15-Minute Dry Chicken Curry

15 minutes is all it takes to make dry chicken curry. ... . . .... . . . ....... . . . . . .. .. ... . . ... . . . . . . ... . .. . . .... . .. . . . . . .

5 minutes to chop some chicken, garlic, shallots and ginger; ....... . . . . . .. .. ... . . ... . . . . . . ... . .. . . .... . .. . . . . . .

5 minutes to stir-fry; ... .. . .. .......... ........ ........... ............ ............. . ....... . . . . . .. .. ... . . ... . . . . . . ... . .. . . .... . .. . . . . . ..

5 minutes to simmer, and it's done......... .................................................. ....... . . . . . .. .. ... . . ... . . . . . . ... . .. . . .... . .. . . . . . ..

DRY CHICKEN CURRY (Recipe for 4 persons) 1 tbsp vegetable oil 10 g finely minced ginger (1 tbsp packed) 4 finely minced shallots (2 tbsp packed) 5 cloves finely minced garlic (3 tbsp packed) 60 g curry powder (4 tbsp), mixed with 4 tbsp water to form a paste (I use Nonya brand) 2 large chicken legs (600 g bone-in), chopped chunky, bite size 2½ tbsp light soya sauce In a wok, non-stick if possible, stir-fry ginger and shallots in hot oil over medium heat till lightly golden. Add garlic and stir-fry till lightly golden as well. Add curry powder and stir-fry till fragrant, drizzling with a bit of water when it's too dry, 1 tsp at a time, just enough to prevent everything from clumping up completely. Or, if you prefer, you can add a bit more oil. Spread/smear the paste whilst stirring. If it starts to smoke, lower the heat. Keep stirring and don't stop till you can smell an intense aroma. When curry powder is aromatic, crank up the heat to high. Wait a few seconds for the wok to heat up. Add chicken. Stir till evenly coated, adding water if it gets too dry, 1 tbsp at a time. Drizzle with light soya sauce. Stir till absorbed. Add enough water to cover half of chicken. Scrape to deglaze. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer gently for 5 minutes, stirring once half way through. Uncover and increase heat to high. Stir and reduce sauce till chicken is thickly coated. Taste. Adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve hot with rice or bread.

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Pork Maw Soup

There're two schools of thought when it comes to cleaning the pig's stomach. You could use an acidic cleaning agent, such as lemon, lime, vinegar or even coke. This is the quicker and easier method, and one that my mother always sniffed at because the acid is usually too strong. It removes not only the yucky smell but also the good, making the maw rather tasteless. She always used the physical method which is somewhat like a . . . sort of facial, with exfoliation and a peel-off mask!

My mother's method has lots of coarse salt rubbed on the maw which is turned inside out. That's the exfoliation. Next comes the deep cleansing. The maw is dusted generously with corn flour which, unlike other masks, requires no waiting time at all. It's peeled off immediately, using a method that you should never try on your face. The maw is seared, briefly and without oil, so that the flour and all the nasty stuff it's mixed with is stuck to the wok/pot. Isn't that brilliant?! In a matter of minutes, the slime is all gone and the maw clean and ready to cook.

When it comes to eating offal – or "spare parts", as I like to call the "nasty bits" – there're also two schools of thought: those who don't and those who do. Obviously, I belong to the latter group and I'm damn proud of it. I grew up eating not just the pig's stomach but also intestines, blood, heart, spleen, liver, tongue, kidneys and brain. No lungs though because that was too much work, even for my mother. I also love the 'odds and ends' on the outside, like the ears (crunchy) and snout (spongy)!

Some people think offal is eaten by those who are poverty stricken, or uncivilized, or both. Unless it's foie gras, of course, then it's a different story. Besides the famed goose liver, the French eat an awful lot of offal, such as andouillette (pig colon sausage), boudin (pig blood sausage), tête de veau (calf's head) and duck gizzard salad. In fact, you can buy chicken gizzards in little plastic tubs in French supermarkets, clean and ready to cook. And at the Sunday market in the Marais, you can find rows of pig snout displayed proudly. I tell ya, that was an awesome sight that warmed my heart! If anyone knows about food, it must be the French. If they think offal is cool, it can't possibly be awful, right?

I had watched my mother clean pork maw lots of times but never did it myself until today. It wasn't as tedious or yucky as I had thought. Now that I know it's a 10-minute job, I'm gonna make pork maw soup more often. I heart pork maw soup. Om nom nom nom . . . .

