Gastronaut

2017-07-21T21:47:00.002+08:00

This Puff is Here to Stay

With its myriad forms and flavours, this snack is probably as old as Singapore itself.

If you love the curry puff, or epok-epok, as it’s also known, you are in gastronomic heaven in Singapore. You’ll find this snack everywhere you turn, in various forms, flavours, and even ethnicity. Yes, you heard me right. Curry puffs as made by the Chinese is as different from those made by the Malays or the Indians.

Even the puff’s crusty skin appears to have jumped cultural boundaries. There’s the British-style flaky puff pastry; the European-influenced Indian layer crust; and the Chinese-style dough that is heavier in texture and taste.

Likewise, the filling, which was traditionally curry chicken with potato, or tinned sardines, has gone way beyond these, and stretches one’s imagination. A brief list of fillings you’ll find today are savoury beef rendang, black pepper chicken, and tuna; and sweet concoctions like durian jam, red bean paste, and nata de coco.

Like many foods of our forefathers, the origins of epok-epok are not crystal clear; but could be traced back to the first landings of the Portuguese in Malacca and Southeast Asia in the 16^th century. These Europeans brought with them a wealth of new flavours and culinary traditions to this part of the world. In fact, the influence of Portuguese cuisine on local food styles has given rise to the cuisine known as Cristang. One such Portuguese snack was the Empanadas, and it slowly developed into the epok-epok.

In Singapore, the epok-epok became so popular it was a known fact that the cabinet ministers of our early government would have a certain brand of epok-epok for snacks between parliamentary sessions! And many of us grew up snacking on epok-epok during recess at school, for breakfast, or even at parties.

Tradition, it seems, is good business, as some of the most famous makers of curry puffs in Singapore today would tell you. Then and now, the epok-epok was hard to miss. Today it can be found at hawker centres, coffee shops, shopping malls, and snack counters at public transport hubs, and just about everywhere. Two types of crust seem to be most common and popular: the flaky-textured British-style, and the heavier-textured Chinese-style.

You can find frozen curry puffs in supermarkets these days. These snacks have become lucrative business, and leading manufacturers export epok epok to the Middle East, America, and even Japan.

Pastry:

480 g all-purpose flour

2 tsps baking powder

½ tsp salt

140 g shortening

80 g butter

350 ml cold water

1 egg

Filling:

250 g chicken meat, diced

1 tsp salt

2 tbsps oil

2 onions, finely chopped

2 tbsps curry powder

200 g potatoes, cubed

120 ml water

½ tsp sugar

METHOD:

Mix flour and baking powder into a bowl. Add salt and shortening. Mix thoroughly until the mixture becomes breadcrumb-like in texture.
Add butter and mix well. Add cold water gradually while mixing until the mixture forms a soft and not too sticky dough. Cover the dough and leave it to rise for ½ hour.
Dust the working surface with flour. Roll out the dough to a 1-cm thick rectangle. Fold it into multi-layers and roll it into a Swiss roll.
Cut dough into 1-cm thick slices. Flatten it into a round shape; place 1 tbsp of filling in the centre. Fold it into a half-moon shape and seal the edges with water.
Deep fry it in warm oil until it turns golden yellow. Drain and serve immediately.

Filling:

1. Season chicken with salt.

2. Heat oil in a pan, add oil and sweat onion till it turns slightly transparent. Add

curry powder and fry for another 3 minutes.

3. Add potato and fry until slightly brown. Add water and cook potato until soft.

4. Add chicken meat and fry until the meat is cooked and the liquid dries.

5. Season it with salt and sugar.

6. Cool it completely before using.

Stir-fried Chicken with Walnut – Grandpa’s Favourite Dish

2015-11-25T22:30:00.000+08:00

Stir-fried chicken with walnut is a traditional recipe. While the origins of the dish are unknown, it was one of a handful of dishes shared by almost all people from the north to the south of China. Since walnuts and chicken used to be expensive, this dish was often served during celebratory meals.

I remember my grandpa loved this dish so much that it even the lack of teeth didn’t deter him from eating it. He would say to my grandma, “walnuts are good for the grandchildren. They are good for the brains and hopefully they will study well in school.” Subsequently, I found out that he spoke a half truth. The Chinese also believe that walnut promotes longevity. No wonder my grandpa lived into his mid-80s before passing on.

Stir-fried Chicken with Walnut

Blanched walnut

Walnut 100 g

Peanut oil 2 cup + 1½ tbsp

Chicken breast 300 g

Assorted pepper ½ cup, cut into diamond shaped

Ginger 4 slices

Garlic ½ tsp, minced

Sugar ½ tbsp.

Salt ½ tsp

Chinese wine 4 tbsp

Oil velveted chicken

Chicken marinate:

Chinese wine ½ tbsp.

Soy sauce ½ tbsp.

Salt ½ tsp

White pepper a dash

Sesame oil 1 tsp

Corn flour ½ tbsp.

Method:

1. Soak walnut in warm water for 30 minutes. Peel skin (optional). Drain till dry. Fry walnut in 75°C oil. Increase heat gradually and fry till the nuts turn golden brown. Drain thoroughly. Set aside.

2. Heat oil till hot. Blanch chicken meat for 1 minute (oil velveting) and drain thoroughly.

3. Heat 1½ tbsp. of oil till smoking point. Quick fry vegetables till slightly charred. Meanwhile, add sugar and salt.

4. Add chicken and continue to fry for another one minute. Pour Chinese wine.

5. When the wine is about to evaporate completely, add walnut. Fry thoroughly.

6. Serve hot.

Hangzhou Great Eats

2015-11-22T17:39:00.000+08:00

There is a feature of Hangzhou that would normally escape the day-tripper or casual short-term visitor: its endless evenings. While a typical twilight lasts minutes, some geographical or meteorological quirk has given Hangzhou a twilight that stretches for hours, bathing its streets, malls, parks, and willow-lined canals in a soft crepuscular glow and giving this city of 6 million inhabitants a seductive intimacy. Stay for a season and you’ll discover this effect.

Despite its large-city bustle, Hangzhou is human in scale and a delight to traverse on foot or bicycle. Located in prosperous Zhejiang Province in China’s southwest, it regularly ranks at or near the top of China’s most ‘livable’ cities. Visiting Hangzhou in the 13^th century, the Italian traveller Marco Polo famously raved, “It is without doubt the finest and most splendid city in the world.”

Even today, life in Hangzhou gravitates around its fabled West Lake. Better known as Xihu, this man-made lake had its beginnings sometime in the 8^th or 9^th centuries during the Tang Dynasty and was expanded over the centuries to its current size of 6.3 sq km. Ringed by parks and green mountains, straddled by stone bridges, dotted with pavilions, pagodas, temples and romantic villas, the sight of West Lake, especially on a misty morning, would be a cliché were it not so meltingly beautiful. Hangzhou is rich with other worthwhile sights such as the Xixi wetlands and the tea-growing Longjing hills, but they are overshadowed by the magnetism of Xihu.

Historically, Hangzhou was a city of commerce and culture, associated with artisans, poets, scholars, and the intelligentsia. It was the capital of the Southern Song Dynasty (1127-1279), a centre of silk production in ancient times and today, and its most famous culinary creation, Dongpo Pork, is named for an 11^th-century poet and governor who admonished his cook to “Do the pork over a medium flame, use no water but wine, and it will naturally be done.”

To a large measure food establishes the rhythms of life in this city. The residents wake early to a simple breakfast (oddly, breakfast fare is indifferent and almost an afterthought), eat lunch at 11 am, and by 4 or 5 in the afternoon, sit down to dinner. The day ends with supper at 8pm. Tea-drinking has evolved into a rich subculture in Hangzhou, spurred by the legendary renown of the local green tea called Longjing or ‘Dragon Well’. Most afternoons, locals head to the plantations in the hills to a lunch of carp bred in mountain spring water and fruit plucked from overhanging branches tableside. They sip tea on the terraces as women, basket on their back, harvest the leaves metres away; and play mahjong and smoke under shady arbours with drying tea leaves scenting the wind. Little wonder that when Hangzhou denizens chance upon harried or boorish behaviour in others, they are apt to say, “This person is obviously from out of town.”

Hangzhou is the capital of Zhejiang province and its cuisine displays the core virtues of the Zhejiang style: the blending of sweet and salty flavours; boiling, stewing, braising, and simmering favoured; meat is cooked in its own juices, the dishes fresh, tender, fragrant and rich – either crispy or soft, but far from greasy. Seasoning is never over-rich or underdone, and the meat falls easily off the bones.

To this provincial style Hangzhou cuisine has its own inflections, going further in lightness – especially in using even less oil – and sweetness. Cooks make use of the best available freshwater carp, eels, shrimps and crabs, and abundant local vegetables and fruits. Bamboo shoots are a particular favourite; stewed, for example, in peanut oil immediately upon being unearthed and enjoyed for their freshness, tenderness and deliciousness, which are best in spring.

Here is a tour of the best places in Hangzhou to experience its cuisine.

Lao Tou Er You Bao Xia

493, Wen San Xi Lu, Xihu Qu

Tel: 0571-88979700

In the field of mid-priced local fare, two worthwhile chains exist in Hangzhou: Waipo Jia and Lao Tou Er You Bao Xia. Tourists and visitors would flock to the former, which is better known, while ‘those-in-the-know’ discreetly make a beeline for the latter.

Even during its humble beginnings as a roadside stall, it was common to see posh cars parked beside Lao Tou Er You Bao Xia. Today, the chain is 12-outlet-strong throughout the city, with its largest located outside Xixi National Wetland Park, a popular tourist attraction.

Known for its signature Quick-fried River Prawns and Deep-fried Ribbonfish, waiting times at peak hours are at least 30 minutes for a table. But once seated, dishes arrive with machine-like efficiency. A comprehensive menu offers many popular home-cooked dishes, making it a great, reasonably priced entry to the cuisine of a typical Hangzhou household. While there, also check out the Braised Stinky Tofu with Shrimps, Stir-fried Cabbage and Wine-infused Red Dates. The average spend is about RMB50 per person.

Zhiwei Guan (main restaurant)

83, Renhe Lu, Shang Cheng Qu

Tel: 0571-87018638

Like a living guardian of posterity, Zhiwei Guan has witnessed the milestones of Chinese political and culinary history over the last 100 years. Founded in 1913 and located next to West Lake, its cuisine remains authentic and seemingly unadulterated by the avalanche of new and trendy styles, especially from the west.

One gripe, however, is that recent renovations have diluted the charm of the old-world interiors, which used to be in concordance with the elderly folks living in the area who make the restaurant their haunt for dining and mingling. It is still a great destination for a breakfast of old-fashioned Hang Bang (or Hangzhou-style) noodles and dim sum. Jostling with the crowd of morning diners – if you are up to it – can be a charming whiff of local dining habits and mores.

The ordering process goes like this: Study the menu on the wall and memorise your order, which you tell to the cashier, after which collect your food at a nearby counter. The locals eat simple breakfasts, typically a bowl of noodles, a basket of buns, or simply savoury bean curd. So the sight of the hoard on your tray, especially for us Singaporeans, is a sure give-away of ‘foreigner’ status.

P.S. If you prefer an ala carte meal at a lakeside setting, they operate another branch at 10, Yang Gong Di, Hong Li Shanzhuang Nei. Tel: 0571-87970568.

Pu Shu

61 Yu Gu Lu, Qingzhi Wu rukou.

Tel: 0571-87203382

Although they are relative newbies on the scene in Hangzhou, getting a seat at this scenic restaurant is a challenge. Be advised to make an appointment and be prepared to wait at least an hour for a seat. As the only other restaurant in the West Lake district (the other being Zhiwei Guan above), Pu Shu attracts a younger audience. And although the interior is young and hip, the dishes are mostly traditional provincial food found around Hangzhou. If you are not familiar with the menu, the service staff could assist; but the Hangzhou-style appetisers are highly recommended.

