[“Polo” Brings Back Memories of My Journey to the Western Regions]
In Japan, we lump all Chinese cuisine together under the term “Chinese food.” But China is vast, a land inhabited by diverse ethnic groups. The culinary culture differs completely—or nearly so—from region to region and from ethnic group to ethnic group. In other words, it's no exaggeration to say that, in reality, there is no such thing as “Chinese cuisine.” “Chinese cuisine” is ultimately nothing more than “the dishes Japanese people imagine are eaten in China.”
Beijing, where I lived for about 17 years, truly lives up to being the capital. People gather there from all over China, so restaurants serving regional cuisines from every corner of the country line the streets, making it impossible to ever get bored with eating out. “Today I feel like going to a mutton hotpot restaurant where local Beijingers gather,” “Today I'm craving something really spicy, so maybe Sichuan or Hunan cuisine?” “Today I want something gentle on the stomach, so maybe Shanghai or Zhejiang cuisine?” The choices were endless.
Among this diverse array of cuisines, the dishes from the western Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region enjoy immense popularity even among Beijing locals. This is perhaps the cuisine most divergent from the Japanese image of “Chinese food.” Since the region has a Muslim majority, pork is strictly forbidden. When it comes to meat, lamb is the first choice. Han Chinese in Beijing also love lamb, but lamb sold by Muslim vendors is especially popular among them because it's processed according to Islamic dietary laws, ensuring cleanliness and safety. Naturally, Uyghur restaurants are hugely popular too. I loved them and visited many times. The seasoning is surprisingly simple. While spices like cumin are used, they aren't overpowering. Instead, the flavors really let the ingredients shine.
Among Uyghur dishes, I became particularly hooked on “polo.” You could describe it as a pilaf made with lamb and carrots. It's a dish popular not just in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region but throughout Central Asia, though the name varies by region – it's called “plov” or “palov,” among others. This dish truly relies almost solely on salt for seasoning. Through careful, slow cooking over time, it maximizes the lamb's savory richness and the carrots' natural sweetness. When I first tried it, I was amazed by the lamb's deep, satisfying flavor with absolutely no gaminess. But even more than that, I was struck by the question: “Were carrots always this sweet?” I was deeply moved by their natural, gentle sweetness.
Later, when I actually traveled to the Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, I discovered that the polo eaten locally was even more flavorful than the polo I had in Beijing. Locally, they use not only red carrots but also yellow ones. The yellow carrots seem to be sweeter than the red ones. Also, chopped onions are essential in polo, and locally, purple onions are always used. Another staple is topping or mixing polo with locally produced plain yogurt (unsweetened and sour) or dried grapes. At first, I was shocked—“Yogurt on rice? Dried grapes on rice?”—but it turns out to be an exquisite combination that deepens the flavor.
This polo isn't something you often get to eat in Japan. But when I really craved polo, I decided to try making it myself. Recently, lamb has become easier to find in Japanese supermarkets. Purple onions are fairly common, too, and occasionally, at places like farmers' markets, you can even find yellow carrots. So, I searched both Japanese and Chinese websites and tried out various recipes. Of course, I also added plain yogurt and dried grapes. Making polo is incredibly labor-intensive, taking about three hours for the entire process. I once had to reluctantly give up on getting polo at a Uyghur restaurant in Beijing when they said, "We're sold out of polo today. It's such a hassle, you see. We make it before opening, and once it's sold out, we don't make more that day." I reluctantly gave up, but after making it myself, I completely understood why. Still, for the sake of tasting polo, I can push through the effort. Taking a bite of the finished polo vividly brings back the landscapes of the Western Regions I traveled through. Food is deeply intertwined with travel memories, isn't it?
In restaurants in Beijing and Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, polo is usually made in large quantities in big iron cauldrons. The star tool in my home kitchen for making it is the Yamada Kogyosho uchidashi iron pan. When making polo, oil is key to bringing out the ingredients' best flavors, and an iron pan allows the oil to coat the ingredients well, enhancing the umami. There are plenty of easy-to-follow recipes online, so please give it a try sometime.
Kiya's Uchidashi Frying Pan
https://www.shokunin.com/en/kiya/uchidashi.html
Yamada Kogyosho's Uchidashi Katatenabe
https://www.shokunin.com/en/yamada/
Reference Recipe
https://hanwuji.xiachufang.com/recipe/107579951/
