MooMooFoodie

Cook and Share A Pot of Curry From MooMooFoodie's Kitchen! :)

Tom Yam Curry Chicken from MooMooFoodie's Kitchen! :)

Participate in this meaningful event and spread the importance of intercultural understanding between countries and also between the different races and nationalities within one country!

For background info:

http://www.facebook.com/#!/event.php?eid=254441147918239

This is a Facebook Page created by a group of Singaporeans after a report came about that a mainland Chinese family (from China) told a local Indian Family not to eat curry and not to cook curry. The appointed mediator - a certain Madam Giam facilitated the case in such a way that : the Indian family could cook curry only when the mainland Chinese family is not at home. (mediation agreement).

So far, more than 60,000 around the world (mostly Singaporeans!) are joining in. Cook a pot of curry or buy a take-out from a restaurant (if you can't cook or too busy to do so).

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Excerpt from Facebook Page:

http://www.todayonline.com/Singapore/EDC110808-0000102/Number-of-neighbour-disputes-hit-high (this is the link)

and this is the clarification to the case:
http://app2.mlaw.gov.sg/Highlights/tabid/168/Default.aspx?ItemId=568

and 16th Aug 2011 (The Law Minister's clarification)
http://news.asiaone.com/News/AsiaOne%2BNews/Singapore/Story/A1Story20110816-294757/2.html

How we feel
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How could a appointed mediator facilitate the case in such a way that restricts the lifestyle and cooking norms of the Indian family? Or any other local family who practices a cultural lifestyle that we have all made our own? In this case, Curry has always been part of our culture since the 1800s. It can be anything else that you or I hold dear.

There is a native Malay proverb "Di mana bumi dipijak, di situ langit dijunjung" ("You should hold up the sky of the land where you live") - ie one should respect the country in which you choose to live in. ( ie blend/ assimilate/ understand/ tolerate / integrate into the community of your chosen choice)

What we wish for
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When the new immigrants arrive here, we wish for them to respect / embrace the cultural / lifestyle and linguistic norms of this nation. We wish for all new immigrants and citizens to understand and appreciate the various and diverse cultural aspects of the various ethnic-minority groups we have here.

This is Singapore and we are part of Malayan culture. Our hinterland previously was Malaysia and the Indonesian archipelago. Our ancestors came, met and mingled and through an adventurous and open mindset, created something unique and beautiful... (thus our local culture as such- curries/ spices/ a vast melting pot of people and mixed heritages)

* A message to all new citizens: We sincerely hope you integrate into our local culture and make attempts to assimilate and embrace/ appreciate the various multi-ethnic cultures we had built up so painstakingly over the decades. Because at the same time, we are definitely open to taking the best that you have to offer, and to create new and beautiful Singaporean things.

*We Singaporeans are basically nice and tolerant people. We will accept you as new citizens and hope you blend in and integrate with us well.


Upset with CMC
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We are mainly upset with the "Community Mediation Centre's" mediation action of actually facilitating such a mediation agreement. It is the inalienable right of the Indian family to cook curry at any time they wish to within the four walls of their home. (having said that, let us all- natives, new citizens or otherwise, embrace the multi-cultural aspects of our nation)

Every Singaporean should just cook a pot of curry and eat it (regardless of race / language / religion). We are Singaporeans and we LOVE our curries - be it chicken curry / fish curry / lamb curry / beef curry / beef rendang / lontong / mee siam/ laksa / Petai sambal belachan / ayam buah keluak etc

Thank You Very Much for supporting "Cook A Pot of Curry" Event!

- from the Admin Group

NY Times: Backyard Bulgogi

 

 

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June 1, 2011

Backyard Bulgogi

By MARK BITTMAN

In looking to create a menu for an early-season barbecue that would appeal to everyone — meat lovers, vegetarians, culinary thrill-seekers and whoever else might show up — I realized that such a menu already exists. It’s just that it isn’t what we think of as “American food.”

Still, it is American to not fuss about the origin of recipes, especially when the menu spotlights both intensely flavored grilled marinated meat and a bunch of quirky, flavorful and mostly meatless side dishes.

In this case, the source is Korean. And with a little planning and advance work, you can make beef bulgogi and banchan (the name for the little tidbits either served first or as accompaniments) at home. And you’ll make them as well as or better than you’ve eaten them on 32nd Street in Manhattan or wherever your local joint might be. In other words, you’ll kick off the grilling season with an appealing, exotic, even exciting menu that will make most others seem dull.

The exoticism and excitement derive from both the ingredients and the techniques. Many of the ingredients you’ll need can be found at any halfway decent grocery store, but there is one important exception: gochujang, or Korean chili-bean paste. This combines the salty, complex tang of miso with a mild fire, and it’s an absolute must as a condiment for the beef. (If you’ve eaten Korean barbecue, you’ve been offered it.)

Gochugaro, Korean chili powder, which contributes heat to the kimchi and scallion-salad recipes, is also difficult to find in most supermarkets, but a substitute of red-pepper flakes or not-terribly fiery ground chili powder will give you a similar effect. Depending on where you live, you may well be able to find mung bean sprouts (which star in a simple salad), daikon radish (pickled along with cabbage in kimchi) and hijiki (which is soaked and then stir-fried in what is quite possibly the best seaweed preparation I’ve ever had) in your local supermarket.

The instantly recognizable profile of Korean food, however, comes not from obscure ingredients but from the relatively mainstream ones: sesame (both seeds and oil), garlic, soy sauce, garlic, rice vinegar, garlic, sugar and scallions. And garlic. I’ve more than once called Korean food “Japanese food with guts,” not as a slight against Japanese food (wonderful in its own right) but as an endorsement of Korean cuisine’s vigorous, muscular, completely unsubtle flavor profile. Korean food’s aggressive seasoning is really just right for grilling, where attempts at nuance are usually in vain.