When booking, ask for a private room at the highest floor where the scenic West Lake forest awaits you.

Xiang Zhang Ya Yuan

25 Zhong Shan Bei Lu, Pingfeng Jie

Tel: 0571-86500022

Previously known as Long Ding Lou and located high up in the tea-growing mountains, their land was acquired by the government, forcing the move to the city centre and the change of name. The owners belong to a famous lineage of tea-growers in the mountains who served simple, down-to-earth, but tasty ‘peasant’ food with ingredients mostly harvested and sourced from nearby farms.

The current restaurant looks more polished and the food presentation more refined, but the core cooking style remains. The ingredients are also fresher than most restaurants in the city and the same high quality has been maintained. One of the most pleasant surprises was the ‘roti prata’ counter at the entrance manned by an Indian staff who also makes the prata. Not only did the prata taste great, it actually made a good side dish that complemented the local dishes.

As Hangzhou is surrounded by rivers, freshwater seafood is not to be missed as well. The freshwater fish found here is usually fatter and their meat tender. River prawns, with sweet flesh and bursting with roe, are eaten blanched simply in boiling water.

Zhang Shengji

77 Shuang Ling Lu

Tel: 0571-86026666

This is another food institution in Hangzhou famous for its soup of double-boiled duck and bamboo shoot. Like most other venerable names, it began as a humble restaurant with a signature recipe: a soup drawn from traditional Hangzhou cuisine in which dried bamboo shoots and a 60-day-old duck is double-boiled in an earthen pot. The restaurant today occupies a 5-storey building and operates a couple of branches in the city.

Despite the size of its operations, its food quality has not diminished, and a pleasant surprise was finding a Hangzhou signature dish such as Sweet & Sour Fish scoring high in a city filled with competing efforts. Try to go to the restaurant before 5pm, otherwise you should consider booking a seat.

Jiangnan Yu Ge

49-53 Guolou 15 Kui Xiang, Shang Cheng Qu

Tel: 0571-89969261

This 2-year-old private kitchen maintains a low business profile and is known only to Zhejiang food connoisseurs. Located on the outskirts of the busy shopping area, it contains 5 private rooms with a façade that blends inconspicuously into the cityscape. But don’t be fooled by the young staff and chipped crockery, the quality is superb.

The restaurant is headed by Chef Cai from the neighbouring city of Ningbo, and customers have absolutely no say in what they eat – only in what they do not eat. You select a prize range on booking and the menu is presented to you upon arrival. The interior resembles an unpretentious family living room, and, given the restaurant’s autocratic streak, the ambience is surprisingly warm. Chef Cai loved to cook since he was young, influenced by the tastes and techniques that he grew up with. Seafood remains his forte although he incorporates trends and updates his cuisine by talking to customers and leafing through magazines.

While modern ‘nouvelle’ cuisine seems to be running out of steam in gastronomic circles, it is heartening that a chef still seeks to innovate his repertoire one step at a time.

Hui Juan Mian Guan

130 Wang Jiang Lu

Tel: 0571-87805323

This noodle restaurant receives scant mention in foreign travel magazines or books but it is packed with locals as early at 10 am. The menu is short and functional; simply pick your noodle and select the condiments to go with it. The noodles are freshly kneaded in the kitchen and if you are a first-timer, you won’t go wrong opting for their signature dish – yellow croacker with preserved green noodle soup. It might look like a fast-food chain, but every ingredient in the bowl is perfectly cooked and seasoned.

For the side dish, order the Hangzhou-famous must-try, braised soy sauced duck. This duck is marinated in a special-concocted soy sauce, pressed with a heavy stone overnight, then dried and cooked to produce meat permeated with the sweetness of the soy.

Li Cheng Chashi

114 Longjing Lu Jiu Xi

Tel: 0571-87996488

A trip to Hangzhou wouldn’t be complete a visit to the Longjing tea plantation at Mount Shi Feng. Madam Wang owns the plantation that was passed down through generations. In fact, they were one of the handful of growers appointed as of Longjing tea suppliers to the Qing royal family and to the top government officials of present day Beijing. The tea plantation was bestowed a title of Xie Yuan during Qing period.

Ming Qian Longjing are tea leaves picked during the first spring when the green shoots are tender and few. The quantity being extremely small, these leaves are much prized and highly collectible. Madam Wang’s collection is so highly sought by Chinese and Hong Kong clients that often no leaves are left for public retail.

Try spending an afternoon in her garden sipping the best Longjing she has to offer. If she is in a good mood, she would even cook an excellent traditional Hangzhou meal using fresh produce, including chicken and fish, from her garden.

1960s Chinatown breakfast -- a living portrait in Singapore

2015-03-31T13:54:00.000+08:00

Having breakfast in Chinatown in the 1960s was like eating with a large extended family.

It was a sea of familiar faces: the hawkers were mostly people from the same neighbourhood; some, in fact, were one’s own relatives. But mostly, the hawkers were housewives or retirees seeking to supplement meager incomes peddling food on the streets at a time when legislations like the hawker license were unheard of.

This state of semi-anarchy resulted in the explosive proliferation of our street food as we know it today. A shantytown of makeshift stalls sprang up in Chinatown, in the lanes and 5-foot-ways that cut through the ranks of 3- and 5-storey prewar shophouses and Art Deco-style SIT buildings that packed the area between Kreta Ayer Road and Temple Street.

While the shops and businesses occupied the street level, people, including many hawkers, lived upstairs. Living conditions in the upper storeys of shophouses were horrific – even slum-like -- by today’s standards. Individual and even multiple families occupied tiny, dark, airless cubicles. The few toilets there were, the kitchen, and corridors, were shared by everyone. Women cooked into the wee hours in the cramped, often single, kitchen; and there was not an ounce of privacy. The burdens of living were relieved by simple joys like sewing and gossip and plenty of community spirit.

One of these pleasures was food. Different dialect groups would congregate and live in distinct portions of Chinatown, giving rise to clan and other communal associations specific to each ethnicity. In particular, the arriving immigrants brought the food and culinary traditions of their homelands and planted them in Chinatown.

By the break of dawn around 6 am, hawkers could be seen stacking up crates and boxes along the already crowded streets and under the staircases, often assisted by members of their family. Wooden trays would be perched on top of the crates as serving counters and ‘dining tables’. Other hawkers would peddle their food in 3-wheel carts, trundling them through the alleyways of Chinatown. Food would literally ‘fly off the shelves’, and by 10 o’clock the hawkers would wrap up, clean up and head home to the rest of the day’s chores. The next day it begins anew.

The hawkers of Chinatown embodied the diversity of cultural histories and economic realities to be found within that half-square-mile of seething humanity. In fact the personal story can sometimes be as piquant and fascinating as the flavours on the plate; here are some faces and their foods that I remember.

FRIED DUMPLING (炸粽子)

Yong Jie (容姐)-- as she was known in the neighbourhood -- came from Shenzhen after WWII. Rumour had it that she fled with bags of money stolen from her husband, then squandered the loot in Singapore and was reduced to earning a living selling fried dumplings. Yong Jie had adopted a girl -- a common practice among single women of the day – in the hope of securing some care for herself in old age.

Each morning Yong Jie and her daughter would set up a stall at the end of Sago Street, next to Keong Saik Street – the spot no longer exists, having being replaced by Chinatown Complex. She would set a wooden tray, about the size of a school desktop, on a crate. Next to it would be a charcoal stove supporting a wok of boiling oil. She made Fried Dumpling at 10 cents each; in fact, she was the only person I ever knew in Singapore who sold this particular food.

Fried Dumpling was an old Hakka creation that has disappeared even from China. It used to be called “za” dumpling (砸粽); since “za” sounded like “fried” (炸) in the Hakka dialect. It gradually came to be called “zha” dumpling (炸粽), as “zha” was the actual word for “fried” in Hakka.

The version I encountered in mainland China was a dumpling pan-fried until crispy and then eaten dipped in sugar, salt, or a ginger/garlic dip. Yong Jie perhaps took her cue from the Goreng Pisang man, as her dumpling was dipped in batter and fried, and eaten with five-spice salt.

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PENNYWORT DRINK image by Mark Ong

Ku Po (姑婆) was a retired Samsui woman who shared a cramped 20-sq-m room with her daughter’s family of six. Every morning she would head to a nearby ice-factory with two thermos flasks. She would line the bottom of the flasks with newspaper-wrapped dry ice, and fill the rest of the space with ice popsicles. She then roamed the streets selling the popsicles to young children.

Past noon Ku Po would head home; along the way she would stop at the market to pick up some pennyworts and pickled lemons. Her grandchildren would wait eagerly for her at home, hoping for leftover ice popsicles; the family then gathers to pluck, wash and pound the pennywort leaves. Ku Po’s daughter then squeezes the pulp for the juice.

Come evening, Ku Po and one of her grandchildren would carry a container filled with pennywort juice to the cross-junction of Banda Street and Sago Lane. At one of the busiest spots in Chinatown, she sets up a makeshift stall selling iced pennywort and pickled lemon juices.

The customers to her stall would probably be people headed to the funeral parlours at nearby Sago Lane; or they would be kids; or labourers who worked at the construction sites and warehouses. Pennywort juice was one of the cheapest ways, it was believed, to ‘cool’ the body and purge it of toxins generated by the hot sun. The pulp of the pennywort, too, had its remedial effects, being commonly applied to cuts, swollen joints, and even acne.

As pennywort juice had a unique intense rawness to its taste, heavy syrup was added to ‘sweeten’ it, and a glass went for 5 cents.

DRIED COD PORRIDGE image by Mark Ong

Mui Ku (梅姑) was a retired ‘ah mah’ from Shunde who lived in a small room with a roommate, a ‘sister’ from the same province in China. The two old women had accumulated some savings from their days working as ‘ah mahs’; but to help stretch it, they prepared a Shunde recipe to sell -- dried cod and peanut porridge.

Dried cod was a cheap source of umami in southern China, where Mui Ku came from. It was usually grilled so that its flavour would come through completely when the cod was used as base for stock. Sometimes the dried cod would be blended into powder as part of the marinade in wonton and meat loaves.

Mui Ku would wake up at 4 am to set up the charcoal stove. She would grill the dried cod and hammer it with a stone pestle; meanwhile the porridge was set to boil for the next two hours. The pulverized pieces of dried cod, as well as peanuts, would be added to the porridge. She would then fry noodles in batches and store them in aluminium pots.

Mui Ku’s partner would have already set up the stall made up of wooden crates under the staircase of the shophouse where they lived. At 6 am, Mui Ku would man the stall while her partner delivered orders to nearby residents on a round metal tray. They charged 10 cents for a bowl of porridge and delivery was free.

By afternoon, their business day done, the 2 friends would go around Chinatown scavenging for cardboard to sell as scrap.

SERIKAYA

It was rare for a Eurasian family to live in Chinatown in those days. Auntie Rose, along with her family, was considered ‘rich’ by the neighbourhood because her husband worked at a bank. However, Auntie Rose would bake cakes and kuehs in her spare time to earn some extra pocket money. The neighbours and friends would come to her house next day to collect their orders. Apart from butter cake and Swiss roll, I remember most vividly her Serikaya.

Serikaya is nearly impossible to find today, and most Singaporeans have never heard of it. Even in the early years, it was only well-to-do Eurasian and Peranakan households that prepared Serikaya, and it was usually for their own consumption. Serikaya is a custard of egg, coconut milk and sugar, with pandan leaves for a delicate fragrance – and it has always been laborious to make.

