Making Chicken Rice

I generally shy away from cooking Southeast Asian food because they require so many different types of spices and so much effort, not to mention the fact that a very good rendition is probably available a hop and a skip away from wherever I am and can be purchased for a song.

However, ever since I tried making Tom Yam soup and Pho Bo, and realized how easy those were, I've learnt to question these assumptions and have been more open to cooking (or at least attempting to) Southeast Asian food. In some ways, you can say Ed's soft spot for food from around the region has been a key motivating factor as well.

That is not to say that I've been particularly successful at my attempts though. In my previous entry I mentioned how the Assam Laksa took a painful two and a half hours to complete. Mind you, there were three, sometimes four, persons working on the dish at any one time.

Today, I was inspired by Adam Liaw's cookbook with a recipe for Chicken Rice - possibly one of Ed's top five favorite dishes, ever. It sounded simple enough and the ingredient list was not too long nor diverse. All was well - forty minutes into the cooking and I was almost done. Minimal washing up seemed to be required (I cheated and used the rice cooker to fry the rice first) and the smell in the kitchen was promising.

And then I had to chop the chicken.

Even with a sharp cleaver and all the determination I could muster, I could not make clean, decisive chops at the chicken. Worse still, I wasn't prepared for all the juices to spill out of the chicken's cavity, onto the chopping board, countertop and down the kitchen cupboards before finally reaching the kitchen floor in all it's greasy goodness.

But after some (more) struggle and compromises (drumsticks and wings left whole), I managed to get the chicken onto a plate of sliced cucumbers. With newfound respect for those uncles (and the occasional aunty) who chop chicken in the shops, I tucked into the chicken rice with Ed. After all that effort, would I make it again? Maybe!

Adam Liaw's recipe worked quite well and on the whole it was tasty. I liked the fact that I had very little chopping to do, apart from the chicken. Mainly whole cloves of garlic or thick slices of unpeeled ginger were used. I made chicken rice before, using other recipes and Adam's unusual step of wrapping the cooked chicken in cling wrap after brushing it with sesame oil might have lent itself to the silky smooth skin. While I wasn't too sure about the chilli sauce recipe - I doubled the recipe and used a whopping 11 bird's eye chillies - they turned out well in the end. The bright tang of the lemon juice freshened up the dish, and for some reason the sauce was not as spicy as I thought it would turn out to be.

Can't wait to try his other recipes!

Goong Xi Fa Cai!

I've got so much to blog about - a (not so) recent trip to Beirut and Istanbul where my companions and I ate particularly well and tried a dish we know we will never eat again, a Coq au Vin Blanc recipe I tried which was tres easy and delicious, and my favourite salad place just around the corner from where I live.

Instead, I thought I would blog about a trusty Tom Yam Goong recipe that has come in handy the past 3 years when helping my mum prepare the reunion dinner of Steamboat/Hot Pot. I used to think that there was nothing that could beat the convenience of pre-packaged Tom Yam Goong paste that only required a bit of hot water to turn into a fiery and satisfying red soup. When I received the cookbook 'Inside the Southeast Asian Kitchen' as a gift, and read how easy it was to make Tom Yam Goong from scratch, I was pleasantly surprised and strangely compelled to try it for myself. The most time consuming part is probably making a trip down your local supermarket to find the ingredients - the most elusive of which is probably the galangal. Once you've gotten your hands on the 8 main ingredients, you literally need only 10 minutes to peel/slice/crush before everything bubbles away in a pot. I've never looked back since.

Tom Yam Goong for Steamboat

Adapted from 'Inside the Southeast Asian Kitchen'

Serves 4

Ingredients

Shells and heads of 400 gms of prawns (raw prawns can be served for guests to cook in the hot pot)

5 bird's-eye chillies, crushed

2 stalks lemongrass, thinly sliced

2 cm piece of galangal (blue ginger), thinly sliced

4 kaffir lime leaves, torn

6 coriander roots, crushed

Fish sauce

Lime juice (I like mine from the bottle for the kick that is sometimes difficult to pin down with fresh limes. These bottles of lime juice can be found at Thai-specialty stores such as those in Golden Mile Centre.)

Method

Place prawn heads and shells in a large pot, and cover it with 1 liter of water

Bring to boil then add lemongrass, galangal, kaffir lime leaves and coriander root.

Simmer for at least 30 minutes.

Skim off scum as you go.

Add lime juice and fish sauce by the tablespoons to taste

Just before serving, add chillies. (To increase the heat, add more chillies or simmer the stock a while longer before serving)

Simply Yummy

Great things can happen when you least expect it. I was meeting a bunch of old friends for a farewell party for one of them who is being posted to Indonesia to work for the next 2 years or so. Someone somehow casually suggested a Peranakan food at Blue Ginger. Even though the image it brought to my head was a little odd, it was a pleasant name and I did not give it much thought.