PORK MAW SOUP (Recipe for 4 persons) 1 pork maw 3 tbsp coarse salt 3 tbsp corn flour 4 tbsp white peppercorns, or to taste 1 big chicken breast (about 500 g), cut into 8 pieces, blanched in boiling water, then rinsed light soya sauce to taste, ½ tsp (not much needed if stock is robust) ground white pepper to taste, a few dashes 1 tbsp roughly chopped coriander Make a cut 7-8 cm (3 inches) long in bottom end of maw. Turn maw inside out through the cut. Make sure creases in top end are completely turned out. Rinse thoroughly under running water. Drain. Sprinkle with salt all over, about 2 tbsp. Rub thoroughly. Rinse well under running water. Drain. Sprinkle with corn flour all over, about 3 tbsp. Make sure maw is completely covered. Sear over medium heat without oil, in a wok/pot that's not non-stick, till flour sticks to the wok/pot, or sticks to the maw and is cooked/hardened. This takes maybe ½ minute each side. Remove and rinse under running water. There may be stubborn bits of flour that stick to the maw. Scrape 'em off with a scissor blade. Rinse again. Maw should now be completely free from slime. Rub 1 tbsp salt all over. Rinse and drain. If you want a more peppery soup, crush peppercorns and toast till fragrant. Otherwise, leave 'em whole and untoasted. Gently simmer maw, peppercorns and chicken in 4 cups water, covered. Maw is done when it's tender, about 1 hour 20 minutes. Snip off a small bit and have a taste. When ready, remove maw to cool down. Check if there's enough soup, about 3 cups for 4 servings. You should if your pot is tightly covered. If not, top up with more water and simmer for another 10 minutes. Remove chicken to cool down. When cool enough to handle, cut maw on the slant into thin, bite size slices. Tear chicken into shreds. Cover till ready to serve. To serve, bring soup and shredded chicken to a boil. Simmer for a few minutes to moisten chicken. Season with light soya sauce and ground white pepper to taste. Place maw in serving bowls. Add soup and chicken. Garnish with coriander. Serve piping hot with some light soya sauce or sambal on the side.

Buddha's Delight (罗汉斋)

It was my mother's birthday a few days ago. To commemorate her, I made a big pot of Buddha's delight (罗汉斋) or, if you prefer the less elegant name, chap chai (什菜). It was a dish she always made for our first breakfast of the Chinese New Year.

Since Mum passed away, my eldest brother has taken over the duty of feeding some 20 people on CNY morning. And it has to be vegetarian, as it always was when Mum was still around. Whilst everyone else is still snoozing, Big Brother is up at 7 am making chap chai, vegetarian bee hoon, stir fried kai lan (Chinese broccoli), and Cheng Tng (清汤). I wish I could do it but it's a great honour reserved for the first-born male heir of the clan. The girls and younger ones don't have such a privilege – sob! They have to pay their respects to the first-born son – a slap on the back plus 'Happy New Year!' – then sit down to a home cooked breakfast. Oh, sob sob sob!

My brother's chap chai is the low-fat version because, like a lot of people, he thinks fat is evil. But cabbage without enough fat is nasty. You don't want to see a layer of oil floating on the surface but if you don't see any oil at all, you might as well just boil the cabbage. What I like to see is a few globules which, to me, represents the perfect balance – not too much; not too little.

Every year during the breakfast gathering at my brother's place, I feel like crying, "What have you done to Mum's chap chai?!" But of course, I keep my big mouth shut. He might say, "Fine! You're so smart, we'll go to your place for Chinese New Year breakfast!" Oh no, I can't make breakfast for 20 people! The best I can do is jot down how Mum made chap chai:

Cabbage – use flat ones from Malaysia, not Indonesia. And not the round ones from China either.

Oil – not too much; not too little.

Dried mushrooms – use lots, the best possible from Japan, stir-fried till fragrant.

Lily buds – knotted tightly and stir-fried separately so that they absorb some oil and light soya sauce.

Sweet beancurd skin – burns easily; use low heat when deep-frying.

Hair moss (发菜) – a couple of small clumps for good luck.

Cooking time – braise cabbage till soft but not mushy.

Quite easy, isn't it? Seems like nothing to it at all but somehow, Mom's version was really good. It was everyone's delight.

