Steamed Fish Head

What do char kway tiao, or luak, bak chor mee, and Teochew style steamed fish have in common, apart from being Teochew?

Don't know? What if I remove steamed fish from the list, and add or nee, chai tow kway and yam mooncakes? Is it obvious now?

Ladies and gentlemen, all these Teochew dishes have lard – lots and lots of glorious lard!

Wait a second . . . there's lard in Teochew steamed fish? But of course! It's not rendered liquid lard or fried bits of golden lardon, but strips of raw, white pork fat steamed together with the fish. Sadly, it's usually omitted nowadays because of the phobia of animal fats. Are you afraid of lard?

The lard for steamed fish should be the firm fat found just underneath the pigskin rather than the floppy, shapeless fat in the belly. That, along with pickled plums and kiam chye (pickled mustard greens), makes Teochew steamed fish Teochew . . . . Oh hang on, there's something else if you want uncompromised authenticity: Dipping the fish in fermented soya beans

Ah yes, don't forget the taucheo, which should be the light rather than dark type. For cooking, either would do but you'd want the less salty, light-coloured one for a dip.

Good taucheo is very fragrant and umami, and it brings out the sweetness of the fish. Clean tasting fish like threadfin or red snapper is dipped in taucheo neat, but fishier fish like big head carp or rabbitfish goes well with a squeeze of lime, some cili padi and julienned young ginger.

Besides piling a heap of stuff on steamed fish, Teochews also love steaming fish as it is, with nothing added at all. Sometimes, I kid you not, the fish isn't even gutted or scaled. I'm guessing only Teochews would appreciate such a peasant style!

And only Teochews – those who don't live in China but understand the dialect – would appreciate how hilarious Snow White is in Teochew. If you're one of these, please watch this video 'cause it's really funny, especially 2:32 and 2:42 which had me in stitches:

TEOCHEW STEAMED FISH HEAD (Recipe for 6 persons) 3 medium size Chinese dried mushrooms 20 g kiam chye (pickled mustard greens) 4 cili padi (bird's eye chillies) 1 piece ginger, thumb size, peeled 30 g lard 2 pickled plums, seeded and roughly chopped large pinch of sugar 1 song yu (松鱼, big head carp) fish head, . . . halved lengthwise 1 tbsp light soya sauce Dip 4 tbsp light taucheo (fermented soya beans) juice of 4 calamansi limes 6 cili padi (bird's eye chillies), roughly chopped 1 tbsp julienned young ginger Other types of fish, such as sea bass, ikan selar and white pomfret, can also be used. Rinse mushrooms and soak till soft in just enough water to almost cover, about 30 minutes. Squeeze dry, reserving the water. Trim and discard stalks. Slice thinly. Place mushrooms back in the reserved water. Rinse kiam chye, chillies, ginger and lard. Slice thinly. Mix with pickled plums, sugar and mushrooms. Remove gills, liver, bile sac, scales, etc from fish head. Rinse thoroughly and drain. Drizzle with light soya sauce. Place mushroom mixture on fish. Steam fish head over rapidly boiling water till just cooked, about 12 minutes. If steaming one piece at a time, thinner side without backbone needs only 10 minutes or so. Serve immediately with dip, made by mixing together all ingredients.

Sambal Kangkong

Do you know that there's a connection between kangkong and the God of Fortune, aka 财神爷?

I'm guessing you don't, so here's the story:

3,000 years ago, China was ruled by an emperor who knew diddly squat about everything. As with all useless emperors, he had a wicked concubine, and his was called 妲己.

One day, 妲己 pretended to be ill and said she needed to eat 比干's heart to be cured. 比干 was the good guy who was trying to set the useless emperor on the right path, so the concubine – actually a 'fox spirit' in human form – wanted to get rid of him.

Fortunately for 比干, one of his colleagues cast a spell on him so that he could live after his heart was dug out. There were, however, conditions: Upon losing his heart, 比干 had to leave the city on a galloping horse till he was at least 2,000 miles away, without looking back.

The bad news was, the evil concubine/fox heard about the spell, and transformed herself into an old woman selling kangkong. 'Kangkong! Kangkong!' she shouted . . . . Oops, sorry, she didn't speak Malay. It should be '空心菜! 空心菜!'

Upon hearing her cries, 比干 turned around to ask her what 空心菜 was. As he did, he fell from his horse and died 'cause the spell was broken.