Serikaya was usually eaten with toast or as accompaniment to steamed glutinous rice. Even back then, Auntie Rose hardly made this confection, as Serikaya didn’t have a long shelf life and refrigerators weren’t that common.

PICKLED CRABS

Mr Chua did not operate a stall but he supplied ingredients to hawkers in Chinatown. He worked in a kelong and so was often away for days at a time. His family looked forward to his homecomings, as he would bring fresh sea-catch such as groupers, snappers -- and even a tiny crocodile once. After the family has had their pick, the excess would be sold to the neighhourhood hawkers at a discounted price, and one item in particular was much sought after: pickled mangrove crabs.

The family would pickle these mangrove crabs, or ‘wa kee’, in bottles and distribute them to Teochew porridge stalls around Ellenbourgh Market. The wa kee were small crabs that inhabited the mangrove swamps feeding on the propagules, or buds, of the mangrove plant. They emerged from their mud-burrows at dusk and were known to climb as high as 6m up a tree to forage. To harvest the crabs a net was held at the base of the tree and a long stick used to scare or dislodge them, dropping them into the net.

The Chuas would soak the crabs in soy sauce or vinegar, together with garlic, chilli and coriander leaves. The Teochew in particular considered pickled wa kee a delicacy and relished them with porridge.

STUFFED INTESTINES image by Mark Ong

The Lees were Hakka. Mr Lee held an administrative post at the bank and so the family could afford a whole shophouse storey to itself. Mrs Lee was a good cook and many a time the aroma of her cooking would fill the area around her kitchen.

On festive seasons, Mrs Lee would reserve 'ikan parang' (wolf herring) from the fishmonger and set up a mini-factory in her hallway. She would scrape the flesh from the fish and beat it into paste. Her 3 children would stuff this fish paste into various vegetables, churning out ‘yong tau foo’ which would then be delivered in boxes to families nearby who had preordered them for dinner.

There was a particular dish that only a true-blue Hakka would order from Mrs Lee -- stuffed egg custard in animal intestine. Its preparation was, like many traditional dishes, laborious: the intestines had to be cleaned and flushed with water. Eggs would be whisked with meat stock and poured into the intestines, which then had to be slow-boiled in simmering water to avoid the intestines bursting. Finally, the cooked intestines were cut into 1.5 cm-thick slices and eaten with a dip or cooked in a broth.

Note: This article first appeared in ZbBz on September 2014 as 'The Flavour of a Life'.

Penang – Where the Good Food is!

2014-10-06T23:25:00.000+08:00

For Baby Boomers, a visit to Penang is like finding once again the home we left all those years ago. While modernization and gentrification has altered the townscape quite a lot, certain pockets of Penang still transport the visitor back powerfully to Singapore of the 60s and 70s. Sights, smells, sounds, and especially tastes, still evoke what can only be described by the cliché, ‘the good ole days.’

The younger visitor, meanwhile, will find a town on the upswing, thanks to its new status as a UNESCO World Heritage site. Hip hostels and cafes line the historic lanes of Georgetown, and specially commissioned street art cling to weathered walls and peep out from unexpected corners. But the most telling impression the youngster will take away is the stupendous street food, which literally carpets Penang.

Penang and Singapore share many similar flavors, not surprising given some of our common origins in Malay, Hokkien, Hainanese and Indian food. However, differences exist, some more obvious than others, because of geographical and historical circumstances. Just look at Singapore’s and Penang’s idea of laksa!

That being said, to anyone who has ever moaned about the food in Singapore going to the dogs, a trip to Penang is an antidote. Dress comfortably for sure; ideally in tees and Bermudas, as it’s hot and the best food is invariably found in non-airconditioned coffee shops, side lanes and outdoor spaces.

Meat Porridge and Fried Kway Teow

It may sound touristy, but to local and visiting foodies alike, the street market at Jalan Kuala Kangsar is not to be missed. The food stalls are mixed in with the usual market vendors along both sides of a thronging and narrow lane. Nearly all of Penang’s signature foods are here; but two stalls in particular stand out: the pork porridge, and Penang fried kway teow, located at the entrance to the market street, next to Campbell Street.

Forget about decorum: make a choice, shout your orders to the stall-owner, and grab a seat nearby. Your porridge will arrive in about 20 minutes, steaming and delicately smooth in texture. What’s unfamiliar – at least to us Singaporeans – was the shredded charsiew on top, which, surprisingly, went very well with the porridge.

The hawkers use itinerant pushcarts, and adjacent to the porridge stall across the lane stood the Penang fried kway teow. Although not on the usual litany of foodie favorites, this stall unfailingly serves up a heaving plate of cockle-filled kway teow perfumed with intense wok hei.

Jalan Kuala Kangsar Street Market

George Town

Penang Assam Laksa

Once located on the roadside next to a Shell petrol station in Farlim district, this laksa pushcart attracted droves. Following complaints, it was forced into a nearby coffeeshop, where it is still named after its original ‘address.’

Unlike most commercial stalls where canned sardine is used as the stock base, this one uses fresh fish and spices for broth. There was a right balance of sweet and sour coming from the blend of assam peel, shallots, garlic, and lemongrass. What stood out from this spicy thick stock was the Penang prawn paste and ikan kembong. Freshly cooked ikan kembong was deboned and strewn generously on the bowl; and those who wanted more fish could simply request for it.

Another must-try was the fried spring roll. Eat it the local style, dipped into the laksa broth – another novelty for a Singaporean.

Farlim Shell Station Laksa Café

Medan Angsana 4, Bendar Baru Air Itam

11500 Penang

Telephone: +6016 459 7179

Curry Rice

Known only to locals in the Jelutong area, this family-run stall opens every night at 10.30 pm. It is a swift and efficient operation. Early arrivals will find the whole coffee shop looking deserted half an hour before opening. Then suddenly a flurry of activity erupts, and a 6-man team sets up the stall and brings out more 30 trays of freshly cooked food from the back of the shop – all in 30 minutes!

The food was predominantly Teochew, with a variety of spicy curry dishes to choose from. The taste was home cooked and simple; however every curry dish had its own distinct taste, unlike in Singapore, where it sometimes seems like a ‘one-curry-fits-all’ situation exists. The only thing to beware is that one tends to over-order as each and every dish looks equally appetizing.

Tong Sun Coffee Shop

Jalan Perak, Jelutong

Penang 11600

Fried Oyster Omelette

Amusingly, this rundown coffeeshop was listed in Penang food guides for the beef noodle stall it housed. But it is the fried oyster that is driving the crowds here. The stall-owner, Mr Gan, gained popularity when he operated for more than 10 years from an old coffee shop at New World Park. He moved due to high rents some two years ago.

Mr Gan serves two versions of fried oysters: the Thai style which is more dry and crispy, and the more popular starchy and wet style -- which is also the version Singaporeans are more familiar with. Go for the Thai version, as the crispy edges of the omelette would blow you away when dipped in the special chili sauce.

Gan’s Crispy Fried Oysters

Lam Ah Coffee Shop

194 Lebuh Chulia

George Town

Mr Lous’s Lok Bak

No visit to Penang would be complete without a visit to the Lok Bak stall at this café. Mr Lou Joo Chon has sold lok bak for more than 40 years. He offers quite a selection but the must-try items are the prawn fritters, tou kwa, and fish roll. Also a must is the five-spice meat roll, simply known as lor bak. Instead of minced pork, Mr Lou seasons strips of pork with a special concocted five-spice powder and wraps it in bean curd skin.

He then fries the rolls in a moderate heat that cooks the meat without burning the bean curd skin. Another of his unique offerings is the dipping sauce similar to our lor mee gravy. This is a derivation of the Hokkien-style dipping sauce, where heavy stock is used as the base and potato starch is added as thickening agent. Incidentally, Penang lor mee shares the same stock with lok bak, except meat bones are added to the lor mee stock.

The popular Mr. Lou makes an appearance at the annual Penang Food Festival held in a Singapore hotel along Scotts Road. But nothing beats eating at his stall, enveloped in the atmosphere of Penang.

Kheng Pin Café

80 Penang Road

Georgetown

Pasar Bukit Mertajam

A visit to Pasar Bukit Mertajam would remind one of eating on a movie set. Located just outside a 120-year-old Chinese temple, the dining space is a courtyard flanked by temples and stalls serving a variety of food from morning till night.

In the day, the dishes to aim for are wontan noodles, Mee Jawa, Hokkien mee and rojak. Look out for a unique dish known as “cup rice”, where rice is steamed individually in an aluminium bowl. Upon order, the rice would be topped with morsels of meat and braising gravy, and then served to be eaten soggy wet with gravy and pickled chili.

At night, the selection from the cze char stall reminds one of unpretentious home cooked food. The ambience is of Singapore streets in the 60s, where tables and chairs were placed randomly in any available space. The food and ‘feel’ of this place has made it one of the more popular spots for friends and visitors to gather.

Jalan Bunga Raya

14000 Bandar Bukit Mertajam

Butterworth

Curry Fish Head

A visit to Sri Siam makes the hassle of crossing to Butterworth worthwhile. Sri Siam is a name synonymous with street-style curry dishes in Penang, ask any Penangite and he would direct you to this place instantly. Be prepared to queue and elbow for a table during lunch though, because Sri Siam’s curry fish head is famous.

Unlike the Singapore version, the curry fish head here is light as it uses coconut milk. However, the taste of onion and mint come through strongly in the gravy. Apart from the curry fish head, the array of dishes available would satisfy even the most seasoned foodie. It is an eclectic mix of Chinese and Malay-influenced dishes, but stick to the spicy items and you won’t go wrong. Sri Siam’s food bears the strong influence of nearby Thailand, so the spices used slant towards sourness, and there is a generous use of fresh herbs.

Sri Siam

32, Medan Kurau 2

Chai Leng Park, 13700 Perai

Butterworth

Photos by Mark Ong

The Man Behind the Michelin-Starred Hong Zhou Restaurant

2014-09-28T13:45:00.000+08:00

It was elite credentials by any standard – to be among the first batch of chefs awarded the country’s highest culinary honor, the National Grade of China; and to be recognized as one of China’s 8 most illustrious chefs. But these were not Chef Wu’s, they were his dad’s.

Chef Wu Rui Kang knew he had a tough act to follow. And so he became the first and only Michelin-starred chef of Hangzhou cuisine in the world.

Chef Wu’s entry into Michelin fame was dramatic. His restaurant’s non-inclusion in the inaugural Michelin Guide Hong Kong 2008 was greeted with howls of disbelief and derision from local food magazines and netizens. The credentials of the Michelin arbiters were questioned, in particular their knowledge of the Chinese food scene in Hong Kong. The following year came the much-deserved nod from Michelin for the Chef, with a one-star ranking.

In fact Chef Wu’s sterling career was hardly heralded. After graduation from university he held a senior post in the Chinese civil service, from which he left to start a small restaurant in Hangzhou. As business grew, he decided to shift his base to Hong Kong, where his father was working at that time as executive chef for a renowned Hangzhou-style restaurant. Chef Wu opened the Hong Zhou Restaurant in 2006.

While the Chef is, as we have seen, highly esteemed by food circles in Hong Kong, his is an audience that is ardent, initiated, and “focused”. Hangzhou cuisine, while increasingly revered in China, is still received with ambivalence in Hong Kong where Cantonese and Shanghai food reign supreme. But the Chef is patient and resolute.