Some elements of this barbecue are familiar but tweaked. (Some of that familiarity comes from the American presence in Korea, now going on 60 years.) Korean potato salad, for instance, is similar to American potato salad in that its dressing is mayonnaise-based, but the Korean version sometimes uses julienned rather than chunked potatoes and also contains carrots, peas, scallions and chives. It’s far from conventional and far from bland.

I will not (and cannot) claim that every element of this menu is legitimately Korean. In fact one recipe, the plum-and-herb cocktail, is plain made up: a sangrialike concoction of white wine, gin, rosemary-infused simple syrup and fresh plums. I see it as a tribute to the sweet plum wine so often served in Korean restaurants. (If you want to be authentic, drink soju — it will get you drunk in a hurry — or beer.) But if my cocktail isn’t authentic, it is good and, like the rest of the menu, very potent.

Beef Bulgogi
Time: 45 to 150 minutes

1 bunch scallions, roughly chopped

8 or more garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped

1 tablespoon sugar or honey

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1/2 cup soy sauce

1 tablespoon sesame oil

2 pounds sirloin, rib-eye or skirt steak, thinly sliced, or 3 to 4 pounds beef short ribs, boned and thinly sliced

Boston or loose-leaf lettuce leaves for serving

Gochujang (Korean chili-bean paste) for serving.

1. Combine the scallions, garlic, sugar, pepper, soy sauce and oil in blender and purée, adding water as needed to form a smooth mixture. Toss the meat with the soy mixture and marinate for 15 minutes to 2 hours. Heat a grill with the rack 4 to 6 inches from the flame; the fire should be as hot as possible.

2. Remove the meat from the marinade, and grill until browned outside but still rare inside, no more than a couple of minutes per side; do not overcook. Serve the meat wrapped in lettuce leaves, with gochujang for dipping.

Serves 4 to 6.

Sesame Spinach and Tofu
Cook 1 tablespoon minced garlic in 2 tablespoons sesame oil over medium-high heat for 1 minute; add 1 pound chopped spinach and cook, stirring occasionally, until it begins to wilt. Crumble in 1/2 pound extra-firm tofu and stir until warmed through. Stir in 1 tablespoon soy sauce, a pinch of sugar and 1 tablespoon sesame seeds. Serve hot or warm.

Korean Potato Salad
Cook 1 pound julienned or shredded potatoes and 1/2 pound julienned or shredded carrots in salted boiling water until barely tender, about 5 minutes; add 1/2 cup fresh or frozen peas for the last minute of cooking. Drain and rinse with cold water. Whisk together 1/2 cup mayonnaise and 3 tablespoons rice vinegar; toss with the vegetables, 1/2 cup chopped chives and 1/4 cup chopped scallions. Garnish with more chopped scallions and chives, season with salt and pepper to taste and serve.

Grilled-Scallion Salad
Brush 1 pound untrimmed scallions with 1 tablespoon sesame oil; grill over moderately high heat, turning once, until charred and tender, 5 to 10 minutes. Roughly chop and toss with 1 / 3 cup rice vinegar, 1 to 2 tablespoons gochugaro (Korean chili powder) or less if using red-pepper flakes, 1 tablespoon sesame seeds and 2 teaspoons sugar. Serve immediately.

Kimchi
Layer 1 small green or white cabbage (separated into leaves) and 1 small-to-medium daikon radish (cut into 1-inch cubes) with 1/2 cup coarse salt in a large bowl. Let sit until the cabbage is wilted, about 2 hours, massaging and weighting it if needed to help soften. Rinse and dry well. Roughly chop and toss with 15 to 20 chopped scallions, 1/4 cup fish (or soy) sauce, 1/4 cup minced garlic, 2 to 4 tablespoons sugar, 2 tablespoons minced ginger and 1 to 2 tablespoons gochugaro (Korean chili powder) or less if using red-pepper flakes. Serve immediately or refrigerate for up to a week.

Fried Hijiki
Soak 1 ounce dried hijiki in 2 cups hot water. When it’s tender, about 5 minutes later, drain, squeeze dry, remove any hard bits and chop. Cook 1 tablespoon minced garlic and 1/4 cup chopped scallions in 1 tablespoon neutral oil (like grapeseed or corn) and 1 tablespoon sesame oil over medium-high heat for 1 minute; add the hijiki and cook until browned and beginning to shrivel, 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in 1 tablespoon each soy sauce and sesame seeds and a pinch of sugar. Serve hot or warm.

Plum-and-Herb Wine Cocktail
Cook 1 / 3 cup sugar, 1 / 3 cup water and 1 sprig fresh rosemary or thyme over medium-low heat until the sugar dissolves; cool and remove the herb. Combine 1 bottle not-too-dry white wine (like Riesling), 1/4 cup gin, the juice of 1 lemon, 2 to 4 chopped plums and 1/4 cup of the rosemary syrup. Chill for at least 2 hours, taste and add more syrup if you like and serve.

ST: Some like it real hot

I found it!! Been searching high and low for this sauce since 2007... and stupidly did not buy it when I was in US in 2009.

Although this is a truly asian chili sauce, it is from US :P

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Lifestyle

Home > Lifestyle > Taste > Story

May 29, 2011

Posh Nosh

Some like it real hot

By Tan Hsueh Yun

 

There was a time when I took Sriracha chilli sauce for granted.

Every time I went to a pho shop, a bottle of it would be sitting on the table. Before the Vietnamese beef noodles arrived, I would squirt some of it into a dish with hoisin sauce and mush it up with chopsticks, a little ritual I love.

The tear-inducing, tongue-burning, vinegary and fruity hot sauce is perfect as a dip for slices of beef, especially when tempered with the sweet beany flavour of the hoisin.

Outside of the United States, however, this sauce is hard to find. You can find versions of it at the Thai supermarket in Golden Mile Complex but the one to get is made by Huy Fong Foods in Rosemead, California.

