Har Cheong Gai (Prawn Paste Chicken)

How many ways are there to fry chicken?

More ways than there are to skin a . . . c-a-t. (Shhhh! Don't let the kitties hear us.)

Every culture has its own version of fried chicken. That is the chicken's destiny. That is why it crosses the road.


The recipe I use for har cheong gai is from All About Ci Char Cuisine. There're only four ingredients in the marinade: prawns fermented to a grey goo, oysters fermented to a brown goo, sugar and water. It's simple but that's how it should be. Are you tempted to add some ginger juice and good ol' Shaoxing wine to the simple marinade? Well, don't.

You might think wine and ginger would reduce 虾酱's fishy, pungent smell but they don't. I know 'cause I've tried. Without wine and ginger juice, 虾酱 undergoes a transformation when it's fried. Instead of the smell of dead rats – there's no better way to describe it – there's a distinct aroma and umaminess that's very similar to grilled dried squid. With wine and ginger juice added, the fried chicken would taste of raw 虾酱. The pungency is muted compared to uncooked 虾酱 but it's still pretty nasty. The chicken would taste nothing like dried squid that's been grilled. Sometimes, less is more.

The recipe is here. Give it a try if you like har cheong gai. Bye-bye.

Lemon Coke Chicken Wings

What's better than fried chicken wings? STICKY fried chicken wings! I don't think I've ever met any sticky food I don't like (natto isn't food unless you're Japanese). I've certainly never met chicken wings I don't like. And coke is tasty, so why not put the two together? Chicken and coke make a natural pair. When chicken meets coke is kinda like when Harry met Sally. It's so obvious they should be together. (If you're too young to know what When Harry Met Sally is, click here.)

Is Sticky Lemon Coke Chicken Wings as good as the sandwich Meg Ryan ate in 'the restaurant scene'?

No, it's better! It's not gonna give you a you-know-what though, but neither would a sandwich no matter how good. That restaurant scene is still funny, btw, after . . . good grief, 23 years!

Gosh, time flies! *lick fingers* Better eat more chicken wings whilst I still have my teeth, eh? *reach for another chicken wing, the one with the most sesame seeds*

STICKY LEMON COKE CHICKEN WINGS (Recipe for 4 persons) 500 g chicken mid-joint wings, rinse and drain Marinade 2 tsp grated lemon zest, optional 2 tbsp Shaoxing wine 2 tbsp light soya sauce 2 cloves garlic, pounded ¼ ground white pepper ¼ tsp salt 1 tbsp sesame oil 1 tbsp vegetable oil 1 cup regular coke 2 tbsp lemon juice 1 tbsp sugar Garnishing ½ tsp toasted white sesame seeds or grated lemon zest Thoroughly mix chicken with all marinade ingredients except white sesame oil, in a dish that can hold the wings in a single layer. Drizzle with sesame oil and mix again. Cover and refrigerate 24-48 hours. Turn chicken over once mid-way, or more often if you're diligent. Drain chicken, removing garlic if any. Bring to room temperature. Pan-fry in hot vegetable oil till golden brown, in 2 batches if necessary. Remove chicken to a plate. Remove oil as well. Put coke and marinade in the wok. Boil on high heat till reduced to about one-quarter. Add sugar and lemon juice. Continue reducing till dark and thick. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Add chicken wings and toss till well coated. Garnish with white sesame seeds or lemon zest. Eat with hands, please. That's the proper thing to do.

Samsui Ginger Chicken

Do you make 白切鸡, 'white-cut chicken'? If you do, chances are you stuff the cavity of the chicken with spring onions and ginger. After checking out the recipes online and in a few cookbooks, I think nine out of 10 people stuff their chicken. It's like these people, when they see an empty chicken, simply can't resist shoving in something. If you're one of them, I'm sorry to have to tell you, the method is wrong.

Why is it wrong?

Because jamming the cavity stops the hot water from circulating freely. Hence, the chicken is heated from the outside only, prolonging the cooking. By the time the inside is done, the skin would be overcooked and soft, and the meat on the outside dry and coarse. A good 白切鸡, one that's not overcooked outside or inside, should have skin that's still springy, and meat that's soft, juicy and silky smooth. Some people even like it slightly undercooked with the bones still red.

To cook 白切鸡 the correct way, don't block the passageway. Hold the chicken by its head, dunk it in boiling water, allowing the cavity to fill up, then drain the water back into the pot. Repeat the process 2-3 times. This warms up the cavity, and helps the chicken cook evenly as it steeps in hot water. Naturally, if you live somewhere where chickens are sold headless and neckless, getting the bird out of the hot water is a bit of a problem!

