Soon Kueh/Turnip Dumplings (I)

Success at last at making the dough for soon kueh! It was my seventh attempt and sixth recipe. How's that for perseverance? As I kneaded the dough, I felt quite sure that this time it would work. And it did, beautifully. Mind you, I had spring roll wrappers standing by in case the dough failed again.

What was wrong with the five recipes that didn't work?

The one from Chan Chen Hei, ex-chef of Hai Tien Lo, failed outright because it had way too much water. What the recipe made was a batter, not dough.

The Best of Singapore Cooking gave me a dough that cracked even before it was steamed. The ingredients – rice flour, tapioca starch, water, salt and oil – were similar to the recipe I succeeded with. But the water added to the dry ingredients was hot instead of boiling.

I also tried the recipe in Cooking for the President. The dough I got, using rice and tapioca starch cooked on the stove, was simply too wet and soft to be shaped or rolled. I think there was way too much water and oil.

And then there was a Taiwanese recipe which used glutinous rice flour mixed with a bit of plain flour. That one wasn't too bad if eaten hot but it hardened badly when it was cold.

And then there was cornercafe's recipe for 'crystal pastry' which used tapioca starch, wheat starch, oil, salt and boiling water. What I got was a very bouncy dough that squelched (!) when it was kneaded, somewhat like what The Best of Singapore Cooking gave me although the ingredients and methods were substantially different between the two. The squelching was rather scary. I threw the dough away before it became alive and attacked me.

The successful recipe I tried was from Rose's Kitchen. The dough was not bouncy, not too soft and, most importantly, it didn't fart squelch. The minute I started kneading, it just felt right. Search mission accomplished.

30 July 2012 Update

SOON KUEH (笋粿; TURNIP DUMPLINGS) (Recipe for 32 pieces) Dough (adapted from Rose's Kitchen) 300 g rice flour 100 g tapioca starch plus ¼ cup for adjusting and dusting 1 tsp salt 600 ml water, boiling 2 tbsp vegetable oil Filling 2½ tbsp vegetable oil 40 g dried prawns rinse and soak in 2 tbsp water till soft, about 15 minutes; squeeze dry, reserving the water; chop roughly 4 cloves garlic, peel and chop roughly 40 g dried mushrooms break off stalks and reserve for other dishes; rinse caps and soak in ¼ cup water till soft, about 30 minutes; squeeze dry, reserving the water; slice thinly 1.1 kg "local" turnip (aka 沙葛, bangkuang, yam bean and jicama) wash, peel and cut matchstick size to yield 1 kg; if grating, make sure grater doesn't turn turnip mushy 2 tbsp sugar 3 tbsp light soya sauce ¾ tsp ground white pepper Finishing touch 1 tbsp shallot or vegetable oil 30 July 2012 Update Click here for my step-by-step video. Strictly speaking, the recipe is for bangkuang kueh rather than soon kueh since the filling is made with bangkuang instead of soon (bamboo shoots). To make dough, mix rice flour, tapioca starch and salt thoroughly. Pour boiling water evenly over mixture. Immediately stir till well mixed and cool enough to handle but still extremely hot. Drizzle with vegetable oil. Knead till evenly mixed to make a smooth, sticky dough. Continue kneading, dusting with tapioca starch till dough is no longer sticky (like glue) but still quite tacky (like Post-it paper). Cover and let dough rest 10 minutes or up to a few hours. To make filling, heat vegetable oil in a wok till just smoking. Over high heat, stir-fry dried prawns till lightly golden. Add garlic and stir-fry till translucent. Add dried mushrooms and stir-fry till everything is nicely golden brown. Add turnip and continue stirring till thoroughly heated and wok is very hot again. Add light soya sauce and sugar. Stir till LSS is absorbed. Add water drained from dried prawns and dried mushrooms, which should be no more than 2 tbsp or so. Stir-fry till turnip is wilted but still crunchy. Sprinkle with ground white pepper. Stir through. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Turn off heat. Push turnip to side of wok to drain. If turnip is very wet, drain in a colander. Leave till cold. Transfer to a bowl. To wrap, dust worktop lightly with tapioca starch. Knead and roll dough into a log shape, dusting with tapioca starch if too sticky. Cut into 32 pieces of equal size, 30-32 g each. Keeping dough not being worked on covered, roll each piece into a ball, dusting with tapioca starch as necessary. Flatten into a disc with dough scraper, then roll into a 11-cm circle about 2 mm thick. If your dough looks more like an amoeba than a full moon, use a 11-cm rice bowl or cutter to cut a perfect circle. Using chopsticks, place 30-32 g filling (1 heaped Chinese soup spoon) on the dough, in the middle. Fold bottom half of dough upward, bringing edges together. Press to seal, from the middle to the corners. Set aside, covered, and repeat from "roll each piece into a ball . . . ." Turnip filling in bottom of bowl would be rather wet. Drain as appropriate. To steam, brush perforated tray with oil, or line with parchment paper. Place soon kueh on the tray spaced 1 cm apart. Steam over rapidly boiling water till slightly puffed, about 10 minutes. Brush lightly with oil. Transfer to an oiled plate, spaced apart whilst cooling down. If desired, pan-fry just before eating. To serve, drizzle soon kueh with sweet dark soya sauce and/or chilli sauce. Leftovers should be refrigerated, then steamed or pan-fried till thoroughly heated through before eating.