The sauce is named after the city of Si Racha in Thailand, and inspired by the spicy dipping sauce served in seafood restaurants there.

In the last couple of years, the sauce has gone viral, with chefs in the US adding it to everything from sushi rolls to cornbread.

It has even inspired a book - The Sriracha Cookbook by Randy Clemens.

But where oh where to find this sauce in Singapore?

After looking high and low, I found it in a most unexpected place: Cut The Mustard, a gourmet shop in Greendale Avenue. It was like winning the lottery, seeing the familiar bottle with the rooster on the front and the bright green cap.

The shop owners brought in a small shipment and it was wiped out within days. I hope there are some bottles left from the second, much larger, one.

Huy Fong Foods Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce, $8.50 for a 435ml bottle from Cut The Mustard, 1 Greendale Avenue, tel: 6466-9436, open: 10.30am to 7pm (Tuesdays to Saturdays), noon to 6pm (Sundays and public holidays). Closed on Mondays

FT: Global menu - Kicking up a stink

Global menu: Kicking up a stink

By Fuchsia Dunlop

Published: May 20 2011 17:49 | Last updated: May 20 2011 17:49

Cheese-tasting in Shaoxing; stinking beancurd on sale in the market; a beancurd vendor

It was lunchtime, in a private room at the Xianheng Tavern, the most famous restaurant in the ancient Chinese city of Shaoxing.

I opened the plastic boxes that I’d carried, sealed, all the way from London, and the stench of farmhouse cheeses began to waft across the room. The Chinese chefs and waiting staff seated around the table eyed them warily. Only two of the younger chefs had any cheese-related experience. None of the others, including the manager and executive chef of the Xianheng, Mao Tianyao, had tasted it in any form.

Cheese is not a favourite food in China, to put it mildly. Traditionally, dairy products were associated with the nomadic people who lived on the fringes of China and who were regarded as fearful barbarians. The Han Chinese, with a few notable exceptions, avoided eating dairy foods altogether: many were, and still are, lactose-intolerant. In recent years, influenced by western lifestyles, Chinese parents have begun to feed milk to their children, and their purchasing power has contributed to soaring worldwide milk prices. Cheese, however, is still generally regarded as beyond the pale. A few sophisticated Shanghainese might eat Stilton just as sophisticated Londoners eat tripe and chitterlings, but many people, especially in the provinces, have never tasted it.

But if the Chinese disdain the cheeses enjoyed by Europeans, they themselves adore some stinky foods that would appal many foreigners. Shaoxing, an hour’s drive from the Zhejiang provincial capital Hangzhou, is best known for its rice wines, but it is also the Chinese headquarters of “stinking and fermented” (chou mei) delicacies. Although I first went to Shaoxing to taste the wine, over several visits I became fascinated by its odorous foods, including the relatively well-known stinking beancurd, and also “fermented thousand layers” (made from beancurd skin), and various semi-rotted vegetables. All were shocking at first taste, with their earthy, old underwear aromas, but strangely addictive. “Fermented thousand layers” reminded me of the part of a high old Stilton that is closest to the rind, that yellow, sandy bit that gets right up your nose, dirty and delicious.

Over several visits to Shaoxing, I wondered what the locals, such ardent lovers of rotted soymilk and vegetable stalks, would make of rotted cow’s milk, otherwise known as cheese. Finally, I returned to Shaoxing with a boxful of artisanal cheeses from Neal’s Yard Dairy in London, including the smelliest I could find in the shop. I had selected one mild hard cheese, Isle of Mull, to serve as a kind of toe-in-the-water; Stichelton, which is an unpasteurised version of Stilton; pale, veined Harbourne Blue; Ardrahan, a fairly whiffy washed-rind cheese that I adore; Milleens, another washed-rind variety with a punchy, farmyardy aroma that acquires a hint of ammonia as it ripens; and a wildly smelly Brie de Meaux. By the time I reached Shaoxing after a week on the road, the cheeses had all ripened nicely, and some were beginning to ooze.

At the Xianheng, a waitress cut the cheeses into pieces, and the assembled tasters began to pick them up with their chopsticks, sniffing and tasting. And where I had been impressed by what cheese and stinky soya products had in common, these culinary professionals were immediately struck by their differences. “Although in some ways you could say the flavours of cheese and fermented beancurd are similar,” said Mao, “vegetable stinky foods are very clean and clear in the mouth (qing kou), and they disperse quickly, while milky foods are greasy in the mouth (ni kou), they coat your tongue and palate, and they have a long, lingering aftertaste.”

Two other chefs said the cheeses had a heavy shan wei (muttony odour), an ancient term used by southern Chinese to describe the slightly unsavoury tastes associated with the northern nomads. Another said that the selection “smells like Russians”. “The difference,” he added, “is that the stinky things Chinese people eat give them smelly breath, while stinky dairy things affect the sweat that comes out of your skin.”

Chinese fermented beancurd, an intense-tasting relish, had always reminded me of a ripe blue cheese, but the Shaoxing tasters, faced with a Stichelton, disagreed. “It does have a rich umami taste,” said chef Chen Judi, “but there’s also a bitter aftertaste that people in this region wouldn’t like at all.” Several of the tasters were repelled by the sourness and astringent aftertaste of the Isle of Mull, which I’d thought was the most innocuous. “Our rotted thousand layers just doesn’t have that sour taste,” said Mao.

The cheeses they found most palatable were the Harbourne Blue (“this is quite close to Shaoxing tastes,” said Mao, “neither bitter nor sour, and quite clean in the mouth”) and, surprisingly, the very strong Milleens, with its ammoniac whiff. “I think people here would be able to tolerate this,” he added. The only cheese that provoked real consternation was the Brie. “It has this animal stench that assaults your nose,” said Dai Jianjun. “Definitely the stinkiest,” said Mao, “I really can’t bear it.” Most of the others agreed. Only one chef, Sun Guoliang, actually liked it. “It has such a complex flavour, like stinking beancurd, rotted thousand sheets and fermented beancurd, all mixed together.”