In the old days in China, common folks usually ate chicken only when they were making religious offerings. For these festivities, the chicken had to be whole, not cut up. Unless you're following the same tradition, there's really no need to cook a chicken the old-fashioned way. The head, neck and feet may be trimmed, along with the spine. Instead of a cul-de-sac cavern, the back of the chicken is wide open. Heat circulates freely, so the chicken cooks evenly without any dunking.

The traditional method cooks 白切鸡 by steeping the whole chicken, literally head to toe, in hot water. I, however, prefer to use a rice cooker on warm mode. This way, the meat juices released during cooking aren't lost in an ocean of water. Instead, the flavourful liquid may be added to the ginger sauce to give it extra oomph.

Before using the meat juices to make the ginger sauce, I drizzle the good stuff on the chicken. Basting, contrary to what some roast chicken recipes say, does NOT make the meat more juicy. I know because I once weighed a chicken before and after basting. But the extra step is useful because, as the liquid flows through the chicken, some of the salt is left in the meat. Which tastes better when it's salted, everyone knows that.

The best cooking technique in the world wouldn't make good 白切鸡 if you use a poor quality chicken with mushy skin and cottony meat. And don't think a bigger chicken would always taste better. It used to but nowadays size is no longer a good indication of flavour. Bigger chickens may just be pumped with more growth hormones than smaller ones! That's cheaper than investing time and feed to let the birds grow and mature in flavour.

In the place called Little Red Dot, 白切鸡 is usually served Hainanese style with garlic chilli sauce, grated ginger and dark soya sauce. The Cantonese style, with a sauce made with ginger, spring onions and oil, isn't common. I've not seen it anywhere here except Soup Restaurant where it's called Samsui Ginger Chicken. The restaurant serves its signature dish with lettuce leaves, which diners use to wrap the chicken and ginger sauce. This is a sexed up version of the classic style which is sans lettuce, and may be found everywhere in Hong Kong.

To some people, poached or steamed chicken may be just part of a low-carb, high-protein diet. It's something they tolerate, not enjoy. Poor things! (The chickens which die for an unworthy cause, not people). I'd tell the calorie counters to try Samsui Ginger Chicken except they'll refuse to eat the chicken skin, and probably make the ginger sauce without oil. *shudder* *wipe grease from chin* I wonder if they might change their mind if I tell them Samsui women, who loved nothing more than Samsui Ginger Chicken, were all skinny as a beanpole. Nah, cardboard chicken makes them feel all virtuous. Meanwhile, Samsui Ginger Chicken makes me feel all happy. *wipe more grease from chin*



Related article
Debunking Beer Can Chicken: A Waste Of Good Beer (And It Is Dangerous)

