Cereal Butter Prawns (II)

Tips for making cereal butter prawns:

⋈ I've come across recipes that use oat which, if you think about it, isn't crisp before you cook it. So you fry it in butter and it's supposed to crisp up? No way! It just turns into a soggy mess. When you see recipes that use oat, run!

⋈ What you should use is Nestum cereal, which is actually flakes of baked flour with a milky fragrance. It comes out of the bag (or tin) crisp, and it can absorb some moisture without going soft. Hence, curry leaves fried with Nestum cereal are dry and crunchy. Likewise, deep-fried prawns that still have a bit of moisture would also crisp up nicely but don't dry out. And that's why you need quite a lot of cereal in the recipe, because there must be enough to suck up excess moisture from the curry leaves and prawns. Plus, everyone loves eating it anyway.

⋈ Be careful when you're frying the cereal. It burns easily, so use low heat. And the wok should be warm, not hot.

⋈ Don't use small prawns because they overcook easily. Big ones require some skill to get them evenly done. Medium size is the easiest.

⋈ To deep-fry medium-sized prawns, use the maximum heat possible on your stove, in vegetable oil heated to just smoking. Fry just once, not twice.

⋈ Go easy on the bird's eye chilli. It dries out as it's fried, and that makes it really hot.

Cereal butter prawns is really quite easy and straightforward. If you don't overcook the prawns and you don't burn the cereal, then the success of the dish depends on the recipe. Where can you find a good one? Right here, and here's my step-by-step video:



Click here for the recipe.

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.

Sambal Ikan Bilis (II)

Ini ikan bilis; ini kacang.

"Beep beep beep! KT has reached maximum capacity of her Behasa Melayu."

What?! That is so not true. I know lots more Malay words . . . like, um, nasi lemak, mee rebus, ayam, ikan, babi, pulut, pisang goreng . . . .

No, it's not just food words I know. I can count up to 10 in Malay, and I know colour words like hitam, hijau, merah, puteh and biru. I have to confess though it's food, like kacang puteh and nasi kuning, that helps me remember the colour words.

I also know "majulah Singapura" means forward Singapore. Believe it or not, that's the only part of Little Red Dot's national anthem I understand. The rest is just gibberish to me, most of which I don't even pronounce correctly.

If it's any consolation, I'm not alone in my ignorance. Wiki says (link):

 The majority of Singaporeans are clueless about the meaning of their national anthem. Only 1 in 7 know the meaning of each word.

Only 1 in 5 are able to sing the anthem perfectly. Singer Taufik Batisah, who is Malay, isn't one of them. Instead of bersatu, he once sang berseru.

 About 1 in 10 can recite only the first line, or not even that.

One-time Deputy PM Rajaratnam once said, "Anyone over the age of five, unless mentally retarded, has no difficulty singing the anthem."

Ha . . . ha . . . ha . . . oh dear . . . .

Well, better late than never. Time to find out, I guess.

*google . . . click click click*

What the . . . !

I'd always thought "forward Singapore" meant forward in terms of economic growth. Hell no, it's actually happiness. Sama-sama menuju bahagia means: let us progress towards happiness together. Happiness? Gee, what's that? According to the Happy Planet Index, Singapore is the second unhappiest nation in Asia.

After looking up the meaning of each word in the anthem, I can now compose two Malay sentences: Marilah kita masak! Marilah kita makan! Come, let us cook! Come, let us eat!

Marilah kita click sini for the resipi. Please click here for the recipe.

Fried Spring Rolls (Video #135)

Regular readers of this blog would know I made my first cooking video last week. So why is this video #135 instead of #2? Heh . . . heh . . . heh . . . . Because I'm following a Chinese custom.

In the old days far, far away in China, an abundance of male heirs to carry on the family name was considered good fortune. So much so that if someone had only one or two sons – which was tantamount to a tragedy – he'd say he had 11 or 12. IOW, it was how many he actually had, plus 10. Hence, the eldest son became #11, and the second son #12. Note that the creative accounting applied to sons only. It was perfectly alright to have only one daughter, or even none at all.

Since we're inflating the numbers – COOKING the books! – why stop at 10, right? OTOH, if I said I've made 34,347,595 videos, no one would believe me. So I'm going for something that's impressive but within reason. I reckon 135 sounds good.

