Chinese cumin lamb with cilantro (Xinjiang style)

The Silk Road on a plate: strips of lamb seared at fierce heat with cumin, dried chilli, and a final blizzard of fresh cilantro

Origin: Xi'an / Xinjiang, Northwest China

From the journey of Coriander/Cilantro.

This is one of China's most powerfully flavoured dishes, from the Muslim-majority Uyghur and Hui food traditions of Xinjiang province and the ancient Silk Road city of Xi'an; dishes that have stood at the intersection of Chinese, Central Asian, and Middle Eastern culinary culture for over two millennia. Strips of lamb are stir-fried at extreme, near-violent heat with whole cumin seeds, dried chillies, garlic, and a final blizzard of fresh cilantro (xiāngcài; 香菜, literally 'fragrant vegetable') that perfumes the entire dish in the last seconds of cooking. Cilantro's arrival in China is itself a Silk Road story: the Han dynasty (206 BCE – 220 CE) is believed to have first received it from Central Asia, and the diplomat-explorer Zhang Qian's mission to the Western Regions in 138 BCE is traditionally credited with bringing it back along with other exotic ingredients. In Northern Chinese cooking, particularly in Shaanxi, Xinjiang, and Inner Mongolia, cilantro is used with a generosity and centrality that surprises visitors accustomed to its use as a mere garnish: piled into bowls of hand-pulled noodles (biangbiang), scattered over lamb skewers (yang rou chuan), and heaped into dumplings and flatbreads. The combination of cumin (itself a Silk Road arrival from the West) and coriander in this dish is a direct, edible descendant of the ancient spice trade routes.

Ingredients

Meat

  • 500 g lamb leg or lamb shoulder, sliced thinly against the grain into strips about 5mm thick (partially freezing the lamb for 30 minutes makes slicing easier)

Marinade

  • 1 tbsp light soy sauce
  • 1 tsp Shaoxing rice wine or dry sherry
  • 0.5 tsp cornflour (cornstarch)
  • 0.5 tsp sesame oil

Cooking

  • 3 tbsp neutral oil with a high smoke point (sunflower, peanut, or rice bran)

Spice

  • 1.5 tbsp whole cumin seeds
  • 6 dried red chillies (Chinese dried chillies or de arbol), snapped in half
  • 1 tsp ground cumin
  • 0.5 tsp ground coriander seed
  • 0.5 tsp chilli flakes or ground dried chilli (Xinjiang chilli powder if available)

Aromatics

  • 5 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
  • 2 cm fresh ginger, cut into matchsticks

Seasoning

  • 1 tsp light soy sauce (for finishing)
  • 0.5 tsp salt, or to taste

Finishing

  • 40 g fresh cilantro (coriander), roughly torn, leaves and tender stems
  • 3 spring onions (scallions), cut into 3cm lengths
  • 1 tsp sesame seeds, toasted

To serve

  • Steamed rice or hand-pulled noodles (biangbiang mian), to serve

Method

  1. Combine the lamb strips with the soy sauce, Shaoxing wine, cornflour, and sesame oil. Mix well and leave to marinate for at least 30 minutes at room temperature, or up to 2 hours in the refrigerator.
  2. Prepare all ingredients before cooking begins. Stir-frying happens at extreme speed over very high heat; there is no time to chop or measure once the wok is on.
  3. Heat a wok or large heavy frying pan over the highest heat your stove will produce. The wok must be genuinely very hot; a drop of water should evaporate instantly on contact. Add 2 tablespoons of the oil and allow it to heat until just beginning to smoke.
  4. Add the lamb strips in a single layer if possible. Do not stir immediately; allow them to sear against the hot metal for 30–45 seconds before tossing. Stir-fry for 2–3 minutes total until the lamb is browned and just cooked through with slightly charred edges. Remove from the wok and set aside.
  5. Add the remaining tablespoon of oil to the wok over high heat. Add the whole cumin seeds; they will crackle immediately. Within 10 seconds, add the dried red chillies. Stir for 10 seconds.
  6. Add the garlic and ginger. Stir-fry for 30 seconds until fragrant. Add the ground cumin, ground coriander, and chilli flakes. Stir for 15 seconds.
  7. Return the lamb to the wok. Add the soy sauce and salt. Toss everything together over high heat for 1 minute to combine and reheat the lamb.
  8. Remove the wok from the heat. Add the spring onions and, critically, the torn fresh cilantro. Toss once or twice. The cilantro must hit the dish at the very end, off the direct heat: it should wilt slightly from the residual heat but not cook. Scatter the sesame seeds over.
  9. Serve immediately over steamed rice or biangbiang noodles. The dish cannot wait; the cilantro continues to cook from the residual heat of the lamb and will lose its freshness within a few minutes.