SAMSUI GINGER CHICKEN (三水姜茸鸡; 'WHITE-CUT CHICKEN' WITH GINGER SAUCE ) (Recipe for 4 persons) Chicken 1 kampong/organic hen weighing 1.0-1.1 kg, or 850-950 g without head & feet discard head; trim and reserve neck, feet and spine for making stock; rinse chicken thoroughly, removing feathers if any 1 tsp salt 20 g old ginger peel and rinse; slice thinly; crush slightly 20 g spring onion trim and rinse; halve lengthwise; crush slightly 姜茸 (ginger sauce) – makes about ⅔ cup 100 g young ginger peel, rinse and pound finely; squeeze to remove 3 tbsp juice; set both juice and pulp aside 30 g spring onions, bottom part only if you like a stronger onion flavour trim, rinse and chop finely 1½ tbsp groundnut oil 1½ tbsp white sesame oil ¾ tsp sea salt ¼ tsp chicken powder 1 head iceberg lettuce halve lengthwise; reserve outer and innermost leaves for other dishes; wash and drain the rest, or the amount you want; tear bigger leaves into smaller pieces just big enough to wrap bite size chicken; chill till ready to serve Garnish ½ cucumber wash, slice thinly and arrange on serving plate in a circle (1) The cooking time varies with not just the size but also the type of chicken. Organic chickens have denser meat and bones, so they need to be cooked longer compared to non-organic chickens of the same size. (2) If you live in the place called Little Red Dot, take note that the supermarkets sell both male and female kampong chickens. For白切鸡, you'd of course want a female bird. (3) The chicken shouldn't be too big so that there's room in the rice cooker for the heat to circulate. Chicken: Whilst preparing chicken as detailed above, place 2 tbsp water in a rice cooker on cook mode. After rice cooker changes to warm mode, place prepared chicken in the pot, skin side down. Spread ginger and spring onions on chicken. Add 2 tbsp water. Leave cooker on cook mode for 5 minutes. You should now see steam rising steadily from the air vent. Switch to warm mode and let chicken cook till juices run clear when a chopstick is inserted into the RIGHT thigh, about 30 minutes. Discard spring onions and ginger. Place chicken in running water till cool, about 5 minutes. Drain. Drizzle evenly with meat juices released during cooking. Repeat twice. Place chicken on a plate, minus juices. Brush with oil used for making ginger sauce (see below). Cover till ready to serve. Ginger sauce: Add meat juices to ginger. Stir through. Add spring onions and stir again. Heat white sesame oil and groundnut oil till just smoking. Drizzle on ginger and spring onions, leaving 1 tsp or so for brushing chicken (see above). Sprinkle with salt and chicken powder. Mix thoroughly. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary, adding some ginger juice if you like it more spicy. Set aside for flavours to mingle. Remaining ginger juice may be frozen, then thawed for marinating meat, or making sweet potato soup, 姜汁炖奶, teh halia, etc. Serving: Wearing gloves and using a chef's knife, halve chicken lengthwise. Cut along joints to separate wings, drumsticks and thighs. Cut each wing into 2 pieces along main joint. Debone breast by pulling. Cut meat into bite size pieces, by tapping knife sharply. Slice drumsticks and thighs lengthwise on side with less skin. Pull bones to loosen, then cut tendons at both ends of bones. Cut bite size as before. Keep bones for making stock which will, please take note, taste of ginger and spring onions. Arrange meat on serving plate garnished with sliced cucumber. Serve with ginger sauce and lettuce leaves. To eat, wrap chicken and dollop of ginger sauce with lettuce. May be enjoyed as starter, finger food, salad, breadless sandwich, main course, midnight snack, whatever.

Braised Chicken with Chestnuts

My mother always used dried chestnuts, so I'm clueless about prepping fresh ones. Using my common sense, I figure boiling should be the right method for tackling fresh chestnuts' shell and peel. It seems like the obvious thing to do, right?

Boiling 5 minutes or so works for the outer shell, which softens and becomes easy to cut through and tear off. The fuzzy membrane underneath, however, is a different story. It's stubborn as hell! It sticks resolutely to the nutmeat, so I continue boiling . . . and then boil some more . . . . I try peeling off the reddish skin whilst the nuts are hot; I try again when they're cold. Nothing works. As I fiddle in vain, the pot of chestnuts is bubbling away merrily on the stove. Eventually, after 30 minutes, I have to turn off the heat. Why? Because the chestnuts are cooked!

If boiling doesn't work, what about roasting? Roasted chestnuts are quite easy to peel, right? I buy more chestnuts, cut a slit in each one, and chuck the lot in a hot oven. I then wait for the outer shell and inner pellicle to curl and pull back, revealing delicious naked meat underneath. Or rather, that's how it is with chestnuts that are sold roasted. The ones I roast in the oven are hellbent on defying my efforts. The fuzzy skin sticks to the nutmeat as steadfastly as ever.

*google . . . google . . . .*

How do other people peel chestnuts? By boiling or roasting, they say. Some websites leave it at that; the more honest ones add that the peeling is a pain in the butt. A professional chef, in a video called How to Cook The Perfect Chestnuts, takes five minutes to peel ONE chestnut. If his livelihood depends on how many chestnuts he peels in a day, he'll surely starve to death!

People who cook are clueless but surely chestnut FARMERS should be more helpful? Steve and Patty over at Chestnuts USA, a chestnut farm in Washington, say I should make a cross in the nuts, and then roast or boil them. Well, I've already tried cutting a slit in the shell. Can chestnuts tell the difference between '—' and 'X'? Probably not, but I've tried only the roasting method with the shell cut. Oh well, might as well try the boiling method also, just to be sure. I cut an 'X' in some chestnuts, then pop them in a pot of boiling water. After 30 minutes, I realize farmers are just as bad as cooks.

How about shocking boiled chestnuts in ice water? That works for tomatoes, so it may work for chestnuts too? Nope, it doesn't.
Ok, how about leaving the chestnuts in the fridge for a few days, before boiling them, so that the fuzzy skin dries out? Makes no difference; boiling doesn't work, period.

