??, or qiang bing, is crispy on the outside, fluffy and chewy on the inside, and truly magical when fresh off the stove. As your knife hits the surface of the bing for the first time, anticipation builds to that first crackle. Start cutting, and the steam that's released begins to wisp up. And then it hits you: the rich fragrance of nutty sesame and scallion.
Qiang bing used to be sold (sometimes by weight) in huge wedges at Shanghai street markets. These days, with the rise in popularity of its cousin, the scallion pancake, the yeasted sesame bing is more difficult to find. But it lives on through memories-and in the kitchens of home cooks.
© Photo by Betty LiuSesame goes on just before cooking.
While whole qiang bing sold at markets are sometimes 20 inches in diameter, the version I make at home is much more manageable, and fits in a 10-inch skillet. It can be eaten by itself, as breakfast or a snack, or as a carb companion to any meal. I like to have a warm wedge alongside a bowl of soup. It's delicious dipped in the broth, and handy to soak up the last drops from a bowl.
I have a recipe for scallion pancakes in my book, My Shanghai, but this is a distinct, separate treat. Scallion pancakes are not yeasted; when you make them, your focus is on building those multiple thin, crispy layers. Texture is a major difference between scallion pancakes and qiang bing. This bing is more like a bread: yeasted and fluffy, with just enough manipulation to distribute the scallions and create a layered texture on top of the crumb. The crispy exterior, with its nutty sesame sprinkle, contrasts the supple interior that's fragrant with scallions. It's all wonderfully harmonious together.
As long as you have a stove and a round skillet with a lid, qiang bing is straightforward to make. You'll mix together a simple dough using all-purpose flour, active dry yeast, sugar, salt, water, and some fat, then knead it and leave it to rise until doubled. The choice of fat is up to you. I like to use lard when I have some in my fridge; it adds extra fragrance to the dough. However, I've also used softened butter or vegetable oil with no problems. Add whichever fat you're using once the dough has just come together-it will help the dough become incredibly silky and smooth.
© Photo by Betty LiuForming the log, which will then be curled into a spiral.
© Photo by Betty LiuFlattening the spiral.
After the dough rises, you'll punch it down and allow it to rest again. Then comes the fun part: roll out your dough into a rectangle, then brush on a thin layer of vegetable oil, followed by a sprinkling of scallions and salt. There's one essential warning here: make sure that your scallions are as dry as possible before adding, so that when the bing is cooking, extra liquid doesn't seep into the bread. Pat them well with a kitchen towel before you add them to the dough. I like about two teaspoons of salt sprinkled across the surface, but you can adjust according to your palate. You can also add crushed Sichuan peppercorn, five-spice, or white pepper at this time. Roll the dough into a log, then curl it up to form a spiral. Finally, you'll use a rolling pin to flatten the spiral into a round that's about an inch thick.
Rather than baking in the oven, the dough is simultaneously pan-fried and steamed on your stovetop. Make sure to monitor the heat-leaving it on low-so that the bottom of the qiang bing doesn't burn. With the lid on and the heat low, the bing steams while it crisps. When it's done, you'll get a hollow sound when you tap the surface. Be sure to gather everyone around and serve immediately: as you cut the bing into wedges, the sesame crust will crackle, releasing an aroma that no one should miss.