Chicken Feet In Black Bean Sauce – Trick or Treat?

An American friend once asked me, almost in a whisper, "Is it true the Chinese eat chicken feet?" Her eyes opened wide with amazement when I said, "Yes, of course!" Heheh, I guess chicken feet on a dinner plate is quite inconceivable to some people. But, to the Chinese who eat everything with legs except tables and chairs, chicken or duck feet are as ordinary as drumsticks or breast meat. In fact, goose feet are an expensive delicacy. Not quite on par with shark's fin in terms of snob appeal, but it's definitely at the top of the second league. Chicken feet, a regular item euphemistically called 'phoenix talons' (凤爪) in Cantonese dim sum restaurants, are much more plebeian. Nevertheless, they're very popular, especially with Chinese women who believe the gelatinous collagen in poultry extremities is good for their skin. In fact, when China recently threatened to ban the import of American chicken, New York Times said trade experts called them bluff. “We have these jumbo, juicy paws the Chinese really love,” a poultry consultant said, “so I don’t think they are going to cut us off.”

Anyways, back to my American friend. We went to a Chinese restaurant in Soho – we were in London at the time – and after some initial hesitation, she was sucking on metatarsals like a pro. "Doesn't taste like chicken," she said, when she had a neat little of tiny bones in her bowl. She emailed me last week, asking for a recipe so she could make Chicken Feet in Black Bean Sauce for Halloween. And that gave me a craving for the dish. I'd been thinking of making it after seeing deep-fried chicken feet at the market. My friend was extremely envious of such a convenience, I tell you. So that's what I made today. Happy Halloween, everyone. Do you like phoenix talons? Trick or treat?

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Bombay Duck Soup	Claypot Fish Head	Baked Intestines in Custard	Crocodile Stir-Fry

Prawns or Shrimps? – With Red Fermented Beancurd

Most people use the words prawn and shrimp interchangeably, or think shrimps are small prawns and prawns are big shrimps. To add to the confusion, some countries use one or the other terminology almost exclusively. In the UK, Australia and Singapore, for instance, prawn is far more common but Americans prefer shrimp. So, are shrimps and prawns the same thing? Nope, not quite. Shrimps are shrimps, and prawns are prawns. The easiest way to differentiate them is by looking at their shells. The second segment of a shrimp, counting from the head, overlaps the first and third segment. In a prawn, the second segment overlaps only the third segment. Which means what we have in Singapore are prawns, which is what we call them. So, we're correct. Yeah!

Hong Kongers are very fond of noodles made with shrimp roe (蝦子麵). That's probably shrimp roe and not prawn because prawns don't brood eggs. They shed their eggs in the water where they develop independently. Sob! No prawn roe for us to feast on.

What about the most important thing? Is it prawns or shrimps that taste better? Good news! Both taste just as good. So long as they are fresh, they are scrumptious steamed, poached, pan-fried, deep-fried, stir-fried or grilled. Don't overcook them, though, or it would be better to have prawn or shrimp sashimi.

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Kung Pao Prawns	Prawns with Salted Egg Yolks	Prawn Tom Yum Soup	Wonton Soup

Ayam Sioh – Classic Nyonya Chicken

Back when I had pigtails and lived in a kampung – village to those who don't speak Singlish or Malay – I often played marbles with my neighbours under their tamarind tree. It was a huge tree that stood strong and majestic in their front yard. The tree not only gave us shade from the tropical sun, but also plenty of tamarind pulp for our woks and pots. Whenever our kind neighbours gave us a bag of tamarind pods, Mum would make Ayam Sioh with the brown, tangy pulp. Guess who was the appointed 'pulp harvester'? Me! Mum's little kitchen elf! I had to squeeze the pods open with my wee little fingers and dig out the pulp. For my hard labour, I was rewarded with an extra helping of Ayam Sioh. Given to me stealthily before dinner so no one else knew, it was a little secret between Mum and me. In remembrance of Mum, I still have two portions of Ayam Sioh. Or am I just greedy? Nope, banish the thought.