After our first course of cheeses, we tasted some stinky local dishes for comparative purposes. And I had to agree with the assembled company that, despite the formidable aromas of the steamed stinking beancurd and the rotted amaranth stalks, their flavours were clean, dispersing quickly in the mouth, without the creamy clinginess of cheese. The cubes of fermented beancurd, too, had a magnificent creaminess, but it didn’t hang around: quickly vanishing to leave room for appreciation of the delicate soups and stews that came afterwards.

Much as I love cheese myself, by the end of the meal I was beginning to understand why a Shaoxing local might turn up her nose at Brie, while enjoying the stinking beancurd that perfumes entire neighbourhoods. I was, however, fascinated by how well the mellow tastes of Shaoxing’s amber-coloured wines matched the local stinking delicacies, a marriage as perfect as port and Stilton. The next tasting, perhaps, should be a gathering of European oenophiles around a table of Shaoxing wines and cheese.

‘Shark’s Fin & Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China’ by Fuchsia Dunlop, is published in paperback by Ebury Press on June 2

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2011.

WSJ: Four Perfect Picnics

 

FOOD & DRINK
MAY 14, 2011

Four Perfect Picnics

Globally inspired basket lunches curated by top chefs for your outdoor dining pleasure

Pernille Pedersen for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Karen Evans, Prop Styling by Angharad Bailey

Korean-style picnic

Korean

A Korean-style feast centered around chungmu kimbap (seaweed-wrapped rice rolls served with sauteed squid), with recipes from chef Dennis Lee of Namu, San Francisco.

The recipes: Seaweed-wrapped rice rolls: Season 1¾ cup cooked sushi rice with 2 tablespoons sesame oil and a light sprinkling of salt. Mix it gently with a wooden spoon.

Vote: Pick Your Picnic

View Interactive

Lay 3 half sheets of nori across lengthwise and coat with a rectangle of rice about ¼ inch high that reaches all four edges of nori layer. Roll it up. Dip your knife in water and slice the roll into long logs, 3-4 pieces per roll.

Sauteed Squid: Place 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon sesame oil in a pan on high heat.

As soon as the butter begins to foam, add 2 tablespoons gochujang (Korean chili paste), 1 teaspoon sugar, ½ finely chopped onion, 2 chopped scallions, ½ teaspoon grated ginger, ½ teaspoon grated garlic and 8 ounces squid (tube and tentacles) cut into ¼ inch rings. Cook about 4-5 minutes.

Serve with: Pickled daikon, cabbage salad, oranges and daifukumochi (Japanese sweet rice cakes).

To drink: Hitachino Nest Red Rice Ale.

The kit: Scrapwood Basket $225, ABC Carpet & Home, 212-473-3000.

Spanish

A Spanish-influenced picnic starring a parsnip tortilla española recipe from Ba Culbert, chef of Tilikum Place Cafe, Seattle.

Photos by Pernille Pedersen for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Karen Evans, Prop Styling by Angharad Bailey

Spanish-style picnic

The recipe: Combine 5 medium grated parsnips, 1 small diced yellow onion, 3 cloves minced garlic, 2 tablespoons chopped parsley, ¾ tablespoon salt, 1 teaspoon ground black pepper and 4 beaten eggs.

Melt 1 tablespoon butter and 3 tablespoons olive oil in a sizzling hot 8-inch saute pan. Add parsnip and egg mixture. Lower heat and cook for 5 minutes. Place pan in 350-degree oven for 7 minutes (or until egg sets).

Remove pan from oven, flip tortilla to a plate.

Return saute pan to stovetop and add a little more olive oil or butter. Add parsnip cake, light side down. Put pan in the oven for another 5 minutes or so. Let cool.

Serve with: Fava bean salad, cherry tomatoes, Romesco sauce (a Spanish nut and tomato sauce, available at markys.com), sour cream and roasted Marcona almonds.

To drink: Rosemary lemonade.

The kit: Viridian Insulated Picnic Basket, $100, picnicbaskets.com; Alpace Spiral Red Throw, $400, Blue plates, $450,Linen kitchen cloth, $18, all from ABC Carpet & Home, 212-473-3000.

Moroccan

Moroccan-style picnic featuring spice-grilled chicken breasts from Sue Zemanick of Gautreau's in New Orleans.

Pernille Pedersen for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Karen Evans, Prop Styling by Angharad Bailey

Moroccan-style picnic

The recipe: Mix ½ cup plain yogurt, ½ cup chopped cilantro, ¼ cup olive oil, 1 tablespoon ras el hanout (an Arabic spice blend, available at zamourispices.com), ½ teaspoon cumin,½ teaspoon paprika, 1 teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon cracked black pepper in a medium size bowl.

Coat 2 chicken breasts (skin on, bone in and split to yield four halves) in marinade and let sit in the refrigerator for 4 hours.

Place on the grill over indirect medium heat for 10 minutes on each side, or until cooked through and juices run clear.

Serve with: Couscous with sliced almonds, raisins and currants; cucumber salad; fresh berries.

To drink: Leth Gruner Veltliner Steinagrund 2010.

The kit: Market Basket,$40, brookfarmgeneralstore.com; Vintage quilt,$575, Astier de Villatte Nathalie dinner plates,$115, Small blue bowl, $25, all from ABC Carpet & Home, 212-473-3000.

French

Enjoy a French-style picnic avec Creton (traditional French-Canadian pork spread) from James Tranchemontagne of The Frog and Turtle in Westbrook, Me.

