The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

The Peking Duck House at 28 Mott Street in the center of Manhattan’s Chinatown has been around a long time. In the early eighties I went there with my sister, Janet, and my new Israeli husband, Uzi. The décor, as with many Chinatown joints, was non-existent, and we had to mount a steep set of grungy stairs in a dark stairwell to enter the dining room. We had been enticed there by the exotic sounding house specialty, and I wanted to begin to introduce Uzi, a voracious eater, to the vast array of ethnic restaurants in the city.

The preparation of Peking duck starts well in advance of the actual partaking of the bird. First, air is pumped into the duck to stretch and loosen the skin, and then boiled water is repeatedly spread over the bird, which is carefully and thoroughly dried. The dried skin is rubbed all over with maltose (malt sugar), and the duck is finally roasted in a hot oven until the meat is moist and tender and the skin crispy and mahogany-colored.

“We want the Peking Duck,” I said excitedly to the waiter. “No kidding,” were clearly the words he was stifling himself from uttering. We sipped hot jasmine tea and waited expectantly. Soon enough we were ceremoniously, though briefly, shown a glistening richly lacquered dead duck, beak and all, before it was whisked away. Nearby we caught a glimpse of a stout man, dressed head to toe in white, expertly slicing the meat and layering it onto a platter.

Meanwhile, our waiter outfitted our table with a large fancy-looking covered silver dish; a small oval plate of thin strips of cucumber and scallion, and a ramekin of hoisin sauce – a condiment made from soybeans, mixed with sugar and Asian sesame oil. Finally, the sliced bird was brought forth and our waiter uncovered the silver lid of the chafing dish, and we saw the stack of ultra-thin steamed pancakes that it was keeping warm.

We began to compose our pancakes. I lay a pliable wrapper onto my plate and smeared it with some of the tangy hoisin sauce. Next I chose a few choice slices of duck that I placed atop the sauce. I scattered some cucumber and scallion lengths over that and rolled the whole thing up into a neat, fat log. Janet and Uzi followed suit. It was messy and difficult to eat without it unraveling. Sauce dripped down our chins. The mingled flavors and textures were fantastic. We were in ecstasy. Then, as usually happened when we were sharing food, Uzi began to pick up the pace, rolling, piling, and smearing like a maniac. Janet and I could see we’d be left in the dust. We each managed to quickly put together another pancake apiece while Uzi swiftly glommed down two more and made for a third.

Over twenty years and one fewer husband later, I found myself, with Janet and my dad, at the Peking Duck House to celebrate Thanksgiving. This time there was a multi-course price-fixed meal, at $36.95 per person, awaiting us. The restaurant had been renovated and now had two levels. The entrance was on the ground floor. The décor was muted and elegant. The room was packed solid and waiters and busboys moved swiftly about, maneuvering between the bustling tables with ease. The place ran like a well-oiled machine.

We were immediately brought a pot of hot tea and a trio of saucers containing dipping sauces. Within minutes, small bowls of sizzling rice soup arrived. Little clumps of crunchy, crisped rice mingled with the shrimp, green peas, crunchy water chestnuts, and mushrooms in a gingery broth. Next came an assortment of appetizers: a small spring roll; a strip of marinated flank steak on a wooden skewer; a large half-moon shaped steamed vegetable dumpling, and a supple lettuce leaf cup holding an ample portion of minced chicken and chopped vegetables in a rich and flavorful sauce. We looked, pop-eyed, at each other when the waiter inquired as to what we’d like to order for our vegetable side dish as well as the entrée that would follow the duck. I was already dangerously nearing my food intake limit.

Moments later, a waiter stopped by to quickly display our soon to be hacked Peking duck, complete with long twisting neck and sad little head with closed bill. At a station set up in the middle of the dining room, a group of cooks and servers worked with great speed and precision to dispatch the hundreds of birds being consumed that day. To facilitate serving the multitudes there to celebrate the holiday, the staff formed an assembly line to slice, smear, garnish, and roll the pancakes for each table.

A plate of Chinese broccoli in oyster sauce was plopped down on our table as another waiter placed individual bowls of shrimp fried rice in front of each of our plates, followed by a third man delivering our entrée of jumbo prawns, very lightly breaded and fried, in a creamy Grand Marnier liqueur sauce and topped with a handful of sesame seed-encrusted candied walnuts, the whole shebang ringed by steamed broccoli florets.

At our request, the doggie bags began to arrive, though we forced ourselves to eat one each of the perfectly cooked shrimp and munched the sweet crunchy walnuts, but couldn’t put a dent in the broccoli. As a finale, we were brought a plate of fresh fruit and fortune cookies. I insisted we read our fortunes aloud  and had great hopes for some profound prediction, but received the disappointing sage advice, “Your everlasting patience will be rewarded sooner or later.” It was a memorable Thanksgiving, but uncomfortably stuffed to the gills and not just a little queasy, we staggered out realizing we didn’t need to visit the Peking Duck House for some time to come.

