EVERY Sunday for several years when I was growing up in Manila, we'd pile into the family car and head out to our favorite Chinese noodle house for lunch.
We kids could order whatever we wanted, but somehow I always chose the same thing: a beef brisket noodle soup with each element of the dish in its own bowl. The clear broth was deliciously beefy and the fresh wheat noodles supple and al dente. But it was the brisket itself that I always polished off. The moist hunks, tender yet pleasantly chewy, were infused with exotic aromatic spices that I found irresistible. Dipping each bite into a bit of bright red chile sauce (there was a jar on every table) made it even better.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Friday January 27, 2006 Home Edition Main News Part A Page 2 National Desk 0 inches; 18 words Type of Material: Correction
Brisket recipe -- A brisket recipe in Wednesday's Food section omitted the number of servings, which is six.
For The Record
Los Angeles Times Wednesday February 01, 2006 Home Edition Food Part F Page 3 Features Desk 0 inches; 18 words Type of Material: Correction
Brisket recipe -- A brisket recipe in last week's section omitted the number of servings, which is six.
My father, who knew the owner of the noodle shop, said that each of the chefs, who'd been brought in from Hong Kong, jealously guarded his culinary secrets. The dumpling chef, for one, would retreat to a corner in the kitchen to make the fillings, hunching over so prying eyes would not see his masterful proportions. Not that anyone was looking; each cook was in his own nook furtively concocting his specialty.
Knowing that raised the beef brisket in my esteem. After all, secret things happened in the kitchen to make it so good.
For decades afterward, I was content to leave that brisket as just a delicious memory. But as I grew into a cook myself, that memory returned more frequently -- and most persistently after chance encounters with what I came to realize was its signature spice: star anise. And so grew my hankering, and courage, to conjure up the dish in my kitchen.
It seemed such a daunting task, though, that I kept putting it off. But one day, I happened to ask my father if he remembered this brisket, and he surprised me by rattling off the requisite spices: fennel seeds, cumin seeds, cinnamon stick, dried orange peel, fresh ginger and of course, star anise. And don't forget, he said, the rice wine, soy sauce and Chinese crystal rock sugar. I wanted to yell, "Why didn't you ever tell me this?" But in fact, I had never asked. So instead I asked how he knew. "I used to do the purchasing for the restaurant when it first started," he said, quite matter-of-factly.
I gathered the spices and went into the kitchen. I recalled helpful techniques from my father, an avid watcher of Chinese cooking shows. I consulted Chinese cookbooks.