Pernille Pedersen for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Karen Evans, Prop Styling by Angharad Bailey

French-style picnic

The recipe: Melt ½ cup lard or duck fat in a heavy-bottomed 4-quart pot at medium heat. When fat is melted, add 1 large diced onion and 3 cloves of finely diced garlic and sauté until translucent.

Add 2 pounds ground pork and sauté until well cooked, then add ½ tablespoon cinnamon, 2 teaspoons nutmeg, 2 whole cloves, 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon pepper. Mix well. Cover with water and simmer 2½ hours, leaving lid on the pot for the first hour.

When the mixture is ready, there should be no water above the meat and it will be bound together like a pie filling. Season with salt and pepper. Add ½ cup corn starch mixed with ¼ cup water, stir and let cool overnight.

Serve with: A baguette, Dijon mustard, dried figs and apricots and a good blue cheese.

To drink: Sangria.

The kit: Market basket, $85, aerostudios.com; Scents and Feel fouta throw blanket, $275, ABC Carpet & Home, 212-473-3000.

—Produced by Charlotte Druckman

ST: Sweet on sour (Recipe for Pig Trotters in Black Vinegar)

This dish is something that I will never eat. However, according to my mom, it is good to take this during confinement (i.e. after giving birth). For those out there searching for recipe - happy reading and happy cooking.

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Lifestyle

Home > Lifestyle > Taste > Story

Apr 24, 2011

Sweet on sour

Maisy Koh's confinement dish of pig trotters calls for black sugar and black vinegar

By Rebecca Lynne Tan, Singapore Cooks

 

Chocolate is the one thing Ms Maisy Koh cannot live without.

The housewife confesses shyly that the dark, addictive confection is always in the refrigerator of her Bukit Timah condominium.

'Oh, I love chocolate,' says the 38-year-old mother of two, Sophie, two, and Sonya, nine months. Her husband, Dr Beh Swan Gin, is a civil servant.

Yet, whenever she dines out, she hardly picks chocolate desserts, such as lava cakes which ooze warm chocolate from its centre, simply because she can make it at home.

In fact, the former brand management professional who used to work for a luxury resort chain can bake almost anything - from muffins and breads for her kids to kueh salat (a Nonya cake of glutinous rice topped with a pandan-flavoured coconut jam) to fluffy pandan chiffon cakes and carrot cakes.

And it is for those reasons that she always has a good stash of unsalted butter in her fridge, too.

She says it is important to have certain ingredients such as butter and coconut milk in the pantry, just in case you need them at the last minute.

'We had some black glutinous rice the other day, and it needs a dash of coconut milk to go with it, too,' she adds.

But the home cook more than just bakes in her well-stocked kitchen.

She also smokes her own salmon with herbs such as kaffir lime leaves and thyme, as well as cooks Asian dishes like pig trotters in black vinegar. She shares the recipe below.

She admits she was never keen on the 'sourish fatty pork' dish, but enjoyed the one her confinement nanny Yat Yee prepared for her after she had Sonya.

'It is not my favourite dish, but I learnt to cook it because my mother loves it, and so does my mother-in-law,' she says.

The dish is traditionally prepared for mothers after the birth of their babies during the month-long confinement period, and it is also consumed by friends and family who visit the mother during this time.

Ms Koh likes Yat Yee's recipe because of the balance in flavours - the dish is sour yet sweet.

The recipe calls for black sugar, a very dark brown sugar that can be found at wet markets and supermarkets. Use refined white sugar or rock sugar instead, and you will not achieve the right taste, she explains.

She also recommends the Chan Kong Thye brand of black rice vinegar. 'Any other brand might do but I cannot guarantee the dish will turn out good,' she adds with a chuckle.

She took an interest in cooking when she was in primary school and would help her late paternal grandmother with menial kitchen tasks such as pounding condiments with a mortar and pestle.

As a child, she would also stand by her grandmother's side, watching intently as she wrapped bak chang, a glutinous rice dumpling filled with pork, wrapped in bamboo leaves.

She has since learnt to make the dumplings and also cooks dishes such as char siew, spare ribs and tang yuan (glutinous rice balls).

In fact, it seems no recipe fazes her and she is even keen to make gnocchi from scratch with older daughter, Sophie, some time soon.

She says with a laugh: 'I think Sophie will like it, and the recipe for gnocchi doesn't look like rocket science.'

rltan@sph.com.sg

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MAKE IT YOURSELF: PIG TROTTERS IN BLACK VINEGAR

INGREDIENTS

10 eggs

1 pig trotter, cut into large chunks

800g pork collar, cut into large chunks (about 10cm by 5cm each)

30ml sesame oil

300g old ginger, unpeeled and sliced

375ml black rice vinegar (1 bottle, Chan Kong Thye brand)

375ml water

1 Tbs light soya sauce

5 Tbs black sugar

1/2 tsp ground white pepper

METHOD

1. Put eggs into a pot of water and bring to a slow boil. Allow to boil for six minutes, drain and set aside. When cool enough to handle, peel the eggs and set them aside.

2. Bring another large pot of water to the boil. Blanch pig trotter and pork collar in the water.

3. Remove any impurities that might have risen to the surface of the pot. Take the meat out of the water. Clean it thoroughly and remove hairs from the skin. Set aside.

4. Pour sesame oil in a large pot over medium heat and fry ginger slices for about two minutes, until fragrant.

5. Pour the entire bottle of black vinegar into the pot. Then fill the empty vinegar bottle with water and pour the water into the pot as well.

6. Add soya sauce, sugar, pepper and hard-boiled eggs. Cover and allow to simmer gently for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally to keep the colour of the eggs even. Remove eggs and set aside.

7. Add pig trotter to the pot and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer gently for 30 minutes.

6. Add pork collar and bring to a boil again. Keep the pot on a rigorous simmer over medium heat, with the lid left ajar. Simmer for 1 to 11/2 hours, or until the meat is very tender.

