A Tiger In The Kitchen

Watercress Soup: A Healthy Beginning

You could say my mother is a rather predictable person.

As soon as she hears a sniffle, a cough or simply looks you in the eye and surmises (usually correctly) that you've been up far too late the night before, mugs and bowls of liquids start appearing around the house. Like many Chinese, she's a big believer in the healing powers of soup, that ingredients such as goji berries, preserved dates, lotus seeds and more have the ability to restore heaty (yang) or cooling (yin) energy to the body when tossed into a pot with pork or chicken and boiled together for hours.

Among her healing soups, my mother is particularly fond of making one for me: Watercress soup.

"You always cough and you have so many late nights -- your body heat builds when you stay up late," she'll often say, pushing a steaming bowl of the stuff toward me. "This will cool you down."

So, when my Let's Lunch friends suggested sharing a recipe for a healthy dish for our first lunchdate of 2011, I immediately thought of watercress soup...

Lan Fong Yuen (Hong Kong): The Perfect Breakfast

There are far too many mornings in New York when I wake up with a pressing question: Where is my pork chop bun?

Flaky croissants, fluffy pancakes and hearty breakfast casseroles are perfectly delightful but one of my absolute favorite breakfasts is something far more basic -- a soft white roll filled with a hot pan-fried pork chop.

It's a classic Hong Kong breakfast -- one you'll find in coffeeshops all over the country. There are variations on the dish -- the pork chop is sometimes breaded, the bun is sometimes sweet.

During a recent trip to Hong Kong, however, one place called out to us above all others: Lan Fong Yuen, a little shop in Central that is so beloved you'll have to elbow aside throngs of starving locals for a place to sit ...

Winter Melon Soup: Comfort, Simple & Clear

Among the many Cantonese-style soups of my Singaporean girlhood, the one I find myself craving once temperatures start heading south in fall is a simple one: Winter melon soup.

This broth, dotted with cubes of soft winter melon and bits of mushroom and pork, isn't an elaborate or fussy soup -- it's what the Chinese call "cheng," or clear. The flavor is subtle; the experience is all about warmth and comfort.

So, when my Let's Lunch friends suggested doing a fall soup for November, I immediately started badgering my mother for her recipe ...

Kok Kee WanTon Noodle: Battling a Memory

"It is impossible," my Singaporean chef friend Willin said to me one day, "to please everyone when you make wanton mee."

This Cantonese-style noodle dish, which is ubiquitous in Singapore, is usually served dry, with the broth in a small bowl on a side. The thin yellow noodles come swimming in a salty sauce that's usually some combination of soy sauce, a sweet and dark thick soy sauce, sesame oil and, perhaps, oyster sauce. Slivers of Chinese roast pork, vegetables and wantons (which is how wontons are spelled in Singapore) are scattered on top and a smear of chili sauce is scooped onto the side for added fire.

There is one fundamental problem with wanton mee, according to Willin. It's fairly easy for hawkers to make and there are so many variations on the dish out there -- each hawker center in Singapore usually has at least one, if not two or three, stalls selling just wanton mee. The noodles could be more al dente at one place; the gravy could be thicker and saltier at another. The wantons could be soft, boiled versions or crispy and deep-fried.

"Everyone ends up loving the exact kind of wanton mee they grew up with," Willin says. "So unless you're making that exact kind, they're not going to love it."

It's an interesting perspective, but I still wasn't sold -- until I trekked to a spacious hawker center in Singapore's Lavender neighborhood to sample the dish at Kok Kee Wanton Noodle, a little stall that had come highly recommended by some of the most discerning palates in Singapore...

 

Kong Bak Pau: Braised Pork Belly Sandwiches

 

Picnics have never been my favorite thing. Bugs, heat, grass, dirt -- need I say more?

The picnics of my childhood in Singapore, however, were another thing entirely. The urge to organize one would only occasionally grip my family. But when it did, we'd find ourselves by the beach on a clear Sunday, inhaling the salty breeze as we unpacked plastic bags of food on wooden picnic tables. We'd have sandwiches and fried snacks; an uncle would fire up the beachside grill for the chicken wings we'd marinated.

So when my hungry Let's Lunch group decided on fall picnic food for our monthly virtual lunchdate, I immediately thought of my bygone Singaporean excursions.

The perfect food for this occasion? My mother's kong bak pau -- a sandwich made up of a Chinese mantou bun filled with braised pork belly ...

Xiao Ye: A Hainanese Chicken Rice Discovery

There has been a flurry of buzz recently about Xiao Ye, a sliver of a place in Manhattan's Lower East Side that would be easy to miss -- except that you could just look for the gaggle of twenty-something Asians clogging up the narrow sidewalk, waiting for tables.