How many packs of chestnuts have I thrown away? Grrrrr . . . . Maybe the chestnuts other people have are American or Italian but the ones I have are, I presume, from China? Maybe Chinese chestnuts, for whatever reason, just can't be peeled?

*wave white flag*

One day, one of the blogs I follow has a new post. 輕鬆的幫栗子脫衣服, the title says. Hmm, 'undressing' chestnuts easily, eh? I'm skeptical because that's what the others say too (minus the erotic connotation), but I take a look anyway. 小米桶 uses a very quick method: just soak shelled chestnuts in boiling water for 60 seconds. Yup, not 10, 15 or 20 minutes but just 1 minute. And it's soaking, not boiling. After the brief soak, remove 3-4 nuts at a time from the hot water, and rub off the peel with a piece of cloth. That is ALL there is to it?!

Is it really as easy and as quick as 小米桶 says it is? I've tried her method and, yes, it is. The technique works like a charm because the peel expands after it's soaked in boiling water but the nutmeat underneath doesn't. This allows the peel to be rubbed off easily. It's so obvious once she explains it!

Why doesn't boiling work? Because the strong heat causes both the peel and meat to expand at the same time. When that happens, the only way to separate the two parts is by surgery with a kitchen knife.

Living where I live – which is south of West Malaysia, west of East Malaysia and east of West Sumatra – I can buy fresh chestnuts already shelled. And now, with just a towel and some boiling water, I can remove the pesky pellicle in a couple of minutes. With the right technique, it's drop-dead easy. Never stop learning, my mother always said.

As a reward for my Herculean research efforts, I'm giving myself an extra helping of full monty nuts (!) braised with chicken, mushrooms and oyster sauce.

28 March 2012 Update

If chestnuts are still in their shell, cut them in half, then parboil 90 seconds before peeling as show in this video:



Badgersett Farms' method seems to work, and it's quick, easy and safe. I'll try it next time I cook chestnuts.

BRAISED CHESTNUT CHICKEN (栗子焖鸡) (Recipe for 4 persons) 4 medium size Chinese dried mushrooms 300 g kampong (organic) chicken Marinade 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine 50 g good quality oyster sauce* (2 tbsp rounded) (I use LKK premium grade) 1 tsp fermented soya beans, mashed 1 tsp sugar 16 chestnuts, shelled 2 tsp white sesame oil, or vegetable oil 4 cloves garlic, peeled and halved 10 g ginger (half thumb size), sliced thinly 40 g mild leek (from Malaysia), or 20 g if very garlicky (from China) halved lengthwise and cut crosswise 7-8 cm (3 inches) long 10 g spring onions, cut 7-8 cm (3 inches) long 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine 10 g coriander, cut 7-8 cm (3 inches) long 1 bird's eye chilli, halved lengthwise * Standard oyster sauce is a bit fishy. If that's what you have, then I suggest you use only 1 rounded tbsp in the marinade; increase mashed fermented soya beans to 2 tsp, and sugar to 1 tbsp; add 1 tsp light soya sauce, and ¼ tsp salt. Rinse mushrooms and snip off stems with scissors. Soak, including stems, in 1¼ cup warm water. Cook stems with chestnuts, as detailed below. When ready to stir-fry, squeeze dry mushroom caps, reserving liquid. Cut each piece into 2. Rinse chicken and chop bite size. Mix with marinade and set aside. Add boiling water to chestnuts, enough to cover by 2-3 cm (1 inch). Steep 1 minute. Remove 3-4 chestnuts at a time; place between clean towel or 2 paper towels; rub to remove peel; soak in water to prevent discolouring. Cut each chestnut into 2 pieces, trimming parts that are bad. Rinse thoroughly. Place in a small pot. Add mushroom stems (which are still hard), and enough water to cover by 2-3 cm (1 inch). Bring to a boil. Simmer gently for 30 minutes. Chestnuts should now be cooked but not yet soft. In a very hot wok, heat oil till just smoking. Add sliced ginger and stir-fry over high heat till lightly golden. Add garlic, mushrooms, leek and white part of spring onions. Stir-fry till garlic and mushrooms are lightly golden. Add chicken, minus marinade. Stir-fry till heated through and wok is screaming hot. Drizzle with 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine. Continue stirring. When wok is very hot again, drizzle with marinade. Stir-fry till absorbed. Add mushroom water. Stir to deglaze wok. Add chestnuts plus liquid. Top up with water to almost cover everything in the wok. Tuck green part of green onions, coriander and chilli around wok. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer gently till chicken and chestnuts are tender. This should take about 30 minutes, stirring once midway. Sauce should now be just thick enough to stick to chicken. If too watery, increase heat to high and reduce sauce. If too thick, drizzle with 1-2 tbsp water, then stir and heat through. Discard mushroom stems if you can find them! Taste and adjust seasoning. Chestnuts should be slightly sweet. Add a bit more sugar if necessary. Turn off heat. Cover and wait 5-10 minutes. This allows flavours to develop and the meat to absorb some liquid. Plate and serve with steamed rice.

