Taking the high road to Peking, with a duck

Peking Roast Duck is a classic, and in Mumbai, quacking its way onto our palates

Even athletes, who are known to adhere to highly regimented diets, can't resist the famous Peking Roast Duck, so much so that, according to reports, chefs at the Olympic Village in Beijing have increased the supply of Peking ducks from 300 to 600 a day.

At China House in the Grand Hyatt Mumbai, Chef Hu jun roasts an average of 10 to 15 ducks a day. The open kitchen plan allows you to see the duck roasting in an open wood oven - the fire licking the skin of the duck until it turns a dark brown. "Here, we used mango wood to make the oven, though in China, date wood is more popular," says Chef Hu jun, who seems to be a stickler for authenticity. Overseeing the entire process is a former chef from Beijing's oldest restaurants — Quanjude. An aside: Established in 1864, Quanjude is famous for its Peking Duck and has an entry in Wikipedia.

It takes at least half-an-hour for the duck to arrive at the table, and during the wait, Hu jun talks about the colourful history of the duck, which spans dynasties, and has all the elements of a Chinese blockbuster. The story goes that the royal family of the Yuan
Dynasty (1206 - 1368) wanted an alternative to the suckling pig. Two chefs from the royal kitchen began working towards a dish they reckoned would replace the pig at the regal tables. The dish was the Peking Roast Duck. By the 15th Century, under the Ming dynasty, the Peking Roast Duck was a perennial guest at the tables of the ruling class.
But after the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911, renegade chefs left the Forbidden City and set up restaurants in Beijing. It was then that the Peking Duck was introduced to, and became a favourite of, the masses.

It's worth the wait. As the historic duck arrives to the table on a cart, there's a flurry of activity — bowls of soy-bean paste, sugar, slices of cucumber and spring onion, and garlic paste are laid out on the table. Meanwhile, the chef from Quanjude carves delicate pieces of crispy, decadent skin, laden with fat under the watchful eye of Hu jun. The skin is dipped in a bowl of sugar and melts in your mouth. "It's the fat," says Hu jun.
"You have to roast the duck for more than hour so that it gets crisp." And while the fat, sweetened with sugar, overwhelms the palate, Hu jun insists that in today's health conscious society, fat levels are toned down. Purists may turn their noses down, but we're not complaining.

A bamboo basket, filled with paper-thin steamed pancakes, is placed on the table just as the chef places a plate of carved, soft, pink duck meat. Instructions are given: Hold the pancake; dip the meat in the soy-bean paste and spread it on the pancake; add slices of cucumber and spring onion; a dribble of garlic paste; roll and eat. This is food that demands your attention. It requires a certain amount of work — interaction with the ingredients — that heightens the senses. It's a refreshing change from simply popping a beautifully done dim-sum into the mouth. A plate of mildly roasted duck is placed on the table, and we start rolling the crepes.

Not many city restaurants have Peking Roast Duck on the menu; The Golden Dragon at the Taj is one of the few. One reason for the small number is the investment that goes into making the wood oven. Another reason is that it is popular mainly with tourists and expats, though this is slowly changing.

While China House's manager Lester Lu puts it down to a lack of awareness; Anup Sheth, the manager of Golden Dragon believes it has something to do with the fact that Mumbaikars are more familiar with other meats — chicken, mutton, etc.

Preparing a traditional Peking Roast Duck is complicated. At one stage, air is pumped under the skin through the neck cavity (to separate the skin from the fat) with a bicycle pump. We didn't ask Chef Hu jun if he had a bicycle pump. Some things are best left unknown.
t_anjali@dnaindia.net