Babi Masak Assam

Compared to Shermay Lee, who supposedly began learning Peranakan cuisine when she was 5 years old, Wee Eng Hwa was a very late starter. She began learning Nyonya cookery at the relatively ancient age of 47. Fortunately, she had two advantages over the self-proclaimed culinary child prodigy. One, she could see what was in the wok without standing on a chair. Two, her sifu has been guiding her for some 20 years. Shermay's, even if you believe her marketing spin, kicked the bucket after lesson one.

Judging from Cooking for the President, Mrs Wee Kim Wee has been an outstanding sifu to her daughter. What about Mrs Wee herself? Who was her sifu? No, it wasn't her mother. Instead, it was her maternal grandmother, Saw Hai Choo. Mrs Wee, who was the matriarch's eldest granddaughter and favourite, recalls:

'Granny had an extremely sharp nose and very discerning taste buds. One morning, while I was cooking ikan masak assam – my first attempt at cooking that dish – Granny came home from the market and exclaimed loudly from afar, 'Telampon assam, kurang garam,' meaning in Baba Malay, too sour and not enough salt. She had not even entered the house, but from the aroma wafting out of the kitchen, she could "taste" the food I was cooking!'

In fact, Mama Choo's eyes were as sharp as her taste buds and nose. Did you know she handpicked and matchmade Wee Kim Wee to her granddaughter?

Two of Mr and Mrs Wee's seven children were born before Mama Choo passed away in 1940. The eldest, Wee Hock Kee, recalls:

'Cho-cho would reject any ingredient that was not cut in the correct way. She would not accept sloppy preparation of food. She would follow up by asking for a spoonful of the food to taste. It had to be just perfect. I remember Cho-cho had a strong loud voice. Often, she would complain, "Macham ayer longkang!" meaning, like ditch water in Baba Malay, if a soup or gravy dish was not up to par.'

What would Mama Choo have said about Shermay Lee's bamboo shoot water? Without a doubt, 'Worse than ayer longkang!'

After reading about the legendary cook who didn't mince her words, I was eager to try one of her recipes. I picked Babi Masak Assam because it seemed like the kind of thing I'd like, and I wasn't disappointed. The big pot of spicy, sour and salty meat and vegetables had strong, bold flavours that were right up my alley. I particularly liked the mix of three types of mustard greens: salted, sour and fresh. That was fun 'cause all the veggies looked the same after they were braised, so I had no idea what I was eating until I started chewing. Did anyone mention longkang? Nope, not at all, thanks to Mama Choo who passed her cooking skills to her granddaughter, who passed to her daughter, who passed to me and the whole world by writing an excellent cookbook. Had Mama Choo seen Cooking for the President, I'm sure she'd have been very proud of it.