Jamie Oliver Cooks Hainanese Chicken Rice!

This is how the Naked Chef makes Singapore's iconic dish, Hainanese Chicken Rice:

The recipe is from Jamie Oliver's column in the Daily Mail, 2 March 2012. The headline reads, 'Cook with Jamie: East is best! These Far Eastern broths are (blah blah blah) good for you'.

Hmm, broths? I have no idea why chicken rice is in an article about broths but I'm sure the recipe is, as Jamie Oliver says, good for you. It has to be with 305 g of ginger! If you're suffering from excessive wind, the humongous amount of spicy ginger will cure you in a jiffy. (Not that I'm speaking from personal experience, of course; I'm just telling you what my mother told me.) Or maybe you just gave birth and your mother, if she's Chinese, has told you to eat truckloads of ginger – every day, every single meal, for a whole month. What could be better than ginger rice with ginger chicken, ginger soup and ginger sauce?

You'll love the Naked Chef's Hainanese Chicken Rice because . . . . Oh hang on, it's not rice. You don't get rice when you cook 450 g with 2 litres of chicken stock, as specified in the ingredient list. Or is it 1.2 litres as per the instructions? Whichever it is, you'll have a pot of porridge, not rice. Maybe Mr Oliver thinks porridge is more in keeping with the broth theme?

There may not be any rice in JO's chicken rice but at least there's chicken. Here's how the celebrity chef poaches it: boil 4 chicken breasts for 5 minutes in 4 litres of water flavoured with ginger, garlic, shallots and lemongrass; turn off the heat; let the chicken steep 40 minutes; then place the chicken in ice water for 30 minutes. If you follow his method, I promise you'll have chicken that's way overcooked and dry as dust. But at least it IS chicken. It'd a disaster if there's neither chicken nor rice in chicken rice, wouldn't it?

Instead of a thick mound of grated ginger, Mr Oliver's ginger sauce is ginger JUICE, diluted with a lot of chicken stock. This watery thing, he says, has 'a flavour wallop'. Well, I guess folks in Singapore prefer a flavour nuclear bomb!

I can see that the Brits may prefer to be walloped rather than bombed but why is there GARLIC JUICE in the chickeny ginger juice? Perhaps because there isn't any garlic chilli sauce although there is chilli sauce, of unspecified nature. I suspect Mr Oliver has no idea how important the garlicky chilli sauce is. If you ask a Singaporean 'How's the chicken rice?', he'll probably say 'Walau, de chilli sauce damn shiok ah!' (which means the chilli sauce is pucker). A chicken rice recipe that doesn't say how the garlic chilli sauce is made would be useless in the motherland of chicken rice.

Singapore's iconic dish wouldn't be complete without thick, dark soya sauce. But the recipe doesn't specify what type of soya sauce it should be, so people who aren't familiar with Hainanese chicken rice may use light soya sauce instead. In fact, the sauce in the photo looks brown, not black, so it is light soya sauce. Fail!

Finally, we come to the soup. There's a lot of it, and it's tasteless because there's way too much water used to cook the chicken. 2 litres would have been ample, not 4 litres. You notice there's a lot of water/stock in everything, from the broth to the rice and ginger sauce? Fortunately, the soup doesn't make or break the chicken rice. It's as incidental as the slices of cucumber that sit beside the chicken, and that's why it's odd to put chicken rice in an article about broths. Hmm, I think Jamie Oliver seriously needs a better ghostwriter.

I have only two words for the soggy gingery porridge and dry gingery chicken served with watery ginger juice, light soya sauce and god-knows-what chilli sauce: NOT PUCKER! It's good for a laugh though. I think the watered and dumbed down ginger juice is especially funny!

XO Cognac Fried Chicken Wings

I have a friend who knows a thing or two about food. He doesn't cook but he's a discerning eater. If he says a restaurant is good, then it's either very good or at least above average. His restaurant recommendations never disappoint me, and I have total trust in his opinion.

