A CULINARY PAGE-TURNER
Jereme Leung elevates simplicity into art at his wharfside eatery From a Chinese Cookbook, Mike Peters reports from Shanghai.
The beef is paper-thin, sliced from the cow’s shoulder, and flashfried with chef Jereme Leung’s sun-dried tomato spice. The resulting nibbles are crispy and caramelized, like the common candied Chinese walnuts stirfried with sesame.
The taste, however, is far from ordinary.
One of my fellow diners is a middle-aged Shanghai woman who eats little meat and has littlepatience for the“fuss” of fine dining. She can’t stop eating it. She’s reminded of a fish dish made in a way she relishes. To me it’s more like beef jerky gone to glory: savory-sweet, easytochew, and presented as if for an imperial table. By the time the next course arrives, the three of us at our table are scrabbing around the plate with our chopsticks, chasing the last crunchy tidbits. From a Chinese Cookbook, Leung’s name for his restaurant, is based on his 30 years of travels around China. His recipes really reflect a sense of many Chinese cookbooks encountered along the way. He’s written more than one himself.
The restaurant opened in 2015 as the latest “concept” restaurant from the VOL Group (Ultraviolet, Mr & Mrs Bund, Bar Rouge) and Leung, the bon vivant chef, author and winemaker who may be best known in Shanghai for his involvement in the Whampoa Club at Three on the Bund.
The dining room’s contemporary chic largely hides the rough-and-tumble origins of the site, a converted warehouse on the wharf now shared by a host of other chic eateries collectively known as The Cool Docks at the Wharf 1846 complex.
Leung’s dishes are celebrations of original form and simplicity. He is not the sort of chef who reduces his ingredients to powders and pastes to make paintings on his plates. His dishes are artful, but they are elegant still-lifes, not abstractions.
Pu Ben, the Chinese name of the restaurant, is inspired by a quotation from the Taoist master Zhuang Zi: “Nothing is more beautiful than simplicity.” Pu means “uncarved jade”, while ben alludes to the notebook that Leung always carries with him to record cooking techniques and recipe ideas.
“From his culinary discoveries he has perfected a unique style inspired by all the cuisine of China,” the menu exudes in Chinese. “Some say he keeps his secrets and all details of his technique in a mysterious cookbook that he has been carrying with him for years.’
Leung’s menu notes reflect his sense that keeping things natural and original is the way to reflect their true nature, and this is his ideal in cooking, too.
“Even though people have tried all kinds of cuisine with strong taste sand beautiful colors ,” Leung says on the menu, “the most memorable cuisine that will linger in your heart, your spirit and your mind is the simplest and easiest.”
This is thought-provoking as we nibble the crispy beef: an aberration perhaps, or is the dish more fundamental than we think?
Then there is the gorgeous iron bowl of three-cup chicken, which we initially suspected might disappoint natives of Taiwan, where the dish was born, because it doesn’t quite have the succulent richness we’re used to in what is one of our favorite dishes. But it’s more likely that Leung has unearthed an original simplicity in three-cup chicken, an elemental nature that gets oversauced as the dish gets farther away from its place of origin.
So is the exquisite crispy beef an aberration, a flight of fancy? Or is it simpler than we think? (That’s a pretty thought, but I doubt we’re going to try this one at home.)
Reviewers are divided. That’s Shanghai magazine says Leung is “taking traditional dishes and splicing them with Western/non-Chinese ingredients like cherry tomatoes, olive paste, rose petals, wasabi and what have you. It’s a traditionalist’s worst nightmare, but for the open minded, the menu has more than a few enticing options.”
Michelin critics didn’t give the restaurant a star but were obviously impressed: the 2017 guide for Shanghai awards it a Bib Gourmand, Michelin’s salute to favorite eateries with food under 200 yuan ($29). The reviewers clearly shared our enthusiasm for the crispy beef. And for the slow-cooked short ribs with orange marmalade. And for the eight-hour golden broth, so luxuriously silky that the tender morsels of seafood set afloat there are almost an afterthought (but a tasty one — we ate every bit).
We thought we were too full for dessert, especially a dim sum finale, but our host convinced us we should not miss the restaurant’s signature “black gold egg”. This steamed bun, colored by Japanese charcoal, streaked with gold and filled with a goose-egg yolk and rich custard, was so amazing that after one bite we ordered seconds.
Sometimes simplicity deserves a fancy touch.