Cooking with Cat:
Steamed Pork Buns are the Food of the Gods
by Travis Heermann

Back when I was living in Japan, about 2003-2006, one of the foods that I fell in love with was nikuman 肉まん, steamed pork buns. They could be found in any convenience store, and they made a great meal for someone who didn’t feel like cooking.

They come with various fillings: pork, beef, chicken, shrimp, veggie, even sweet custard. They are particularly comforting when the weather turns chilly and they’re all steamy and warm.

I was planning a vacation to Japan with the family in March 2020. We’d been planning it for years, and it would have been the first time I’d been back since returning to the States. I was excited to show my family, whom I didn’t have then, all the sights.

A secondary reason for going to Japan was professional, as I was in the midst of writing Tokyo Blood Magic, the first volume of my Shinjuku Shadows trilogy. I wanted to visit some important Tokyo locales, refresh my memory, gather some inspiration, but it was not to be.

As you might guess, COVID-19 derailed that, four days before wheels up for Tokyo. I was crushed, and nine months of isolation has not done much to help that state of mind.

Nevertheless, writing the book did assuage some of my disappointment, as I spent a lot of time in Google Street View, walking virtually around the streets of Tokyo. Writing the book was a fun way to reminisce, and also learn about places I didn’t get to visit while I was living there, such as Shizuoka, Ginza, and Roppongi.

There’s a scene in Tokyo Blood Magic where our hero, Django Wong, a ninja warlock, has his bacon saved from a very dangerous monster by a wisecracking alley cat, known only as Cat. Cat, however, is far from normal, and it’s not clear exactly what he is until Book 2, Tokyo Monster Mash.

Amid snarky repartee, Django and Cat venture into a convenience store for some post-fracas grub, where nikuman becomes a big part of their bonding. Cat becomes Django’s supernatural sidekick.

So in this Year of a Thousand Cuts, I wanted some comfort food for the Virtual Book Launch Party, which my wife and I put together over Zoom a couple of weeks after Tokyo Blood Magic was released. So I made some nikuman, and this video tells the tale so much better than text.

This recipe is adapted from Japanese measurements. Credit for the original goes to Namiko Chen.

Nikuman, Steamed Pork Buns

Video: Cooking With Cat ““ Nikuman

INGREDIENTS

DOUGH

• 2 1/3 cups all-purpose white flour, plus more for dusting
• 2 scant Tbsp sugar
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1 tsp instant yeast
• 1 Tbsp neutral-flavored oil (vegetable, canola, etc.)
• 2/3 to 3/4 cup water

FILLING

• 2 shiitake mushrooms (without the stems), finely chopped
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 green onion/scallion, finely chopped
• 4 leaves cabbage, finely chopped
• 1 tsp kosher/sea salt
• 3/4 lb. ground pork
• About 1 Tbsp grated fresh ginger
• 1 tsp sugar
• 1 Tbsp sake
• 1 Tbsp soy sauce
• 1 Tbsp toasted sesame oil
• 1 Tbsp potato starch/cornstarch
• freshly ground black pepper

INSTRUCTIONS

1. First, we make the dough. Put all dry ingredients in a large bowl (flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, yeast). Add oil and mix. Once the oil is thoroughly mixed in, slowly add the water while mixing. Mix until incorporated.
2. Flour your hands and knead the dough into a ball. If the dough is too dry, add a tablespoon or two of water.
3. Sprinkle a smooth surface with flour, move the dough onto the surface, and knead for 10-15 minutes. If the dough is too sticky, sprinkle it with a little flour. After 10-15 minutes, dough should be smooth and silky.
4. Form the dough into a ball. Grease the bottom of the bowl with neutral flavored oil and put the dough in the bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and put it in a warm place to rise for about an hour, until the dough doubles in size.
5. Meanwhile, it’s time to make the filling. Remove the thick stem parts of the cabbage leaves, then chop them finely. Sprinkle 1 tsp of salt onto the chopped cabbage. Massage the salt into the cabbage. This will begin to draw out cabbage’s moisture. After about ten minutes, squeeze the excess moisture out of the cabbage.
6. Add pork, mushrooms, and scallions to another bowl.
7. Squeeze the excess moisture from the chopped cabbage, then add it to the pork mixture.
8. Add ginger, sugar, sake, soy sauce, toasted sesame oil, and starch. Sprinkle on some fresh black pepper to taste. Mix well. Cover and refrigerate until dough is ready.
9. When dough has finished rising, divide the ball in half. Roll each half into a log shape, then cut each log into five pieces. Then cut each piece in half.