What's all this got to do with the God of (Good) Fortune? Well, the stupid guy who couldn't follow simple instructions was deified as said god after he died. Why? Because he was heartless, so he couldn't favour anyone and would always be fair. That, I suppose, outweighed his inability to focus and not get distracted!

I guess 比干 didn't learn from Lot's wife, who looked back and turned into a pillar of salt. Or Orpheus, who looked back and his wife disappeared into thin air – poof! Good thing he didn't or he wouldn't have the dream job he has now, working only 15 days each year during the CNY period – very cushy!

SAMBAL KANGKONG (WATER SPINACH IN CHILLI PASTE) (Recipe for 2 persons) 250 g kangkong (water spinach) Sambal 3 dried chillies, soaked in warm water till soft, about 1 hour, drain and discard water 1 tbsp dried prawns, soaked in 1 tbsp water till soft, about ½ hour 1 red chilli 2 cili padi (bird's eye chilli) 3 shallots 1 clove garlic ½ tsp belachan, toasted till fragrant 2 tbsp vegetable oil ½ tsp salt ¼ tsp sugar The key to good stir-fried kangkong is a stonking hot wok. If too much is cooked in one go, the wok won't be hot enough. Hence, the recipe is for 250 g kangkong, which is only 150 g or so after trimming off the roots. That's enough for 2 portions, I think. If you need to make a lot, I'd suggest stir-frying the sambal in one go, then the kangkong in batches. Trim and discard roots of kangkong. Wash, then break thicker stems by pressing with fingers. Chop into 8-cm (3-inch) pieces. Set aside to drain. Wash, peel and roughly chop sambal ingredients as appropriate. Drain dried prawns, setting aside the water. Blend or pound everything into a fine paste. Have a taste and add more cili padi if you like. In a stonking hot wok, stir-fry sambal in vegetable oil over high heat till fragrant. Add salt and sugar. Stir through. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Add kangkong and stir-fry till just wilted, 30 seconds or so, drizzling with the water for soaking dried prawns towards the end. Taste again and adjust seasoning if necessary. Plate and serve immediately.

Marmite Ribs

I'd intended to buy a jar of Marmite to make Marmite Pork Ribs only after I finished some of the sauces and whatnots (which were threatening to spill out of the kitchen into the living room). But my self-discipline crumbled when I saw what a great sense of humour the makers of Marmite have, as the commercial shows. Love it or hate it? I'd never had Marmite before, and I couldn't wait to find out. dldl dldld dldl ldl dldld

I wandered up and down the aisles in the supermart looking for Marmite. I knew it had to be there somewhere because I had phoned earlier and made sure the supermart had stocks. It wasn't with the jams and spreads, nor sauces and condiments. Hmm, yeast extract . . . . Yeast? Baking products? Nope, not there either. Where else could it be? You'd never had guessed! Marmite, together with its best friend, Bovril, was sitting next to the cough syrups, plasters and ENO. Why? God only knows!

The best description of Marmite I've come across is from Reginald Hunter who said, during a Stephen Fry show, 'Marmite tastes like there's a naked man with hairy legs in your kitchen, and every now and again you take a plate with some toast, and walk onto his butt and go “Ok friend, do what you do best!”'

Was there any truth in what Reginald Hunter says? Umm . . . I wouldn't know. I've never had anything of what he described in my kitchen.

Does Marmite taste like, as a Steve Johnson article put it, 'faecal-brown . . . sludge of processed fungal industrial waste'? Hmm, not sure what those taste like either.

After reading the nasty insults about Marmite, I was a bit apprehensive about eating it, to be honest. I dipped the tip of a chopstick into the jar, and took a little lick of the black, gooey stuff, neat. Hmm . . . . It was rather like reduced fish sauce, which I'd made once by mistake when trying a Thai recipe. Both tasted kinda burnt and bitter, and were extremely salty – pretty nasty, in other words.

Marmite neat wasn't for me. Next, I tried the most popular way of enjoying Marmite: a wee bit of the yeast extract spread t-h-i-n-l-y on generously buttered toast. I took a small bite and . . . . Hey, it's not bad! The salt in the yeast extract went well with the butter, I thought. In fact, spaghetti tossed with Marmite and butter is delicious, if you believe the Domestic Goddess. It's better than bak chor mee, she (sort of) says in the video here.