BABI MASAK ASSAM (PORK & MUSTARD GREENS IN SPICY TAMARIND GRAVY) Source: Cooking for the President – Reflections & Recipes of Mrs Wee Kim Wee (Recipe for 8 persons) 200 g kiam chye (咸菜/salted mustard greens) cut lengthwise 4 cm wide, then crosswise 7 mm wide 200 g sng chye (酸菜/sour mustard greens) cut leaves crosswise 2.5 cm wide, and stems 1 cm wide 15 g dried red chillies (15 pieces) cut 5 cm long and soak in warm water till soft, about 30 minutes; squeeze dry and discard water 20 g candlenuts (6 pieces) 300 g shallots, peel, wash and cut into small pieces 180 ml vegetable oil (I used 120 ml) 25 g belachan toast till fragrant and dry; pound/grind finely to yield 2 tbsp 30 g light brown taucheo (fermented soya bean) paste 700 g pork belly cut along the grain 3 cm wide, then across the grain 1.5 cm thick 15 g sugar (1 tbsp) 120 g assam paste knead in 1.5 litres water and strain; discard seeds and pulp 2 pieces assam gelugoh (tamarind skin), rinse thoroughly 500 g kwak chye (芥菜; Chinese mustard greens), wash and cut 5 cm long 100 g green chillies (10 pieces), rinse and trim stems, leaving 3-4 mm salt to taste (I didn't add any) Mama Choo's recipe specifies small mustard greens (小芥菜) but I think the big ones (大芥菜/大菜) are ok too. Anyways, I couldn't find any skinny ones. Soak kiam chye and sng chye in water for 15 minutes. Drain, squeeze dry, and set aside. Pound or blend candlenuts, dried chillies and shallots till very fine. Fry in hot oil over medium-low to low heat until light brown and aromatic. Add belachan powder and stir through. Push aside. Stir-fry taucheo over low heat until intensely aromatic, about 5 minutes. Add pork and sugar. Fry over low heat for 5 minutes. Add assam water, assam gelugoh, kiam chye and sng chye. Simmer till pork is half-tender, about 45 minutes. Add fresh mustard greens and green chillies. Simmer till all ingredients are tender but pork retains some bite, about 15 minutes. Sauce should cling lightly to pork and vegetables. Add water or boil rapidly to reduce as appropriate. Taste and add salt to taste. Serve hot. Sambal belachan with a squeeze of calamansi lime juice would make a nice dip.

Not LKY's Babi Pongteh

Cast your mind back, all the way back to when you were 5 years old. Do you remember anything much?

Would you believe a 5-year-old child is capable of learning how to cook, and remembers what she's learnt when she's a 28-year-old adult? Would you believe a 5-year-old can be instilled with a passion for cooking?

This is what Shermay Lee, author of The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook and The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook Vol. 2, says on her cookery school's website:

"Shermay started cooking at the age of 5. She learnt the rudiments of cooking first from her grandmother, Mrs Lee Chin Koon, who was considered the doyen of Peranakan cuisine and was the author of the famous cookbook, Mrs Lee's Cookbook, a kitchen stalwart published three decades ago."

And this is what Shermay says in her first cookbook:

"[My grandmother] instilled in me a passion for cooking from a very young age."

What did 5-year-old Shermay do in her grandma's Peranakan kitchen? Could her little wee hands handle knives, ladles, or a mortar and pestle? Did she stand her little wee legs on a chair to watch her grandmother stir-fry sambal in hot oil? What exactly did little Shermay cook? Would you, dear reader, let your 5-year-old child boil an egg, assuming you could do so without being sued for child negligence?

Why does Shermay Lee say she started cooking at the age of 5, which must sound totally ridiculous to anyone with common sense?

Two reasons: One, her grandmother was Lee Kuan Yew's mother. Two, said grandmother very inconveniently kicked the bucket when Shermay was 5. If little Shermay weren't cooking when she was 5 or younger, then she didn't learn anything from Lee Kuan Yew's mother. In which case, the only selling point for her cookery school and cookbooks wouldn't exist.

Shermay Lee's two cookbooks are an update of her grandmother's Mrs Lee's Cookbook, which was published in 1974. The first updated recipe that makes me scratch my head is Bawan Kepiting, a Chinese style clear soup with crab meatballs. The stock is made with 300 g of bamboo shoot fried for 2 minutes, then simmered 10 minutes in 2.3 litres of water. And that's it, there's nothing else in the stock except sugar and salt. It's so totally bizarre it can't possibly be correct!

What does Grandma's original cookbook say? Aaah, there's indeed an ingredient missing after her granddaughter modified the recipe to suit modern times. Is it an old mother hen? Some expensive dried scallops from Japan? Yunnan ham from China? No, the missing ingredient is – hold on to your chair! – 2 tsp of MSG in the stock, plus another 1 tsp in the meatballs!

Wow, THREE WHOLE TEASPOONFULS OF MSG, which work out to ¼ tsp per rice bowl-sized portion! That's a hell of a lot but at least the soup MSG water would taste of . . . MSG. Bamboo shoot water, on the other hand, would taste of . . . water.