From the moment I stepped through the doors, everything was pleasant. The service was pleasant. The décor was pleasant. The flight of stairs up to the second floor was pleasant. The air smelt pleasant. The menu was pleasant. The food presentation was pleasant.

Then I took a bite of the kueh pie tee, and was floored.

It was a simple dish, but virtually perfectly executed and I couldn’t have asked for more.

In fact, the other dishes were similarly simple but delicious. Especially the Beef Rendang, Ayam Panggang, Sambal Terong Goreng (pictured above), Otak Otak, and Chendol. While the prices are just a tad steeper than other Peranakan restaurants I've visited, this was well worth the money.

Blue Ginger
97 Tanjong Pagar Rd
Call - 6222 3928
Fax - 6222 3860

Operating Hours:
12pm - 230pm daily
630pm - 1030pm daily

Kim Bak Soon

If not for my younger cousin who has a liking for all things Korean, and has just returned from an exchange programme in Seoul, I would never have thought of preparing kimchi (Korean appetisers usually served in tiny portions at the beginning of every meal) or anything from that land of abusive girlfriends and chauvinistic men.


Like a fish out of water, I scrutinised every item on the shelves in the Korean mini-mart baffled by the unfamiliar strokes, trying to find for Jajangmyeon noodles and other things like Shin Kimchi or the hot, red pepper powder that I'm certain has another tongue-twisting Korean name for it.

Surprisingly however, the preparation in the kitchen is not as complicating as shopping for the ingredients. It was terribly easy once all the ingredients were at hand. To make Bak Choi Kimchi it was just a matter of soaking the vegetables in brine and rinsing it before mixing it with the homemade Kimchi paste that was put together in a flash the blender. Other Kimchi-s such as the Poggi Kimchi (Napa cabbage) or the Kaktugi (Radish) followed almost the same steps.


Making the Kimchi Jeon (Kimchi pancake) or Pa Jeon (Seafood pancake) was even more brainless. Flour, egg, water, whisk, add filling, fry! According to my little cousin, only the most sour type of Kimchi that is generally used for cooking and not eating (very much like cooking chocolate vs. eating chocolate) should be used for the Kimchi Jeon. Unfortunately there was no Shin Kimchi in the mini-mart, but I settled for what the store owner pointed to as the more sour version of all the kimchi-s she had.


Our Kimchi Jeon turning out hilariously thick as I had poured too much batter into the tiny frying pan, resulting in it having nowhere else to run but upwards. But it was still incredibly tasty and satisfying. The kimchi provided enough saltiness to allow it to subsist without the usual accompaniment of light soy sauce.










Being adventurous and perhaps overly ambitious, we also made JaJangMyeon (Zha Jiang Mian, Black Bean Paste Noodles) and rice balls using recipes from my latest cookbook purchase: 'Discovering Korean Cuisine - Recipes from the Best Korean Restaurants in LA'. We also made pork nuggets using a recipe my cousin picked up from Seoul.


The following morning I decided I'd use some leftover cooked crabmeat to make a Pa Jeon. I added sliced squid rings and fresh prawns and attained a more delicate tasting pancake whose flavours were accentuated with a touch of light soy sauce.


If I had known it'd be so easy, I would have started much, much earlier. Of course, now the problem would be figuring out which of the 20 varieties of roasted, seasoned seaweed staring at me blankly in the mini-mart the recipe is asking for! And if I can single-handedly finish all the kimchi my cousin and I made that is now sitting pretty in huge containers in the fridge, I will turn into what my brother calls 'Kim Bak Soon'. Very bak (meaty) indeed. If anyone would like to challenge how one can get bak purely on vegetables alone, one look at my perfectly rotund bunny who eats hay, hay and more hay, should put an end to that conversation.

Peas In A Pod

For late night snacks when hunger creeps up and when I know it'll be a while before I can snuggle into my sheets, there are a couple of things I resort to. Yogurt with muesli; milk with cereal; fruit; almond biscuits; trail mix of assorted nuts and dried fruits; spoonfuls of P&J (when I get supremely desperate); unsuspecting packets of chips lying around; weetabix, dry; instant noodles; baked beans straight from the can (I know, I know) etc......

Believe me, it gets worse.