One day, this friend of mine asked me to bring him some bak chang made by his mother. He was living in New York at the time, and I was going to visit him for a couple of days.

Smuggle some comfort food to the other side of the planet for a dear old friend? No problemo.

I hopped along to his mother's place, and Aunty gave me six bak chang to hand-carry to her son, plus another six as reward for the bak chang mule.

When I got home, I immediately steamed one of the little pyramids of glutinous rice, pork, mushroom, chestnuts, etc wrapped in bamboo leaves. I eagerly unwrapped the piping hot dumpling and took a mouthful, making sure there was a bit of each ingredient balanced on my chopsticks.

Chomp, chomp, chomp . . . chomp . . . ch . . . .

But . . . but . . . this is very ordinary what!

The dumpling wasn't bad, but it wasn't very good either. I was expecting something extraordinary because my friend had said his mother's bak chang was the best in this and the next galaxy, or something to that effect. But what I got instead was a very mediocre, average bak chang that was nothing compared to those made by my mother.

The next day, I and 11 bak chang flew off to New York, and promptly got thrown into jail for smuggling . . . . Just kidding. With my innocent look, I sailed through customs, like always (unlike those guys here.)

I stayed with my friend for two days and we had bak chang for breakfast on both days. Watching my friend's rapturous enjoyment of the unremarkable dumplings, I realized he wasn't at all objective in judging his mother's cooking. His mum's dumplings may be ordinary but, to him, they were so precious that he froze the seven he had remaining because he couldn't bear to finish them too quickly. Guess what? I couldn't either if I were he, which was why I nodded enthusiastically when he asked me if the bak chang was the best in this and the next galaxy.

I'd like to say the fried chicken wings my mother made were the best ever bar none. But I'm mindful that I'm not the best judge of my mother's cooking. You should take what I say with a pinch of salt, as I do when other people rave about their mother's cooking.

Oh look, here's another one who thinks his mother's cooking is the bee's knees:

'My mother loved good food and liked to cook for her children. When I went to college and had to eat institutional food in the hall, I was miserable. After I married and set up home, we had Cantonese maids. They were good cooks, but they could not quite reproduce the Peranakan dishes my mother cooked. So we got used to different standards. A year ago, my niece, Shermay Lee, updated my mother's cookbook and called it The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook Vol. 1: Nonya Cuisine. It won an international award. She had invited me to dinner at her cooking school in Chip Bee Gardens. Her dishes evoked memories of my mother's food. But either because of my age my palate has become dulled and jaded, or the ingredients are no longer the same; in my memory, my mother's dishes were better. However, for those who have never tasted my mother's cooking, Shermay's will be the next best available.' Lee Kuan Yew, 3 August 2004 Foreword to The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook Vol. 2

What was LKY's mother's cooking really like? Click here to find out.

Whenever my mother made fried chicken wings, she'd nick my father's XO Cognac and add a good splosh of the expensive brandy to the marinade. That, along with ginger juice, was what made her fried chicken wings special, she said.

In a time when meat was scarce, it was strictly one chicken wing per person. As a kid, I ate only half of my entitlement at the dinner table. The remaining half – the tip and the 'mid-joint' – I would savour it sitting on the swing in the backyard. I chewed off the skin very slowly, nibbled on the meat, then sucked on the bones. I could, I swear, make half a chicken wing last 30 minutes. That's the fondest memory I have of food in my childhood, and it explains why I think KFC is verging on inedible.

Is my mother's recipe for fried chicken wings the bee's knees? I think so but then I'm totally biased. You'd have to try it and see for yourself.