Curious, I check out the Pong Tauhu recipe to see if it's any better. Believe it or not, the soup containing meatballs made with beancurd and pork has almost twice as much MSG as the Bawan Kepiting. Almost ½ tsp per serving! Good grief!

Shock and horror aside, there's something in the Pong Tauhu recipe that makes me laugh: pounding beancurd with a mortar and pestle. That's like LKY totally obliterating his enemies, isn't it? Seriously, why pound beancurd? Just squash it with your hands or, if you want it really fine, push it through a sieve.

The recipe for Heepeow Soup is equally bizarre. The stock is made with 1.2 kg of pork or pork bones, which is nowhere near enough for the 6 litres of water used but at least it's better than a few shreds of tree trunk. Except the meat needs 1½-2 hours of gentle simmering to release its flavour, whilst big pork bones need at least 3-4 hours. The recipe, however, tells you to simmer for only 30 minutes. So it's just another pot of water, with or without MSG depending on whether you follow the grandma or granddaughter.

There are, floating in the water, yellow (!) prawn meatballs deliberately jaundiced with artificial food colouring. Next to the weird looking meatballs float slices of pork maw which stink because piggy tummy can't be cleaned properly by just rubbing it with salt. There're fishballs too, made by beating 600 g of finely minced fish with a dash of pepper, then gradually adding 350 ml of water while stirring continuously, followed by beating the mixture till it's smooth, then adding 1 tbsp of salt. You know what? If this fish paste makes fishballs that are bouncy, I will – to borrow a colourful phrase from the Cantonese – chop off my head and let Shermay Lee sit on it!

Little Shermay "learnt the rudiments of cooking" when she was 5, eh? Judging from her soups, she didn't know the basics even when she released her first cookbook as a 28-year-old adult. Neither did Mrs Lee Chin Koon who was supposed to be "the doyen of Peranakan cuisine". Did you know LKY's mother gave cooking lessons to British and Australian expatriates? I hope they liked MSG and jaundiced meatballs!

Bad recipes are one thing but dangerous ones are another. If you make a raw fish salad with, as Shermay Lee instructs, fresh ikan parang (wolf herring) bought at a wet market, you have a 99.99% chance of being very sick, or dead. Fish and stuff not sitting on ice are quite common at markets, and there's filth and dirt whichever way you turn. Even if there's fish that's sashimi grade, it's bound to be contaminated by something that isn't. Obviously, Princess Shermay has never been to less-than-clean wet markets where grubby commoners with questionable personal hygiene poke and prod everything. Well, why would she? Her cousin, LKY's younger son, has his personal chef fly to Japan just to buy sashimi! I'd guess her lifestyle is similar to his.

The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook, published in 2003, won two awards from Gourmand World: Best Cookbook Award and Special Award of the Jury in the Respect of Tradition. It was a bestseller in Singapore, as was the second volume published in 2004, and both books received strong reviews in a number of publications. Did the judges, reviewers and readers notice the appalling soups, the Satay Ayam Goreng that's boiled even though 'Goreng' means fried, and the Mee Siam made without assam? These, along with deep-fried (!) Peking Duck, were award winning recipes?! For tradition?!

The recipe I'm sharing today is Babi Pongteh from Cooking for the President. I've chosen this over the one Lee Kuan Yew grew up eating because his mother and niece say babi pongteh has coriander powder whereas babi chin doesn't. That is, of course, incorrect. It's babi chin which has coriander power, and babi pongteh which doesn't . . . unless Lee Kuan Yew has decreed otherwise? He might not have but if you're his relation, your cookbooks will win awards and you'll get paid to give lessons even if you can't tell your babi pongteh from babi chin. All you need to know is how to make bamboo shoot water, or add MSG by the bucketload.