Jokes aside, here are a few tips for making fried spring rolls (not that you need any, or that spring rolls are difficult to make):

 When buying turnip, pick the smaller ones. These tend to be younger and, hence, sweeter and less fibrous starchy than the big ones. They're also easier to peel and cut if you have small hands like me.

If you're using a grater, make sure it's razor-sharp. Otherwise, the turnip will be mushy.

 You don't need a lot of oil to stir-fry turnip because it's sweet and crunchy, not bitter or fibrous.

The filling should be crunchy. Don't overcook the turnip.

Drain the filling well before wrapping. If it's too wet, the spring roll pastry will tear.

Use the maximum heat possible for stir-frying the filling. If the wok isn't hot enough, the juices from the turnip won't evaporate and will have to be drained off. That'll be a waste of the flavour.

 To keep spring rolls for frying the next day, put them in the fridge, uncovered on a wire rack, so that water doesn't condense on or underneath the pastry. Or you could do the wrapping just before frying.

You might be tempted to embellish the filling with dried mushrooms, fresh prawns or fried beancurd. But it's really not necessary if the turnip is cooked with good quality dried prawns, and a good amount of sugar and ground white pepper. That's my mother's recipe, btw.

Frozen spring roll pastry comes in various sizes. The Goldilocks size – not too big; not too small – is 19 x 19 cm (7½ x 7½ inches).

You don't have to make spring rolls with the filling. It's delicious eaten with rice or porridge, or you can use it to make soon kueh.

POPIAH (SPRING ROLLS; 薄饼/春卷) (Recipe for 20 pieces) 40 g dried prawns (⅓ cup) wash and soak in 2 tbsp hot water till soft, about 15 minutes; squeeze dry, reserving the water; chop roughly 1 kg turnip (aka 沙葛, jicama and yam bean) wash and peel, leaving about 900 g; cut matchstick size 120 g carrot cut matchstick size wash and peel, leaving about 100 g; cut matchstick size 3 big cloves garlic peel and mince finely vegetable oil for stir- and deep-frying 2 tbsp light soya sauce 4 tsp sugar ¾ tsp ground white pepper 19 x 19 cm frozen spring roll pastry thaw to room temperature; separate 20 pieces and cover till ready to wrap; refreeze unused pastry Prepare dried prawns, turnip, carrot and garlic as detailed above. In a very hot wok, heat 2 tbsp oil till just smoking. Add dried prawns and fry over maximum heat till lightly golden. Add garlic and fry till nicely golden brown. Add turnip and carrots. Stir-fry till heated through. Add light soya sauce and sugar. Mix thoroughly. Drizzle with water used to soak dried prawns. Stir-fry till evaporated. Turnip should now be cooked but still crunchy. Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary, then sprinkle with ground white pepper Mix through and turn off heat. Push everything to one side of wok to drain off sauce. When cool, transfer filling to a bowl, minus sauce. To wrap, spread out pastry in a diamond shape. With a Chinese soup spoon, place 1 heaped tablespoonful filling (40-50 g) near bottom corner. Fold bottom corner upwards, then left and right corners. Roll upwards tightly. Set aside, seam side down. Repeat with remaining pastry. Heat oil in a wok till just smoking. Deep-fry spring rolls over medium heat till golden brown. Drain. Serve immediately.

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.

Teochew Ngoh Hiang

I can never get enough of ngoh hiang, the deep-fried meat rolls that are full of the fragrance of five-spice powder and yam, the sweetness of prawns and pork, and the crunch of water chestnuts. The salty beancurd skin wrapped around the filling adds to the aroma and, more importantly, it stops moisture from escaping, keeping the meat roll moist and juicy. Mmmmm . . . .

What makes Teochew ngoh hiang Teochew? It's the yam, which Hokkien ngoh hiang doesn't have. Of course, the Teochew version is far superior, in my totally unbiased, impartial opinion.

Seetoh is right about Teochew ngoh hiang having yam (0:25 in the video). But the yam isn't used as a thickener. Instead, it's added because it complements the five-spice powder, 五香粉, which gives the meat roll its name, 五香.

Does Teochew 五香 have a lot of flour, as Seetoh says? Only when cost is more important than quality, and flour is used as a cheap filler! That goes for anything made with minced meat, not just ngoh hiang, and certainly not just ngoh hiang that's Teochew.