And we didn’t until a couple of weeks ago when two of Janet’s friends asked to take her out for her birthday. She requested the Peking Duck House and my presence. We met Scott and David there at 7:00 and the first thing David said was, “Pretty posh now. I haven’t been here since there was just one room upstairs, and you got to it by walking up a creepy stairwell.” A young man came to the table to ask if we’d like something to drink. “Soda, beer, or water?” he asked. “What, no booze?” I turned to my tablemates, disappointed. “I could swear dad had a drink when we came for Thanksgiving,” Janet said. “I’m sure there’s a liquor store in the area; why don’t we ask?” Scott offered. A poker-faced middle-aged waiter appeared at the table and asked if we were ready to order. “Is there a liquor store nearby?” I asked him. “We have beer and wine,” he responded, ignoring my question. “Oh, you have wine? What kind?” Janet asked. “We have white wine and red wine,” our dour server replied. “Beer for me,” David said and Scott seconded that. “I’ll have the white wine,” I said. “Me too,” Janet chimed in.

Janet and David, sitting side by side, began looking through the menu. We’d already decided against the price fixed meal and had concluded that we’d get the duck, a couple of appetizers, another entrée and a noodle dish. “We eat a lot,” David explained. I opened my menu and made a suggestion or two, and Janet and David called out various dishes, but Scott simply sat with his hands folded in his lap, nodding politely at our choices. “Pipe up if you’d like!” I suggested. “Oh, no, he said,” smiling, “I know enough not to get involved in the special relationship between Jews and their Chinese food.” We were laughing ourselves silly just as our faithfully miserable waiter appeared once again, pushing us to order.

After we attempted to tamper with a menu item by requesting it be made with beef instead of shrimp, our waiter waved his arms dismissively, making it clear there were to be no substitutions, though after some pleading he allowed us to have “sliced chicken, pork, and shrimp with ginger and scallions” sans the shrimp. We also got “homemade” noodles with pork (and more scallions); hefty steamed pork dumplings; and scallion pancakes. Too much pork and scallions in retrospect, no?

“I remembered the dumplings being better,” David commented after a few bites. “You had them twenty years ago,” Scott pointed out dryly. And I was disappointed that the scallion pancakes were deep-fried and greasy instead of pan-fried, as I was used to. The noodle dish was quite tasty, but the chicken and pork with ginger and scallions uninspired. The Peking duck was as delicious as ever but seemed less plentiful. I don’t know that any of us had a second pancake.

The conversation was the tastiest by far, and when the check arrived, we played the game of guessing what the price of the meal would be. “We also have to guess the waiter’s name,” Scott said. “Chinese or English?” I asked. “Well, I only know the Chinese names Li and Wei,” David said. “I’m sure management assigns them an English name,” I said. Janet’s guess for the bill was closest, but no one came close to pegging the waiter’s name as Ken. No wonder he was depressed. He took the leatherette case filled with our money, bade us goodbye, and smacked down a plate of fortune cookies. We each grabbed one, and I suggested we read them aloud. “Wait, wait!,” David exclaimed before I could begin. “We always add the words “in bed” after our fortune. You’ll see –it makes it so much better.”

Janet read first: “Something you lost will soon turn up… in bed.” Then David: “Good things are being said about you… in bed.” Next was Scott: “Your many hidden talents will become obvious to those around you… in bed.” I was more than happy with my own: “Be mischievous and you will not be lonesome… in bed.” And now I had a better appreciation of my fortune some years back when we’d gone for Peking duck with our dad. “Your everlasting patience will be rewarded sooner or later…in bed.”

Pan-Sautéed Duck Breasts with Mango Chutney Sauce

Serves 3 – 4

2 boneless duck breast halves, 1 – 1 ¼ pounds each

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

About 1 hour before serving, remove the duck breasts from the refrigerator and make small crosshatch marks at a 45-degree angle all over the skin side. Wipe the breast dry; sprinkle with salt and pepper on both sides.

Heat a large heavy skillet over moderate heat. Add the duck breasts, skin side down, and immediately lower the heat to moderately low. Sauté the breasts until crisp and brown, about 8 minutes, tilting the skillet and spooning off the fat as it collects, 4 or 5 times. Flip the breasts over and cook for 5 to 7 minutes. At 5 minutes the breasts will be quite rare. If you like your meat medium-rare, continue to cook them the additional 2 minutes.

Remove the duck from the skillet to a plate or carving board, tent with foil, and leave to rest for 8 minutes. Slice meat crosswise, against the grain, on the diagonal, and arrange the slices overlapping on a serving platter. Sprinkle lightly with salt and freshly ground black pepper and serve with sauce of your choice.

Mango Chutney Sauce

Makes a little more than ½ cup

½ cup mango chutney, preferably Patak’s brand

2 heaping tablespoons apricot (or peach) preserves

3 tablespoons soy sauce

In a small saucepan heat the ingredients over low heat, stirring, for 2 minutes. Serve immediately.

Tamarind Ginger Dipping Sauce

Makes about ¼ cup

This tangy condiment can accompany coconut shrimp or chicken, dumplings, grilled fish, pan-seared duck breasts, or steamed vegetables, such as broccoli.

1 teaspoon tamarind concentrate or paste

2 teaspoons whole grain Dijon mustard

1 tablespoon honey

1 tablespoons Chinese hoisin sauce

1 ½ tablespoons fresh lime juice

1 teaspoon finely grated fresh ginger

¼ teaspoon salt

In a small bowl, mix tamarind concentrate with mustard, honey, and hoisin sauce until smooth. Whisk in lime juice and remaining ingredients. Let sit 15 minutes to allow flavors to meld.