Tweaking his flavors to suit the local palate is something he has stood against from the start, while the use of air-flown ingredients all the way from Hangzhou is a practice he has always insisted on. Such rigorous measures -- and not half-efforts and compromises -- are what he believes authenticity and reputations are built upon, and what he believes will ultimately win him a large audience for his beloved cuisine. Now he has the star to prove it.

But what makes a great chef? Chef Wu proposes a combination of assets: kitchen ethics, intelligence, and innate gifts. Kitchen ethics implies respect and humility, especially before teacher or master, he says, and the willingness to give your best in everything from cooking to personal hygiene. In short: attitude.

Intelligence is the drive for technical mastery. Chef Wu lists essential areas such as kitchen skills, cost control, and financial/business acumen. Finally, innate talent and passion is a factor. But, stressed the Chef, it must be coupled with a lot of hard work.

Only then will innate gifts make a difference, and raise the aspiring chef above all the others to greatness.

Hong Zhou Restaurant

1/F Chinachem Johnston Plaza

178-186 Johnston Road, Wanchai, Hong Kong

Tel: +852 2591 1898

FRIED BEEF HOR FUN IN BLACK BEAN SAUCE

2014-08-31T16:36:00.000+08:00

Fried beef hor fun is such a common dish among the Cantonese. It is served either ‘dry’ or bathed in thick savory sauce. To be considered a notch above the others, a hor fun needs to be perfumed with wok hei. Yes, the Cantonese, of all dialect groups, hold wok hei in highest esteem. A good chef must have mastered the advanced stir-fry techniques that allow him to deliver power-packed wok hei to certain dishes. And fried hor fun is definitely one of these.

Wok hei is most effectively achieved when the iron wok is heated to smoking point. Oil is then added to increase the heat as well as to lubricate the food that is to be fried. The contents of the wok are tossed and swirled, the addition of more oil coupling with the intense heat to flambé the ingredients. The fumes and aroma thus created is captured in, and perfumes the dish, producing the prized wok hei.

In the past, Cantonese cze cha stalls would use black bean paste in many of their dishes including braised fish bee hoon, braised pork ribs with bitter gourd, and claypot braised fish head. These dishes were very popular then, but the availability of new sauces such as Kam Heong and Tom Yam have seen them decline somewhat.

Fried Beef Hor Fun in Black Bean Sauce

Beef 200 g, sliced about 2 mm thick, across the grain

Oil 1/3 cup

Chye sim 2 stalks, julienned

Hor fun 450 g

Garlic 2, minced

Bean sprout 50 g

Salt ½ tsp

Dark soy sauce ½ tbsp

Onion ½, sliced thickly

Red chilli 1, julienned

Chinese wine 2 tbsp

Meat stock 2 cup

Sesame oil ½ tsp

Potato flour 1 tbsp, mixed with 1 tbsp of water

Egg 2, beaten lightly

White pepper ½ tsp

Fried shallots 2 tbsp

Spring onion 1 sprig, julienned

Marinade:

Apple juice 2 tbsp, used as natural tenderizer, optional

Light soy sauce 1 tbsp

Ginger juice 1/3 tsp

Chinese wine 1 tbsp

White pepper 1/3 tsp

Sesame oil 1 tbsp

Potato flour 1 tsp

Sauce paste– mixed well and reduced to a paste under low heat

Peanut oil 2 tbsp

Black bean 2 tbsp, minced coarsely

Yellow bean paste 1 tbsp, mashed

Sugar ½ tbsp

Garlic 2, minced finely

Red chilli 1, minced finely

Water 4 tbsp

Method:

Marinate beef and chill for at least one hour.
Heat wok or stainless steel pan until hot. Pour 1 tbsp of oil. Swirl. Add another tbsp of oil. Fry chye sim for 30 seconds. Add hor fun. Swirl hor fun with a spatula in a circular movement. Do not lift hor fun high with the spatula or you risk breaking it into small strands. When hor fun turns slightly golden, push it to one side of the wok. Add ½ tbsp of oil and garlic, give it a good toss and stir in hor fun. Add bean sprout, dark soy sauce and salt, and give it a final toss. Divide hor fun into individual plates. The whole process shouldn’t take more than 4 minutes.
Using the same wok, add remaining oil. Saute onion and chilli in medium heat until onion turns transparent.
Add sauce paste, sugar and mix thoroughly.
Increase heat to high. Add marinated beef and toss the pan continuously. Pour Chinese wine along the sides of the wok, allowing them to dribble to the center.
Pour in meat stock and let it boil for 15 seconds.
Lower heat to medium. Thicken the sauce with potato starch. The sauce should be slightly watery (not too gluey). Turn off the heat and pour egg mixture into the sauce, at the same time using the spatula to stir slowly in one direction.
Scoop gravy onto the fried hor fun in their individual servings.
Garnish it with white pepper, fried shallots and spring onion.

Note: Instead of boiling the sauce paste, it could be fried until all its ingredients (except water) have caramelized, and then simmer it into paste.

Duck Wing & Chicken Feet Stew – Going to Extremes

2014-07-08T23:22:00.001+08:00

It’s strange but when life is tough and spending power low, people get more creative in amortizing their money. When I was young, nothing in my household went to waste. Books were passed on to younger siblings, or, in my case, as I was an only kid, given to relatives and friends. I would think twice about indulging in a 2^nd pair of jeans, and especially, about throwing away perfectly edible food.

I remember vividly how my family would slaughter and apportion a chicken. The best parts of the torso would be used for the main dish, while sub-grade pieces and offal would be set aside to become ingredients for another dish. The bones and feet would be tossed into the stockpot, or, as in this instance, made into a tasty and wonderful dish for nibbling.

Duck wings and duck webs were often deemed suitable only for making stock, yet when stewed, their taste was sublime. I would often cook these underrated pieces with chicken feet or pig belly, and when the dish was kept overnight, it tasted even better. Here’s the recipe I used.

Duck Wing & Chicken Feet Stew

Duck wing 10, cut into 2

Chicken feet 10, whole

Dried shitake 10, soak in water for 20 mins. Drain and keep the water

Oil 2 tbsp. preferably lard

Garlic 12, whole

Sugar ½ tbsp

Oyster sauce 2 tbsp

White pepper a dash

Japanese cooking wine ½ cup

Chicken stock 1 cup

Salt ½ tsp

Dark soy sauce 1 tbsp

Marinade:

Oyster sauce ½ tbsp

Ginger juice ½ tsp

Japanese cooking wine ½ tsp

Light soy sauce ¼ tsp

Method:

Marinade duck wing and chicken feet for 1 hour. Drain.
Heat oil. Gently fry garlic until golden brown. Remove and drain. Set aside.
Saute mushroom for 5 minutes in low heat. Add sugar at mid-point.
Increase heat to maximum, sauté meat until it is golden brown.
Add oyster sauce and white pepper, and continue to fry for one minute at high heat.
Pour Japanese cooking wine and let the spirit evaporate.
Add chicken stock and cover the pot. Simmer for 45 minutes or until the meat is tender. Don’t overcook the meat.
Add garlic and simmer for another 10 minutes with the lid removed.
Reduce stock until it thickens.
Season with salt and dark soy sauce.
Serve hot.

Baked Ice-Cream Cake - A Different Approach

2014-06-18T22:49:00.000+08:00

Someone gave me a tub of ice-cream that I didn’t quite like. As I was taught as a kid not to waste food, I ran through my cookbooks and googled for recipes trying to find some use for the ice-cream. My eye caught on some key words and the idea of baking flashed through my mind.

I began to piece together a recipe which I thought doable; and so, here is an idiot-proof recipe to bake ice-cream into a lighter version of a pound cake. I loved the result, especially the fragrance that came from the red-bean ice-cream. If you have a sweet tooth, add another 20 g of sugar to the recipe below.

Baked Red Bean “Ice-Cream”

Ice-cream 230 g, any flavours and liquefied

Self-raising flour 190 g

Method:

1. Set oven to 180 degree C

2. Sift flour.

3. Stir ice-cream until completely melted.

4. Add self-raising flour and mix well.

5. Pour mixture into a cake mould and bake for 35 to 45 minutes.

6. Test cake with a toothpick. If it comes out clean from the batter, remove the cake from the oven.

7. Let the cake rest on a rack.

8. Serve cake plain, or with a dollop of ice-cream.

Keng Eng Kee Seafood – A Promising Start

2014-06-17T12:57:00.000+08:00

Walked past Keng Eng Kee Restaurant for years and never once had the urge to dine there. Perhaps I was confused by what I saw: an air-con room without an attached kitchen and a cze char stall a few meters away that I much later learned were, in fact, two parts of a single restaurant.

Having said that, my foodie friends were talking about this restaurant of late, and I had read some favorable reviews of it on the Net; so I decided to give it a go. The prices on the menu shocked me in a very pleasant way. They were cheap, and cost the same if you had dined in the air-con room (so I was told) -- if you could get a table there.

The first dish that arrived at our table was, in fact, the first photo to catch my eye on the menu. Pearl Roll or明珠卷 in Chinese, looked good and sounded poetic. Deep-fried bean curd skin with salted egg yolk, ham and mushroom, the dish was visually attractive and I liked the crispy skin. The inclusion of ham was odd though, and didn't help the taste much, but it made a nice starter, and, at least, was eye candy.

For those who long for the taste of home cooking, the second dish was it -- a very straightforward version of sweet & sour pork! Unfussy, uncomplicated, and easy to replicate, just like mum’s cooking. The only nitpick I had with the dish was that its batter was a bit too soggy for my taste, but hey, not all mothers cook like a chef.

The next dish was by far the one I enjoyed most. Cuttlefish Kang Kong doesn't require much cooking, but the sweet sauce is key. The sauce served here was delicious but it tasted familiar. A final drop of white wine before leaving the kitchen would have made it perfect. However, I noticed another version of this dish featured in the post of one of our leading food bloggers, but his raving review of the dish obviously differs from mine. Do I detect a double standard here? Hmmmmm…..

The next dish got me thinking: Maybe it's the quality of pork available, but is getting a good Claypot Liver in Sg as difficult as looking for an attractive guy who isn't gay? One of the best efforts I’ve tasted thus far belonged to Manhill Restaurant. I was told the chef at Keng Eng Kee was a lad of 30 or so, and that he took pains to work at his wok technique. His mastery of heat control showed in the perfect ‘doneness’ of the liver. However, the liver slices were insufficiently uniform and were definitely too thin such that they lacked bite. I only wished the chef could have lavished as much time and effort on the knife as he did on the wok. It would have made him more rounded as a traditional Chinese kitchen master. He should have been more generous with the ginger and Chinese wine too.

The finale was a dish I was so looking forward to – Moonlight Hor Fun or 月光河粉. To begin with it was a dish that never fails to receive raves on the Net, and deservedly so. Secondly I had been on the hunt for a truly good specimen of it ever since the famous stall at Zion Food Center closed. Maybe I had set my hopes too high, but what I was served was utterly disappointing. The dish was lukewarm, with a raw egg nestled in the middle of hor fun that lacked any wok hei – and this from a chef who was known to be good at ‘throwing smoke’. The lack of heat in the dish actually raised the specter of Salmonella in my mind as I tossed the noodles.

Keng Eng Kee is a restaurant I would gladly return to, but it has its its rough edges, some glaringly so. The chef has much of his career ahead of him, and would do well to take all the accolades hurled his way, in stride. He obviously has a lot to learn, but his heart, as far as cooking is concerned, is in the right place.

