San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
CRAFT CHEF MASTERS THE ART OF CRUNCHY, SPICY NOODLE KITS.
When William Lim Do wanted to learn the art of Chinese noodlemaking, he did what any inquisitive young cook would do: booked a oneway ticket to China and enrolled in a school that would teach him.
“I wanted to learn a craft that I couldn’t learn here,” said Do, who worked at Michelinstarred San Francisco restaurants State Bird Provisions and Mister Jiu’s, where he was sous chef.
He’s now combining his noodlemaking skills and Californian sensibilities with a new popup called Lao Wai Noodles, where he’s making doityourself kits for tian shui mian, a.k.a. sweet water noodles, a creamy, crunchy, spicy and sweet chilled noodle dish from Sichuan province. Lao Wai makes 80 noodle kits a week out of South San Francisco, available for delivery and pickup through his Instagram, but he’s in talks with restaurants and commissary kitchens to expand production.
Lao Wai, which translates as “foreigner” in Mandarin, is a term used for Westerners; it is also the nickname that other students endearingly gave Do, who was born and raised in San Francisco and is ethnically Chinese, Cambodian and Vietnamese.
“Even though I considered myself part Chinese American, for them not to see me as Chinese felt a little unusual and interesting,” said Do.
But Do embraced his moniker, and his noodle popup, which started in December, leans into it too by eschewing tradition.
Tian shui mian commonly uses thick, chewy wheat noodles, numbing chile oil, minced raw garlic, sweet soy, sesame paste, crushed peanuts and sometimes scallions. But Do does his own version, offering subtle spins based on his backpacking throughout China and his training at fine dining restaurants in San Francisco.
Most notably, instead of the thick wheat noodles commonly used, Do makes a thinner round noodle inspired by a noodle soup in Neijiang, a city just over 100 miles south of Chengdu. “Every city has their own versions of noodles they’re very proud of,” said Do. “When I was in Neijiang, I was fascinated by the way they rested and kneaded and aged the dough, which gives it a good bite.”
Five types of flour go into Do’s dough, each providing a specific purpose: organic dark spring wheat flour for structure, sorghum for nuttiness, acorn flour for texture and mouthfeel, oat for sweetness, and finally millet — an homage to a porridge made with the grain he’d eat for breakfast every day in Lanzhou, where he studied the craft of handpulled noodles. It’s a style of noodle making where the dough is stretched and pulled repeatedly into separate strands.
The Neijiang noodlemaking process takes more than two days. First, Do mixes the flours with salt and water into a dough, which he lets rest overnight. The next day, he kneads the dough again, pushing the clumpy dry spots into the areas that contain more water — a technique he learned in school that helps create a more evenly hydrated dough.
The dough then rests for another eight to 10 hours; this resting/kneading/aging process provides proper elasticity and bite. Do rolls the dough into a thick, long rope, then cuts it into 1pound portions. He flattens each piece, then places it in a handcranked pasta machine to form the noodles for the kit.
Other components of the dish also highlight Do’s twists: Instead of minced raw garlic, there’s a less sharp whipped garlic confit. A paste made with perilla and rice wine vinegar replaces the sesame paste for a nutty yet balanced base. In lieu of peanuts, Do offers roasted black and white sesame seeds for color and crunch. And garlic chives come in last as a garnish, intended for “a quiet cut to an otherwise assertive noodle dish,” he notes in the instructional insert provided with the kits.
Once diners receive the noodle kits, the final step is theirs. Diners cook the noodles in salted boiling water for exactly 65 seconds for springy noodles (80 seconds for supple), strain, rinse and place them in a bowl filled with the sweetened soy, then garnish with the toppings. Everything is mixed together for one cohesive, creamy emulsion.
Although Do’s production is still small, he has ambitions to expand and offer more types of noodles. Last year, before COVID19 hit, he was scouting locations for a restaurant and talking to investors. Once he has a space, he plans to handpull the noodles instead of using the machine; the Lanzhou style of noodle making requires a higher hydration noodle, which needs to be cooked immediately and therefore doesn’t travel well for takeout and delivery.
Until then, Do has a different nod to Lanzhou in his popup: a chile crisp condiment similar to the kind that often accompanies a popular beef noodle soup from the city. It’s made with a blend of grapeseed and sunflower oils that he aromatizes with yellow and green onions, ginger, garlic, cinnamon, cardamom, fennel and a few other secret spices before straining on top of ground toasted er jing tiao, a long slender intensely fragrant pepper used in Sichuan cuisine. It’s mellower and less mouthnumbing because of its restraint of the Sichuan peppercorn.
Sold by the jar, the chile crisp goes well on lots of dishes — but especially on a steaming bowl of noodles.
Former Mister Jiu’s chef selling his own creamy and crunchy sets