Naomi Duguid was in Kunming, the capital of China's Yunnan province, when she met an 82-year-old Swiss woman, her fingers bedecked with silver and Tibetan turquoise. The woman told Duguid she was taking the overnight train to Chengdu, then flying to Tibet. Duguid was also taking the overnight train and going on to Tibet, but the final leg of her journey would be by bus.

It was 1985, and China had recently begun allowing foreigners to visit Tibet, which it had previously sealed off in an effort to subdue indigenous residents, who were struggling to regain their independence.

The next day, the two women shared a taxi to the train station. "As we stood in an echoing noisy tunnel under the tracks, waiting in a crowd to board the train, we almost had to shout to each other to be heard," Duguid says in Beyond the Great Wall: Recipes and Travels in the Other China, her latest cookbook written with her husband, Jeffrey Alford.

The older woman told Duguid her name was Ella Maillart, and she had written the book Forbidden Journey.

"I was stunned," writes Duguid (pronounced dew-GWEE). "I had read many of her books, extraordinary books." Forbidden Journey chronicled Maillart's 1934 journey by foot and horseback from Beijing to Hunza, now a part of Pakistan.

Two weeks later, Duguid found Maillart at a hotel in Lhasa, Tibet's capital. The older woman was leaving the next day, so the two shared a vegetarian dinner that night: stir-fried cabbage, stir-fried bean spouts with slivered scallions, chile-hot tree fungus and boiled potatoes with coarse salt. Duguid — then on a five-month leave from her work as a Toronto lawyer specializing in labor issues — told Maillart while they ate that she had decided to leave her job.

"You must follow your compass," Maillart replied in French. "Do what feels right to you, then figure out how to earn a living at the same time."


A year later, Duguid was bicycling from Xinjiang on China's western border to Pakistan's Hunza Valley with a man she had met in Tibet only a few months earlier.

On a dark night in the fall of 1985, Duguid had been sitting on the roof of the Snowland Hotel in Lhasa, talking to a man from Wyoming. "A lot of people would meet on the rooftop of the hotel because the nights are beautiful in central Tibet in October, clear and mild," Jeffrey Alford writes in Beyond the Great Wall.

As they talked, they discovered they shared an interest in that part of China. "Even as children, both of us had been fascinated by all the differing regions beyond the Great Wall. We'd read about Tibet, its nomads and pilgrims, its rich religious history and culture, and about the mighty rivers that rise in Tibet and flow out in four directions. We'd read about Chinese Central Asia, about the old Silk Road and Marco Polo, and about the early explorers who set out across the Takla Makan Desert. We'd read about the Mongolian steppe and about Genghis Khan and his conquering Mongol army. These were places that easily filled the imagination: intensely blue skies, snow-capped mountains, camel caravans, and welcoming oases."

And they learned that traveling in the region was a dream they shared, for many of the same reasons. "So it was easy to talk," Alford writes.

As the two descended from the roof, they passed under a feeble light, and Duguid saw Alford for the first time, she said in a recent phone interview. "Oh, that's what this guy looks like," she thought.

Duguid invited Alford to make a three-day Jeep trip with her and a couple of Italians she had met in her travels. The group was going to Samye Gompa, the first Buddhist temple built in Tibet more than 1,000 years earlier. When she asked him, she said, she realized for the first time that she cared whether he would say yes or no.

As the two walked to the temple, they stopped to talk. "And we talked and talked. We never made it to the temple," Alford writes. "But by the end of the day, we were talking about having a family together."

Now, about 10 days into the trip to Pakistan, Duguid explained, Alford announced he wanted the two of them to write a book about flatbreads. And Duguid answered: The book needed to have photographs as well as recipes.

The region the two were biking through to Pakistan — the Pamir Mountains, along the Silk Road — "is flatbread country," Duguid wrote in an e-mail. "People depend on flatbreads as their staple food, and that is what makes them so fascinating ... stacks and stacks of flatbreads for sale in every town and village."

Neither had written a cookbook before, but they had figured out how to earn a living while doing what felt right, Maillart's advice.

Their Flatbreads & Flavors — published in 1995, and full of recipes and photographs — won the James Beard Cookbook of the Year Award.


Duguid's undergraduate degree is in geography — she has long been interested in how people live, she said — and Alford has a master's degree in creative nonfiction, a useful combination for people who write the kind of cookbooks these two do.

The pair like to take their readers to cultures on the periphery, where residents might not participate in a country's power structure. They write about the peoples and cultures of those places. And they relate their own travel experiences, which may or may not have anything to do with the food of the place they are visiting. But they also offer insight into the cuisine and a fair number of recipes.

