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Ever since my first trip to Hong Kong, I have been infatuated with the congee they make there, and, when I return home, infatuated with re-creating it at home.
I don't think I've re-created the congee at that place on the corner of Burd St in Sheung Wan, or that place on a higher floor in Kowloon that a knowledgeable local foodie took me to, but I think I have, after 15 years of struggle, created a congee I can live with, a congee that appeals to me in the same sort of way, which will do for my needs. Everything I talk about here is about making the congee that rang my bells in the same way the Hong Kong congee did. It should not be confused with advice about authenticity.
Congee is rice porridge, made with a high water-to-rice ratio. 10:1.25 is what seems right to me. It has to be cooked long enough to fall apart. You add things to it before serving, and it is supposed to absorb and highlight those flavors.
Congee is a bit of an acquired taste. Not that it's hard to like, but it is only after repeated exposure that the affection that is almost an addiction develops. It is kind of the ultimate comfort food, the kind of food you could eat every day. It's also really great when you are having stomach issues, very digestible.
The first challenge is the cooking. Oh, it's easy now. I have a fancy Japanese rice cooker with a "Porridge" setting, one that has a light pressure cooking capability as part of its cycle. After 76 minutes, I have what is almost done. One more heating to the boiling point in a pot, and it's congee as I think it should be.
If you don't have that, there is a problem: boiling congee loves to burn on the bottom of the pot. There are people who say that if you put one of those porcelain spoons on the bottom of the pot, it will jiggle around and prevent burning. Not in my kitchen, it won't. Congee takes a long time to cook, longer than the 76 minutes my pressure cooker rice maker takes, so that is a lot of stirring.
Before I got the latest rice maker (and there are a lot of rice cookers with useless "Porridge" settings), I used a thing called a vacuum pot, essentially a pot-shaped thermos with a lid and a holder. Bring the rice and water to a boil, put in thermos pot, cover, wait two hours, boil again, wait two hours...voila, congee. I don't know how the restaurants avoid this issue.
Second challenge: Flavoring. Congee is all about subtlety. You want whatever you put in it to suffuse the congee with its flavors, so you want no other dominant influences. But if you just make it with rice and water, it will be flat and boring. You want umami without overt flavors. I've settled on using weak chicken stock, and the strained liquid from soaking Chinese mushrooms.
I used to think you had to use some kind of rice that would come out extra-creamy, like short-grain, but I've been using regular basmati, and it works just fine. I should probably try again with the short-grain, though. My congee is not as creamy as the Hong Kong stuff. On the other hand, some Hong Kong congee places say they cook for 6-8 hours.
So you've got your plain congee -- what next? My two usual directions are chicken or fish.
I'll start with fish, because that's easiest to describe. Get your serving of congee boiling, and add slices of raw fish, and stir them in. They will cook in the congee. Halibut is very good. Petrale sole is wonderful, sort of sweet and creamy. Most fish would probably work well, but I'd stay well clear from the oily mackerel end of the spectrum.
The chicken variant is more complicated, because I have developed a whole ecosystem, which goes like this.
Take 3 lbs of boneless chicken thigh. Salt thoroughly on both sides with kosher salt. Put in a bowl, and add plenty of slices of ginger and scallion, spanked with the side of a cleaver to release their essence, mixing thoroughly. Leave overnight.
Put in a heavy pot. Add water to cover, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, and let sit 30 minutes. Strain off the liquid -- there's your weak stock for the congee, save the meat, which you will slice or dice, your choice, when you want to add to your bowl of congee.
Either way, chicken or fish, you will want to add salt to taste (some how the acrid nature of plain old Morton's works well), a restrained number of fine slices of the green part of a scallion, and a restrained number of grinds of white pepper right before serving. If you add soy sauce, I'm not sure we can be friends.
After 15 years of experimentation, and repeated trips back to Hong Kong to check my reference congee, I finally have my congee nirvana. Lately, my wife got addicted to it, and demands it nearly daily. It's the price of victory.
