A SIMPLE MEAL Beggar's Chicken came to be after a beggar used lotus leaves and clay to cook chicken stuffed with rice, pork, mushrooms, and lotus seeds
I first heard about Beggar’s Chicken in 1965 from a Chinese couple, whom I interviewed in their home for an article on the textile industry, their main business. Over lunch, we discovered a common passion for food. Mrs. Lee even held cooking lessons for wives and daughters of prominent Chinese families. On invitation from Mr. Lee, I joined the couple on a food trip to Hong Kong, my first-ever visit to the Crown Colony. My hosts were the best guides one could hope for. The first thing they did upon reaching our hotel was to place an order for Beggar’s Chicken at a restaurant famous for the dish. Our table and food would be ready in a week. While waiting, we walked to nooks and crannies not visited by tour groups and ordered dishes way beyond the usual Sweet-and-Sour Pork. Finally, on the last night of our week-long trip, we were at a palatial restaurant for a Beggar’s Chicken meal. Everything around us was red or gold. The tables were all taken. There were more Asian guests than Caucasians. Several groups were turned away at the door for lack of advance reservations. While waiting for our food, Mr. Lee narrated the legendary Beggar’s Chicken origin. A long time ago, monks and beggars roamed the countryside carrying nothing but the barest supplies. Dependent mostly on the generosity of strangers, they often went hungry and had to forage in the forests, streams, and fields along their way. One such beggar found himself near a pond full of lotus. He saw a chicken, which he caught. But he wondered how he could cook it, as he did not have a cooking pot. His meager food stock consisted of some leftover rice, a dried piece of salted pork, and a few mushrooms picked from the forest. To these, he added lotus seeds he harvested from the pond. He cleaned the chicken and prepared the stuffing, mixing the rice, pork, mushrooms, and lotus seeds well. The stuffed chicken was wrapped in layers of lotus leaves. To seal in the heat while shielding the chicken from the fire, the leaf-wrapped bundle was covered with clay from the lotus pond. He dug a hole in the ground, dropped the chicken in, then covered it with hot coal. After several hours, the chicken was done. The clay had hardened as the bird was cooked very slowly by the moist heat. A chef in a red and gold uniform presented our own Beggar’s Chicken on a platter and handed an ornate mallet to our host. Mr. Lee smiled, took a bow, and cracked open the clay-encrusted main course. Instantly, steam rose from the crack and we were engulfed in an invisible cloud of flavors unlike any I had ever had. The chef unwrapped the chicken and took away the clay and lotus leaf. It was a meal to remember. Sixty years later, I can still taste the tender chicken, woody mushrooms, crunchy lotus seeds, and sausage-spiked rice. Tired of my stories, close friends in local and foreign media challenged me to host a Beggar’s Chicken dinner at our Malate flat where Vic and I had moved after changing jobs. Because 20 were coming, I decided to make two versions: Chinese and American. Work took us to Hong Kong often, so stocking up on Chinese ingredients was easy. An artist and his wife, both potters, gave me a box of potter’s clay. I used walnuts, button mushrooms, Mexican sausage, and California long-grain rice for the Americanized version. Aluminum foil was served instead of lotus leaves, and sourdough in place of clay. The bread absorbed juices oozing from the bird as it slowly baked. The guests, all veteran journalists, ate and drank and traded stories until dawn. Many (Monica Feria, Nelly Sindayen, Vic Maliwanag, and Zip Roxas) are no longer around. But those who are still with us, like Corito Fiel and my foreign correspondent bosses, occasionally post their recollections on Facebook of a meal I will probably not make again.