XO COGNAC FRIED CHICKEN WINGS (Recipe for 12 wings) 12 chicken wings weighing 1 kg wash and drain; chop each wing along main joint into 2 pieces; chop and discard tips if not eating Marinade 2 tbsp light soya sauce 3 tbsp oyster sauce 1 clove garlic, peel and pound finely 3 shallots, peel, wash and pound finely 70 g ginger, peel, pound finely and squeeze to yield 2 tbsp juice 1 tbsp Cognac ¾ tsp salt ¼ tsp ground white pepper ⅓ cup tapioca flour vegetable oil for deep-frying Marinate chicken for 24 hours, refrigerated, covered, and placed in a single layer if possible, in maybe a roasting pan or large Ziploc bag. Turn over once midway, or once every few hours if not in a single layer. 20-30 minutes before cooking, remove chicken from fridge to come to room temperature. When you're ready to deep-fry, drain and discard marinade. Dredge chicken in tapioca flour, patting gently to remove excess. Deep-fry wings in hot oil over medium-high heat till golden brown and cooked (meat feels firm when pressed). Remove from oil. Increase heat to high. Reheat oil to just smoking. Deep-fry wings again, this time till just golden brown. Drain using rack or sieve lined with paper towels. Serve immediately with sweet or garlic chilli sauce. Meat should be juicy, fragrant and nicely seasoned; batter should be crisp and not oily. To make fried chicken wings that are juicy, crispy and not oily, you need to do 5 things: [1] Deep-fry right after dredging the wings in tapioca flour. If you wait, the flour will turn soggy, and soggy tapioca flour absorbs a lot of oil when it's deep-fried. [2] The oil for the first round of deep-frying should be hot enough to bubble rapidly around the chicken. [3] The oil for the second round should be hot enough to bubble furiously. [4] Use a rack/sieve (to prevent condensation) lined with paper towels (to absorb excess oil) for draining the fried chicken. [5] Serve immediately once the chicken is drained.

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.

Diced Chicken in Spicy Fermented Tofu Sauce

One day, whilst shooting the breeze with me somewhere, an ang moh acquaintance said he had a tattoo. Without any encouragement on my part, he rolled up his sleeve to show me the Chinese word on his arm. He seemed quite proud of it, and I was all prepared to 'Oooh!' appropriately (whilst running my fingers gently over his bulging biceps *wink wink*). Instead, when I saw the word he had chosen, the beer I was drinking took a detour into my lungs and up my nose. My face turned red; I thumped my chest; he thumped my back; it was a while before I could stop coughing. By then, Acquaintance probably suspected there was something wrong with his tattoo 'cause I was laughing and gesturing at it even as I choked on my drink. Indeed, there was, for the word on his arm was "腐".

"腐", for those who don't know, means decay, rot, spoil, or corrupt. Why the hell did he tattoo himself with such a word? Ah . . . . Because Acquaintance had been told the word meant eagle. Or rather, the catalogue that he'd picked the word from said so. But 'eagle' is "鹰", not "腐"! They may look similar, but the two words are worlds apart in meaning. Unfortunately, nobody at the tattoo parlour in London understood Chinese.

Grinning from ear to ear despite my watering eyes, I said, 'You know tofu? This word is the 'fu' part of "tofu".'

'I've got "tofu" tattooed on my arm?!'

'Er, no, it's just "fu", not "tofu".'

'What does "fu" mean?' It was cruel but I had to tell him. 'It doesn't make sense if "fu" means rot, because there's nothing rotten about tofu,' he said.

He had a point. Why is tofu called tofu when the 'to' (beans) aren't "fu" (rotten)?

The question bothered me for years but not anymore. I've just googled and found a plausible explanation, which is this: A long, long time ago, the Chinese called Mongolian cheese furu (腐乳), which meant spoiled milk. And then they started making curd, which resembled cheese, with soya bean milk. Hence, the curd was called tofu (豆腐), meaning spoiled beans. And then they started fermenting tofu, which turned creamy/milky as mould grew on it. So they called the fermented tofu furu, the same name which had been given to Mongolian cheese. This time, the preserved tofu did full justice to the word "腐".

Were Mongolians really making cheese even before Chinese started making beancurd, which was an awfully long time ago in 200-something BC (Han dynasty)? I don't know, but at least I have an answer next time someone asks me to explain the 'fu' part of "tofu".

I never found out whether Mr "腐" removed his tattoo, but I would if I were him. Or maybe put "豆" on the other arm, and tell everyone he loves tofu. If I see him again, I'll invite him to my place and make him some nice tofu dishes, like Spicy Diced Chicken with Fermented Tofu. I'm sure he'd love that. *wink wink*