I don't think I've re-created the congee at that place on the corner of Burd St in Sheung Wan, or that place on a higher floor in Kowloon that a knowledgeable local foodie took me to, but I think I have, after 15 years of struggle, created a congee I can live with, a congee that appeals to me in the same sort of way, which will do for my needs. Everything I talk about here is about making the congee that rang my bells in the same way the Hong Kong congee did. It should not be confused with advice about authenticity.
Congee is rice porridge, made with a high water-to-rice ratio. 10:1.25 is what seems right to me. It has to be cooked long enough to fall apart. You add things to it before serving, and it is supposed to absorb and highlight those flavors.
Congee is a bit of an acquired taste. Not that it's hard to like, but it is only after repeated exposure that the affection that is almost an addiction develops. It is kind of the ultimate comfort food, the kind of food you could eat every day. It's also really great when you are having stomach issues, very digestible.
The first challenge is the cooking. Oh, it's easy now. I have a fancy Japanese rice cooker with a "Porridge" setting, one that has a light pressure cooking capability as part of its cycle. After 76 minutes, I have what is almost done. One more heating to the boiling point in a pot, and it's congee as I think it should be.
If you don't have that, there is a problem: boiling congee loves to burn on the bottom of the pot. There are people who say that if you put one of those porcelain spoons on the bottom of the pot, it will jiggle around and prevent burning. Not in my kitchen, it won't. Congee takes a long time to cook, longer than the 76 minutes my pressure cooker rice maker takes, so that is a lot of stirring.
Before I got the latest rice maker (and there are a lot of rice cookers with useless "Porridge" settings), I used a thing called a vacuum pot, essentially a pot-shaped thermos with a lid and a holder. Bring the rice and water to a boil, put in thermos pot, cover, wait two hours, boil again, wait two hours...voila, congee. I don't know how the restaurants avoid this issue.
Second challenge: Flavoring. Congee is all about subtlety. You want whatever you put in it to suffuse the congee with its flavors, so you want no other dominant influences. But if you just make it with rice and water, it will be flat and boring. You want umami without overt flavors. I've settled on using weak chicken stock, and the strained liquid from soaking Chinese mushrooms.
I used to think you had to use some kind of rice that would come out extra-creamy, like short-grain, but I've been using regular basmati, and it works just fine. I should probably try again with the short-grain, though. My congee is not as creamy as the Hong Kong stuff. On the other hand, some Hong Kong congee places say they cook for 6-8 hours.
So you've got your plain congee -- what next? My two usual directions are chicken or fish.
I'll start with fish, because that's easiest to describe. Get your serving of congee boiling, and add slices of raw fish, and stir them in. They will cook in the congee. Halibut is very good. Petrale sole is wonderful, sort of sweet and creamy. Most fish would probably work well, but I'd stay well clear from the oily mackerel end of the spectrum.
The chicken variant is more complicated, because I have developed a whole ecosystem, which goes like this.
Take 3 lbs of boneless chicken thigh. Salt thoroughly on both sides with kosher salt. Put in a bowl, and add plenty of slices of ginger and scallion, spanked with the side of a cleaver to release their essence, mixing thoroughly. Leave overnight.
Put in a heavy pot. Add water to cover, and bring to a boil. Turn off heat, and let sit 30 minutes. Strain off the liquid -- there's your weak stock for the congee, save the meat, which you will slice or dice, your choice, when you want to add to your bowl of congee.
Either way, chicken or fish, you will want to add salt to taste (some how the acrid nature of plain old Morton's works well), a restrained number of fine slices of the green part of a scallion, and a restrained number of grinds of white pepper right before serving. If you add soy sauce, I'm not sure we can be friends.
After 15 years of experimentation, and repeated trips back to Hong Kong to check my reference congee, I finally have my congee nirvana. Lately, my wife got addicted to it, and demands it nearly daily. It's the price of victory.