Note: If you like big buns, and you cannot lie, you can cut your dough into larger sizes and use more filling for each one.

10. Lightly dust the balls with flour, cover them loosely with a damp cloth, and let them rest for ten minutes. (In the video, I missed this step!)
11. Roll each ball into a flat circle about five inches in diameter.
12. Cut twenty squares of parchment paper, about 3″ x 3″.
13. Take a circle of dough and place 1 1/2 Tbsp of filling in the center.
14. Fold the dough into a pouch around the filling. It works well to hold the pouch closed with thumb and forefinger while folding up the next bit of dough. First, it will resemble a taco, then a crab rangoon. As you fold in the corners of the “crab rangoon, ,” you’ll end up with a little pouch. Then pinch these corners together and give them a twist to seal the bun. Put each bun on a piece of parchment paper.
15. Cover the finished buns with plastic wrap and let them rest for 20 minutes. (In the video, I missed this step, too.)
16. Prepare a steamer with boiling water. Put buns in steamer, about 2″ apart. They will swell during steaming process. Steam for 10-15 minutes, (10 for small buns, 15 for large ones).
17. Enjoy!

The result: they were delicious.

The texture of the bun was a little bit off, maybe because I missed a couple of steps with letting the dough rest. Another reason might be because I live in the Denver area, and altitude can certainly affect cooking and baking in unexpected ways, which I didn’t account for in my procedure.

Cooking is much like magic and writing. A little here, a little there, bits and pieces of accumulated experience and creative wisdom.

I hope you’ll give this recipe a try for yourself. If you do, let me know how it goes. Going into the Winter of COVID, maybe we’ll all need a little more comfort food.

Bio: Freelance writer, novelist, editor, and screenwriter, Travis Heermann is the author of nine novels, including Tokyo Blood Magic, The Hammer Falls, The Ronin Trilogy, and others, plus short fiction in Apex Magazine, Cemetery Dance, and many more. His freelance work includes contributions to the Firefly Roleplaying Game, Battletech, Legend of Five Rings, and EVE Online.

Find out more at travisheermann.com or follow him on Twitter @TravisHeermann.

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!

Writing games. I avoided them for years because I was short on time, not ideas. Once I lifted my head from my page, I realized my focus was all wrong. This one-hour-a-week “game” held incredible lessons I couldn’t get anywhere else.

So why the reluctance? That’s the easy part. Take a first-born, type-A personality with a novel in its final draft, multiple short stories out on rejection””oops, I mean submission, numerous other half-written stories, and a second novel that’s itching for a conclusion, then disrupt that work with “games” full of nonsensical sentence prompts, and odd pictures, and you’ll find a non-believer who prefers to focus on “real” work.

I’d occasionally pop into the session, but more often than not, I’d log out as soon as I heard it was a writing game and not the story discussion or feral writing time I’d expected. If I had a deadline to meet, anything with the word “play” was dismissed automatically. Who had time for play? For five and a half years, fun writing seemed like an oxymoron.

I remember getting a rush of rejections, one after another, on stories I’d poured my soul into. I wasn’t hitting the right notes somewhere, and it was time to figure out where. Yet I joined writing games with a casual attitude, logging less than a hundred words per challenge. I had good ideas, but I’d edit my sentences as I went, placing structure and grammar above word count. Others did four or five times my number of words in the ten to fifteen minutes per prompt, and even though I knew the writing gems appeared in unfettered prose, I couldn’t stop fixing things. It wasn’t satisfying, and soon I was back to one or two sessions a month.