I guess Seetoh doesn't know much about Teochew ngoh hiang, and he's eaten only bad ones. But he is right about one thing though. Good ngoh hiang, be it Hokkien or Teochew, must have lard. Please repeat after me: Good ngoh hiang must have lard! All together now: Good ngoh hiang must have LOTS of lard! Praise the lard! Hallelujah . . . . HalleluLARD!

People stopped eating lard in the 1980s, fearing for their life. But 30 years of abstaining from delicious pork fat hasn't delivered any of the benefits promised. The number of people suffering from high blood pressure, obesity, high cholesterol, strokes and heart diseases have increased relentlessly over the past three decades. So why is everyone still afraid of lard? And even eggs, which doctors have given the ok for donkey's years? Because abstaining from something enjoyable harks back to their childhood. It reminds them of how they were praised when, as kids, they did as they were told. It gives them a reason to say, as their parents did when they didn't misbehave, 'Good girl/boy!'

Do you want to be naughty for a change? If you do, scroll down for the recipe.

TEOCHEW NGOH HIANG (五香, FIVE-SPICE MEAT ROLLS) (Recipe for 16 small rolls) 60 x 40 cm salted beancurd skin (½ sheet) wipe both sides with damp cloth, and cut into 16 pieces each measuring 10 x 15 cm Filling ¾ cup yam (aka taro) diced 5 mm deep-fry over high heat till just cooked, 1-2 minutes ½ cup water chestnuts diced 5 mm 150 g prawns shell, devein, rinse, dry thoroughly with paper towels, and cut pea size 350 g fatty pork mince (mix 250 g lean meat with 100 g lard) 1 tbsp oyster sauce 1 tbsp Shao Xing wine ½ tbsp white sesame oil ¼ tsp ground white pepper 2 tbsp water ½ tsp cornflour ⅔ tsp five-spice powder vegetable oil for deep-frying Instead of small rolls, you can make big ones 4 cm thick and 15 cm long. These would have to be steamed, then deep-fried and cut bite size. Cooked twice, biggies wouldn't be as juicy as small ngoh hiang deep-fried without steaming. Prepare beancurd sheet as detailed above. Set aside. Prepare yam, water chestnuts and prawns as detailed above. Thoroughly mix all ingredients for filling except prawns. Stir, in one direction only, till mixture is sticky, about 5 minutes. Add prawns and mix through. Place 1 beancurd sheet vertically on a plate. Spread bottom end with 30 g (1½ tbsp) filling, up to 1 cm from edges. Roll upward tightly without folding in the sides. Set aside, seam side down. Repeat . . . . With a non-stick pot, deep-fry meat rolls in moderately hot oil over medium to medium-low heat till golden brown and just cooked. Best served hot as finger food, as it is. Only bad ngoh hiang need to be dunked and smothered in sweet dark soya sauce or sweet chilli sauce, to hide the fact that it's bad.

Sambal Ikan Bilis (I)

The good news is, anchovy stocks have doubled because their predators – the type that doesn't have legs – have declined sharply in numbers. This is where we, the two-legged predators, need to step up our efforts. Eat more anchovies, people!

I don't know about you but I don't need much persuasion to eat sambal ikan bilis. The salty little fishies and deep-fried peanuts make a perfect ménage à trois with the sweet and spicy sambal.

Nasi lemak simply woudn't be complete without some sambal ikan bilis. No coconut rice? Never mind, it also goes well with Teochew porridge and steamed rice. Or just eat it on its own, but be warned that once you start nibbling, you won't stop till you eat everything. Which is fine if it's everything on the plate. Just don't go eating every anchovy in the oceans.

