Dear friends and readers,
When I was growing up, my mom told me once that I had a milk allergy as an infant. I can’t really recall that conversation completely (it was just a flashing moment in my life); what I took away, and what long endured into my adulthood, was the idea that I was raised on soymilk (豆浆).
I am very proud to be raised on soy.
Soy is my heritage. Soymilk and fried oil sticks (豆浆油条) represents one classic view of the Chinese breakfast, so much so that the phrase itself seems to take on a sense of normality that comes with a particular way of life. The English translation soymilk, while not wholly accurate (豆浆 translates more directly to a viscous liquid made from beans), embodies the spirit that soymilk is culturally situated at breakfast, similar to the association that cow milk has in American culture.
Out on the streets of Shanghai, one other breakfast staple is tofu pudding (豆花/豆腐脑), often paired with a rich sea moss broth. The two translations I have provided here each carries a slightly different connotation; 豆花 directly translates to bean flower, highlighting that it is a delicate presentation of soy that emphasizes its soft and ephemeral texture. 豆腐脑, on the other hand, directly translates to tofu brain. For those who are not used to eating offals, cooked brains have a soft and delicate texture, and here it is used as a metaphor to, again, reinforce the ideal of this particular tofu. If the idea of eating brains is a little jarring, you can also translate 脑 as “source” instead of its literal translation. If you want to make tofu, tofu brain (豆腐脑) will always be the first thing you make, making it the source of all tofu.
Within my grandmother’s kitchen, my favorite dishes of hers were made with soy derivatives; mixed silken tofu with century eggs (皮蛋拌豆腐), knotted tofu skin in braise pork (百叶结红烧肉), in soups (百叶结炖汤), mixed dried tofu noodles (干丝). On my recent trip to Shanghai, my grandmother had a tupperware full of tofu skin wrapped pork mince (百叶包), and they were a delight to eat. The tofu skin brings a strong aroma of soy that is peaceful and settling to the sweet and flavorful pork.
My own eating habits are also very dictated by soy. My favorite snack that I buy for myself are blocks of silken tofu (绢豆腐) dressed lightly with hon-tsuyu (本つゆ; which is my favorite type of Japanese dashi/broth concentrate). My favorite dinner that I make for myself is soondubu-jiggae (순두부찌개), a Korean tofu stew. Second to that would be a nice bowl of kong-guksu (콩국수), which uses a thick, luscious soymilk as the broth of white wheat noodles. Third to that is probably sukiyaki (すき焼き), a Japanese grill/hotpot hybrid meal in which I particular enjoy the addition of blowtorch-grilled tofu. Even the protein powder I use is a soy protein isolate, which to the untrained tougue taste like cardboard, but to me, a true soy connoisseur, taste better than any other protein powder my friends have asked me to try (mostly because I vehemently dislike artificial sweeteners in most protein powders).
My connection with soy also had to do with the American slang “soy boy”, which is often meant to poke fun at men who act in non-masculine ways. It became prevalent due to the popular misconception that the phytoestrogen have feminizing effects on a male human’s reproductive system. Phytoestrogen does affect the human body; for example, phytoestrogen is helpful in reducing female humans’ menopausal symptoms. However, no positive effect in male humans have been well documented.
Growing up, I was effeminate and was experienced a huge swath of microaggression and bullying with it. My way of dealing with it, counterintuitively, was to pretend to be more effeminate than I actually was so that the boys became disgusted and scurried away.
As a gay Chinese man in America, I think that the slang “soy boy” takes on a similar power for me. I’m happy and comfortable being effeminate as much as I’d like. I’m also thrilled to be labeled with something that’s an important part of my heritage.
I am a soy boy, through and through.
Making my own (soy)bean juice
Before my mom traveled to Shanghai in the middle of summer, she pawned off a bunch of dried soybean and her soymilk machine (豆浆机) to me. I am pretty sure she gave the machine to me to make room in her kitchen so she can buy more fun and shiny gadgets. I didn’t really think that much about using it then, so I found a nice empty corner on a shelf, and I left it there.
This week, however, I had a sudden burst of enthusiasm and wanted to try it out.
I recall my mother telling me the instructions: take the small plastic cup it came with, fill it with dried soybeans (my mother insisted that I use dry instead of rehydrating them overnight), and add it to the soymilk maker… Actually that was all the instruction my mom gave me. I had to figure the rest out on my own. Which is not that hard. I only had to fill the water up to any three of the lines and press a button.
After twenty minutes (I think?) of boiling, and occasional whirling of the blender… and it’s done!
The first time I made this, I was very pleasantly surprised, mostly because I honestly didn’t have expectations of how it would go. The soymilk has a thin layer of foam, and its top layer is a white translucent color. When you pour it, you can see light passing through the stream. As you pour more, more of the soy solids gets incorporated, and the liquid gets thicker. This is the point I remembered that making soymilk also comes with some byproduct of soy scum (豆渣). I know there are interesting ways of using it (often I see recipes for adding soy scum into cheesecake filling), but for right now I’m focusing on the soymilk.
The soymilk maker makes exactly one extra large mug of soymilk. After resting it for a while, I took a sip. I was very happy about the fact that it tasted better than any commercially available soymilk on the market. The main note is this strong, nutty, umami. It’s unassuming at first, and then it starts to really coat your tongue and wrap your taste buds in its silky lusciousness. The Chinese phrase “口齿留香”, which translates to “the aroma lingers in one’s mouth and teeth” describes this sensation pretty well. It’s then a little bit sweet, and lifts off into the roof of your tongue. It’s great.
The only thing to watch out for is to not drink too much of the soy scum (豆渣), because it can be a little bitter and the texture is not the best. If I was being a perfectionist about it, I would maybe strain it through a cheesecloth, but alas.
Since then, I have been making some soymilk for myself every other day. This picture was shot on Saturday morning, where I was doing some writing. The sunlight was peeking through my blinds, but not enough to bother. Pinecone was still sleeping.
It was a great morning.
Signed and posted,
Cheers,
Jeff