My acupuncturist spoke as softly and as evenly as the tap she gave the needle when she directed it into my forehead. Faye explained that my chi or life force was off – specifically that my spleen-pancreas chi energy was deficient, depleted. ‘What’s that about?’ I said. ‘Breathe in’ she murmured, ‘and breathe out’ – zing — another needle found its way. ‘It’s your digestion – it feels stagnant, sluggish and bloated.’ So I asked ‘Would this have anything to do with the duck fat French fries, the Italian cheeses and the pulled pork sandwiches that I’ve been eating lately?’ ‘Yup’ she answered, ‘that’ll do it’ tapping in another one somewhere down by my ankle. Sufficiently acupuntured, Faye left me lying there to mull this over while the needles did their thing. I kept my eyes closed as my guts growled in ways that I’ve never heard before and made a plan about how to better my chi — starting with a big pot of congee.
Congee is traditionally a breakfast food in many Asian countries and it’s also made for those who are ill or convalescing. At its most bland core it’s liquidy, over-cooked rice. You could call it watery porridge or even gruel if you were feeling malicious but it’s soothing, comforting and easy to digest.
I start congee by saying a few ‘thank you’s’ over a whole chicken and boiling the bird in its entirety because I want what its essence can give me – and that includes the skin, bones, cartilage and flesh. The water is simply seasoned with black peppercorns, leek and ginger – all warming undertones. Once the chicken is thoroughly cooked – I strip away the meat saving it for later and return the remnants to the pot for reassurance and closure. After straining the stock, I add one cup of rice – almost any kind will do — to twelve cups of liquid and set the pot over the lowest possible flame my stove can surrender. Then I sit back and wait quietly. I stir the pot once in a while over the next five or six hours to see how it’s going and to keep the rice from sticking. I figure that with the application of this slow low heat over a long time, the yin and yang of the stock and rice are continually being transformed: liquid — grain, blood — earth, fire – water.
It seems like you can’t add too much liquid to the rice or overcook congee. In oriental culinary traditions it’s said that the longer it cooks, the more ‘powerful’ it becomes. As it is, the one cup of rice expands exponentially into enough to feed a large group. The mild taste and texture of congee is the perfect conduit for simple but distinct garnishes. When it’s done, I’ll ladle a small amount into a bowl that I can cup in my hands and add the shredded chicken, chopped cilantro and scallions, minced fresh ginger as well as bits of fried garlic and I’ll top it off with tamari, rice vinegar and sesame oil.
I’ve read that in Chinese medicine and philosophy, the chi of the cook permeates the food she makes — and that food tastes better if its own chi is good and of high-quality. Ultimately, the one who eats receives all this chi. As a cook, this has me wondering — what do I impart to my family and friends at the dinner table besides a meal?