DICED CHICKEN IN SPICY FERMENTED TOFU SAUCE (香辣腐乳鸡丁) (Recipe for 4 persons) 400 g boneless chicken leg, wash and dice 2 cm Marinade 1½ tbsp white fermented beancurd's pickling liquid ⅓ tsp salt ½ tbsp sugar 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine 1½ tbsp water Stir-fry 1 tbsp white sesame oil 1 piece ginger, half thumb size, peel, wash and slice thinly 3 cloves garlic, peel, wash and slice thinly 3 bird's eye chillies, or adjust to taste, wash, trim and slice diagonally 3 mm thick ½ tbsp spring onions (white part) cut 1 cm long 30 g white fermented beancurd, mash 1 tbsp Shaoxing wine Finishing touch 2 tbsp spring onions (green part) cut 1 cm long ¼ tsp white sesame oil Mix chicken with marinade ingredients till all liquid is absorbed. Marinate for 15 minutes or longer. In a just smoking wok, heat 1 tbsp white sesame oil till very hot. Add ginger and stir-fry over high heat till lightly golden. Add garlic, chillies and spring onions (white part). Stir-fry till garlic is also lightly golden. Add fermented beancurd and stir-fry till fragrant. Add chicken and stir-fry till wok is very hot. Drizzle with wine and stir through. Drizzle with 1 tbsp water and stir through again. Add 2 tbsp water and continue stirring – a few minutes would do – till chicken is just cooked (totally opaque and firm), and sauce is reduced and slightly thickened. Or leave sauce a bit watery if not eating within 10 minutes, because it thickens as it sits. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. Turn off heat. Sprinkle with spring onions (green part). Stir through. Sprinkle with ¼ tsp sesame oil. Plate and serve immediately.

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.

Prawn Paste Chicken

I could smell the fermented prawn paste once the bottle was open. Phwoar! This is potent stuff!

It wasn't belachan, which is quite harmless until it's toasted or fried. Nor was it Penang hae ko, which is absolutely benign because it's got lots of sugar.

What I had was har cheong, a liquid prawn paste made in Hong Kong. It was a very appetizing grey – oh yum! – and the label on the bottle said, so reassuringly, 'Cooked [sic] Before Eating'. Thanks for the warning! You bet I will!

Your first whiff of har cheong might make you think of a rotting rat or, as a friend puts it ever so nicely, a mortuary with no power supply. But once you take a deep breath – be brave! – you'll get the aroma that explains why fermented prawn paste is cherished in Malaysia, the Phillipines, Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, Cambodia, and some parts of China. That's, what, easily several hundred million people? Oh hang on, I almost forgot Singapore. That adds another few million who eat lots of belachan (but don't make any).

There are many types of fermented prawn paste, and they all have their own following. I think Hong Kong har cheong is excellent, but someone from maybe Thailand would (almost certainly) disagree. Some say the best belachan in Malaysia is from Malacca; others say it's Penang. I guess what's best depends on what you grew up eating. It's not the absolute standard but the emotional connection that counts.

The first time I made har cheong gai was several years ago with a recipe from Lee Kum Kee. Marinated with just har cheong and a wee bit of sugar, the chicken was so salty only half of it was eaten. After the flop, the bottle of LKK Fine Shrimp Sauce sat untouched in the fridge for a few years! It was eventually binned only when I moved house.

Today, I finally made another stab at HCG. Giving LKK a wide berth, I armed myself with a different recipe and a different brand of har cheong. Unlike the first attempt which was verging on inedible, this recipe had water, a bit of oyster sauce, and more sugar to tame the massively salty har cheong. More importantly, the har cheong was, I think, far superior to LKK's. Everyone voted with his mouth, and there wasn't a single piece of chicken left.

If there's a favourite fried chicken in Singapore, my guess is it's HCG. Now I know how to make it. Mission har cheong gai finally accomplished – yay!



Related links:
Making har cheong in Hong Kong
History of Har Cheong Gai

17 July 2012 Update

Here's how I make har cheong gai:

HAR CHEONG GAI (虾酱鸡; PRAWN PASTE CHICKEN) Source: Adapted from All About Ci Char Cuisine (Recipe for 4 persons) 1 tbsp sugar ½ tbsp oyster sauce 2 tbsp water 2 tbsp 虾酱 (har cheong; Chinese fermented prawn paste) 2 chicken legs, about 400 g, wash, drain, and chop chunky ¼ cup tapioca starch vegetable oil for deep-frying The most important ingredient for prawn paste chicken is, other than prawn paste and chicken, water. The tapioca starch is also crucial. That's what Hong Kong Street Zhen Ji uses for its very popular har cheong gai, as shown in the video here. It's pretty good, better than cornflour. Add sugar, oyster sauce, water and har cheong to chicken. Stir thoroughly. Marinate 3-4 hours, turning over once mid-way. Bring chicken to room temperature. Shake off excess marinade from chicken. Dredge in tapioca starch till thinly coated. Pat lightly to get rid of excess starch. Deep-fry chicken in moderately hot oil over medium heat till cooked through and lightly golden brown. Remove chicken to a sieve. Increase heat to high. Heat oil till just smoking. Refry chicken till golden brown. Drain in a sieve lined with paper towels. Serve immediately.