A couple of weeks ago (or more, time passes too quickly when there's plenty of work to do), I had an amazing lunch at Tampopo, a great ramen place within Liang Court, with my colleagues. We then trooped around Meidi-ya for a spot of shopping. We didn't end up with much except for a packet of yummy chocolate wafer snack. However, I had a eureka-moment when we passed by the frozen goods section. D mentioned that she loved Edamame especially as a snack at night.

I don't know why, but I never looked at Edamame that way before. I had packet stashed in my freezer from a Japanese dinner long ago, and we all know that the freezer is this miracle box that's cold and immortalises food, which means that they were/are still perfect for consumption. Edamame had always been a prelude to something better - a cheap sushi feast at Sushi Tei/Sakae Sushi or a luxurious multi-course Japanese dinner that would span a few hours with some great company.

So when I put the kettle on, and a pot over fire, taking my packet of frozen edamame out at 1130pm last night, I was worried that my body, by conditioned reflex, would feel even hungrier and expect something more after that. In my worry, I guess I might have grabbed an additional handful (or two) of edamame to pop into the boiling water.

3 minutes passed, I strained the beans and dunked them into some ice cold water to speed up the chilling period as well as to regain their grass-green beauty. Evidently, they didn't require much time from start to finish. I crumbled a pinch of Maldon Sea Salt all over, being certain that the beans would get a much needed boost from their oceanic friends.

Eventually, I realised my fears were unfounded. The beans were perfect on their own. They popped out easily from their pods and made for a guilt-free yet fulfilling snack. I lounged on my carpet with one of my favourite magazines, with holiday plans flooding my mine with beautiful imagery, enjoying my edamame with Moka running amok around me. For a brief moment, life was really perfect the way it was.

After my hunger was satiated, I rinsed my fingers in the bowl of lime-water and wiped them on my tea-towel, thinking to myself that there really wasn't anything more I could wish for.

Almost Quarter of a Century later...

It is no secret that I am biased towards non-local/Asian food, whether I am thinking about what to cook, or which restaurant to visit. I have to qualify that when it comes to eating out, this bias only applies to those days when the wallet is a little fatter and a special occasion warrants a generous palate-pampering. This is typically because GREAT Asian/local food is available in such abundance, at reasonably high quality, and at ridiculously low prices at some nearby coffeeshop or hawker centre. Paying premium prices for something I can get at a fraction of the price at a similar, if not better, standard is just not logical.

However, last night was an exceptional night in all senses of the word. To celebrate a MOMENTOUS occasion almost a quarter of a century earlier, my family wanted to go out for a good meal with my grandma. By that, of course, I really mean that I wanted to go out for a good meal with my family and my grandma.

While my grandma is generally appreciative of a variety of cuisines, I know that she truly enjoys Chinese food the most. As I wanted to make sure that she enjoyed the night as much as I was going to, I chose a contemporary chinese restaurant - New Majestic Restaurant - to celebrate the Momentous Occasion.

I ate there a couple of months back with some university friends and remember the meal with such fond memories, not just because of the laughter all around the table, but also because of the extremely delectable spread. Returning this time, I was certainly not let down. The meal lived up to my expectations, which we all know somehow escalates overtime, and impressed my entire family.

Once we arrived, I ordered their signature appetiser platter - soft-shell crab, crab omelette, wasabi prawns with a mango salsa of sorts and crispy pork belly- while pondering over the other dishes. They were all flavourful and contrasting in texture. My favourite was the wasabi prawns , which is pretty common in most contemporary chinese restaurants, but I've always had a soft spot for perfect, fresh, crystal prawns.



We ordered a couple of other dishes as well, most of which did not look good in front of the lens, but all of which tasted like heaven. The Roast Chicken with Five Spice Salt (pictured above) was recommended by the waiter, in place of the other wasabi chicken dish I initially planned to order, as he was afraid we'd turn green from overdosing on wasabi. It had everything you would expect of a good roast chicken, crisp skin and tender chicken. Even the chicken breast was not spared.

Cubed beef tenderloin in black pepper sauce impressed my grandma very much, to the extent that she started trying to concoct the recipe in her head with her eyes closed and a furrow between her brows. When the poached amaranth with three eggs (century, salted, chicken) arrived, it was a great interlude from all the rich dishes. The homemade tofu was equally, if not more impressive as it was incredibly silky, almost like soya beancurd deep-fried and drenched in a deliciously savoury sauce.

We had wok-fried mee sua which had plenty of wok hei, and which my mum and grandma were thoroughly amazed by because handling a noodle as delicate as mee sua is highly challenging. It's fine if it is merely dumped in doup, but when it has to be fried, to keep it from sticking to the wok or breaking into little pieces, surely requires more than just a wok, a ladle and a very big flame.