The prognosis of this Too-Cool-For-You Taiwanese comfort food restaurant that plasters the word "Dericious" above its kitchen and has christened its dishes with cutesy names that are also light jabs at Asians hasn't always been good. Although chef Eddie Huang's "Trade My Daughter for Fried Chicken" has gotten some raves in online reviews, the insatiable Gael Greene pronounced it too dry, "like wood shavings on chunks of white meat." Last week, there was a final straw -- Eddie (first known for Baohaus, the popular Taiwanese sandwich shop) announced on his blog, Fresh Off The Boat, that he was overhauling his menu after reading a lukewarm review on a New York food blog that expressed disappointment in Xiao Ye's "normal" and generically flavored food." As an experiment, Eddie, who calls his dishes "bootie call food" designed for late-night eating, has added items like Cheeto fried chicken and gochujang grilled cheese to the menu.

I don't disagree with the criticism -- when Gael and I hiked over to the LES for a catchup dinner a few weeks ago, the place had both misses and hits. Midway through dinner, we even decided to order a few more dishes after wondering if perhaps we had just made some wrong choices. 

I will say this, though -- the restaurant has one shining spot that made this Singaporean transplant very happy: its Hainanese chicken rice (listed on the menu as "Big Trouble in Hainan Chicken" for $15) is a delight.

In the 16 years that I've lived in the United States, I've searched eateries all over for acceptable versions of the incredible dishes of my home country. I've managed to find decent versions of chicken curry, satay, tauhu goreng (deep-fried tofu that's filled with julienned vegetables and drowned in spicy peanut sauce) and even oyster omelette, Teochew style. 

Good Hainanese chicken rice, however, was more elusive. This dish basically consists of chicken (steamed, boiled or roasted) and paired with a fragrant oily rice that's been steeped in a broth with chicken fat and vanilla-like pandan leaves and a phalanx of condiments -- minced ginger, garlicky chili sauce and "dark sauce," a Southeast Asian soy sauce that's sweet and as thick as molasses. It may sound easy, but the combination is harder to pull off than you'd think.

In the years that I've eaten my way through America, I had never sampled a passable version of chicken rice. Xiao Ye's isn't a dead ringer for the versions you'll find in Singaporean hawker centers, of course.

But it's not bad. And trust me, that's high praise from this finicky Singaporean.

Nam Seng Noodle House: Old School Wonton Mee

 
It may sound shallow, but the name of a hawker in Singapore can sometimes be an easy way to tell how good its food is.

If the place is known by or bears the name of a locale that's nowhere near its actual location, that's often a sign that you should just drop everything, get in line and order something. Once a hawker stall has made its name somewhere, after all, its faithful will want to follow, wherever it ends up.

The much-beloved Hill Street Char Kway Teow, for example, is currently parked in Singapore's Bedok area, nowhere near Hill Street. And one of the best places in my parents' neighborhood for ta meepok, a dish of spicy tagliatelle-like noodles tossed with fishballs and pork, is named Jalan Tua Kong even though, frankly, I have absolutely no idea where Jalan Tua Kong is.

So when I started hearing about the "Old National Library" wonton mee shop -- now situated near Singapore's financial district, far from the former central library -- I knew it was a must.

Prosperity Cakes (Fatt Gou): Ushering In A Rich Tiger Year

You will have to excuse the radio silence on this blog. 

Between stuffing myself with pineapple tarts and cooking up a storm in Singapore, there simply hasn't been a spare moment since the Chinese year of the Tiger began on Sunday to sit down and pen an intelligible sentence.

Amid the bacchanalia, however, some lessons have been learned. The deeper ones -- about family, love and the enduring power of ancestral lore -- I won't go into. (You'll just have to buy the book.) 

But the Chinese new year recipes -- usually designed to conjure success, prosperity or love -- now those, those I'm more than happy to share.

Over the last few days, I've had the good fortune of spending quality time in the kitchen with Auntie Hon Tim, the Colorado-based mother of my dear Auntie Donna in Singapore. Now, Auntie Hon Tim used to own and run a Chinese restaurant in Lakewood, Colo. -- so she's got some serious cooking chops. 

Besides teaching me the quickest way to skim fat off a pot of stew and how to rapidly chop carrots without slicing off my fingernails, Auntie Hon Tim has been showing me how to make some of her favorite lunar new year recipes.

On her must list every year is fatt gou, or prosperity cakes -- cupcake-sized desserts that she makes to send friends wishes of riches and sweetness in the new year. 

Shantou: Going Home

Some girls are Daddy's little princesses -- as for me, I was more like Daddy's little eating partner.

My dad and I, our obsessions are numerous. But the one dish that we find ourselves constantly craving is ta meepok (also known as meepok ta), a tagliatelle-like Chinese noodle that's tossed with bits of crunchy, fried pork lard in a chili-soy-black vinegar sauce and topped with fish balls, fish cakes and bits of minced or sliced pork.

It's a simple dish by the Teochews, an ethnic Chinese group, that we'd eat for breakfast in Singapore every day if we could. (More important, if our bodies could handle it.)

So the moment I landed in the Teochew city of Shantou, China, for our trip back to the village where my great-grandfather was born, I knew what we had to eat right away.