Keng Eng Kee Seafood

Blk 124 Bukit Merah Lane 1

#01-136

Singapore

Telephone: 6272 1038

Reputation – Bane or Blessing? A Visit to Desmond’s Creation

2014-04-02T23:43:00.000+08:00

Chef Desmond Chia needs no introduction. He was one of two sons of the founder of Sik Wai Sin, one of the most reputable zi char restaurants in Singapore, famous for its limited but well-executed Cantonese menu. Diners were known to brave the heat at the non-air-conditioned Sik Wai Sin, waiting hours for a superb “home-cooked” meal. And while his brother presided over the steamed dishes at the restaurant, Desmond was the “man behind the fiery wok”, honing his skills with fried dishes for 13 years.

So when Chef Desmond decided to open his own restaurant, Desmond’s Creation, I had high expectations of it. I arrived at 11.45 am sharp – the opening time shown on their official operating hours; the shutter was down, finally opening at 11.55 am.

It soon became obvious that Desmond ran a tight three-person operation -- two men including himself in the kitchen and a woman manning the dining room. To their credit, and my amazement, things proceeded smoothly throughout the busy lunch hour and food was served without hiccups.

It was also instantly obvious that Desmond was not a risk-taking chef. The menu remained small and 99% of the dishes were “imported” from Sik Wai Sin. My hopes rose even higher upon seeing this, as I reckoned that nothing could possibly go wrong with such a small number of dishes – dishes that the chef had cooked for umpteen years.

The first dish to arrive was Braised Black Bean Pork Rib with Bitter Gourd. Usually, the black bean paste would be well sauted with the meat, and then with the vegetable. Here, I tasted nothing of the “fragrance” of a well-fried dish; it felt like the whole dish had been braised without undergoing fire.

Fried Beef Kailan, which came next, was decent. The vegetable was well fried and perfumed with “wok hei”. The downside was that some beef was cut not across the grain, leaving it a little on the tough side. Also, it would have been perfect had the chef sprinkled on a dash of Chinese wine before serving.

When we were ordering and had asked for tofu, the woman told us bluntly that this dish would come with “big” prawns. I suppose that was how restaurants maneuvered to increase revenue; I also got the impression that those who ate at Desmond’s Creation didn’t mind paying for slightly more “premium” food. Either way, the prawns proved over-cooked and hard. To make the matters worse the tofu was over-fried too. What we ended up with was a plate of hard prawns, dry tofu and diluted gravy.

Steamed Minced Pork with Salted Fish was a personal favourite of mine since I was a kid. In Chef Desmond’s version, he hand-chopped the pork, and this alone earned him loads of brownie points in my book. The glitch in the dish, however, was that he over-mixed the meat, causing the protein to over-bind and making the meat hard rather than crunchy.

But my biggest problem with this dish was the salted fish used. As noted earlier, since the customers were prepared to pay slighter more for their food, Chef Desmond should have opted for better-quality salted fish. The best salted fish (梅香马鲛鱼) for this dish would have been Spanish mackerel aged between 10 months and 3 years. The fish would be prepared by salting and sun-drying it for another 2 years minimum, which would leave the flesh slightly pink near the bones and with a pungent and ‘fleshy’ scent.

Even the portion of the salted fish that Chef Desmond used was too small for the amount of pork in the dish. The salted fish should have been of an amount sufficient to pervade thoroughly the meat and gravy during steaming. In the end, I could only detect a whiff of fish when the plate first landed on the table, and when I actually ate the salted fish itself.

Another downer was the Sweet & Sour Pork. The meat morsels were too small, slightly burnt, and too thickly coated with batter. The sensation was of eating sweet & sour pork -- in its vegetarian version.

Steamed Fresh Carp with Bean Paste was the best dish of the meal. It was brilliantly executed -- Chef Desmond timed to perfection the cooking of the fish, and the bean paste was well balanced with a cocktail of sourness, sweetness, and savouriness.

These were dishes I had grown up eating from zi char stalls all across Singapore; so, like I said, I had high expectations. Perhaps too high. Perhaps by going it alone when he did, the chef bit off more than he could chew; perhaps his skills and experience fell a little short of his dreams. Perhaps.

Desmond’s Creation or Sik Bao Sin

592 Geylang Road

Singapore

Telephone: 6744 3757

Sambal Udang Kering – Simple but Back Breaking!

2014-03-18T00:12:00.000+08:00

I loved this dish as a kid but I didn’t get to eat it often. In fact, I don’t even eat it often nowadays. What put me off from eating and cooking it? I don’t really have an answer.

Photo by Mark Ong

Suffice to say, Sambal Udang Kering or Hae Bee Hiam has always been one of those dishes in my “out of sight, out of mind” list. Still, it is a well-loved dish that appears, in some form, in the cuisine of the Malays, Peranakans, and Chinese. Each ethnicity -- even each household -- had its own version.

The ingredients are simple; what is needed in buckets is patience and tolerance of heat, because you need to stir-fry the rempah for at least an hour! For those in the mood to indulge, you can even drop in a few lard crisps before eating. Best of all, Sambal Udang Kering tastes delicious even when it is eaten simply, like sprinkled over a bowl of rice or on buttered bread.

This is how I cook my version of it …

Hae Bee Hiam or Sambal Udang Kering

Peanut oil ½ cup

Sugar 3 tbsp

Shallots 300 g, chopped

Red chillies 300 g, chopped

Dried shrimps 200 g, minced

Garlic 500 g, finely chopped

Salted fish 25 g, deep-fried and crushed (optional)

Pork crisps 25 g (optional)

Salt 1 tsp

Rempah (ground into paste)

Dried chillies 25 g, soaked in warm water for 30 minutes and drained

Belachan 25 g, toasted

Lemongrass 2 stalks, white part only and bashed

Candlenut 50 g

Hae bee hiam is so versatile that it makes a
great condiment for pan-fried radish cake.

Method:

1. Heat oil in medium heat. Sweat sugar, shallots, chillies and rempah for 20 minutes.

2. Add dried shrimps and garlic. Continue to sauté the mixture for another 8 minutes.

3. Add salted fish and pork crisps (optional). Season with salt.

4. Continue to fry until mixture is dried out.

5. Let it cool and store in a bottle.

Sin Huat Eating House - A Meal That Left Me Crabby

2014-02-20T03:10:00.000+08:00

Do I trust a foreign food personality to tell me what’s good on our local streets? Apparently not! Sin Huat Eating House won Mr. Anthony Bourdain’s heart and he sang praises (loads of it) on his TV series.

I had heard things about this restaurant. Its owner Chef Danny was known as the Food Nazi of Singapore and diners gladly paid through their noses for his superb, fresh seafood. You didn’t order your meals, so much as have the orders dictated to you by the chef, who would then cook your meal personally. And you wouldn’t know the size of your portion, or its price until the receipt arrived.

Because of this, I took a long time to convince myself -- and save enough money -- to have a first-hand encounter with this much talked about chef.

The restaurant was pretty quiet on the day of my visit, save for two tables of eight and five, and ours. One of my eating companions was a regular and the chef knew him well. Chef Danny offered a rather limited menu, and it seemed 90% of his dishes were de-rigueur with the regulars. We were no different.

Chef Danny delivers his food packed full of very strong flavours, especially garlic. A Singapore celebrity chef once told me, “If I boost my stock and flavours to the maximum, customers would be so overwhelmed that few would be able to tell the difference between good and mediocre cooking”. Chef Danny seems to subscribe to this philosophy.

A case in point was the Steamed Frog’s Legs with Essence of Chicken. Eight bottles of Chicken Essence were poured into a plate of eight perfectly steamed frogs, with garlic. With such an avalanche of robust chicken flavour, little culinary skill was needed for the dish to pack a wallop.

There were other instances. The dish of steamed scallops was overdone but the heavy bath of bean paste sauce was enough to mask its faults, along with much of the intrinsic flavour of the scallop. A similar sauce was used on the fried/braised crayfish. Again, I had to rely largely on my sight to discern what meat I was eating.

A few dishes stood out though. The stir-fried kai lan – usually a simple, supporting dish -- was delicious. It had the right amount of garlic, and the vegetable was crisp and flavoursome. Though it wasn’t cheap, I would gladly pay for it. On the other hand, the MOST cut-throat dish of the evening was the blanched dog conch or simply gong gong to the locals, served with a very tasty dip that was most likely a concoction of oyster sauce, garlic, chilli and buckets of processed flavouring. At $25 per kg, the owner of this restaurant could easily have bought a bungalow in a prime district in no time – if he hasn’t already done so.

The steamed squid was well executed and it was my 2^nd favourite dish of the evening. Again the garlic was slightly heavy handed. To his credit, Chef Danny’s handling of the steaming times for the seafood in most of his dishes was near impeccable. However, his main seafood ingredients lacked the flavor of what they were -- they didn't stand out but were buried under his overly strong sauces and dips. I suspect this is Chef Danny’s trick: to mask and/or distract from his inability to balance his spices and sauces with finesse.

The final dish of braised crab mee hoon was my main purpose for coming to this restaurant; after all this dish made Chef Danny famous in this infamous red-light district. It consisted of two medium crabs and a handful of mee hoon. The mee hoon was very tasty, but lacked the flavour that mattered the most – that of the crab itself. How come? I wondered. Crab imparts a distinctly robust and sweet flavour; and two crabs’ worth of it would certainly have made its presence felt in the dish. Was it buried under heavy MSG or chicken flavouring? I wasn’t sure. But it led to my companions and I consuming ¼ of our national water reserves during the meal and after we got home that night.

Here is my concluding shot: when a foreign food personality or two visits some eatery in Singapore and delivers an encomium, we fall for it hook, line and sinker. Are we so insecure in our own judgments? After all, we, of all people, should know our own food better than anyone. This thought came to me strongly on this occasion. To whip up a tasty dish is not difficult: just load it with MSG and off-the-shelf broths. It's the mastery of precise cooking times that, in my opinion, is Chef Danny's ONLY true achievement. The textures were unfailingly right -- but where were the delicate flavors of seafood? I couldn't detect any of it in all the dishes that I ate. And to me, that's a major letdown.

P.S. I doubted the eight of us could have eaten 3 kg of dog conchs and 3 kg of scallops; but that was what the receipt said.

Sin Huat Seafood Restaurant

659/661 Geylang Road

Singapore

Telephone: 6744 9755

Make a Date

2014-02-06T01:26:00.000+08:00

For us Chinese, Chinese New Year was something to anticipate and look forward to. The preparations would commence months before the actual festival, which usually falls in January or February. Worn out furniture would be replaced, new bed linens and curtains procured, and walls would receive a fresh coat of paint.

As kids, we would be pampered with new clothes and a haircut. There was another activity that I was especially eager to participate in. In those days, most festive snacks were prepared by family, friends, or neighbours. The cooks and their assistants would gather at a common area; ingredients would be laid out and duties assigned. Every participant seemed to know his or her role in some unspoken way.

Some peeled, others sliced, and the more experienced would cook. There were no recipes and no instructions, yet everyone knew what to do. The novices would help in the more menial tasks, and watch the others to study the steps of preparation and cooking.

Festive snacks were not taken lightly. Each snack had its own auspicious significance and even the sequence of cooking mattered. This particular snack is known as “Smiling Dates” or 笑口枣. Traditionally, dough was rolled into a ball and smothered in sesame seeds. During deep-frying, the ball would burst open and resemble a smiling face.

It was believed that this snack would bring happiness and smiles to the family for the next 12 months!

Smiling Dates (笑口枣)

Sugar 60 g

Water 20 g

Cake flour 180 g

Custard powder 10 g

Baking soda 3 g

Bicarbonate of soda ¼ tsp

Salt ¼ tsp

Egg yolk 40

Butter 30 g, room temperature

White sesame ½ cup

Method:

1. Melt sugar in water. Set aside and let it cool.

2. Mix flour, custard powder, baking soda, bicarbonate of soda and salt, sieve well.

3. Mix all ingredients, except white sesame, and form a dough. Cover and let it rest for 30 minutes.

4. Roll dough into a long rod. Cut into small pieces.

Take a small piece and roll it into a ball. Dip in water and roll the ball onto the sesame seeds.