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Lemon Coke Chicken Wings	Kou Shui Ji (口水鸡)	Salted Chicken Wings	Drunken Chicken & Eggs

Tomatoes in Wasabi Sesame Sauce – Too Irresistible

Usually, I don't like too much dressing on salads. An overdressed salad is as horrid as an overdressed woman, and should be avoided at all costs. Too much dressing robs the spotlight from what should be the centre of attraction, the vegetables. I once saw a man at a buffet with so much thousand island sauce on his salad, he was really having thousand island soup. I felt sorry for the vegetables in his salad bowl. Which is why I feel really guilty when I make tomato salads with Jacky Yu's wasabi sesame dressing. I absolutely drown the tomatoes in the sauce, committing the same culinary faux pas as the man with the thousand island soup. But the sauce is so good, I can practically drink it. Like the man who drinks thousand island soup, but the wasabi sesame dressing is a thousand times better. It's not too oily, not too creamy, not too sour, not too salty, not too sweet . . . . It's so well balanced it's just not too anything at all. Except too irresistible.

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Fried Bee Hoon (Rice Vermicelli)	Bombay Duck Soup	Chwee Kueh	Candied Black Beans

Apricot Packets – Divine Recipe from Pierre Hermé

The first time I made Apricot Packets, I left out the tea leaves initially because I was just lazy and thought it didn't matter. As the apricots simmered in a bubbling mixture of butter, sugar and lemon zest, they spoke to me. No, I kid you not. They opened their mouths and spoke in apricot tongue! Tea! TEA! they shouted in unison. Not Earl Grey or apple tea as in Pierre Hermé's original recipe, but Chinese red tea. So, I quickly tossed some Chinese red tea leaves into the pot, and covered it to let the tea perfume the bubbling mixture. Despite the conversant apricots, I still wasn't expecting much as I plated the dessert because the recipe was so simple. Looks wise, Apricot Packets wasn't winning any beauty pageants, unlike Pierre Hermé's other 'Miss Venezuela' creations. Well, the god of pastries and desserts once again showed he deserved his place on the altar. After the first bite, my eyes opened wide in amazement. It was absolutely spot on! All the ingredients – apricots, butter, sugar, tea, black pepper and creamy sauce – complemented each other seamlessly to create a harmony of flavours that was truly well-rounded. I closed my eyes and marveled at how no single ingredient dominated my senses but worked with all its friends to give me one of the best culinary highs ever. I took off my (invisible) hat and saluted Monsieur Hermé.

Since the first trial run, I've worked out a few slight adaptions to the recipe. I don't use fresh apricots because good ones are quite rare in Singapore. Tart and flavorful, frozen apricots are a good substitute but they release a lot of liquid when they are cooked. The apricot juice, mixed with the tea, pepper, sugar and butter, is absolutely divine. It is, however, too thin and runny, so I cook the frozen apricots on the stove instead of baking them in the oven wrapped in aluminum or parchment paper packets as Pierre Hermé instructe. This allows me to quickly reduce the apricot juice without overcooking the fruits. It also saves time not having to fiddle with all those packets. Lastly, when I'm feeling lazy, I just use heavy cream as a topping instead of blending the ricotta sauce.

So, there you go. A simplified simple recipe. Not all of Pierre Hermé's desserts are elaborate and Apricot Packets is one of the easy ones that any home cook can muster.

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Carrot Cake	Banana Peanut Butter Crumble	Date and Walnut Candy	Gingerbread Men

Swiss Rösti with Bacon – Full of Potato Goodness

The first Swiss rösti I ate was made by a Swiss gentleman, who looked like a young version of Yves Saint Laurent. Maybe it was the thick, dark rimmed glasses he wore. He was my colleague at a Swiss company and also my neighbour. Whenever he made rösti, the wonderful aroma of frying potatoes drifted over to my place. One day, I could resist it no more. I knocked on his door and said, when he came to the door holding a spatula, 'The smell from your cooking is trespassing on my property!' I threw my hands in the air in mock exasperation and rolled my eyes for good measure. Of course, I was only kidding, knowing he had a great sense of humour. He invited me to eat with him, and we went on to share many wonderful meals together. He was away from home and made rösti, his comfort food, every now and then. Sometimes, it was just plain old potatoes. Other times, he added some bacon, cheese or herbs. Whichever it was, it was always delicious and excellent as a meal on its own or a side dish. 'Rösti' means crisp and golden, and without fail, that was how his Swiss national dish turned out. His method – or rather his mother's – was really quick compared to other rösti recipes. The cooking time was only 15 minutes or so, and no parboiling was required. He grated the potatoes finely to cut the cooking time, with a really sharp grater so the potatoes didn't turn mushy. No rösti ever fell apart under his watchful eye. With such a good teacher, I now make make a pretty mean Swiss rösti. Too bad I don't have a Swiss gentleman on the side anymore.

