The Secret to Perfect Braised Chicken: Skip the Blanching, Embrace "Three Soaks, Two Saisés, One Simmer"

Last month, I attempted to recreate my mother’s legendary braised chicken—twice. The first time, I followed online tutorials insisting on blanching the meat first. The result? Dry, flavorless chunks floating in a sad broth. The second time, I skipped the blanching altogether, only to end up with a murky soup topped with revolting blood scum. Yet when Mom makes it, her chicken emerges tender, fragrant, and utterly devoid of gaminess. What dark magic was this? I pulled up a stool in her kitchen, determined to decode her "three soaks, two sautés, one simmer" technique passed down through generations.

Step 1: The "Spa Treatment" – Banishing Blood Without Brutalizing the Meat

1. Start with the Right Bird

Opt for fresh free-range chickens (like Sanhuang or farm-raised varieties) for their firm yet succulent texture. Have the butcher chop it into mahjong-tile-sized pieces—no pre-soaking required!

2. Flour Power Scrub

Place chunks in a large bowl, add 2 tablespoons of flour and ½ cup warm water. Massage vigorously for 3 minutes as if kneading dough. The flour acts like a magnet for impurities. Rinse thoroughly under running water until the meat glistens—say goodbye to 80% of the funk.

3. Brine Bath Revelation

Transfer cleaned chicken to a brine of 1 tbsp salt, 1 tbsp cooking wine, and enough water to cover. Soak 20 minutes. Unlike violent blanching, this gentle bath coaxes out residual blood while preserving tenderness.

Pro Tip: Don’t discard the brine! Let it settle, then use the clearer upper layer as your cooking liquid for intensified umami.

Step 2: Marinate & Sauté – Locking in Flavor, Building Depth

1. Flavor Infusion

Pat-dry chicken and marinate in a clay pot with:

• 3 ginger slices

• 2 scallion whites (bruised)

• 1 tbsp rice wine (Shaoxing wine works)

• A whisper of white pepper

Let it mingle for 15 minutes—no less, lest the aromatics remain strangers.

2. Caramelized Alchemy

In a wok, melt 1 tbsp oil with 8 rock sugars over low heat. When the syrup turns amber (think bourbon barrel aged), add chicken reserving marinade. Sizzle on high heat for 2 minutes until golden—your kitchen should smell like a street vendor’s dream.

3. Layered Umami Bomb

Toss in rehydrated shiitakes (with their soaking liquid), red dates, and codonopsis root. Stir-fry until fragrances marry, then deglaze with reserved marinade and hot water (never cold—it shocks the meat into toughness). Liquid should rise two finger-widths above ingredients.

Step 3: The Simmer That Transforms

1. Patient Perfection

After skimming initial foam, reduce heat to a whisper. Angle the lid to vent steam (prevents overflow and lingering odors). Let time work its magic for 40 minutes.

2. Veggie Timing Mastery

At 30-minute mark, add sturdy vegetables: mountain yam chunks, corn segments. Delicate additions like tofu puffs come later.

3. Seasoning Symphony

Salt only in the final 5 minutes! Add goji berries then. No other spices—this isn’t a Yankee candle shop. The broth’s purity is the star.

Lifting the lid releases an aroma that could resurrect appetites. Meat falls from bones like autumn leaves. Golden fat globules dance on the surface—a sip transports you to childhood sick days when Mom would blow on spoonfuls of golden elixir before offering comfort.

Mom’s No-Nonsense Wisdom

Blanching Blunders

Boiling water sears meat surfaces, trapping blood and bitterness inside—like locking a skunk in your pantry.

Spice Overkill

Star anise and cinnamon belong in mulled wine. Ginger, scallion, wine form the holy trinity here.

Water Woes

Adding cold liquid mid-cook tightens proteins into rubber. Commit to hot water from the start.

Last week’s batch vanished faster than dumplings at a Lunar New Year party. My brother-in-law joked, “Ma, quit your day job—open a chicken shack!” But as Mom says while stirring the pot: “Good things take time. This isn’t food—it’s love you can taste.”

Now whenever I braise chicken, the rising steam paints memories on the kitchen window: sneezing into tissues, watching her skilled hands shred meat for congee. That simple bowl of gold—not truffles or caviar—remains life’s ultimate luxury.

(Recipe note: For hidden surprises, bury taro chunks beneath the chicken. They’ll emerge velvet-soft, stealing the show from the meat itself.)