Beyond the Great Wall, their sixth cookbook, looks at China's people who are not members of the country's main ethnic group, the Han Chinese. About 92 percent of China's 1.5 billion residents are Han. The rest are Tibetans, Mongols, Uighurs, Miao, Hui, Dong, Yi, Dai, among others.

Duguid and Alford are travelers, not tourists. Years of travel in foreign lands — a lot of it in Asia — have honed their skills. And they travel both alone and together. "You're more apt to meet people when you're traveling by yourself, " Duguid recently told Culinate, an online food site.

"And importantly, we're not rushing around. ... We'll hang around in a market for a full week to see daily patterns. ... We become familiar with the people there, so we can sort of become a piece of furniture. That's when you start to see ... the details and flavors of a place and its people."

In the Culinate interview, Duguid says she and Alford don't collect recipes from people they meet on their travels. They might make a few notes or take photos of food being prepared, but mostly they rely on memory.

"I remember in Senegal I was noting how many peppercorns a woman was putting in a stew, and when I got home (which is in Toronto), I looked at the notes and thought, 'But the peppercorns taste different there!' "Duguid says. "The exact quantity doesn't matter, it's to remember the taste and texture and how she put it together that is important. So we work on recipes when we get back to approximate the taste."

She says a recipe for cooking, say, a fish, isn't what she and Alford are interested in. "It's the cultural context (that interests us). The way of cooking fish has evolved because of where these people live and they have to feed their family."

They won't provide a recipe without explaining where the dish arose and how they saw it made or interpreted it, she continues. "Otherwise, it's just a recipe, and it doesn't connect to daily life or to the culture that bore that food."

Duguid and Alford could have easily written travel books instead of cookbooks. "But we didn't want to write about foreigners in strange places ... ," Duguid explained in the phone interview. "We were more interested in how people lived: what they grew and how they grew it and what they did with what they grew."

"Food is a way of connecting with a place," she said.






WHAT: Naomi Duguid will sign copies of Beyond the Great Wall: Recipes and Travels in the Other China. The cookbook is the latest offering from Duguid and her husband, Jeffrey Alford, who live in Toronto. Collected Works bookstore is sponsoring Duguid's visit in collaboration with the market.

WHEN: 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. Saturday

WHERE: The Santa Fe Farmers Market, located in the large parking area beside the PERA building on Paseo de Peralta.


Signed copies of Beyond the Great Wall may be preordered and picked up later from Collected Works by calling 988-4226. Inscribed books must be prepaid.





The recipes and notes that follow are from Beyond the Great Wall: Recipes and Travels in the Other China, by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, Artisan, 2008 ($40).



We're accustomed to seeing chile paste made from dried red chiles and a little oil, set out as a table condiment with noodles and used in kitchens all over China. But we've learned that many cooks in Guizhou, Guangxi and Yunnan also use fresh sauce made from red chiles that are very much like cayenne chiles. Whenever you come across ripe red cayenne chiles, make up a batch of the paste. The chiles are ground or pounded to a paste with a little salt and a touch of vinegar. The paste is bright red, a beautiful addition to the table.

BRIGHT RED CHILE PASTE
(Makes about 1/2 cup)

About 1/4 pound (8 to 10) fresh red cayenne chiles
1 teaspoon kosher salt or to taste
Pinch of sugar, optional
1 tablespoon unseasoned rice vinegar
2 tablespoons water, or more if desired

Wash the chiles well, then cut off the stems and coarsely chop the chiles. Place them in a food processor, add the salt and process to a paste. Add the sugar, if using, and the vinegar and pulse to blend. Turn out into a bowl, using a rubber spatula to scrape the chile paste from the processor bowl, and add water to thin to the texture you desire. With the amount of water suggested above, the paste will be thick and dense with chiles, but it can be made quite thin by adding up to 1/4 cup water; it's up to you. If you make it thinner, you may want to add another pinch of salt.

To serve as a condiment, place in a small shallow bowl and put out a spoon so guests can help themselves to a drizzle of the paste as they eat. To use as a flavoring in stir-fries, add either at the beginning, once the oil in the wok is hot, to give an undernote of warmth (try using 1 teaspoon to start with) or when the dish is almost cooked, to give a fresh dash of heat (use less, perhaps 1/2 teaspoon).

Stored in a clean glass jar with a tight-fitting lid in the refrigerator, leftover paste will keep for a week or so.