7. Just before serving, scoop out any impurities that may have come to the surface such as the ginger skin. Place the eggs back into the pot.

8. When ready to serve, bring to a boil again. Serve hot.

Serves 6.

This recipe is featured in Heritage Feasts. The cookbook costs $75 and is available at major bookstores, the Miele boutique, 167 Penang Road, Winsland House II, B1-01, tel: 6738-6286, and online at www.webshop.miele.sg. All proceeds from book sales will go to Kidz Horizon.

ST: Japanese curry favours

Article from Sunday Times. For those who prefer to cook Japanese Curry without using those curry cubes available in Supermarket.

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Lifestyle

Home > Lifestyle > Taste > Story

Apr 17, 2011

Japanese curry favours

By Chris Tan, Ask The Foodie

Getting an authentic-tasting Japanese curry right takes a lot of patience and stirring. -- PHOTO: CHRIS TAN

 

Q My family likes Japanese curry. I have tried cooking this several times at home but am just not able to get the same taste as that served in restaurants. I hope to be able to prepare this from scratch and cook it frequently for my kids as they love this dish very much. Ready mixes use palm oil, MSG and artificial flavours and I am reluctant to use them for frequent consumption.

Elaine Sio

This question wins a Silit econtrol Pressure Cooker Duo Set consisting of 4.5L Pressure Cooker and 3L Pressure Pan, worth $699, sponsored by Silit.

A Glowing with mellow warmth and yoshoku (foreign food) glamour, Japanese curry is a fascinating beast.

Its reliance on a roux (cooked flour paste) and fruit for body and flavour are characteristic of its Anglo-Indian roots.

British merchant and navy ships, whose cooks were well versed in colonial cuisine, made contact with Japan's ports and its imperial navy in the 1800s and passed on their Anglo-Indian curry recipes. The dish quickly became popular in the military followed by school kitchens and eventually evolved into the staple it is today.

My recipe is a simplified version of those used by old-school Japanese curry restaurants and serves four to five people. You might want to make a double quantity all at once since this takes only a little more effort than a single quantity.

Finely chop 250g of onions. Heat 2 tablespoons of lard or oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onions and stir frequently until caramelised to a reddish-brown. Take care not to burn the mix.

Add 4 tablespoons of pounded ginger and garlic. Fry for another 4 to 5 minutes until you smell a sweet fragrance. Scrape mixture into a bowl and set aside.

Add 1 tablespoon oil to the same pan and raise the heat to medium-high. Add four chicken thighs and drumsticks each (or about 1.2kg of whatever meat you desire) and lightly brown them.

Next, pour 1 litre of chicken, beef or vegetable stock into the pan and bring to a simmer. Throw in 1 cinnamon stick, half a star anise, 4 cloves and 4 cardamom pods, cover and let the stock bubble gently for 30 minutes until chicken is cooked but not yet tender. Take the pan off the fire and set it aside, still covered.

Now, the roux. In a non-stick, large, heavy-based pot, heat 100ml of oil over medium-low heat. Add 35g of plain flour and stir constantly. Scrape the bottom and corners of the pan to avoid scorching. Do this for 15 to 20 minutes until the mixture darkens to the colour of tea with condensed milk.

Be patient, as a good roux is crucial to a curry's success. If it starts to scorch and throws up black specks of burnt flour, ditch it and start again because it will make the curry taste nasty. Add 25g of Japanese curry powder (try sauce mix brand S&B) to the roux and turn heat to low to cook. Be sure to stir for another 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a blender, combine the cooled fried onion mixture with half of a carrot, grated, 1 apple, peeled, cored and chopped, 1 small peeled banana, 200g of cherry tomatoes, 100ml of Japanese soy sauce and 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce (Lea & Perrins). Blend to a fine paste. Scrape paste into the curry roux and stir well to combine. It will be very thick. Turn heat down to very low and cook for 10 minutes, stirring constantly to avoid scorching.

Commercial Japanese curry roux that has been solidified and moulded into blocks is the mixture that has been cooked up to this point. If you like, you can cool and portion it into freezer containers to freeze for up to three weeks. Without thawing, take the frozen roux and proceed with the recipe.

Ladle all the liquid from the chicken pan into the curry roux pot and stir to mix. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, then add the chicken. Cut two or three cleaned carrots and potatoes each into large chunks and add them into the pot. Cover and simmer gently for 45 minutes until meat and vegetables are tender. Stir in 1 teaspoon instant coffee powder (some Japanese recipes add cocoa powder instead, or as well). Adjust the seasoning to taste with more salt, black pepper, brown sugar, honey, soy or Worcestershire sauce. At this stage, it should be slightly spicier and a bit more intense than you like it to be.

Now comes the most difficult part. Let the curry cool completely, transfer it to an airtight container and cover tightly. Refrigerate and wait one or two days for it to mature. The overall taste should become fuller, less spicy and more rounded and the meat and vegetables will absorb lots of flavour. Japanese curry restaurants may mature their base sauce for several days before serving it.

Finally, bring the curry to a full boil. Cook for a minute or so to make sure it is fully heated up.

Dish and serve with hot rice and fukujin-zuke (mixed vegetable pickles, sold in every Japanese supermarket). Pat yourself on the back. Make sure your curry-eaters treat you to a shoulder massage or foot reflexology session.

ST: Queen in the kitchen

Excerpt:

But what does irk me are those who don't cook but proceed to wear their ineptitude - or even apathy - like badges of honour. Declaring that you can't fry an egg, or that Maggi Mee is the only dish in your repertoire is neither cute nor endearing. It's just sad.

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Lifestyle

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Apr 17, 2011

Queen in the kitchen

By Sandra Leong

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Excuse me for blowing my own trumpet but I've become quite the budding chef since moving away from home.

Where I was once the queen of the saute - I chucked everything into a hot pan and hoped for the best - I can now bake (pork chops in a mint sauce), broil (halibut with herbs), double-boil (chicken soup with Chinese herbs) and deep fry (chicken katsu-don).