Hainanese Pork Chops As I Remember It

2013-11-17T23:16:00.000+08:00

Personally, I feel that one of the greatest inventions by the Singapore Hainanese chefs is Hainanese Pork Chops. From the European households whom most of the chefs worked for, they learnt how to use foreign sauces such as HP sauce, Lea & Perrins sauce, and the wonders of roux as thickener in making sauces.

While the British were used to apple sauce and mustard as accompaniments to their pork chops, the Hainanese substituted these with HP sauce and Lea & Perrins, as they agreed better with their taste buds.

Over the years, Hainanese pork chops would undergo further changes to make it even more appealing to the Chinese rather than the Caucasians. That included the use of ketchup as the key ingredient in the sauce. And bread crumbs or Jacob’s crumbs – one of the original ingredients – also disappeared from the recipe in most restaurants.

The recipe I’m trying to replicate here is much closer to the version I was brought up on in the 60s, the version that was served at most coffee houses and Hainanese restaurants.

Hainanese Pork Chops

Pork chop 6 slices, about ¾ cm thick each

Flour 2 cups

Egg 2, lightly beaten

Bread crumbs/ Jacob’s crumbs 2 cups

Oil 3 cups

Potato 2, cut into chunks

Mixed vegetables 1 cup

Marinade:

Oyster sauce 1 tbsp

HP sauce ½ tsp

Pepper ¼ tsp

Corn flour 1 tsp

Sauce:

Butter 3 tbsp

AP flour 3 tbsp

HP sauce 4 tbp

Lea & Perrins 3 tbsp

Meat stock ¼ cup

Pepper a dash

Salt ¼ tsp

Sugar 2 tbsp

Method:

1. Use a heavy mallet to break up the muscle fibers of the pork chops.

2. Rub marinade into the pork and chill for at least 30 mins.

3. Dust pork chops with flour, soak the meat thoroughly with egg mixture, dust with bread crumbs. Put it aside to rest for 5 minutes. This step will prevent excessive crumbs from falling off the meat during deep frying.

4. Deep fry pork chops until both sides turn golden brown. Drain off the oil and slice into ½ cm thick. Place it on the serving plate.

5. Boil potato until it is cooked. Drain and shake off the water completely. This step will create uneven surfaces on the potato, which will give the chips extra crisp. Deep fry the potato chips until golden brown. Drain and transfer to the serving plate.

6. Pour sauce generously over the pork chops and serve immediately.

Sauce:

1. Melt butter over medium heat. Saute mixed vegetables for 1 min.

2. Add flour and cook for another 1 to 2 mins to create a roux.

3. Add the rest of the sauce ingredients gradually and whisk until the sauce thickens.

4. The sauce should not be too thick. If it is too thickened, add some stock to dilute it. Adjust the taste with salt and sugar.

5. Set aside and keep warm.

There’s Nothing Like Oxtail

2013-11-08T15:12:00.000+08:00

I have a soft spot for any dish that contains oxtail. Although this animal part seldom sat on my family’s dinner table, I’ve always loved its rich robust flavor. And I’m always on the lookout for it whatever the cuisine. I haven’t had much luck, though, searching for oxtail in Chinese cuisine; I’ve done much better with Malay and western food.

I remember that when I served oxtail at the restaurant I used to own in Hong Kong, it would draw ooohs and aahhs whenever the lid was lifted off the pot, because the space would immediately fill with its luscious aroma.

The following recipe is the one I used in Hong Kong.

Oxtail Stew with Guinness

Oxtail 750 g

Plain flour 4 tbsp

Oil 4 tbsp

Onion 2, chopped coarsely

Carrot 2, diced

Celery 4 stalks, diced

Potato 2, diced

Button mushroom 150 g, halved

Salt 1 tsp

Butter 2 tbsp

Bacon 100 g, diced

Garlic 5 cloves

Shallot 5

Red wine ¼ cup

Tomato paste 3 tbsp

Guinness stout 1 can

Coconut juice 1 cup

5-spice powder 1 tbsp

Lemongrass 2, bashed

Salt 1 tsp

Method:

Preheat oven at 180 degree C.
Dust oxtail with flour. Brown oxtail with oil. Set aside.
Saute the vegetables and salt with the remaining oil in the French oven for 5 mins. Lower the heat, cover the pan, and sweat the vegetable for 10 minutes. Remove and set aside.
Saute bacon, garlic and shallots with 1 tbsp of butter. Return oxtail to the pot and deglaze it with red wine. Add tomato paste and stir well.
Pour Guinness stout and coconut juice into the pot. Add 5-spice powder and lemon grass.
Put parchment paper directly onto surface of the stew. Make sure parchment paper covers the surface completely.
Cover the lid and bake for 1½ hours. Add the sauted vegetable and continue to bake for another 30 minutes.
Season with salt and serve.

Por Kee – A Name That Had Run Its Course

2013-10-03T14:47:00.000+08:00

Por Kee Eating House closed its shutters for the last time on 30 September 2013.

That brought to an end another chapter of my childhood. I will miss it much, not so much for its food which was very pedestrian in its early years, but because I had patronized the eatery since the 60s.

The Chinatown that I remember from back then was abuzz with activity. Smith Street -- on which Por Kee was first located -- was a street market by day and sold all manner of exotic animals. Yes, in those days, pythons, monitor lizards, civet cats, and anteaters were displayed in cages and slaughtered live just like chickens and ducks. By night Smith Street was lined with food stalls, many well known even then, and some of which have survived until today, such as Heng Ji Chicken Rice, Run Ji Braised Duck, Tong Heng Confectionery and etc.

Por Kee occupied the ground floor of a two-unit shop house at No. 76 Smith Street. On the street in front of the shop sat a long aluminium table, above which hung a variety of roast meat. On the tabletop were metal trays displaying fried spring rolls, carrot cakes and buns. There was also a row of huge pots that contained cooked food such as braised pork, steamed chicken, and steamed ribs. These constituted the “one-dish” meals popular with working men who lived without families.

As Por Kee’s premises were at the building corner, a side lane ran next to it, and at its the mouth were placed steamers holding bamboo baskets stacked high with dim sum. There were additional tables along the side lane where patrons could sit and watch rats scamper past.

For me, Por Kee became a favourite place to grab a quick snack of fried spring roll or siew mai before heading off to meet friends. I remember in particular a one-dish meal unique to Por Kee called “smooth chicken rice” or “滑鸡饭”. From its inception Por Kee was never known for the tastiness of its food, but as a convenient and affordable stop to grab a bite to fill the stomach before heading off somewhere.

Still, it was a pity that the final night of this half-century-old eating establishment should end with such disappointment for me. I had seen first-hand the ups and downs of their business over the years. And after eating there on their “farewell” night, I understood why they failed to grow or keep up with the competition. Their attitude was abysmal. One incident from many that night should suffice: when I mildly rebuked the waitress for the inexcusably poor fried rice that we were served, she snorted, “You complain now also no use, we last day already.”

I went away from the dinner with a heavy heart and actually felt glad that they had gone at last.

“Smooth” Chicken Rice

Chicken chop 4

Chicken stock ½ cup

Salt ¼ tsp

Corn flour 1 tbsp, mixed with 2 tbsp of water

Cooked rice 12 cups

Chye sim 50 gm, blanched

White pepper a dash

Marinate:

Ginger juice 2 tbsp

Oyster sauce 2 tbsp

Soy sauce ¼ tsp

Chinese wine 1 tbsp

Sugar ¼ tsp

Method:

Marinate chicken chops for 30 minutes.
Steam chicken until cooked.
Divide rice into 4 portions. Slice chicken chops and distribute evenly into 4 portions. Place chicken and chye sim on top of the rice.
Pour steamed chicken juice in a small pot. Add chicken stock and stir thoroughly. Simmer and season with salt.
Thicken gravy with corn starch.
Pour over the chicken and sprinkle with pepper.
Serve hot.

Show Some Skin

2013-09-20T00:00:00.000+08:00

When I was a kid, I would know Mid-Autumn Festival was around the corner because my relatives would send huge paper lanterns to our home. These lanterns were about 1.5 metres tall, wrapped with painted cellophane paper and decorated with tassels. Inside the lantern, and driven by hot air from the candle, a ring of painted scenic and calligraphic images would rotate. It was gorgeous! Such lanterns are sadly extinct from Singapore; but the moon cake, fortunately, is still around.

I’ve never been greatly enamored of moon cakes; I find their fillings too sweet to like. But there is a fruit I always associate with Mid-Autumn Festival -- the pomelo. I love it and could literally eat it non-stop, until one day I discovered that excessive quantities of it upset my digestion.

However, the fruit was useful in other ways. My cousins and I would make our own lanterns with pomelo skins. Using a pointed knife, we would cut holes through the skin so the light would cast graphic shadows on the wall. The grown-ups of the family, who prized the discarded skins as an ingredient for certain dishes, would try to hide them from the kids.

When treated as described in the recipe below, the pomelo skin behaves like a sponge; so specially prepared stocks are often used to braise it. In fact, I used superior stock that is good enough for abalone and other delicacies. The texture of skin that I got out of it can be compared to a savory bread pudding.

Braised Pomelo with Prawn Roe

Pomelo skin ½ fruit, quartered

Lard 5 tbsp

Young ginger 4 slices

Roast pork 200 g

Superior stock 4 cups

Superior abalone sauce 2 tbsp

Prawn roe 3 tbsp

Dark soy sauce 1 tbsp

Brown sugar ½ tbsp

Salt 2 tsp

Sesame oil ½ tsp

Method:
1. Grill the pomelo skin (the green outer side only) over fire till it is charred all over.

2. Soak the charred pomelo skin under water. Peel off the charred surface until the skin is totally clean of burnt surfaces.

3. Rinse skin thoroughly, and soak in clean water for 2 days. During this period, change water periodically.

4. Squeeze pomelo skin dry and boil it for 5 minutes.

5. Remove and submerge in cold water.

6. Squeeze out all liquid and repeat Step 5 twice.

7. Pan fry pomelo skin in a dry pan until all liquid evaporates. Remove and set aside.

8. Saute ginger and roast pork with lard. Sprinkle Chinese wine. Add stock and reduce the sauce slightly.

9. Season it with prawn roe (2 tbsp), dark soy sauce, brown sugar and salt.

10. Add pomelo skin and braise for 10 minutes. The sauce should thicken by now.

11. Serve pomelo skin on a serving plate. Pour gravy over the skin.

12. Add a dash of sesame oil and sprinkle the remaining prawn roe over the dish.

13. Serve hot.

Scholarly Moon Cakes

2013-09-17T17:52:00.000+08:00

In the past, Hokkien moon cakes came in a box of 63 pieces; and they were called zhuang yuan bing or Scholarly Cakes for an interesting reason. During dynastic times in China, scholars sat for the Imperial Examination to fill administrative positions in the imperial court ranging from the most senior to the most minor. Likewise, the moon cakes in the box were arranged in groups of descending weight and size that corresponded to the actual number of positions in each imperial grade. The largest moon cake could weigh as much as 750 grams.

While anyone would baulk at the thought of wolfing down ¾ of a kilogram of sugared paste and pastry at one go, Hokkien moon cakes were actually made of savory minced meat and candied winter melon. But these moon cakes began to lose popularity after WW II, and their traditional savory fillings gave way to a sweet Teochew-influenced filling of red bean paste cooked in lard. Their appearance – that of a white moon -- remained.