NOTE: Emily Swantner used 1/4 pound red Thai chiles, which can be purchased at Whole Foods Market in Santa Fe or at Ta Lin Market in Albuquerque, to make this paste.


The term achar is used in Nepal (and, farther afield, in Malaysia) for any side relish or chutney. It's a word to set your mouth tingling and watering with anticipation. And it's a word that is now quite common in Lhasa since a number of Tibetans who were once in exile have come back and opened small restaurants, often staffed with cooks from Nepal.

This little side dish is tart from its basic ingredient, Tenzin's Quick Pickled Radish Threads, and pale yellow from turmeric. It is a wonderful foil for the lushness of deep-fried snacks ... and for meat dishes ...

LHASA YELLOW ACHAR
(Makes about 1 cup)

1 to 2 tablespoons peanut, canola or other vegetable oil
1 tablespoon minced ginger
1/4 cup minced onion or shallots
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon Chile Oil, see recipe, or 1/4 teaspoon cayenne, or to taste
1 cup Tenzin's Quick-Pickled Radish Threads, see recipe
1 teaspoon turmeric
1/2 cup coarsely chopped cilantro

Place a wok or heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add the oil, then add the ginger and onion or shallots and stir-fry briefly. Toss in the cumin, coriander, salt and chile oil or cayenne. Stir-fry until the onion or shallots are tender, about 2 minutes. Add the radish pickle and turmeric and cook, stirring frequently to prevent sticking, until the flavors have blended, 2 to 3 minutes. Turn out into a bowl.

Just before serving, stir in the chopped cilantro. Store leftovers in a nonreactive container in the refrigerator for no more than two days.

NOTE: Swantner scooped Tenzin's Quick-Pickled Radish Threads out of the jar, but did not thoroughly drain them because they gave the Achar another dash of flavor.

Chile oil is one of those simple additions to the pantry you are likely to find yourself using in all sorts of ways. Although you can buy it in Chinese and Southeast Asian grocery stores, the commercial version is usually made with cottonseed oil, which has an unpleasant aftertaste. Better to quickly make up a batch yourself. It keeps well in the refrigerator. Add a dash of it to spike a salad dressing or stir-fry, or include it in a dipping sauce.

CHILE OIL
(Makes about 1 cup)

1 cup peanut or vegetable oil
5 to 6 tablespoons chile pepper flakes or crushed dried red chiles

Heat the oil in a wok or skillet until just starting to smoke. Remove from the heat and toss in the dried chile flakes or pieces. Let stand until cooled to room temperature.

Transfer to a clean, dry glass jar and store, well-sealed, in the refrigerator. The chiles will continue infusing oil.

To use, scoop out the oil, or a mixture of the oil and chile flakes, with a clean, dry spoon. You can also, after a week or so, strain the chile out, leaving a beautiful clear reddish orange oil.

NOTE: Swantner used Thai crushed dried chile flakes.

TENZIN'S QUICK-PICKLED RADISH THREADS
(Makes about 4 cups)

1 pound daikon radish, peeled and coarsely grated or julienned on a mandolin
2 medium scallions, minced
1/2 small onion, cut into thin slices
2 tablespoons minced ginger
2 tablespoons kosher salt
1 to 2 tablespoons minced garlic, optional
1 teaspoon dry-roasted Sichuan peppercorns, ground, optional
3 cups rice vinegar

Place the radish, scallions, onion and ginger in a large bowl and toss to mix them well. Stuff half the mixture into a sterilized 4-quart jar and add
1 tablespoon of the salt and the garlic and/or Sichuan pepper if you wish. Add the remaining radish mixture and the second tablespoon of salt, and pour on the vinegar, which should cover the mixture completely. Seal and shake the jar to distribute the vinegar well.

Place in a sunny spot by a window for 2 to 4 days, giving the jar a shake occasionally to help blend the flavors. It is now ready to use. The pickle will keep indefinitely if well sealed and refrigerated.

To serve, use a clean spoon or fork or chopsticks to lift out a clump of radish strands and place them in a condiment bowl.

NOTE: In warm weather, the pickle is ready in 2 days; in colder weather, or with cloudy days, allow four days.


There is something very soothing and sustaining about tsam-thuk, as this classic soup is called in Lhasa dialect. It is another take on the freshly baked bread with meat idea that characterizes the food of Central Asia (and, in fact, much of the traditional cooking of northern Europe as well). Here, instead of flatbreads wrapped around fire-cooked kebabs, the meal is soup, a beef broth thickened with tsampa, the roasted barley ground into flour that is a Tibetan staple. There's a seductive taste, almost nutty, from the roasted grain, and a smoothness on the tongue from the blend of tsampa and the butter added at the last moment. "Shin-bu-du! (Delicious!)"