How far I've come. During my first home economics class in secondary school, my assignment was to make a ham and egg sandwich. Sounds easy enough, except I managed to set fire to my workstation by leaving a plastic bag lying too near the lit stove. I still remember the bizarre sight of the bag and my sandwich wilting away in flames. My teacher promptly ejected me from the lesson and, for a while, I enjoyed the reputation of being a teenage arsonist.

Even when I was a student in London a few years ago, I was still pretty clueless. At the supermarket, I mistook a courgette for a cucumber and bought it to make a sandwich. Uncooked, it tasted like styrofoam.

I'd also like to forget the time I tried to impress my boyfriend by attempting to make a pasta sauce from scratch. When it turned out thin and runny, I decided to use the only thickening agent I knew - cornflour. Clumpy carbonara is certainly not the way to a man's heart.

Necessity is the mother of all invention, though. Putting my kitchen mishaps behind me, I eventually realised that if I didn't shape up and fend for my own stomach, no one else would.

There was only so much stir-fry I could do. By my third week here, I was experiencing food fatigue from having oyster sauce chicken three times in the same week.

Eating out often in London is also impractical - cheap and good places are hard to find unless you're happy with fish and chips and over-cooked Sunday roasts.

So to the cookbooks it was. And thanks to the teachings of celebrity chefs such as Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay, Raymond Blanc and Heston Blumenthal and several iPhone apps, I can proudly say I am no longer in danger of death by oyster sauce. Truth is, I should really be ashamed of not learning all this sooner.

After all, my mother is an excellent cook. Half-Peranakan, she makes a pork curry so delicious I salivate just writing about it.

I've been pestering her to compile a recipe book - that as de facto publisher/editor I secretly hope to make a quick buck off - but she has stoically procrastinated, saying her recipes and portions are all 'agak-agak' (Malay for 'estimated'). If anything, I should have inherited her natural flair.

Sadly, though, for a multitude of reasons, many young Singaporeans like me will probably never live up to our mothers' standards in the kitchen. Some of us might never even learn how to cook at all.

It's understandable, I guess. We hardly learnt these skills in school. Home economics was often viewed as a peripheral subject.

Back home, many of us never lifted a finger when it came to preparing household meals because our parents did all the cooking. I don't see this changing with the current generation of kids either. Will today's protective parents bear to let their offspring slave over a fire or handle sharp objects like - gasp - knives? Nah.

The assumption is many of us learn how to cook once we leave our parents' nest to get married and start a family. But so many couples I know don't have the energy to prep and cook a meal after work. And with fewer people having children anyway, it is probably possible to go through life without ever having to whip up a self-made meal. Imagine that.

These are all practical excuses, no doubt, and as a 30-year-old who has only just discovered the joys of cooking, I would be a hypocrite to pooh-pooh them. Give me some late nights at my new job and MasterChef-me might soon retire in favour of take-out.

But what does irk me are those who don't cook but proceed to wear their ineptitude - or even apathy - like badges of honour. Declaring that you can't fry an egg, or that Maggi Mee is the only dish in your repertoire is neither cute nor endearing. It's just sad.

Modern women seem to be especially guilty of this, with some seeing it as a way of saying 'I wasn't born to cook and clean'. It all sounds like psuedo-feminist nonsense if you ask me. Surely being able to look after yourself is a better way to prove your independence?

Beyond the utilitarian aspects, however, I'm slowly beginning to understand the more emotive value of being able to put my own food on the table.

I miss the comforts of home, and emulating my mother's cooking and attempting to carry on her culinary legacy makes me feel that bit closer to my family.

With the loved ones I have here, I take pleasure in seeing their faces light up as they tuck into a dish I've created. Home-cooked food evokes feelings of closeness and community that a Michelin- starred restaurant can never replicate.

I still have lots to pick up. But rest assured, I've stopped burning kitchens down. If things do get a bit hairy in the kitchen, I'm mostly cool as a courgette.

ST: The tart side of life

Lifestyle

Home > Lifestyle > Taste > Story

Apr 3, 2011

The tart side of life

Black vinegar has a complex, nuanced flavour, is simple to make and goes well with chicken

By Tan Hsueh Yun, Hunger Management

Perfect combination: Black vinegar dressing goes well with the chicken chunks, cucumber cubes, coriander and sliced chilli padi (above).

 

All around me, in the last couple of weeks, has been a sea of black. Black vinegar.

It was in the braised pig trotters I had at two eateries, Le Chasseur at New Bridge Road and Old Hong Kong Legend in Raffles City.

So thick, sweet and tart - I drank the sauces like soup and longed for more. And the eggs that had been stewed with the vinegar, they were a special treat.

Then there was the Japanese bento box dinner of black vinegar sweet and sour pork from Tampopo Deli in Liang Court. The vinegary tang was quite mellow but so good nonetheless.

One afternoon, a friend and I had lunch at one of my favourite coffeeshops, Cheng's Delicacies in Tiong Bahru, and I had to order their steamed Hainanese pork, a dish of sliced, tender pork belly with black vinegar dressing.

My friend took one slice and declared it too sour for him.

Good. More for me.

Anyone who has read my columns will know I cannot resist sour foods. Lemon, yuzu, lime, vinegar, they wake up my palate, make my eyes go wide, add zip to any meal.

My potato chip of choice is salt and vinegar, always. The classic recipe for a vinaigrette is one part vinegar, three parts oil. I like half and half.

I could go on and on about the vinegary foods I like. Crunchy pickles with a devilish sting. Fish and chips with lashings of malt vinegar. The pungent garlic, chilli and vinegar dip that is the first thing all Teochew restaurants set on the table when you sit down. And when you dip a piece of steamed pomfret into it, well, it's like dying and going to heaven.

