attracted Hamlet’s interest as well. Because the turtles violate the city’s humanitarian ordinances, the box had been partly hidden behind a wooden barrel half filled with frogs, gazing pathetically skyward. “Soup. Soup,” shouts the clerk, gaily pointing at the turtles. “Twelve dollah. Fourteen dollah.” I think of buying the entire box and letting its occupants go—but how and where? Would the SPCA take them? Instead, feeling cowardly, brutal, hypocritical, helpless, I cross the street with Hamlet to see if pea shoots—called “tau mee-yu”—might still be in season. I need a pound for lunch.
Chinese shoppers, many of whom are recent emigrants from the Chinese countryside, are unused to refrigeration and want to buy their fish live. This is impossible with wild fish, but farm-raised fish like tilapia, catfish, carp, or freshwater striped-bass hybrids are delivered every morning to Mott Street from black plastic tanks the size of backyard swimming pools mounted on flatbed trucks. Some are displayed for sale in bubbling aquariums. Live eels, catfish, and carp are sold from smaller tanks, or simply left to flap their lives away on piles of ice while Chinese grandmothers indifferent to this drama poke through bushel baskets of writhing crabs. Though non-Chinese are increasingly in evidenceat these markets, most shoppers here are Chinese women who scrutinize every long bean and snow pea before parting with their money. On the day I bought my sea bass, green onions were three bunches for a dollar at one stall and four bunches for a dollar at the next stall. That same day, at a Whole Foods Market, scallions of similar quality were a dollar a bunch. In Chinatown, fat asparagus were $1.50 a pound, spinach seventy-five cents for a large bunch, and a pound of shiitake mushrooms $3.60. I was amazed to find littleneck clams at $4.25 a dozen, oysters at $4.00 a dozen, and langouste at $5.00 a pound. Fresh Portuguese sardines and octopus were $1.99 a pound. Six dollars gets you a pound of barbecued spare ribs, and for ten dollars you can buy fifty shrimp dumplings ready for steaming.
But these prices don’t tell the whole story. In the fancy Chinatown shops specializing in rare delicacies, birds’ nests to make a mildly flavored gelatinous soup base go for $2,380 a pound, wild American ginseng for $1,880 a pound, dried abalone for $495 a pound, and first-quality shark fin a mere $328 a pound.
STIR-FRY OF SEA BASS
The restaurants in Chinatown range from quite good to pretty poor, but they are on average good enough that I seldom cook Chinese meals myself, as I did when I lived uptown. But I do use the ingredients for my own concoctions. On the day I bought the sea-bass fillets, I also picked up a half-pound of mung-bean sprouts, a plastic bag of fermented black beans, some fresh shiitakes, green onions, a red bell pepper, and a piece ofginger. I also bought a package of ready-cooked Hong Kong yellow noodles. When Hamlet and I got home that morning, a half hour before my guests were to arrive, I cut two “x”s through the skin of each fillet without cutting into the meat, to keep the fillets from curling up, and dropped the precooked Hong Kong noodles into warm water to loosen them, drained them, and flavored them with a teaspoon or so each of dark sesame oil and soy sauce. I then filmed and heated a sauté pan with a little peanut oil and dropped three handfuls of noodles into the pan, which I shaped and flattened to the thickness of smallish pancakes. When the bottoms began to brown over a low flame, I turned them over and browned the other side, and set the crunchy noodles on three luncheon plates. To the same pan I added more oil and warmed some garlic, to which I added the bell pepper in small dice, some green onion split in one-inch segments, two shiitake-mushroom caps, sliced, and a large table-spoonful of fermented black beans chopped fine. I added a tablespoon of soy sauce and another of oyster sauce to the
Chinese shoppers, many of whom are recent emigrants from the Chinese countryside, are unused to refrigeration and want to buy their fish live. This is impossible with wild fish, but farm-raised fish like tilapia, catfish, carp, or freshwater striped-bass hybrids are delivered every morning to Mott Street from black plastic tanks the size of backyard swimming pools mounted on flatbed trucks. Some are displayed for sale in bubbling aquariums. Live eels, catfish, and carp are sold from smaller tanks, or simply left to flap their lives away on piles of ice while Chinese grandmothers indifferent to this drama poke through bushel baskets of writhing crabs. Though non-Chinese are increasingly in evidenceat these markets, most shoppers here are Chinese women who scrutinize every long bean and snow pea before parting with their money. On the day I bought my sea bass, green onions were three bunches for a dollar at one stall and four bunches for a dollar at the next stall. That same day, at a Whole Foods Market, scallions of similar quality were a dollar a bunch. In Chinatown, fat asparagus were $1.50 a pound, spinach seventy-five cents for a large bunch, and a pound of shiitake mushrooms $3.60. I was amazed to find littleneck clams at $4.25 a dozen, oysters at $4.00 a dozen, and langouste at $5.00 a pound. Fresh Portuguese sardines and octopus were $1.99 a pound. Six dollars gets you a pound of barbecued spare ribs, and for ten dollars you can buy fifty shrimp dumplings ready for steaming.
But these prices don’t tell the whole story. In the fancy Chinatown shops specializing in rare delicacies, birds’ nests to make a mildly flavored gelatinous soup base go for $2,380 a pound, wild American ginseng for $1,880 a pound, dried abalone for $495 a pound, and first-quality shark fin a mere $328 a pound.
STIR-FRY OF SEA BASS
The restaurants in Chinatown range from quite good to pretty poor, but they are on average good enough that I seldom cook Chinese meals myself, as I did when I lived uptown. But I do use the ingredients for my own concoctions. On the day I bought the sea-bass fillets, I also picked up a half-pound of mung-bean sprouts, a plastic bag of fermented black beans, some fresh shiitakes, green onions, a red bell pepper, and a piece ofginger. I also bought a package of ready-cooked Hong Kong yellow noodles. When Hamlet and I got home that morning, a half hour before my guests were to arrive, I cut two “x”s through the skin of each fillet without cutting into the meat, to keep the fillets from curling up, and dropped the precooked Hong Kong noodles into warm water to loosen them, drained them, and flavored them with a teaspoon or so each of dark sesame oil and soy sauce. I then filmed and heated a sauté pan with a little peanut oil and dropped three handfuls of noodles into the pan, which I shaped and flattened to the thickness of smallish pancakes. When the bottoms began to brown over a low flame, I turned them over and browned the other side, and set the crunchy noodles on three luncheon plates. To the same pan I added more oil and warmed some garlic, to which I added the bell pepper in small dice, some green onion split in one-inch segments, two shiitake-mushroom caps, sliced, and a large table-spoonful of fermented black beans chopped fine. I added a tablespoon of soy sauce and another of oyster sauce to the
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