For the next few years, I’d join a session if I was bored or had spare time. I still considered writing games an extra, as if writing for fun was a waste of time. Professional writers repeatedly told me, “Don’t correct your work. Let it flow.” Sure, I told them, but I didn’t mean it. I hadn’t found that crucial key that added value to prompt writing. Then one session, a brave reader shared an emotionally beautiful piece of prose inspired by a prompt I’d done little with. Hearing someone else achieve so much using the same prompt in the same length of time was inspiring. I wanted that and realized I’d handicapped myself by focusing on my own writing when I should have been listening to others.

Once my focus shifted, writing games became more than “fun.” The following week I dug in and wrote 193 words, still correcting as I wrote, but less than before. I read to the group, and people waved in appreciation. Then a more seasoned writer read her work. Her character came alive in the first sentence, and she’d given her listeners a strong sense of place, so when the plot kicked in, and things got dark, I pictured the surroundings as if I were there. I instantly saw where my work fell short. I’d drafted a plot outline””a summation. I wanted those primordial elements of life on the page, and her example showed me the way. Her skills, added to all the other things I’d done to improve my craft, lit a spark of understanding, and my writing changed at that moment.

With my resistance gone, I attended each writing-games session with a “challenge accepted” attitude, and my interest leaped from a three-four to an eight-nine. The key wasn’t in the task or the prompt but in hearing what others did with it””how they started their piece, the word choices, phrasing, character description (an area where I truly suck), and other elements handled in a way I envied. I was playing, but in a way that made sense to me.

One of the regulars at writing games is so good at drilling down on a sentence. She doesn’t just write of things normally associated with the contents in the sentence; she lists the things it’s not, then builds support for what it is. For example, the prompt: “Desire is no light thing.” She wrote that a dead body is heavier than a living one, but it should be lighter since the dead no longer have desires, and desires keep people alive””grounded with a gravity that can’t be ignored. I mean, wow! Then there’s another regular who creates the best descriptions and another who launches into crazy, off-kilter prose that shoves my logical mind aside. Taking the creative leap with him is exhilarating.

The range and variety of works are fun, and not in a candy-crush time-sucking way, but fun the way reading is fun. Everyone constructs their stories differently, and whether they focus on setting, character, plot, or a beautiful meld of all three, the creativity and flex of craft are always impressive. There are still prompts that don’t tickle my muse. Take “what are we but ten minds? this is sent with love. this paper has gone far.” I was blank on this one with a capital “B,” but others in the group produced some great pieces, and listening to the “what and how” of their prose was as important to my growth as a writer as plying my own skills to the task.

Looking back, I realized I needed those first years to understand that I was creative and could pull a story from the air using a prompt. But when I wanted more, writing games offered that too.

Beauty lies in the impulsive writing, the understanding and skill brought by the other players, and the option to listen while others read their work. Of course, reading is always optional, but it’s a supportive, safe place to share when your muse strikes. No one gives critiques here, and getting those double-hand waves for a piece that delights you feels pretty nice after writing in isolation these last few years. It’s also a great place to try new techniques, viewpoints, or styles, like poetry or second person.

After six months, I can honestly say my writing has improved. It has miles to go, but that’s the fun of it. I don’t want a skill-level ceiling. Last week, I wrote 247 words in twelve minutes””my new record. I had a character with a personality twist, a plot arc, a strong antagonist, and a good ending. I drafted a story. In twelve minutes. It needs fleshing out, and there’s no setting, but I saw people gasp when the story took an unexpected turn, so I know the bones are there.

The coolest part? I didn’t get there on my own.

Join Cat Rambo and friends on Wednesdays at 11:00 a.m. Pacific Time for Writing Games.

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!