What I did not order again in this second visit, but which I wish I had the appetite to accomodate, was the Chai Tow Kuay aka Carrot Cake (Chinese-style). In hawker centres, these are served with small cubes of the rice cake fried with garlic, egg and seasoning. At New Majestic Restaurant, they added some crunchy beansprouts and spring onion, and served it with big, juicy cubes of rice cake. Before I tried it, I thought it would be overwhelmingly heavy and would cause the dish to become a little bland since the whole mouth would essentially filled with nothing but rice cake. It was however, and very surprisingly so, utterly tasty throughout - from bite to swallow.

Dessert was a must of course, and while I had tried many of their fancier desserts like Homemade Sorbet with Aloe Vera and Grass Jelly, or Fried Durian Ice Cream, what left the greatest impression on me was the Red Bean Pancake. It effectively raised my expectations of all other red bean pancakes henceforth. It is not enough to be crisp, with a suitably sweet and smooth red bean paste, it also has to be almost feather-like, providing only the slightest resistance between the teeth before it snaps into two fragile parts.

Dinner was truly a delight, and my dad was more than happy with their service, which really says alot since he is very particular about it everywhere we go. It was however, a little surreal that I was celebrating my 23rd birthday already. Not long ago, I was merely 16 years old, celebrating my birthday with my girlfriends at a foodcourt, right after the Chinese 'O' level paper. They serenaded me in the herb garden right outside the school. They concocted a potent cocktail of tabasco sauce, pepper, faux grated parmesan and whatever they could lay their hands on, for me to consume because well, it was just one of those wild things we did. They were such gems and such joy.

I remember thinking about where I'd be at 23, and decided that I would want to get married at 23, 2 years after graduation and just enough time to accrue a tidy sum of savings. At 25, I would have my first child, and my second would come at 27. My husband and I would then live happily ever after.

Now, in a blink of the eye, 7 years have passed?! I still keep in contact with those girls of course, and they are still such gems and joy. But the 'M' concept is getting increasingly elusive, and the thought of having children in two years time is more frightening than Halloween, so I'm thankful it'll definitely be a(long)while till then.

But 7 years have passed indeed, and it really scares me that I'll be 24 soon, then soon enough I'll really be a quarter of a century old. Before I know it, I'll be middle-aged, middle-income, and middle-heavy!

Soft and tough...

I find Japanese food incredibly beautiful. Slices of sashimi snugly displayed between some freshly grated wasabi and pink pickled ginger can look deliciously handsome. Their simple flavours also amaze me to no end, and are slowly creeping into the list of food I frequently crave for.

In my previous post on Japanese food, I mentioned how easy to prepare the dishes were. Of course, I've never tried preparing sushi though. I hear it takes decades to even master that. Ever since that fateful Japanese-themed dinner I hosted, I'd been hooked and kept thinking of other Japanese dishes to try.

I thought I'd try some Japanese desserts as well, starting with one of the most common - Daifuku. A round ball of glutinous rice cake stuffed with sweet filling, they are often beautifully packaged in the tiniest of wrappers and sold in boxes of a variety of flavours.

How difficult could it be?

They look friendly enough. Just some glutinous rice flour and water perhaps. Red beans boiled with plenty of water and sugar to a nice smooth paste. Easy peasy.

NOT.

I followed Kimiko Barber's cookbook again, and was a little disturbed by the microwaving of the final product and therefore did a trial with just one, which promptly turned rock hard to my utter distress!

The dough was difficult to manage and it didn't help that the recipe did not include any tips on handling dough that seemed to disintegrate the longer I held it in my hands. I finally succeeded by speeding up my handiwork and plonking it in the bowl of cornstarch as quickly as possible.

The recipe also called for canned red bean paste, which I went around by just making my own. Of course, I didn't know the red beans would take a full hour to even soften in boiling water.

Boiling the little white balls (as opposed to microwaving) seemed to work alot better, though some recipes called for steaming (I didn't want to fiddle around with a steamer). In the end, it was soft and pliable. But taking a bite from a piece I bought from Takashimaya earlier in the day, and then taking a bite from the one I made brought such massive disappointment.

The real McCoy was much more delicate, slightly chewy, and extremely soft. When I laid it in my hand it yielded to its own weight, flattened out and gently took the shape of my palm. My version stubbornly retained its irregularly odd shape and refused to budge. It was then that I really appreciated the skill involved in making these balls of 'great luck' (literally translated).

I'll attempt this again, most probably with better and more extensive research. But I'll never look at daifuku the same way again.

Simplicity at its best

Beef Tataki - A deceptively simple dish that P prepared, quick and delicious.