BUDDHA'S DELIGHT (罗汉斋; CHAP CHAI; 什菜) (Recipe for 8 persons) 35 g Chinese dried mushrooms (10 pieces) 35 g dried lily buds (a small bunch) 50 g glass noodles (冬粉 or 粉丝), soaked till al dente 7 pieces sweet beancurd skin, each cut into 4 pieces, and deep-fried in warm oil till . . .darkened and 'blistery' 3 tbsp vegetable oil 80 ml light soya sauce (1/3 cup) 500 g cabbage, washed and cut chunky 2 small clumps hair moss (发菜), optional, soaked till soft Soak mushrooms in water till soft, about 30 minutes. Drain and squeeze dry, reserving liquid. Cut bite size. Soak lily buds till soft, 30-45 minutes. Drain and discard liquid. Rinse thoroughly and squeeze dry. Trim and discard hard ends. Tie each piece into a knot, tightly (or they'll loosen when tossed around). Stir-fry over high heat with ½ tbsp vegetable oil and 2 tsp of the light soya sauce. Set aside. Stir-fry mushrooms till fragrant with remaining oil over high heat. Add cabbage and stir-fry till wilted and wok is hot again. Add remaining light soya sauce. Stir till absorbed. Add lily buds, sweet (or savory) beancurd skin, and liquid drained from mushrooms. Top up with water to almost cover everything. Stir to mix well. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer gently till cabbage is soft but not mushy, about 45 minutes, stirring and topping up with more water mid-way if necessary. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Add hair moss, if using, and glass noodles. Add more water if necessary – glass noodles absorb a lot of liquid – so that it's not too dry. Stir through. Taste again and adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve piping hot with rice or porridge. Reheated leftovers are really good too.

Noodles with Red Wine Dregs (红糟面线)

A few weeks ago, I made some chicken with red wine dregs (红糟鸡). As I was writing about how effective red yeast rice extract was in lowering cholesterol, I looked at the photos I had taken. And I started to get worried. The red yeast stuff looked so . . . red!

Maybe there's something wrong with photos?

I went to the fridge and looked at the real wine dregs. Nope, there was nothing wrong with the photos. The dregs were really that shade of fire engine red. I rubbed my tummy, feeling rather uneasy.

Yikes! It must be Sudan Red!

Sudan Red, a carcinogenic industrial chemical dye, is found in a lot of red colored food products.

Remember the salted eggs recall a few years back?

That was because of Sudan Red, which was used to make the yolks redder and more appealing to consumers. Other common products that might contain Sudan Red are tomato sauce, saffron and chilli powder. In fact, anything that has chillies is highly suspect. And because these sauces and spices are used to make other products, Sudan Red could be found in anything from pies to sausages, salad dressing, pasta sauces, pasta and stews. In 2005, the UK had its biggest food recall ever involving over 600 products contaminated with Sudan Red (story here).

I could have thrown away the gaudy, red paste from China but I really liked the chicken cooked with it. Anyways, innocent till proven guilty, right? I decided to give the wine dregs a chance before I sent it to the gallows/bin. I emailed the AVA – Agri-Food & Veterinary Authority, which is in charge of food safety in Singapore – and asked them to check if there was Sudan Red or other food colouring in the wine dregs I had bought.

I guess you can tell from the recipe I'm sharing today that it's good news from the AVA. Despite the artificial looking hue of red, the wine dregs have no added colouring at all, permitted or prohibited.

Phew! It's safe!

The AVA responded with the test results in two weeks which was quite efficient, I thought. And all I had to do was send them an email saying blah blah blah. Not bad at all.



Naturally, I should reward myself after all the 'hard work' done for the investigation. What could be more appropriate than noodles and pork ribs floating in a sea of natural red?

I was happily slurping my noodles when I saw something in the box they came in. It was a piece of paper provided by the manufacturer to separate the two layers of noodles in the box, and it said . . . 'Soon Fat'.

Aaaah! So that's why I'm putting on weight!