Notes

The dish can be made with beef (flank steak or sirloin) as a direct substitute for lamb: the flavour profile changes but remains excellent. For a more authentic Xinjiang flavour, seek out Xinjiang chilli powder (lightly smoked, not very hot, with a slightly fruity quality) in Chinese supermarkets; it makes a noticeable difference to the final dish. In Xi'an restaurants, this preparation is often served on a flatbread (bing) as a sandwich; pile the cooked lamb and cilantro into a sesame flatbread for the street-food version. The dish is halal in its traditional form: no pork products, no alcohol (omit the Shaoxing wine and substitute water or a tiny splash of rice vinegar).

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

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Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1900 CE
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14 of 14 stops
1900 CE
5000 BCE100 BCE1300 CE1900 CE
Coriander/Cilantro

Coriander/Cilantro

Coriandrum sativum

Spices & AromaticsHerbsApiaceae

🌍Origin

Fertile Crescent, Levant — c. 5000 BCE

🌱Domestication

Coriander is one of the very oldest of all cultivated plants, and one of the strangest, for it is in truth two ingredients housed within a single species. Coriandrum sativum, a slender annual of the carrot and celery family, the Apiaceae, yields both the warm, citrus-scented dried seed that the English-speaking world calls coriander and the pungent, polarising fresh leaf that the Americas call cilantro, and these two forms, drawn from one plant, have such utterly different flavours that they belong to entirely separate culinary traditions and are seldom thought of as the same thing at all. The whole plant is edible, from the aromatic root that the Thai kitchen pounds into curry pastes, through the lacy fresh leaves, to the round ripe seeds, and this versatility has carried it into the cooking of almost every inhabited region of the earth. The plant's antiquity in human hands is documented across the ancient Near East. Seeds of C. sativum have been recovered from Neolithic deposits in the Levant dating to around 6000 BCE, amongst them the celebrated finds from the Nahal Hemar cave in the Judean Desert, and the plant is named in the ancient Egyptian Ebers Papyrus of around 1550 BCE, the oldest surviving medical compendium of the world. Coriander seeds were even laid in the tomb of Tutankhamun amongst the provisions intended to sustain the pharaoh through eternity, a mark of the value placed upon a plant that was at once food, medicine, and fragrance. Because the plant grows readily from seed and the dried fruits store and travel well, coriander spread early and far, and unlike many spices it was domesticated not in a single remote place but across the broad arc of the Fertile Crescent, where its wild ancestors grew. The dual use of the plant was present from the very beginning of its cultivation, and it is this that sets coriander apart from almost every other ancient culinary herb. In the Levantine cradle the seeds were ground into spice mixtures and steeped into medicinal and fermented drinks, whilst the fresh leaves were gathered as a green herb for the table, so that a single sowing yielded both a warm baking spice and a sharp, fresh garnish. That doubleness has shaped its entire history: the seed travelled west into Europe as a spice of bread and brewing and a medicine for the digestion, whilst the leaf travelled into the kitchens of Mexico, Vietnam, Thailand, India, and North Africa as one of the most essential, and most divisive, of all fresh herbs.