Some people drink vinegar for health. There was a time where I would drink Korean pomegranate vinegar every day. I'm not at all sure about the benefits - but it tasted so good, especially with ice.

What is more important, to me at least, is how vinegar complements food.

Black vinegar, like balsamic vinegar, has a complex, nuanced flavour that is more than just one-note sour. It can be made from rice, wheat, millet or sorghum, or a combination of these grains.

When I have the time one day, I'll boil down a bottle of it, reduce it to a glaze. I bet it would make whatever it comes in contact with taste wonderful.

Since I could not get the steamed pork out of my mind, I decided I would experiment and make my own dressing out of black vinegar.

Much as I love pork belly, it is not something I can, or should, eat every day.

A leaner cut of pork might work, but let's face it, it would probably be dry.

Chicken is an acceptable substitute, I think. Breast meat is lean and if poached or steamed properly, will remain moist. I prefer drumsticks and thighs, and have used them in this recipe.

After trying various combinations of this and that, I settled on black vinegar, honey, soy and oil for the dressing.

It is dead simple to make. Of course, it is very tart, so add more or less of whatever ingredient to make it right for you.

I wish I could say that my black vinegar dressing was just like the one at Cheng's Delicacies. It is not, but it will do.

The tender chicken, crunchy cubes of cucumber, aromatic coriander and sliced chilli padi, all doused in the dressing, come together so well. I get a pleasant little jolt each time I bite into a bit of chilli.

Make the dressing first, so the flavours meld properly, and this salad should be eaten at room temperature.

And when everything is gone, maybe dunk some bread into the dressing. Do not waste a drop. Black is gold.

hsueh@sph.com.sg

www.facebook.com/tanhsuehyun

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MAKE IT YOURSELF: CHICKEN SALAD

INGREDIENTS

4 Tbs black vinegar

1 tsp light soy sauce

1 Tbs canola oil

3 Tbs honey

1 medium cucumber, about 400g

1 bunch coriander leaves

3-4 chilli padi

4 chicken thighs and 4 chicken drumsticks, poached or steamed

METHOD

1. Pour the vinegar, soya sauce, oil and honey into a glass jar with a screw-top lid. Cover and shake. Have a taste and add more soy sauce or honey if needed. Set aside.

2. Wash and pat dry the cucumber, skin it, cut it into quarters lengthwise. Scrape out the seeds, cut each quarter lengthwise in half and then dice into cubes crosswise. Spread the cucumber out onto a serving plate.

3. Rinse and pat dry the coriander, cut off and discard most of the stem, leaving only the leaves. Set aside.

4. Slice the chilli padi, set aside.

5. Debone the chicken into large chunks, discard the skin, pile the meat on top of the cucumber.

6. Spoon all the dressing over it, and top with the coriander and chilli. Serve immediately.

Serves four to six.

NY Times: Where Steaming Fried Noodles Spell Relief

 

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March 19, 2011

Where Steaming Fried Noodles Spell Relief

By KIM SEVERSON

Ramen is usually just steps away from hungry diners in most parts of Japan. Often, it’s in the form of flash-fried, pre-seasoned noodles packed into cellophane bags and foam cups. Now instant ramen is being sent by the truckload to the survivors of the Japanese earthquake.

Of course, instant ramen was born of hardship. In the aftermath of World War II, a Taiwanese businessman named Momofuku Ando was inspired by two things: long lines of starving people waiting for fresh ramen in Osaka and a government edict encouraging people to eat bread made with wheat flour donated by the United States. They pushed bread because noodle companies were too small to handle the demand.

But the entrepreneur had a better idea: mass-produced noodles. In 1958, after several years of experimenting, he began selling chicken-flavored instant ramen to appeal to export markets averse to pork or beef. It was the precursor to Top Ramen. His company, Nissin Foods, would later strike gold in America with Cup Noodles and its varieties of flavors.

From its beginnings in Japan, and despite misgivings about its nutritional merits, instant ramen has found devotees worldwide among the poor and those too tired or ill-equipped to cook. It is the belly-filling standby of travelers and cabdrivers and office workers too busy to leave their desks. In American dorm rooms, ramen sustains the starving student.

I once wrote an article about women in prison who so longed to cook that they figured out ways to approximate the creativity of the kitchen while incarcerated. A favorite recipe was instant ramen noodles dressed up with items from the prison commissary: sliced Slim Jims and crushed Cheetos.

Instant ramen is now entrenched in popular culture. An emo-pop record label, started on a shoestring, is named Fueled by Ramen. There are books like “Chicken-Flavored Ramen for the Soul” and thousands of recipes dedicated to dressing it up. One company sells a little silicone figurine that holds down the lid of a ramen cup, changing color when the ramen is done.

But instant ramen’s essential appeal, beyond cost, convenience and kitsch, is that noodle soup is soulful and soothing.

“At the very basic level, however it was produced, you are getting hot soup and noodles, and that is one of the most basic comfort foods the world has ever known,” said the chef David Chang, who led a ramen revolution of sorts in Manhattan with his steaming bowls of fresh ramen at ’Momofuku Noodle Bar in the East Village. (And who, for the record, says his restaurant is not named after the founder of instant noodles, but rather because momo in Japanese means peach and fuku means lucky.)

Nutritionists and the diet-conscious have made instant ramen a noodle non grata. One packet contains about half the maximum amount of sodium anyone should eat in a day. And most versions are fried, sometimes with particularly unhealthy trans fat.

But attacking instant ramen donated to feed Japanese earthquake victims would be just wrong, said Mr. Chang. It’s still very cold in the north, and there was a recent snow. Although potable water is at a premium, those who can find a source of fuel might melt snow or ice to turn dried noodles into sustenance.

“You are not going to tell a starving person they can’t eat that,” he said. “Now is not the time. For the dire situation they’re in, I can’t imagine a better food.”