When a Japanese-crazy friend calls for a dinner party with an East Asian theme, I'd have to be crazy to think that he'd make anything other than Japanese. I was more than happy to go with the flow, but like my previous post, there is a whole lot of cuisines that I've never tried my hand at and Japanese is definitely one of them. That means that while I was eager to try my hand at Japanese cuisine, I was apprehensive and a little worried about the outcome, especially since it was for a dinner party.

Of course, I took the opportunity (read: excuse) to trawl through Kinokuniya's collection for a simple and reliable Japanese cookbook. Since it was my first attempt at Japanese, I was not going to risk attempting overly complicated recipes. Kimiko Barber's The Japanese Kitchen caught my eye with its clean and fresh cover photo, and then with the tres simple recipes.

They are organised according to common Japanese ingredients, cutting across the various kinds of roots, seeweeds, noodles, fruits etc...... A short and informative introduction is also included for each ingredient - 'How it grows', 'Appearance and taste', 'Buying and storing', 'Healthy Benefits', 'Culinary Uses', before several recipes are provided featuring the said ingredient. I find this style extremely useful, especially when I was pushing my trolley through Meidi-Ya supermarket (a very well-stocked Japanese supermarket at Liang Court). When I saw an ingredient I was unfamiliar with, I just had to look for the section on it to find out how I could possibly use it.

I decided to prepare appetisers, and since they were all so simple, requiring so little effort and ingredients, I chose 6 to make in small quantities per person.

Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce, Simmered Daikon with Grainy Mustard and Miso, Edamame with sea salt, Nameko with Grated Daikon, Asparagus with Vinegar Miso and Grilled Octopus with Sweet Miso Sauce. Since there were so many items on the menu, I had to make the effort to be very organised with my mise en place. All the ingredients were grated, chopped, simmered, boiled and sliced beforehand. The sauces were also mixed to the exact proportions required in advance. They were all placed in neat rows to be put together on the dishes just before serving.

The two items which surprised me (with recipes later) were the Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce as well as the Nameko with Grated Daikon. I had initial reservations about the yam sauce, as it comprised raw grated yam dunked in a light dashi stock-based sauce and served with cubes of raw tuna. I was not sure how raw grated yam would taste, and frankly the texture of the grated yam was a little off-putting. However, the flavours and textures came together in a very surprising harmony.

As for the Nameko with Grated Daikon, the description of Nameko was not at all appealing to me. 'Nameko grow in clusters. A bright orangey-brown, they have a tight little button cap measuring 1-2 cm across that is covered with gelatinous slime... [they] are particularly appreciated for their slipperiness on the tongue, which is unique and worth experiencing.' After a truly horrific experience with Japanese fermented soy beans - Natto, I have become wary of 'unique' food, and have developed a greater aversion to all things naturally slippery (I still don't really fancy okra/lady's fingers). However, dipped into the sauce and served with very finely julienned (my grater could not yield the fine matchsticks of daikon I had envisioned for the dish), I actually found it yummy and could truly appreciate its smooth and slippery texture, which I realised should not be confused with sliminess.

In addition, as a result of my usual tendency of wanting to send guests home in an 'oh-my-god-I'm-so-full-I'm-going-to-explode' state, I also rustled up Chilled Soba with Salmon Roe and Avocado. All it took was some very quickly cooked soba (overcooked soba is quite terrible to stomach), avocada cubes tossed in a wasabi-soy sauce dressing, fresh salmon roe and a small drizzling of soba dipping sauce. As a modern take on cold soba, it was yet another great combination, which my guests also enjoyed thoroughly.

The dishes exceeded my expectations and now I cannot wait to try other recipes from the book, using more foreign ingredients like Gobo/Burdock and Kampyo/Dried Gourd Strips. I've taken chances with other cookbooks before and have been let down numerous times. But this book has renewed my faith that as long as I perservere, I will definitely uncover a few gems once in a while.

Simplicity at its best

Maguro no tororo ae / Diced Tuna with Yam Sauce

Serves 4

Ingredients

275g yam, peeled and grated

450ml dashi stock

5 tbspn soy sauce

1 tbspn sugar

1/2 tbspn mirin

400g fresh tuna, cut into bite-sized cubes

1/2 tsp salt

To Garnish

2 tsp wasabi powder mixed with same amt of water

2 spring onions, finely sliced into rings

1 sheet nori (dried seaweed), finely shredded (which I omitted)

Method

Put the yam into a large mixing bowl.

Add the dashi stock, soy sauce, sugar and mirin and mix well.

Put the tuna in a separate bowl, sprinkle with the salt and pour int the yam mixture. Stir to combine.