NOODLES WITH RED WINE DREGS (红糟面线) (Recipe for 4 persons) 3 tsp vegetable or white sesame oil 12 thin slices ginger (12 g or so) 6 tbsp red wine dregs (90 g) (红糟 or 'fermented rice residue') 600 g pork ribs chopped about 5 cm (2 inches) long, washed and drained 6 tbsp Shaoxing wine (or red glutinous rice wine, which is the wine used traditionally, . . .if you have some) 3 tbsp light soya sauce ½ tsp salt 4½ tbsp sugar 150 g xiao bai cai (小白菜, aka bok choy) 8 bundles mee sua (面线), or 250 g dried noodles such as bee hoon or ramen, . . .cooked according to package instructions Heat wok till very hot. Add oil and heat till just smoking. Add ginger and stir-fry over medium heat till lightly golden. Add wine dregs and stir-fry till fragrant and colour darkens. Increase heat to high. Give wok a few seconds to heat up. Add ribs and stir-fry till heated through and wok is stonking hot again. Add 2 tbsp wine. Stir till absorbed. Add other seasoning. Stir till absorbed again. Add rest of wine, and enough water to just cover ribs. Stir to deglaze wok. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer on low heat for 45 minutes. Top up with more water if necesssary. Have a taste when sauce is thickened. Adjust seasoning if necessary. If it doesn't taste right, you probably need more sugar. Top with more water to just covering ribs again. Cover and simmer gently till meat is tender and sauce is thickened, 30-45 minutes depending on how soft you like it. Remember to check that water doesn't boil dry and top up as needed. Skim off oil if necessary. When ribs are ready, bring 6 cups water to a boil in a pot big enough to hold the noodles and vegetables as well. Add ¾ of ribs' sauce. Taste and add more sauce if necessary. You probably need most of it. Add more light soya sauce and sugar if necessary but it probably isn't. Add vegetables. Bring to a gentle boil. Add cooked noodles and bring back to a gentle boil. Turn off heat. Plate and top with ribs. Serve. Some brands of mee sua are very salty even after blanching in hot water. If that's the case, remember to use less sauce when assembling noodles. Mee sua overcooks easily, and it absorbs a lot of liquid as it sits. Take care it's not overcooked; make sure there's sufficient stock; and serve immediately. Slurp up the noodles pronto; don't wait.

Durian Seeds, Anyone?

Whilst browsing David Lebovitz's blog, I chanced on his comment that he had eaten durian seeds before. He didn't say whether the durian seeds were good though, not that I would trust him even if he had. I mean, what would an ang moh know about durians? According to him, durians – the pulp or, if you want to be technical, the aril – taste like "a ripe, almost rotting coconut". See? Told you!

Durians don't taste anything like coconuts, rotting, green or whatever. All durian experts – like me, ahem! – know that durians taste like . . . well, durians. Nothing else in the world that comes close.

I totally respect David's expertise in cakes and such. He used to be a pastry chef after all. But when it comes to durians, step aside, David!

How is it that an American ang moh in Paris has eaten durian seeds whilst I'd never heard that they were edible? Indignant that I had been outdone by a 'barbarian' – – I felt I had to try some durian seeds myself, pronto.

I guess most people throw away durian seeds after eating the pulp. Is that a waste? Are durian seeds the biggest culinary secret waiting to be discovered? What do durian seeds taste like? I set out to find out.

After I made durian with sticky rice, I kept the seeds instead of chucking them away like I usually do. I put them in a small pot of gently simmering salted water and waited impatiently. The seeds were chopstick tender after 20 minutes but even before I tasted one, the signs weren't good. The seeds emitted a rather foul smell whilst they were on the stove. And when I fished one out of the pot, it was very slimy, somewhat like boiled ladies' fingers. I pried it apart with a pair of chopsticks and . . . 'Eeeew!' See the photo? There were sticky strands of what looked like glue or saliva. Gross! Not gross enough to me make abort the investigation though. I broke off a tiny, tiny bit of the seed and popped it in my mouth. I was prepared to spit it out immediately but it was ok. After a moment's hesitation, I chewed, cautiously . . . . There was only one way to describe it:

Ok, not quite retching bad because it was actually quite bland. But it was bland in a bad way, with something that I couldn't quite put my finger on at first. What is that smell? After taking the photos, sniffing, tasting, and as I write this post, I now have some idea. The seeds tasted like sulphur compounds, rotten eggs and, to quote David Lebovitz's grandmama, 'the gas from a thousand asses'. It was all those things that durian haters say durians taste like. Honest to god, it smelt and tasted like someone farted . . . a silent one, know what I mean? Not the most horrible one possible but bad nonetheless. It also tasted like gum, the starchy, paste type that comes in small, colourful plastic tubs. And the texture was kind of gummy. Here I go again, eeeew!

I wish I could tell you that durian seeds are delicious but unfortunately that's not the case. They're bland yet vile at the same time. Chuck 'em where they belong: in the bin! That was what I did with the ones I cooked.

Durian with Sticky Rice

If I were a durian, I would hide in a corner and cry my eyes out. All those hurtful comments! The king of fruits may be revered in Asia but elsewhere, it has been compared to public lavatories, human pee, bat pee, sulphur compounds, gas from a thousand asses, French kissing dead grandmothers, rotting cats, rotting onions, rotting fish, rotting pineapples in sewers, rotting flesh in custard, dirty socks, turpentine . . . .