BABI PONGTEH (FERMENTED SOYA BEAN & GARLIC PORK STEW) Source: Cooking for the President – Reflections & Recipes of Mrs Wee Kim Wee (Recipe for 8-12 persons) 1.5 kg front pork knuckle with trotter chop chunky, blanch in boiling water, remove hair if any, rinse thoroughly and marinate with 4 tsp thick dark soya sauce for 30 minutes 160 ml vegetable oil (I used only 30 ml) 50 g shallots peel, wash and pound semi-finely 80 g garlic peel, wash and pound semi-finely 60 g light brown taucheo (fermented soya bean) paste 2 tbsp light soya sauce 2 tsp thick dark soya sauce 20 g palm sugar 100 g sugar cane (30 cm long), or 25 g rock sugar wash and quarter sugar cane lengthwise; chop each quarter into 4 pieces ¼ tsp salt Optional 10 medium size Chinese dried mushrooms (60 g) rinse and soak in 500 ml water till soft, abut 30 minutes; trim and reserve stems, along with the water 100 g canned bamboo shoots cut into bite size wedges 6 mm thick; boil a few minutes; drain 200 g reconstituted sea cucumber cut crosswise 5 cm wide and lengthwise 3 cm thick; soak in water till ready to cook In a wok, fry shallots in hot vegetable oil over low heat till translucent. Add garlic and stir-fry till everything is lightly golden. Add fermented soya bean paste and fry till semi-dry, intensely aromatic, and colour changes, about 3 minutes. Reduce heat to very low. Add light and dark soya sauce. Fry 10 seconds. Add pork and marinade. Increase heat slightly to low (from very low). Stir-fry till semi-dry and intensely aromatic, about 10 minutes. Transfer to a pot. Deglaze wok with 1 cup water. Add the water to the pork, along with palm sugar, sugar cane, salt and, if using, mushrooms, mushroom stems, mushroom water, and bamboo shoots. Top up with enough water to just cover. Bring to a boil. Cover and simmer gently, adding more water when necessary, till pork is tender but still has some bite. This should take about 2¼ hours. Add sea cucumber, if using, and bring to a boil. Sauce should be medium brown and with substance, not thin and watery. Increase heat to boil rapidly if necessary. Taste and adjust seasoning (I added 2 tbsp taucheo liquid). Turn off heat. Serve hot, topped with crushed red bird's eye chillies. Alternatively, sambal belachan with a squeeze of calamansi juice would make a nice dip. Eat with steamed rice, or you can dip toasted French loaf in the Babi Pongteh sauce.

Lotus Seed Sweet Soup (蓮子爽)

I was buying lotus seeds when a fellow aunty shopper who was waiting for her turn asked me how the dried seeds should be cooked.

Whilst I pondered the question (and sized her up), she told me hers were still hard after soaking overnight and simmering for two hours!

Ah yes, my mother had warned me about that. I said to the lady (after deciding she wasn't trying to sell me something), "You mustn't let lotus seeds touch cold water, otherwise they won't soften. You have to wash them in hot water and, when you put them in the pot, the water must be boiling." By soaking lotus seeds in hot water which became cold overnight, she had violated the golden rule: no cold water!

What I told the lady was what my mother had told me. But, whilst I followed Mom's method, I thought her warning about cold water was just an old wives' tale. I'd never tested her theory, and I couldn't think of any reason why or how water at 30°C or thereabouts could have an effect on lotus seeds. However, judging from what the lady said, it seemed the golden rule might have some basis.

I had no idea whether the fellow shopper went home and tried my mother's method, but I came home and tried hers. I wanted to see if I could replicate her problem, and prove my mother right.

I didn't bother with soaking anything overnight. Instead, I put some lotus seeds in the slow-cooker filled with water from the tap, which took about 1¼ hours to boil. I then placed some lotus seeds in a paper pouch, and popped that in the boiling water. 30 minutes later, the lotus seeds in the paper pouch were perfectly soft and powdery whilst those that had been sitting in tap water before it was boiling were still hard. Hah, my mother was right!

The soaked lotus seeds weren't hard throughout but just on the outside. I continued the simmering and after another 30 minutes, the outer layer softened. It was, however, cracked and not powdery, and the inside was too mushy by then. The unsoaked seeds, in contrast, had a smooth exterior, and were evenly cooked and evenly powdery.

If I'd soaked the lotus seeds longer, like the lady who had left hers overnight, I think the hardened outer layer would have been thicker and harder. On the other hand, a brief rinse in cold water was actually ok provided the lotus seeds were then placed in hot water immediately.

I guess cold water had an effect on the starch in the lotus seeds' outer layer. Why and how exactly, I had no idea. But it was good to know my mother hadn't pulled a fast one on me as I dug into my bowl of Noi Ji Suan.

Noi Ji Suan, aka Lian Chee Suan in Hokkien, is a Teochew sweet soup. It's a close cousin of Tau Suan but is more glamourous because lotus seeds cost more than green beans. Why do some people think Lian Chee Suan, along with Tau Suan, is Hokkien? That's another story for another day . . . .