Global Voyage

From its Levantine cradle coriander travelled outward in every direction at once, for the Fertile Crescent sat at the crossroads of three continents, and the dried seed, light, durable, and easily carried, moved along every trade route that left the region. The southwestern path led into Egypt, where the plant was cultivated throughout the Nile Delta within centuries of its domestication and recorded in the Ebers Papyrus as both medicine and flavouring; from Egypt it passed westward along the North African shore and, in time, far south across the Sahara into West Africa, carried on the same caravan routes that bore gold and salt. The eastern path was the longest and the most consequential. Coriander moved along the Silk Road and the Indian Ocean trade into Persia, where it entered the great herb stews of the Iranian kitchen, and into India, where it became, in seed and leaf alike, the single most widely used flavouring of the subcontinent, the backbone of garam masala and the green finish of almost every dish. From India and Persia the plant continued eastward into China, reaching the Han court by way of the Silk Road and the diplomatic missions to Central Asia, where it became the fragrant herb xiangcai of the northern and Muslim kitchens. The western and northern path carried coriander into the classical Mediterranean. The Greeks received it through their trade with Egypt and the Levant and set down its medicinal virtues in the writings of Hippocrates and Dioscorides; the Romans cooked with it lavishly, Apicius calling for it in scores of recipes, and the Roman legions then carried the seed across the whole of the empire, planting it in the cold soils of Gaul, Britain, and the Rhine and Danube frontiers where it had never grown before. Archaeobotanists have recovered Roman-period coriander from sites as far apart as Wales and the Danube, and the Carolingian emperor Charlemagne ordered it grown on every royal estate, ensuring its unbroken survival through the early medieval centuries into the permanent repertoire of the European kitchen. The Arab expansion then carried coriander deep into the Maghreb, where it fused with the indigenous Berber herb traditions of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia to produce the chermoula and the spice blends of the North African table. In Southeast Asia, reached by the maritime spice routes and the spread of Indian culinary influence, coriander took a wholly distinct path, for there it was the root rather than the seed or leaf that became prized, pounded into the curry pastes of Thailand and the broths of Vietnam. The final great dispersal came with the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the sixteenth century: Spanish colonisers carried the seed across the Atlantic, and the fresh leaf integrated so swiftly and so completely into the indigenous cooking of Mexico, already built upon chillies, tomatoes, tomatillos, and avocado, that within a single generation cilantro had become inseparable from Mexican food, and from there it spread down the Pacific coast of South America into the ceviche of Peru and northward, in the twentieth century, into the everyday cooking of the United States. No other plant has achieved so nearly universal a culinary adoption across every inhabited continent.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Coriander is at once the most widely consumed fresh herb in the world and one of its most widely used spices, a double distinction that no other plant can claim, and it owes that reach to the fact that its seed and its leaf are, in flavour and in use, two separate ingredients drawn from a single plant. The dried seed, warm, citrus-scented, and gently sweet, is foundational to the spice blends of an entire hemisphere: it is a leading note in the garam masala and curry powders of India, in the dukkah and baharat of the Arab world, in the ras el hanout and chermoula of North Africa, and in the recados and adobos of Latin America, and it flavours the breads, sausages, pickles, and brewed drinks of Europe besides. The fresh leaf, pungent and bright and unmistakable, is essential to the cooking of Mexico, where it finishes nearly every salsa, taco, and pot of beans; to Vietnam and Thailand, where it crowns the herb plate and the noodle bowl; to India, where chopped dhania patta finishes almost every dish; and to the soups and stews of West Africa. Yet coriander is also the most divisive of all common herbs, for a significant minority of people, the proportion varying by population, perceive the fresh leaf not as fragrant but as harshly soapy or metallic, an aversion now traced to inherited variants of an olfactory receptor gene that change how its aldehydes are smelled. This genuine genetic divide gives coriander a notoriety no other herb shares, dividing tables and even whole regions, as in China, where the north embraces it and much of the Cantonese south avoids it. For all that, the plant remains indispensable across the greater part of the world, the rare ingredient that supplies both a warm baking spice and a sharp green garnish, and that finishes the everyday food of more people, on more continents, than almost any other plant in the kitchen.

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