This is a Lhasa version made with strips of steak that we substitute for the traditional yak meat. In other more rural places, where fresh meat is not often available, cooks would usually include small pieces of dried yak meat.

TSAMPA SOUP
(Serves 4 or 5 as a main course, 6 to 8 as a soup course)

1-1/4 cups tsampa or substitute 1 cup barley flour, dry-roasted in a skillet until golden
1/4 pound daikon radish (about 1/2 small radish)
6 cups Tibetan Bone Broth or beef or chicken broth (see recipe)
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil, or butter
1/2 medium onion, thinly sliced
1/2 to 3/4 pound boneless beef round or sirloin steak, cut into strips about 1-1/2 to 2-inches long and 1/4 inch wide
2 to 3 cups water
2 to 2-1/2 teaspoons kosher salt or to taste (see note)
1-1/2 to 2 cups baby spinach leaves or coarsely chopped regular spinach
2 tablespoons butter

To make sure your tsampa or roasted flour is fine enough, pass it through a fine sieve. Set aside.

Peel the daikon radish, then grate it on a coarse grater into long strands. Set aside.

Pour 3 cups of the broth into a wide heavy pot (4 quarts is a good size) and bring to a boil. Add the tsampa or roasted flour and stir until smooth. Add the remaining 3 cups broth and bring to a boil. Add the radish strands and simmer until tender, about 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat the oil or butter in a heavy skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and sauté gently for several minutes. Add the meat strips and 1/2 teaspoon salt, raise the heat to medium-high, and cook, turning once, just until the beef has changed color, about 3 minutes total. Use tongs to lift out the meat and set it aside on a plate. Add the onion and oil or butter to the soup.

To deglaze the skillet, place the pan over high heat, add 1 cup water and bring to a boil. Scrape the bottom of the pan with a spatula to detach any browned bits or caramelized juices, then add the flavored water to the soup. (The recipe can be prepared ahead to this point and set aside for up to 1 hour. Or let cool, and refrigerate for up to 36 hours. Bring the soup to a simmer before proceeding.)

Add 1 cup more water to the soup and bring back to a simmer. Add the meat and bring back to a simmer. Add extra water if you wish a thinner broth. Taste for salt and add up to 2 more teaspoons if necessary. Add the spinach leaves to the simmering broth. When they turn bright green, after a minute or two, add the butter and stir to blend it in.

Serve the soup hot in large bowls, with bread or rice, if you prefer.

NOTE ON SEASONING: A number of recipes in Lhasa cooking use soy sauce. These tend to be wealthy people's versions of traditional dishes. People in the country, or those with less money, would usually not include city refinements, such as soy sauce and a greater variety of vegetables. If you'd like, instead of using salt to adjust the seasoning, add 1 to 2 tablespoons soy sauce; it gives an extra depth of flavor.

NOTE: Swantner used Arrowhead Mills Organic Barley Flour from Whole Foods Market, which she dry toasted over low heat until golden. Pacific Natural Foods Beef Broth is a nice alternative to the traditional Tibetan Bone Broth, to which Swantner added one whole star anise and 10 thinly sliced pieces of ginger, which she lightly crushed and simmered for 20 minutes in the broth.


This useful broth is called ruthang in Tibetan. It's traditionally made by simmering yak bones, for which we substitute oxtail or beef shank. It gives many Tibetan recipes great depth of flavor ... and we find ourselves happy to always have a stash of it in the freezer, especially in the colder months of the year.

TIBETAN BONE BROTH
(Makes about 8 cups)

2 pounds oxtail or bone-in beef shank, chopped into 8 to 12 pieces (have the butcher do this)
9 cups water, more or less
1 tablespoon minced or crushed ginger
1 star anise, optional
1 teaspoon kosher salt

Rinse the beef thoroughly in several changes of lukewarm water. Place in a large heavy pot and add enough cold water to cover by an inch or two. Bring to a boil and skim off the foam. Add the ginger, star anise, if using, and salt, reduce the heat and simmer, partly covered, for 1 hour.

Pour the broth through a sieve or strainer into a bowl. (Set the bones and meat aside if you wish, to be served with rice or noodles, or discard them.) If not using the broth immediately, let it cool completely, then store it in a well-sealed container in the refrigerator, or freeze in 2-cup containers.