LOTUS SEED SWEET SOUP (莲子爽, 莲子羹, LIAN CHEE SUAN, NOI JI SUAN) (Recipe for 4 persons) 120 g dried lotus seeds (1 cup), without skin 1 kettle just boiled water 8 pandan leaves, washed and knotted 6 tbsp sugar 1 tbsp water 4 tbsp sweet potato flour, mixed with 2 tbsp water Did you know that tea made with the piths of lotus seeds helps you sleep better by removing 'heatiness' from the body? Steep a large pinch in a cup of hot water, or just pop a tiny pinch in your regular cuppa. It tastes pretty nasty, so it must be good for you. Using the tip of a paring knife, pry lotus seeds into 2 halves (ideally without damaging your fingers). Remove piths if any. Add enough just boiled water to cover by 3-4 cm. Soak 3 minutes and drain. Place seeds in a pot with 3 cups just boiled water. Bring to a boil and simmer gently, covered, for 15 minutes. Water should be just simmering. In a separate pot, melt sugar with 1 tbsp water over medium-high heat. Swirl till lightly coloured. Reduce heat to medium-low. Continue swirling till sugar turns light brown. Turn off heat. Keep swirling till colour is medium brown (like honey that's not very dark). With your hand to the side of the pot (to avoid the burst of steam), add ½ cup water. If sugar solidifies, heat to dissolve. Taste and make sure sugar isn't burnt. If it is, discard and repeat from 'In a separate pot . . . .' Add sugar solution to lotus seeds. Simmer 10 minutes. Check that seeds are almost soft. If not, give them another 10 minutes. Do not overcook. Add pandan leaves. Simmer till lotus seeds are fully soft and powdery, 5-10 minutes. Discard leaves. Adjust water level and sweetness if necessary. Increase heat to medium. Stir gently and, at the same time, drizzle with sweet potato flour mixture to thicken soup. Turn off heat when soup returns to a gentle simmer. Serve hot. If you want a really clear soup, remove lotus seeds with a slotted spoon after discarding pandan leaves. Let soup rest till sediment sinks to the bottom, 15 minutes or so. Drain soup into another pot, minus the sediment. Bring to a boil, add lotus seeds, then thicken as detailed above.

Paper-Wrapped Chicken

I hadn't had 纸包鸡 (Paper-Wrapped Chicken) for such a long time I'd forgotten what it was like. I couldn't see the point of wrapping chicken in paper and then deep-frying it. Surely the chicken would steam in its own juices underneath the paper shield? So why not just steam it? Or deep-fry without the paper?

On the other hand, I liked the idea of unwrapping little parcels of food because that would be like unwrapping presents. And I thought maybe the paper served a purpose I couldn't see by theorizing. So I had a practical session and . . . . 'Wow! Hello there, Chee Pow Kai! Where have you been?'

The paper in 纸包鸡 did serve a purpose. It gave the chicken the best of two worlds: steaming and deep-frying. Because the meat juices had nowhere to escape, the chicken was extremely juicy, much juicier than paperless deep-fried chicken could ever be. At the same time, there was the fragrance of browned chicken though it wasn't crisp. In fact, the aroma wasn't just on the outside of the chicken. The wonderful flavour was inside the meat as well because the paper acted like a shield, preventing it from going anywhere else. I couldn't have unwrapped a better present!

I vaguely recall my mother making 纸包鸡 a few times in the 70s, when it was very popular and considered quite posh. Now, it's so rare it's either novel or nostalgic, depending on how old you are. It's a pity something so good has gone out of fashion. I wouldn't have made 纸包鸡, or even thought of it, if a friend hadn't sent me this hilarious Cantonese cartoon (if you prefer Mandarin, click here):



Sylvia Tan, author of Singapore Heritage Food, claims that 纸包鸡 was invented in Singapore in 1953. After reading Sylvia Tan's story, ieat concludes 'There was no doubt . . . Chee Pow Kai was invented by Union Farm [Eating House].' Hmm, really?

If 纸包鸡 were invented in Singapore, why is it one of Guangxi cuisine's most famous dishes? Is it likely a recipe briefly popular in Singapore has 'infiltrated' China's food culture? Some websites say Guangxi's 纸包鸡 was invented in the 1920s in Wuzhou, where 纸包鸡 is considered one of the city's 'must-eats'. In fact, Wuzhou's 纸包鸡 was documented as one of 'China's bests' by the TV programme, 中国一绝. That was in 1985 when China was still quite isolated, and had little contact with Singapore. In 1992, a Guangxi chef won a cooking competition in Hong Kong with 纸包鸡. Surely he didn't use a recipe that was popular in Singapore for a short while in the 1970s?