The Tan Hock Seng Cake Shop on Telok Ayer Street was established some 63 years ago. Its current owner, Tan Boon Chai, continues to preserve and perpetuate the traditions of Hokkien-style pastry making, like his father and grandfather before him. The production of the moon cake involves painstaking labor. The dough is thoroughly mixed and kneaded until it turns pure white. The filling is a mix of candied winter melon, candied tangerine peel, melon seeds, sugar and lard. And before baking, additional sesame seeds are sprinkled at the base of the cake to give it a distinctive fragrance.

It is easy to distinguish the Hokkien moon cake: it is the one shaped in a white disc with a red “fu” stamped on it.

TAN HOCK SENG CAKE SHOP

86 Telok Ayer Street

Singapore 048469

Telephone: 65331798

Moments and memories in Shunde

2013-09-13T15:30:00.000+08:00

What makes a journey memorable? To me, a sense of connection and discovery is most important; and that was what I found on a recent visit to Shunde, a district in China’s Guangdong province. Because it brought me back to my childhood: to the roots of the cuisine I love and to the strange, enigmatic breed of women who figured so vividly in my growing up years – the amah.

The landscape on the hour-long drive from Guangzhou’s airport to Shunde was almost Arcadian: a quilted patchwork of ponds and green fields and a family-run restaurant every kilometer or so, it seems. For thousands of years, fertile soil brought prosperity to this part of China. Silk was a major produce, and Shunde became one of the nation’s largest silk production centers. The men of Shunde grew the mulberry leaves that fed the worms while the women wove silk at home.

During the Depression era of the 1930s, silk’s demand fell and many people left Shunde. Some of its women left China altogether, and made their way to Hong Kong and Southeast Asia. They found work mainly as domestic help, and were easily recognizable by the black-and-white samfus they wore and their tied-back hair buns. These women were fiercely loyalty to their employers and earned the affectionate nickname ‘amah’, or mother in Cantonese, for their devotion. As a child I met and befriended many amahs in Singapore, and through them came to know of Shunde and its food.

My first stop was Jun’an, a rural town in Shunde. A spot of trivia: Bruce Lee’s father was born in Jun’an and Bruce lived here briefly as a child. The town, quick to capitalize on its fame, had built a theme park in Bruce’s honour, but was otherwise a laid back agricultural community that produced fine freshwater carp. On a visit to the Lee ancestral hall I met a 105-year-old female inhabitant of Jun’an. She was amazingly quick-witted for her years, and reminded me so much of the wizened yet resilient amahs I knew.

Amahs remained unmarried for life, with many taking a formal vow of spinsterhood that was out of step with the traditions of the time. They formed strong bonds with their fellow ‘sisters’, and because they never returned to China it was common for a group of amahs to share a small rented house after retirement, where they would live together for the rest of their lives.

At Jun’an I tasted its vaunted pork for the first time in my life. The whole pig -- de-boned and marinated with five-spice powder, salt, and sugar – was placed spread-eagled on a pole inside a large wooden drum and steamed for an hour over charcoal. The tender pork that was produced was sliced thinly and served with a sprinkling of sesame seed. The spices intensified the porcine flavors yet were so subtle as to be virtually untraceable; this made the quality of the meat paramount.

There is a saying to epitomize Shunde cooking – 粗料精做，妙在家常 -- meaning to be able to cook refined home meals out of cheap ingredients. And in fact, evidence points to Shunde as being a major progenitor of Cantonese cuisine as a whole.

The freshwater carp that Jun’an breeds in abundance is a key ingredient of Shunde cooking. An architectural fixture of the region is the pond in front of the house, stocked with fish. For a meal, Shunde women would gather vegetables from the farm and catch a fish from the pond; from these they would conjure a feast without wasting a morsel. Shunde frugality and skill with humble ingredients in the kitchen was renowned, and when these women became amahs in Singapore, these same qualities became hallmarks of their cooking style.

The Shunde Raw Fish is a showpiece dish and a must-try. The live freshwater carp is slaughtered and its most tender flesh – lying between the belly and tail end -- is sliced thinly and placed on ice to keep it fresh. A mix of pickles, lime leaves, peanut and soy sauce is then tossed in with the sliced raw fish and eaten. The story goes that Masterchef Hooi Kok Wai of the Four Heavenly Kings fame took his cue from this dish and made of it one of Singapore’s national dishes, the Chinese New Year’s Prosperous Yusheng.

Other parts of the fish are used for steamboat; sliced or beaten into fish paste. Another dish is steamed carp’s head, where the very tip of the head is cooked with black bean paste. On the tongue, the softness of the brain and the savory sweetness of the fluids in the fish head were amazing. Nothing goes to waste. Even the bones were boiled and made into porridge.

It is usual for an amah to work her entire life with a single employer, becoming a trusted family member, and in some cases, a surrogate ‘mum’ and even de facto matriarch. They would send the bulk of their salary back home to their families in China, most particularly during the difficult period of the Cultural Revolution. With what money that remained, they would indulge in cookouts with their ‘sisters’ on off days. During the once-a-year Hungry Ghosts Festival, when Cantonese opera troupes from Hong Kong would often arrive in Singapore to perform, a surprising side of the amah emerges. They would dedicate huge celebratory placards to their favorite opera artistes, adorned with borders of folded ‘flowers’ made from hundreds of their hard-earned dollar bills.

Forty-five minutes from Jun’an is another small town called Leliu and its award-winning roast goose. At the street stall, the cook explained the details to me: each bird is carefully selected and bred to its ideal weight of about 2.5 kilograms where it is slaughtered. The marinade used is specific to each chef and is jealously guarded, but the basic ingredients appear to be Sichuan pepper, five-spice powder, aged tangerine peel, galangal and soy sauce.

The Leliu roast goose is not crispy skinned like its counterpart in Singapore. Its skin is loose and wrinkled like a Shar-pei’s, and that apparently accounts for its fuller flavor. After the goose is removed from the oven, it is usual to ‘rest’ it in the open; but in Leliu the resting is done in an enclosed space away from the wind. This triggers a sort of ‘braising’ process that causes the skin to wrinkle, while drawing the juices from the flesh. And when chewed, the skin releases the intense flavors it has absorbed as well as those of the marinade.

Another must-eat while in Shunde is the famed rice noodle unique to the town of Chencun. It is said a man named Huang Dan developed the technique of making the noodle some 80 years ago. First, newly harvested rice is stored for six months, then rubbed under water for at least 20 minutes to remove excess starch before being ground with a stone grinder. The resulting flour is then used to make an extra-thin, extra-smooth flat noodle derived from the traditional sha hor fun. In Hong Kong, where the noodle quickly gained popularity, it is called Chencun Fen after its place of origin. Chencun Fen is eaten in a variety of ways: steamed with meats or used like bread to soak up the gravy at the end of the meal, or even as a dessert with red bean paste and coconut cream.

The Shunde dishes that served the amahs so well in their employers’ kitchens also saw them through retirement. I remember seeing, in the 1960s, ex-amahs selling Shunde fare such as dried sole porridge, fried noodles, and steamed glutinous rice. In the morning, they would prepare the food and set up their makeshift ‘stalls’ of stacked wooden crates along the five-foot way. The meager takings probably helped stretch whatever savings these old women managed to accumulate from earlier times of service.

My final stop, the sub-district of Daliang, was a manufacturing boomtown, home to the production facilities of major Chinese brands like Kelon and Midea. The skyline was typically mainland urban: with gleaming high-rise towers and hulking shopping malls gradually elbowing out the traditional buildings – and foods – of the streets and side lanes.

Happily, some traditional foods still abounded -- meat porridge, chee cheong fun and deep-fried rice dumpling. The Shunde district produces some of the finest rice in southern China, so the variety of rice-based dishes on its streets should come as no surprise. Rice is used in subtle, complex ways here. There are rice of various strains – pearl, jasmine, glutinous – and different ‘ages’, such as ‘new’ or recently harvested rice, or ‘old’ rice that has been stored for a period of time. It’s known that a ‘simple’ bowl of porridge uses three to four types of rice to achieve balances of texture, consistency, and fragrance. Learning to distinguish and appreciate the gradations and differences in flavor present in plain rice was an education in itself.

The sight of the deep-fried rice dumpling was a different matter for me: it was like bumping into an old friend again after 40 years. I remembered buying deep-fried rice dumpling from a retired amah in Chinatown, Singapore. Amahs were most commonly seen in Chinatown in the 1960s. It was where they lived in retirement, sharing tiny shophouse cubicles. It was where they congregated on their rest days; and it was where they died: in the so-called ‘death houses’ along Sago Lane, where the terminally ill were housed and cared for until the last.

Eating that dumpling on the street in Shunde, I recalled watching the amahs in Chinatown sitting at the professional letter-writers, having their mail read to them or written. I recalled watching them chat and gossip among themselves, and cooking and sharing food from their homeland of Shunde; and I think -- isn’t it wonderful how homesickness can be assuaged, and memories ignited, with a bite?

All photos by Mark Ong

Ah, Sweet Potato Soup Heaven

2013-09-05T16:31:00.001+08:00

It took me an entire childhood to like sweet potato soup. I had always found it visually boring and plain in taste; and even though there weren’t that many Chinese desserts to pick from back then, I always shied away from it.

My family, however, took desserts seriously, and seemed to like them all. Often, dessert was planned at the start of the day and prepared in advance. Among Western desserts, grape jello and baked bread pudding were my top choices. If we decided to go Chinese, steamed egg custard; bean curd skin and gingko nuts; and red bean soup would be my favourites.

These days, sweet potato dessert is prepared in a basic, thoughtless manner -- peeled, cubed, and boiled with sugar. The end result offers sweetness and little else; you have a dessert that’s flat in taste. My family’s recipe was far more elaborate, but yields a multi-layered stimulation to the taste buds.

Try it and see it what I mean……..

Sweet Potato Soup

Sweet potato 350 g

Water 1½ litres

Salt ¼ tsp

Rock sugar 100 g

Brown sugar 50 g

Lard 1 tbsp

Ginger 35 g, bashed

Pandan leaves 6, tied into a knot

Method:

1. Peel potato and cut into cubes. Add salt into 6 cups of water, stir until salt is dissolved. Soak potato in water for 4 hours to remove excess starch. In between the period, change water twice.

2. Rinse potato and drain completely. Wipe potato with kitchen towel.

3. Using a claypot, sauté ginger with lard for 2 minutes. Add potato and sauté for another 3 minutes.

4. Add water and pandan leaves, boil until potato is soft.

5. Skim off the oil if necessary during boiling.

6. Serve hot or lukewarm.

This method of sauteing potato helps to prevent the potato from turning mushy. The broth, as well, is packed full of flavour from the ginger, pandan leaves and potato.

Bruschetta with Wild Mushrooms – In Memory of a Magazine

2013-08-26T23:40:00.000+08:00

I was a journalist for more than 20 years. And in that time I had the good fortune to head a number of leading interior design magazines in Singapore. Some were existing titles, while others were new ones that I conceived and brought into being.

Among my duties – and pleasures – as editor were the visits my team and I made to some of the most beautiful houses in this region. I also met fascinating people -- movers and shakers many of them; and I enjoyed first glimpses of trends as well as privileged access to happenings within the industry. To top it all, I was paid to read mountains of magazines during working hours!

The cover of the final issue.

There was a foreign magazine that had great influence on me, particularly when it came to determining the direction and content of my own work. Metropolitan Home was an American interior and lifestyle magazine that catered to urbanites. Its focus was casual, contemporary living centered around chic, high-end interiors and design.