Did I miss anything?

Oh yes, rotten eggs, clogged drains, garbage, cow dung and pig dung. Maybe that's why durians have a thick, spiky husk? To protect themselves from the cruel world?

Of course, the rude people who make rude remarks about durians have no idea what a D24 or D101 is even if one hit them in the face! They're like the blind talking about the Mona Lisa, or pigs about flying. And I bet they've never had fermented durian. Oh yes, yum!

If you want a creditable opinion on durians, you should ask Stanley Ho, Macau's casino king. Someone who spends US$330,000 on a single white truffle (story here) should know his food, right? Couple of months ago, Stanley Ho sent his private jet to Singapore to buy some durians (story here). I don't think he got the best ones possible 'cause it was unusually wet last July. Rain makes durians watery and dilutes the taste. The best time to have Malaysian durians is when the weather is hot and dry, which allows the durians to concentrate their heavenly aroma. But then again, when you're 89 like Stanley Ho and you feel like eating something, eat it! Who knows whether you would see another sunny day, eh?

Durians from Malaysia used to be an annual fruit harvested around July-August but it's now also available around February-March. And the seasons now stretch up to maybe four months instead of just two when I was a kid. And Thai durians are available year round, though those are to Malaysian durians as eggplants are to caviar.

You know what's the other significant change in durians over the years? Buying durians used to be a man kind of thing. It was always my father who bought durians, never my mother, because a big bag of durians with husks is really heavy. And we needed a big bag 'cause there were so many kids. One day, some durian seller had an idea. He took the durian seeds out of their husks and packed them in Styrofoam boxes. Since then, women folks have been liberated from their dependency on men when it comes to buying durians! Is that brilliant or what? A lot of men still buy durians with husks though. They claim that those with husks preserve their flavour better. Hah! I think it's just a macho thing.

Because durians are so common and cheap now, my love for the king of fruits has dimmed to a more mellow affair. I still like durians but they don't make me go glassy-eyed any more. Instead of grabbing greedily with my bare hands, I use a bowl and chopsticks. Everyone wonders why I use chopsticks; I wonder why they don't. Instead of au natuel, I now prefer durians in cakes (from Goodwood Park Hotel – yum!), or cream puffs (from Joo Chiat – also yum!). Or with sticky rice from my kitchen – yum yum!

The balance of ingredients is very important in Durian with Sticky Rice. The easiest mistake made is adding too much sugar, which overwhelms everything else in the dish, especially the glutinous rice. If you can't taste the rice, what's the point of having it, right? Adding too much durian is not good either – might as well just eat durian! A good Durian with Sticky Rice should present all the five different flavours – sticky rice, durian, sugar, coconut milk and salt – distinctly but in harmony. When the balance is right, the king of fruits is truly embellished. But please don't take my word for it. Make it yourself! Hail the king!

DURIAN WITH STICKY RICE (Recipe for 4 persons) ⅔ cup glutinous rice 360 ml fresh undiluted coconut milk (1½ cups) 1 medium size durian, or 1 box if you're in Singapore (2-3 seeds per portion) 4 pandan leaves (20 g), washed and cut 7-8 cm (3 inches) long ¼ tsp salt 35 g sugar (2½ tbsp) 35 g palm sugar (2½ tbsp packed), roughly chopped Wash glutinous rice till water runs clear. Add water to just cover rice. Steam 10 minutes over medium heat. Drizzle with 3 tbsp coconut milk. Stir to mix well. Make a few holes in the rice with a chopstick so that it cooks evenly. Steam 10 minutes. Drizzle with another 3 tbsp coconut milk. Mix and make a few holes again. Steam another 10 minutes. Turn off heat. Cover till ready to serve. Whilst rice is steaming, remove durian pulp from seeds with a knife. Hold durians with a plastic bag if you don't want your hands to smell. Try not to mash up the pulp too much. Set aside. Discard seeds. To make sauce, gently remaining simmer coconut milk, pandan leaves and salt in a small pot. Whilst simmering, add sugar and palm sugar to taste. Taste sauce with a bit of durian and rice till you find the level of sweetness you like. Turn off heat. Remove pandan leaves and discard. Add durian pulp. Stir. Put hot glutinous rice in a plate or bowl. Top with durian and hot coconut sauce. Let rice steep in the sauce for a few minutes before eating. There should be enough sauce to lightly coat each grain of rice, which should be creamy and soft but not mushy. Do not overwhelm durian and rice with too much sauce. Enjoy!

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