9 July 2012 Update

SAMBAL IKAN BILIS (ANCHOVIES WITH CHILLI PASTE) (Recipe for 6 cups) Sambal (makes 1 cup) 40 g lemongrass, white part only 150 g shallots 75 g garlic 20 g ginger 50 g red chillies 15 g dried chillies trim stems, cut 2 cm long, soak in warm water till soft, about 30 minutes; squeeze dry and discard water 15 g belachan roast at 150°C or dry-fry over medium-low heat till dry and crumbly 80 ml vegetable oil 20 g tamarind paste mash with 2 tbsp hot water, drain and discard seeds 30 g palm sugar, roughly chopped vegetable oil for deep-frying 150 g peanut ½ tsp salt 250 g ikan bilis, gutted and split 4 tbsp sugar Rempah (spice paste): Wash, trim, peel and roughly chop lemongrass, shallots, garlic, ginger and red chillies as appropriate. Grind or pound with dried chillies and belachan till smooth. Set aside. Peanuts: Deep-fry in warm vegetable oil over medium-low heat, stirring, till light brown. This should take 4 minutes or so. Turn off heat. Remove peanuts from oil. Immediately season with salt. Set aside. Anchovies: Rinse briefly and immediately dry with paper towels. Heat oil till just smoking. Add anchovies and deep-fry over high heat, stirring, till lightly golden. Push anchovies to side of wok. Let oil reheat to just smoking. Stir anchovies into oil and fry till almost golden brown. Turn off heat. Continue stirring till residual heat dissipates. Place anchovies with peanuts. Sambal: Remove excess oil from wok, leaving about 80 ml. Stir-fry spice paste over medium-low heat till fragrant, colour darkens and oil separates. Add palm sugar. Stir till melted. Add tamarind water. Stir till evaporated. Turn off heat. Remove to a bowl. Mix: Remove oil from the wok. Over medium heat, stir sugar till melted. Reduce heat to very low. Add peanuts and anchovies. Toss till evenly coated. Add sambal. Toss thoroughly. Taste and add more sugar if necessary. Turn off heat. Remove to a plate to cool down completely. Serve: sambal ikan bilis is excellent with steamed rice, nasi lemak, or Teochew porridge. Also makes a great nibble. Store leftovers in the fridge, tightly covered unless you like your fridge smelling of fish.

Fried Wontons

Fried wontons are different from wontons in soup, apart from the fact that they're fried.

The filling for boiled wontons should have dried sole (大地鱼, aka 铁脯). The fish is toasted till brown, crisp and fragrant, then chopped into little bits. If it's not available, deep-fried shallots are a good substitute. With either of these ingredients in the filling, wontons cooked in soup would have a rich, intense aroma they wouldn't have otherwise. In Hong Kong, the motherland of Wonton Soup, the stock used is made with dried sole, amongst other things.

Fried wontons, on the the hand, don't need any dried sole or deep-fried shallots because the fragrance from the golden brown wrappers is sufficient.

Boiled wontons may be any size so long as the seams don't burst. Fried wontons, however, have to be quite small. If there's too much filling, the wontons would be brown before the inside is cooked. How much is too much? It depends on the mix of meat – use less if there's more pork, more if there's more prawns, and chicken would be somewhere inbetween. If you like your fried wontons big and meaty, 100% prawns would be the way to go.
 If you hate deep-frying because of the mess it may make, fried wontons would be good news. The wrappers are dry, so the oil doesn't splatter at all. Having your deep-fry and no cleaning is better than having your cake and eating it too!

FRIED WONTONS (炸云吞) (Makes 50 pieces) Filling 150 fatty coarsely minced pork 250 g prawns peel, devein, wash and dice 5 mm 3 water chestnuts peel, wash and dice 3 mm 2 tbsp thinly sliced spring onion 1 tbsp finely minced ginger 1 tbsp oyster sauce 2 tsp Shaoxing wine 2 tsp white sesame oil ½ tsp salt ¼ tsp sugar ¼ tsp ground white pepper 50 wonton wrappers water for sealing wrappers oil for deep-frying To make filling, place all ingredients in a bowl and mix thoroughly. Gather mixture in one hand and throw back into the bowl, hard. Repeat till mixture is sticky, 3-4 minutes. To wrap, please refer to video below but use only 1 rounded tsp filling per wonton. Wrappers may be sealed with beaten egg as in the video, or water. Alternatively, you could put some filling in the middle of the wrapper, dab some egg/water on the edges, fold to form a triangle/rectangle/semi-circle, then press edges to seal. (Click here if you need 12 photos (!) to show you how to make triangular wontons. But I'm assuming you are quite intelligent . . . .) Wonton wrappers brown very easily. Do not use too much filling, oil that's too hot, or fry the wontons when they're chilled. Otherwise, the inside may still be raw when the wrappers are brown. To fry, use moderately hot oil. Test by dipping wonton (or an uncoated wooden chopstick) into the oil. Temperature is just right when oil bubbles softly. If there's rapid bubbling, let oil cool down slightly before testing again. If there's no reaction from the oil, continue heating till bubbling softly. When oil is at right temperature, fry wontons over medium heat till golden brown, about 90 seconds. Drain and serve immediately with garlic or sweet chilli sauce on the side.

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.