Divide the tuna and yam mixture between four serving dishes and garnish with small mounds of wasabi, chopped spring onions and shredded nori.

Nameko oroshi/Nameko with Grated Daikon

Serves 4

Ingredients

110g nameko

200g daikon (Japanese radish), peeled and grated

Dressing

2 tbspn rice vinegar

1 tbspn sugar

1 tbspn light soy sauce

a pinch of salt (optional)

Method

Mix all the ingredients in a bowl, season and serve with a little of the dressing on the side if preferred.

Like a fish out of water

A quick glance at my ever expanding collection of cookbooks and it wouldn't be too difficult to identify what kind of food I am more inclined to cook. While my palate takes to Mee Hoon Kuay and Murtabak as comfortably as Aglio Olio and Duck Confit, my kitchen endeavours typically involve more thyme, rosemary and sage, than candlenuts, lemongrass and belachan.



I usually justify this by saying that it doesn't make sense trying to make from scratch a dish like Laksa (springy rice noodles in a rich, coconut-based broth that is indescribably flavourful from all the spices and herbs involved), when it can be easily purchased at a paltry sum of SGD$3 after a mere 5 minute walk, which is great for working up a mini appetite. It just seems like a helluva lot of work trying to match something that has already achieved phenomenal standards elsewhere. It felt like I was trying to reinvent the wheel.



At the end of the day however, I think I was just trying to find excuses not to try something that seemed so labour intensive. So I really admire people who actually bother trying to make Laksa.


Recently, I decided that I would try to push my limits and step out of my comfort zone within my comfort zone, if that makes sense. Basically, I'd still be working in my kitchen, the place I do so much cooking, baking, and smiling. But instead of cream, I'd have to use coconut milk. In place of dried parsley, I'd be using crushed coriander seeds. I would finally try cooking from the neighbouring region, using 'Inside the Southeast Asian Kitchen' as my tutor.



If you ever chance upon previous editions of cookbooks commissioned by ASEAN, I'm pretty sure you'd be, like I was, aghast about everything in it - from the layout to the writing and to the photos, or rather the lack of. As I slowly thumbed through the pages in the latest and far more attractive cookbook though, I could not help but flag out certain recipes I thought seemed easy yet interesting enough to try.





One of these was for Gudeg Yogya, long-cooked chicken and jackfruit (Yogya style). It didn't look like an overly painful process, though it did involve plenty of 'foreign' ingredients to me. When I decide to whip up something from my Damien Pignolet's French, or Jane Lawson's Cocina Nueva, I usually have about 80% of the ingredients in my cupboards just waiting to be used. However, I found that with this, I had to practically start from scratch and source for 80% of the ingredients on the list.



Jackfruit was also something I had never handled before. Thankfully, I met a superb vegetable/herbs/spices lady in Tekka Market, who sold virtually anything I needed to cook dishes from around the neighbouring countries. While wrapping the jackfruit up for me, she also gave me wise tips on managing the sap that oozes out when you slice the skin away (basically, keep wiping the knife with oil in between each slice).


Though, after all that effort I think I'll leave it to the pros next time. Coincidentally, I passed by a fruit seller in Tekka Market today, who was removing the flesh from the fruit. The deft of hand he had when dealing with the jackfruit was amazing, and he did it in a mere fraction of the time too.


Anyway, I went home happy with my loot and set to work almost immediately. Within 2 hours (though the chicken would have benefitted from a little more slow simmering), I managed to put together the Gudeg Yogya and a Chuchi pra kong (Chhouchi fragrant shrimp from Cambodia). The shrimp was supposed to involve some pounding, but a lack of a mortar and pestle meant that I had to resort to using a blender, which I knew would produce an inferior result. But I had no choice at that time, and am now eyeing a particular set I saw in a Korean minimart!


My family seemed pretty surprised that I made something so out of character for dinner that night. But I have to admit that I definitely felt like a fish out of water throughout the entire process. From the time I stepped into Tekka Market, looking for candlenuts without knowing how they even looked like, to the moment I took a peek into the pot of Gudeg Yogya, wondering if the jackfruit was supposed to take on that unappetising shade of earth-brown.


There was definitely plenty of room for improvement - I could have used Jackfruit that was a little more ripe, I could have added fewer than required dried red chillies to the Chuchi pra kong (it was incredibly spicy and my whole family was sniffing away by the end of the dinner), and I could definitely have stewed the chicken a little longer. What I also learnt is that my fears of cooking anything that required asian herbs and spices, were unfounded. Of course, that could be because I merely took the blender out and blitzed the herbs and spices together into a thick paste for each of the dishes.