The grand finale and highlight of my tasting session was pork with Marmite. The thick, meaty prime ribs braised with Marmite, sugar, honey, ketchup and Worcestershire sauce could be summed up in one alphabet: Mmmmm . . . . The sugar and honey masked the burnt, bitter taste of Marmite, leaving a sweet and savory sauce that was a perfect fit with tender, juicy ribs falling off the bone. If everyone ate Marmite this way, I'm sure there wouldn't be any Marmite hate groups!

And now, I'm ready for the gourmet version:

Marmite XO, anyone? . . . . lit tl lk dlkdl dlkdl dlkd dldkl lkdj dldk l

MARMITE PORK RIBS (Recipe for 4 persons) 500 g pork ribs chopped 3-4 cm long, wash and drain 2 tbsp Marmite 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce 1 tbsp tomato ketchup 2 tbsp sugar 2 tbsp honey Put all ingredients in a pot, with ribs in a single layer if possible. Add enough water to almost cover ribs. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer gently till meat is just tender, about 1 hour, topping up with more water if necessary so that sauce covers at least half of ribs all the time. Next, increase heat to medium-low, leave pot uncovered, and reduce sauce till sticky, stirring from time to time to ensure even heating and prevent the sides from burning. This should take 15-20 minutes depending on the amount of liquid. When sauce is just short of ready, skim and discard excess oil. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Turn off heat. Give ribs a few last turns to coat evenly with thickened sauce. Plate and serve. You might not believe it but when the sauce has the right consistency, it tastes a little chocolatey.

Baked Cod

In 1950, New York Times science editor Waldemar Kaempffert wrote an article about what miracles the world might see in 2000. At a time when modems hadn't been invented yet, he predicted that access to The New York Times would be possible 'in your home, in the streets, in the trains and cars that carry you to your work, in the bargain basement of every department store'. Video phone calls, TV via phone lines, and faxes that cost next to nothing were also predicted. As was hair removal cream, though it wasn't foreseen that said cream would become a taboo for men: they'd rather die before they let anyone know they use it!

Some of Waldemar Kaempffert's predictions were spot on but there were others which were way off, like what he said about food and cooking:

'Cooking as an art is only a memory in the minds of old people. A few die-hards still broil a chicken or roast a leg of lamb, but the experts have developed ways of deep-freezing partially baked cuts of meat. Even soup and milk are delivered in the form of frozen bricks. 'In eight seconds a half-grilled frozen steak is thawed; in two minutes more it is ready to serve. It never takes . . . more than half an hour to prepare . . . an elaborate meal of several courses. 'Sawdust and wood pulp are converted into sugary foods. Discarded paper table [paper] “linen” and rayon underwear are bought by chemical factories to be converted into candy.'

Eww, candy made with discarded underwear? I'm sure someone somewhere in China must be doing it!

Not only has cooking not become 'a distant memory', it's celebrated by zillions of websites, food blogs and online forums. Cyberspace is overflowing with recipes, many with step-by-step photos or even videos, and online advice if you have any questions – all for free.

You definitely don't have to be a die-hard to try Sam Leong's 'Baked Cod with Marinated Superior Light Soya Sauce and Honey'. (What a mouthful!) In fact, by the time you say 'Baked Cod blah blah blah', the marinade's done. The fish then sits in the marinade for 15 minutes, and then it sits in the oven for 15 minutes. Cooking from scratch doesn't get easier than this, or better.

Whilst the fish is sitting here and there, you should sit too and enjoy a cold drink. And maybe contemplate what the world might be like 50 years from now? I'm guessing a frozen pre-cooked steak will still taste horrible in 2061.

