come to the plain restaurant bathed in florescent lighting not for the ambience but for the food. Service is attentive, but the wait staff is often too busy to show patrons the process of savoring the unfamiliar fare. When Li is not having a bout of manic-depression preparing hot oil in the kitchen, he likes to chat with clients about his ganguo, but beware: he may go into many other stories.
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