When the magazine was first launched in 1974, it was called Apartment Life and was aimed at the so-called Woodstock generation. In 1981 the magazine underwent a re-brand, emerging as the hipper Metropolitan Home, with more up-to-date layouts and features targeted specifically at the Baby Boomers.

The interior pages of Metropolitan Home.

Metropolitan Home had gorgeous photographs of interiors that I used to salivate over. It also had some regular columns that I thought were very clever and original for their time. One of these was the ‘Hi/Low’ feature, in which an interior scene with very expensive furnishings is first shown, and this would be followed by its ‘mirror-image’ with furnishings and decorations purchased at a fraction of the cost. I was so taken with ideas such as these that I used them in my own magazines.

Since Metropolitan Home was a so-called ‘lifestyle’ magazine there were recipe pages too, and I would faithfully cut these out, file them, and test-cook them whenever I had the chance.

It was heartbreaking for me when Metropolitan Home folded in December 2009, a victim of the economic recession and the collapsed housing market. This recipe is from the late magazine; and it never fails to wow the audience when I serve it as an appetizer.

Bruschetta with Wild Mushrooms

Baguette 2

Olive oil ¼ cup + 3 tbsp

Butter ¼ cup

Dried shiitake mushrooms 50 g, soaked in 2 cups of warm water for 30 minutes,

sliced

White button mushrooms 250 g, thinly sliced

Shallots 2 tbsp, minced

Garlic 1 tbsp, minced

Salt ½ tsp

Ground black pepper ¼ tsp

Mascarpone cheese 300 g

Method:

Remove crust from bread. Brush bread generously with olive oil. Toast bread in a 160C oven for 10 minutes or until crisp. Set aside.
Heat butter and 3 tbsp of olive oil. Sauté shallots and garlic until translucent. Add all mushrooms and fry for another 3 minutes. Add mushroom water and simmer slowly until the liquid is fully absorbed.
Remove from heat and season it with salt and pepper.
Let it rest to room temperature.
Spread marscarpone cheese on bread. Spoon mushroom evenly on top of cheese.
Garnish with Italian parsley (optional).
Serve.

Growing Up Uniquely on Keong Saik Street

2013-07-30T00:16:00.000+08:00

Photo by Mark Ong

When news broke that Tong Ah Building would finally bow to yet another commercial takeover in Keong Saik Street, my heart skipped a beat. Another building changing hands, I thought … another piece of my childhood obliterated forever.

Keong Saik Street, and the many memories it held for me growing up, was slowly vanishing; at least, the Keong Saik Street that I remember…

Named after the prominent Malacca-born businessman, Tan Keong Saik, the Y-shaped street off Kreta Ayer Road was known for much of its history for the ‘trade’ it sheltered; and up to the 80s Keong Saik Street was always mentioned in the same breath as Desker Road and Geylang.

Keong Saik Street was lined with 3-storey houses, mostly in the architectural style of Art Deco or the pre-war shop house. The ones that were used as brothels were easy to spot. They had yellow light boxes above the front door, with the address number in red on them. It fact there were so many of these little boxes, finding a door with a regular address plate (with black numerals) was like striking the lottery. Keong Saik was considered more ‘high-end’ than its other counterpart streets in Singapore, and its denizens were mainly Chinese women aged below 30. As kids, my friends and I would play peek-a-boo along the street, curious to see what lay behind the pintu pagar (the traditional wooden swing doors at the entrance).

Many amahs worked as ‘chamber maids’ within the brothels and made handsome salaries from tips given by the customers and prostitutes. During the Hungry Ghosts Festival every year, a temporary tent would be erected on the street and well-known Cantonese opera troupes invited to perform for the entertainment of the wandering spirits. The amahs would take the opportunity to splurge their takings. They would dedicate huge celebratory banners to their favorite opera artistes, adorned with borders of ‘flowers’ folded from hundreds of their hard-earned dollar bills.

The street was sleepy in the day but very different when darkness fell. Then it became busy with packs of men prowling from house to house looking for the best “bargains”. Unlike in Geylang, there would be no streetwalkers and the ladies would wait indoors in salons that were supervised by “managers”.

For me going to Keong Saik Street helped satisfy my lust -- culinary lust that is. Like any other red-light district, there was always good food around the area, as if to give credence to the Chinese saying, “ 饱思淫欲, When the stomach is full, one would think of sex.” There were a couple of cze cha stalls on the street but one in particular stood out.

If I had a stomach for supper around 9 pm or so, Keong Saik Street offered me two options. It was either a plate of fried cockles kway teow, at 30 cents a plate from the pushcart parked opposite Kow Kee (球记) every night, or to Kow Kee itself if I had a little more cash to spare.

Kow Kee occupied nearly the entire space at Tong Ah Coffee Shop. During lunch, they would serve wonton noodles and some simple dishes. Come evening, the operators would line the five-foot way and the street closest to the coffee shop with tables and chairs. Business was always brisk and customers would wait at least 45 minutes for their turn at the table. The two brothers who owned the eatery would whip up classic Cantonese dishes at the twin woks, while their younger sister would orchestrate activities as Chef de Partie from 6 pm to past midnight.

Kow Kee had a few signature dishes. Among these were braised pork ribs and bitter gourd (焖豉汁苦瓜排骨) -- a must for me – and clay pot liver (沙煲猪肝), my second favourite. If I ate at the stall, I would order the fish-head noodle soup (鱼头米粉汤); otherwise it was fried seafood bee hoon (什锦米粉) or fried hor fun with prawns (滑蛋虾仁河粉) for takeaway. I could still remember their unique method of frying mee hoon. The noodles were deep-fried until they looked like the Afro on a black guy’s head turned crispy; then a large ladle of thick gravy was poured onto the mee hoon with a light sizzling sound. To date, Kow Kee was the first and only stall I knew that served mee hoon in this style.

In the early 70s, to eat out at a cze cha stall was a special treat for the family. At a time when a bowl of mee pok tah (面簿干) cost all of 20 cents; a plate of chicken rice, 70 cents; and a packet of hor fun a ‘whopping’ $1.50, kids would leap for joy at the mere whisper of dining out at a cze cha stall.

While waiting for my food, there were always things to distract me. I’d sometimes see a solitary man pace up and down the street in a sheepish manner and then suddenly dash into a brothel without raising his head; and I’d know that that was his first time! Sometimes I’d see men walk out from the door with contented grins and head for supper. And occasionally I’d see an amah carry a tingkat to buy supper for her mistresses or speed towards a ‘mama’ provision shop to fetch a pack of cigarettes for a customer in the brothel.

Today, there’s little of Keong Saik – the street and its street life – that I recognize. The commercial redevelopment of the area, beginning in the 80s, has seen to that. The three siblings no longer run Kow Kee, and Tong Ah Building has been sold to yet another boutique operator.

Keong Saik Street has opened itself to another kind of hospitality business. Some people might see it as a ‘healthier’ turn of events. For me, I miss the colourful – and educational -- encounters I had on that street as a kid.

Wonton Mee Redemption

2013-07-25T17:47:00.000+08:00

Near where I lived as a little boy in Chinatown was a famous mini noodle factory. On its shop front was displayed all manner of fresh and dehydrated noodles, wonton skins, and other flour-based products. I was fascinated.

And I enjoyed watching the whole process of noodle making too. It looked so well organized and mechanical; everyone had his or her precise role and activity. And they looked comical, with white flour on their faces and bodies, just like in the movies when the actors threw powder at each other.

I remember well my first attempt at making noodles – because I nearly died doing it. Kneading the dough was so tedious that I almost gave up halfway; and I swore I actually had biceps and triceps for the first time in my life after I finished. But that was the easy part. Because then came the rolling. Have you ever tried getting an even thickness on a piece of dough the size of a seat cushion? I finally ended up with a pile of stuff that looked like anything but noodles.

I still see this whole episode in my nightmares.

Now, life is kinder to me. I can borrow a mixer and a pasta machine from a friend and suddenly I feel like Superman. Nothing can defeat me again. With some leftover duck eggs in hand, I was ready to face my demons and conquer my phobia…

Wonton Noodle

Flour 900 g

Duck egg 90 g

Chicken egg 270 g

Potato flour 45 g

Alkaline water 35 g

Method:

1. On a flat surface, gently form a volcano with ¾ of the flour, with a hole in the center.

2. Sprinkle salt evenly.

3. Drop ¾ of egg in the middle of the flour.

4. Start gently mixing and kneading.

5. Add the remaining flour and egg bit by bit during kneading.

6. The dough should be firm and not stick to the fingers.

7. Once done, wrap dough in a cling wrap and let it rest for at least 30 minutes.

8. Roll it out by hand or use a pasta machine.

9. Dust with flour and let it dry.

Note: Duck egg gives a certain degree of elasticity to the noodle texture. If duck eggs are unavailable, just substitute it with the same amount of chicken eggs.

Method of Cooking:

1. Boil sufficient water for 5 minutes.

2. Lower water to around 95°C.

3. Blanch noodle until cooked, for about 3 minutes, in a kitchen sieve.

4. Remove noodle from the hot water and dip it into a pot of room temperature water and rinse thoroughly. Meanwhile bring the hot water to boil again.

5. Blanch noodle in boiling water for 15 seconds.

6. Noodle is ready to be served in soup or tossed dry.

Method of Tossed Dried Noodle:

Wonton noodle 35 g

Lard/oil 1 tbsp

Sesame oil ¼ tsp

Oyster sauce ½ tbsp

Light soy sauce ½ tsp

Chilli sauce 1 tbsp

1. Cook 30 g noodle (follow above instructions).

2. Meanwhile, mix the rest of ingredients thoroughly in a serving bowl.

3. Toss noodle well with the sauce.

4. Serve with meats of your choice.

Tian Qi – No Monkeying Around

2013-07-09T00:33:00.000+08:00

I was introduced to Tian Qi, a Chinese herb, when I hit puberty. This was a period where I would, literally, grow by centimeters when I hit the sack. Yes, we humans only grow when we sleep. And this herb was believed to help the body to generate and regenerate new cells for growth.

There was a legend about how Tian Qi was discovered. A monkey was once badly injured by a villager. After several days however, the monkey was seen to have made great progress in recovery. The villager decided to trail the monkey and spied it digging some roots to eat. After the monkey left, he dug up the root and took it home. And that was how Tian Qi came to be a frequently prescribed medicine among traditional Chinese physicians to this day.

The herb is usually used in conjunction with Ginseng, because it is believed that Ginseng is great for improving “qi” or energy while Tian Qi delivers benefits to the blood and bones.

I wasn’t the only one taking this herb; my pets loved it too. I would grind the herb into powder and mix it into their food, and I was convinced that Tian Qi helped heal my animals’ cuts and wounds faster.

As I grew older, I would often boil the herb according to the recipe below. Tian Qi is also known to stabilize blood pressure and prevent stroke. I would add pork trotter and chicken feet to further supplement the collagen in my body. Tian Qi is easily available from Chinese medical shops.

Tian Qi & Ginseng Soup

Tian Qi (田七) 10 g, sliced thinly

Ginseng (泡参) 20 g, sliced thinly

Pork trotter 500 g

Chicken feet 300 g

Chicken 400 g

Honey dates 6

Chinese yam 250 g, cut into chunks

Water 4 litres

Salt 2 tsp

1. Put both Chinese herbs in a cloth bag. Secure the opening tightly.

2. Blanch pork trotter, chicken feet and chicken for 5 minutes. Drain and rinse meat under tap water.

3. Add Chinese herbs, honey dates and Chinese yam in a pot of water. Bring to boil.

4. Add meat and boil for 10 minutes. Lower heat and simmer for 2 hours.

5. Season soup with salt.

6. Serve hot.