BAKED COD MARINATED WITH SUPERIOR LIGHT SOYA SAUCE & HONEY Source: Adapted from Sam Leong's A Wok Through Time and the video below (Recipe for 4 persons) Marinade 4 tbsp light soya sauce 4 tbsp water 1 tbsp dark soya sauce 2 tsp sugar 2 tsp Maggi seasoning 400 g black cod, cut into 4 pieces, each 2½-cm (1-inch) thick, rinsed and drained 1 tbsp honey Garnish 2 egg whites pinch of salt dash of ground white pepper 2 tbsp milk I opted out of the egg white garnish but you go right ahead with the whole nine yards, please. Here's the man himself to show you how easy it is: To make marinade, stir ingredients till sugar is dissolved. Add cod and turn to coat evenly. Marinate for 15 minutes, turning over mid-way. To make garnish, beat egg whites with salt, pepper and milk. Bring 1 cup water to a boil. Turn off heat. Add egg whites and stir very gently to form large wisps. Steep till just cooked, 15 seconds or so. Drain and place on a serving plate. To cook fish, bake at 150°C (300°F) for 10 minutes. Lower oven temperature to 100°C (210°F). Continue baking till centre of fish feels firm when pressed, about 5 minutes. Remove from oven and brush with honey. To plate, place fish on egg whites. If you like, top with a sprig or two of coriander and sprinkle plate with some powdered seaweed as in the video. Serve immediately.

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Ayam Panggang (Grilled Chicken)

The hallmark of a good roast chicken is crispy skin, right? Nah, not necessarily. Crispy skin requires hours of air-drying and I can't be bothered most of the time. It's good enough for me if the skin is nicely browned so that there's a 'roasty' aroma.

What? That's good but not very sexy? Ok, let's sex it up a bit.

Lather the tanned chook with lots of sambal that's full of spices and enriched with coconut milk, then stick it back in the oven. As the spicy paste bubbles away merrily in the heat, it caramelizes and forms a crust, transforming the ordinary roast chicken into – tadaa! – Ayam Panggang. How's that?

What? 'Flavour' is only skin deep? Banish the thought! The chicken is marinated with the sambal for a whole day before it's roasted. The meat is infused, right down to the bone, with the fragrance of lemon grass, kaffir lime leaves, galangal, coriander seeds, shallots, belachan, white pepper . . . . Happy now?

Whilst I don't air-dry the chicken for Ayam Panggang, I do dry it in the oven. I roast the bird at a low temperature – 130°C or so – for about 25 minutes. The heat is too low to cook the bird much but it dries out the skin quite well. I then crank up the temperature to 230°C and the skin, already dry, browns nicely in about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, the meat is just cooked and the breast still moist.

To get the ideal combination of brown skin and juicy meat, the roasting time, temperature and size of the chicken are crucial considerations. The type of bird chosen is also important. For Ayam Panggang, I prefer to use a regular chook that's tender and juicy as it is, and doesn't require brining to tenderize and moisturize the meat. A brine would make non-organic chicken too soft, and is better suited for organic birds with drier, firmer meat.

Let's give the chicken a good grilling, shall we?

AYAM PANGGANG Source: Adapted from Mrs Leong Yee Soo's The Best of Singapore Cooking (Recipe for 6 persons) Sambal 10 dried chillies, soaked in warm water till soft, about 1 hour 1 tsp belachan, toasted till fragrant 2 red chillies, seeded ⅓ cup shallots 1½ tbsp galangal 1½ tbsp lemon grass, white part only 4 kaffir lime leaves 2 tsp salt 2 tbsp sugar ¼ tsp ground white pepper ½ tsp dark soya sauce 1 tsp coriander powder 1 tsp lime juice 1 tbsp vegetable oil ⅓ cup coconut milk 1 small chicken, 850 g trimmed and spatchcocked Rinse and trim all ingredients as necessary. Blend everything except chicken and 1 tsp salt till smooth. Pour mixture into a plastic bag. Place chicken in the bag. Move mixture around so that it covers chicken (kind of) evenly. Leave to marinate for 12-24 hours, refrigerated. Remove chicken from the fridge. Scrape marinade into a pot. Place chicken on a rack for about 1 hour to come to room temperature. Whilst chicken is warming up, cook marinade over medium heat, stirring all the time, till thick, fragrant, and colour darkens. Add remaining 1 tsp salt. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Remove from heat to cool down. Preheat oven to 130°C (270°F). Line roasting pan with aluminium foil. Place rack in the pan. Place chicken on the rack, skin side up, legs on the outside. Roast till skin is dry, about 25 minutes. Increase heat to 230°C (450°F). Roast till chicken feels firm, skin is brown, and juices run clear, about 15 minutes. Spread evenly with half of sambal. Turn off bottom heat in the oven. Continue roasting, this time with the chicken breast on the outside, till sambal is bubbling and brown, about 7 minutes. Remove chicken from the oven. When cool enough to handle, chop/carve and serve with remaining sambal as a dip, adding a squeeze of lime juice if you like.