I've always thought 纸包鸡 is Cantonese because it's usually referred to in Cantonese, chee pow kai. If it's from China, shouldn't it be Guangdong instead of Guangxi? Well, I have a hunch. Let's google 'Wuzhou language', shall we?

*type type type click click click . . .*

Hah, just as I thought! It's Cantonese, and the city is Cantonese in culture and spirit although it's technically in Guangxi. Bingo!

Sylvia Tan's story about Union Farm inventing 纸包鸡 has more holes than a colander. The final nail in her coffin is a 1988 article in The Straits Times which stated that Union House's 纸包鸡 recipe was 'given by a Hong Kong opera actress'. But Sylvia/ieat's twisted version is: 'One fine day, a famous actor from Hong Kong suggested to the [Union House] owner that he should create a dish out of the chicken. Thus, the Chee Pow Kai came into existence.' See the clever twist by leaving out rather than adding something?

Oh well, 纸包鸡 is delicious no matter where it's from. Now that I've dusted the cobwebs from the recipe, I'll definitely be making Paper-Wrapped Chicken now and then. Me being old-fashioned me, I have problems going totally paperless.

25 September 2011 Update

Just got hold of Singapore Heritage Food. This is what Sylvia Tan actually says about paper-wrapped chicken:

'One restaurant in Singapore, Union Farm, single-handedly popularised this dish in Singapore. Originally a chicken farm, it has become a full-time restaurant still serving paper-wrapped chicken decades later.'

There's no mention at all about where paper-wrapped chicken was invented. But, in his post here, ieat says,

'I had just picked up Sylvia Tan's, Singapore Heritage Foods, and came across the origins of Chee Pow Kai and discovered to my surprise, that the restaurant that invented them are still in existence.'

Does the doctor not make a distinction between popularising and inventing something? Gosh, I hope he's a bit more discerning when he's treating his patients!

PAPER-WRAPPED CHICKEN (纸包鸡, CHEE POW KAI) Source: Adapted from Cooking for the President (Recipe for 4 persons) 4 small spring chicken legs weighing 600 g, debone to yield 500 g meat . . . don't use bigger or kampong/organic chicken if you want juicy, silky 纸包鸡 Marinade 15 g ginger 15 g shallots 20 g garlic ½ tbsp sugar ¾ tsp salt ½ tsp ground white pepper ½ tbsp light soya sauce 1 tsp dark soya sauce 1 tbsp oyster sauce 1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine 1 tsp Cognac 1 tbsp white sesame oil 1 tbsp vegetable oil 1 tbsp tapioca flour 16 pieces parchment paper, cut 25 x 15 cm oil for deep-frying I've tried Sakura chicken vs regular spring chicken, both from Fairprice. For this recipe, the spring chicken is much better. The pounded ginger, garlic and shallot paste is also crucial. It browns during the deep-frying and creates a lovely fragrance. If only the juices are used, minus the pulp, the 纸包鸡 would be like steamed chicken. To prepare chicken, rinse and cut each leg into 8 pieces. Peel and rinse ginger, shallots and garlic. Cut into small pieces. Pound finely, or blitz in a mini chopper. Mix thoroughly with all other marinade ingredients and chicken. Leave to marinate for 1 hour, or up to 24 hours. Just before wrapping, drizzle with sesame oil and vegetable oil and mix thoroughly. Sprinkle with tapioca flour and mix again. To wrap chicken, place parchment paper in a stack facing you horizontally. Fold left ⅓ of paper to the right, then right ⅓ to the left. Turn over, and fold bottom ⅓ upward. You now have fold lines for turning each piece of paper into a pocket. Form a pocket with parchment paper. Fill with 2 pieces of chicken. Do not include any excess marinade. Fold left and right corner of top flap downward, forming a triangle. Tuck triangle into bottom flap as snugly as possible. Place wrapped chicken on a plate, flap side facing up. Repeat with remaining paper and chicken. To deep-fry, place wrapped chicken in just smoking oil over medium-high heat till medium brown, about ½ minute each side. Remove from heat and reheat oil. Refry chicken for a few seconds till dark brown. Drain and serve immediately.