Still, it is a start. I may not make perfect Indonesian chicken stew or Cambodian fragrant shrimp, but I've tried and can only get better from here.

In the meantime, at least I can say that I can steam fish! It is such a simple process, requiring only the freshest of ingredients for success. And it was one of the first few things my grandma and my mum taught me when I was tall enough to look down on the kitchen counter. I also If I could count the total number of hours I've spent picking fish meat from their bones, that might add up to quite a hefty sum.

Gudeg Yogya
Serves 6-8 for breakfast

Ingredients
1 medium chicken, ready for roasting
1 tsp salt
1 lemon, juiced
850ml thick coconut milk
1.1liters thin coconut milk
3 salam leaves (or bay leaves)
3 cm piece galangal (blue ginger)
900 g parboiled jackfruit segments (or canned green jackfruit drained and rinsed)
6-8 hard-boiled eggs, peeled (which I omitted)

Bumbu Paste
5 chopped shallots
5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tsp chopped ginger
8 kemiri (candlenuts) or macadamia nuts, or 10 blanched almonds, chopped
2 tsp ground coriander
1 tsp crumbled terasi (shrimp paste)
1 tsp ground white pepper
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp salt

Method
Rub outside of whole chicken with salt, then liberally rub the juice of the lemon all over the chicken. Wrap chicken loosely in aluminium foil, and roast in a pre-heated oven at 330 degrees Fahrenheit (165 degrees Celcius) for 1 hour.
Unwrap and chop the chicken into 8 or 10 portions, discarding some of the large bones.
(Alternatively, the whole chicken can be boiled with water in a separate saucepan, for 50 minutes from the time the water starts to boil.)

Blend all the ingredients for the bumbu with 8 tbspns of thick coconut milk until smooth and transfer it to a saucepan. Bring to the boil and simmer, stirring often, for 6 minutes.
Add thin coconut milk, salam or bay leaves and galangal, and continue to simmer for 10 mins. Add jackfruit, increase the flame and boil for 40 minutes.
Now add the remaining thick coconut milk, the chicken and eggs. Continue to simmer, stirring often, for 30-40 mins or until the sauce becomes quite thick.
Serve hot with plenty of boiled rice. The more the merrier!

As I only started cooking at 6pm, and had to speed through dinner preparation, I could not give the jackfruit nor the chicken the time they needed to soften into melt-in-your-mouth tenderness. It was therefore much yummier the day after. It might sound like a lot of work, but it actually is not. It just needs a little bit more time and patience.

Have you ever forgotten the feeling of....hunger?

For the past two weeks, my colleagues and I have been heading out of the stuffy and virus-inflicted office for lunches to celebrate birthdays, bid farewells or welcome newbies into the department.

Among others, we've had a pretty good Indonesian lunch buffet spread, luxurious pastas from Menotti (at Raffles' City Shopping Centre), sinful but super delicious Ayam Penyet (literally translated: smashed chicken) with Gado Gado, and a fairly wide range of thin-crust pizzas from Modestos.

And to make matters worse, I've had similarly heavy dinners after work too. I used to be busy trying to balance on one leg, while keeping the other suspended in mid-air at unattainable angles ('trying' being the operative work) - i.e. yoga. But when my contract ended, I decided not to renew it as they seemed to have oversold their membership.

I was no longer gaining peace, and instead had to keep battling with people's arms and legs infringing into my little private space demarcated by the often soggy blue yoga mat. If it sounds gross, you should just try it.

So with plenty of free time, plenty of friends eager to try new places with me, and plenty of new places to try, I discovered quite a few gems but also sadly (and quite frighteningly) forgot the feeling of hunger. A friend, S, who also happens to be my colleague, agreed with me and suggested that we have a 'SALAD DAY' this coming Monday. I could not have thought of a better idea to quell our (or at least my) anxieties that we would soon develop sitophobia - fear of food or eating.

While typing out the email to recruit fellow colleagues verging on sitophobia, I was running through the list of possible salad dressings I could contribute. The one tried and tested dressing that I've made quite frequently for different groups of people, is a miso-based one that is light and uber refreshing. The only problem would be making enough of it to go around.

It can be added to almost anything. I've used this with crisp iceberg lettuce, sweet romaine, and lollo rosso. For one version, I included soba (thin Japanese noodle made from buckwheat flour) and my adulterated version of teriyaki salmon - made from salmon, dark soy sauce and golden syrup in equal proportions.

For another, I simply grilled some store bought shishamo (the Cold Storages at Takashimaya and Bugis Junction stock a few of these) and served it with the salad leaves gently but thoroughly tossed through the miso dressing, a wedge of lemon and a sprinkling of bonito flakes (pictured above).

Its great as a tantalising starter, to get the tastebuds moving and eager for more. But double (or in my case, quadruple) the quantity for a healthy, and surprisingly comforting dinner for 1. Just salad, a fork and you're good to go! The following recipe is just a guide, and should be adjusted to taste. To try, just dip a piece of salad leaf into the dressing and taste.

With so little exercise in my schedule these days, I'm only more than happy that I've found such a great tasting dish that won't go straight to my thighs! Woohoo!

Miso Dressing for Salads

Ingredients

1 tbspn miso paste

2 tbspn mirin (omit if you have Muslim friends, though this would affect the taste quite significantly)

juice from half a lemon

2 tbspn sugar

1 tbspn light soy sauce

5 tbspns olive oil (or water, for an even lighter dressing)

Method

Mix miso, mirin, lemon, sugar and light soy sauce until well combined.

If using olive oil, trickle in slowly while whisking vigorously.

Mixture should form a brown, homogeneous dressing.

If using water, simply add in tablespoon by tablespoon until you attain your perfect dressing.

Hot Flavour of the Month

Support me in my bid to raise money for the Children's Cancer Foundation through Hair For Hope 2007. Read more about it here.

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New kid on the block? Hardly, really. When Chubby Hubby wrote about it here, it understandably shot up to the top on the 'who's who' list in the food scene. I had paid it a visit earlier on and got a seat easily. After the fateful entry however, not only was I turned away, I could not get a reservation for the rest of the month! Even the lady boss looked extremely frazzled by the busy state of affairs.

Now that things have quietened down slightly, it is easier to make a reservation, and if you're lucky, you could even walk in unannounced and get a seat (though I would rather err on the side of caution than make a futile trip down).

I love this place. From the atmosphere to the food. From the conscientious service to the Maccha Au Lait (Iced Green Tea with Milk).

The appetisers are presented in a small 2 tiered basket, come in 6 different varieties, and have never been the same each time I return. But I've never once disagreed with any of them. The most interesting item I had ever tried was some tiny raw cuttlefish/squid morsels that were marinated in a light wasabi sauce.

The last time I was there, the set dinner came with a little serving of light green tea tiramisu. My favourite choice if dessert would have to be the chef's selections though. Perhaps it is the element of surprise when the dessert comes, or that when I had it to share with a friend, there was a great variety of textures to tease and please.



What pleases me the most about the place however, is not so much the food, but the pace. It is almost like a sanctuary for me, a place I can run to when I have been too caught up in work that I have not taken enough time off for myself and need somewhere to hide.


Hide among the faux moss and beautiful lacquer ware. With homely Japanese food and a great book. Ahhhh......

A Wok Through Time

An extremely thoughtful, generous aunt of mine recently gave me an autographed copy of Sam Leong's new cookbook, A Wok Through Time. It held plenty of food porn and little odd quotes from the chef himself. In return, I intended to prepare a whole dinner using only recipes from the cookbook for her and a few other relatives. However, as I browsed through the cookbook and saw very slipshod recipe outlines, I grew a little worried. Similar to Anderson Ho's Menu Degustation: Tasting Menus of New Asia Cuisine, it took only 3 - 4 steps to create almost every dish and lacked sufficient detail for a novice chef to follow accurately.

As I soon found out though, Anderson Ho's recipes are still alright as long as you know the skills because the recipes that I've tried out resulted in great tasting dishes. But Sam Leong's recipes just don't seem to work at all. I tried out two of his recipes that required the least fuss to prepare and the flavours were just all wrong. The Bean Curd Topped with Baby Anchovies and Spring Onion was way over salted even after following the exact ingredient combination (minus the deep-friend baby anchovies). The very interesting sounding Wok-Fried and Stewed Assorted Mushrooms with Soy Bean Milk (with only a one liner under its 'Method') sounded a little exotic and exciting but was unpalatable if using the exact amount of herbs called for in the recipe. The rosemary overpowered any other flavours in the dish.

So I ended up throwing away my entire lunch and buying some comforting red bean buns to sooth my disappointment. I could be entirely wrong of course. Maybe I'm just doing something fundamentally wrong in the kitchen, or maybe my kitchen scale had decided to sabotage me. And I could tweak the recipes a little, but I'm probably not going to have enough time to try out every single recipe I intended to use for the dinner for my family. So it's back to the cookbook shelf to plan out a new menu. 'A Wok Through Time' is still going to stay on the shelf of course, as a source of inspiration and drool-worthy food porn. But I'm probably not going to try cooking from it again anytime soon. Not until I get all that rosemary out of my mouth.