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Stir-Fried Tomatoes with Eggs	Tomatoes with Sesame Wasabi Sauce	Yam Kueh	Roasted Eggplant with Sweet Miso

Drunken Chicken and Soft-Boiled Eggs – Cheers!

I don't drink . . . except for the odd glass of celebratory champagne, some liqueur to wrap up a good dinner, a glass of red with my steak, a few Bloody Maries when it's one of those days, a beer or two, ice-cold, when the weather is hot. Heheh, when is it not hot in Singapore?

When it comes to alcohol in food, all pretense of self-restraint flies out the window. I am drawn to recipes with the word 'drunken' like bees are drawn to honey, cats to fish and women to shoes. To me, drunken anything is good and drunken chicken is doubly good because it's served cold, and I love cold chicken. I've wanted to make drunken chicken for some time now and have been scouring for a good recipe. Guess where I found it? In Jacky Yu's Xi Yan Cuisine, of course. Not tired of the chef, restauranteur, cookbook writer cum TV show host yet? Hell, no! Not when his drunken chicken recipe has my all-time favourite titbit: preserved plums (酸梅/話梅)! I've been eating the salty, sweet and sour dried plums since I was a kid. When I'm feeling bored and nodding in the office – and the classroom, a long time ago – I pop one in my mouth and it perks me up immediately. When there's a long car journey and I might get carsick, I keep a pack handy to keep the nausea at bay.Pregnant and suffering from morning sickness? Dried plums to the rescue! 9 out of 10 pregnant Chinese women get cravings for dried plums, I dare say. And one is never enough. These salty, sweet and sour dried plums are highly addictive.

Combining dried plums with Shaoxing wine as a marinade is quite ingenious. It brings to mind the Japanese plum wine, Umeshu. Steeping chicken and eggs in this awesome marinade is a great test on my self-restraint, which I happily fail. I just can't resist snipping off a bit of chicken now and then as it's being marinated. So what if it's only tipsy and not quite dead sloshed yet? I have to check if the seasoning needs adjusting, when I turn over the chicken as the recipe says! And if I eat an egg or two in the middle of the night, that's because I get really hungry reading cookbooks before going to bed. Plain hard boiled eggs with soft runny yolks are irresistible. Drunken hard boiled eggs with soft runny yolks practically scream 'EAT ME! EAT ME!' from inside the fridge. It's not my fault; it's the eggs' fault.

Check these out:

Lemon Coke Chicken Wings	Kou Shui Ji (口水鸡)	Black Pepper Chicken Chops	Stir Fried Eggplant with Chicken

Tamarind Pork – Tangy and Hot Babi Assam

I love Chinese food, and I love Malay food. So, it's no wonder that Nyonya dishes that combine the best of these two great cuisines are my perennial favourites. Babi Assam – meaning Tamarind Pork – is a prime example of how the Straits Chinese or Peranakans combine Chinese and Malay flavours. Fermented soya beans from China are melded with common Malay ingredients – tamarind, shrimp paste and chillies – in a slow, long simmer. The heat and tangy tamarind tenderize the pork belly till it melts in the mouth. The mix of lean and fat pork is juicy and moist, and the pork rind is soft and gelatinous. The spicy and tart flavours really whet my appetite, even when the weather is super hot and saps my energy. In short, it's sheer heaven. This is fusion cuisine at its best . . . created decades ago, before anyone invented the phrase.

Check these out:

Creamy Black Pepper Chicken Chops	Crispy Pork Ribs with Dried Tangerine Peel	Crispy Spring Rolls (Popiah)	Sweet and Sour Pork

Pork Ribs With Tangerine Peel – Less is More

When I marinate meat, I usually add a bit of everything. Light soya sauce, dark soya sauce, oyster sauce, sesame oil, salt, sugar, honey, ginger, garlic, onion, pepper, wine . . . . You know, the works. So, when I saw that Jacky Yu's marinade had only dried tangerine peel, light soya sauce and sugar, I was a bit skeptical. Hm, that's all? Not even some Shaoxing wine? I was eager to try the dish because if it was good, it would qualify for my collection of recipes that use only three ingredients. Three not including the most basic stuff such as oil, salt, sugar and light soya sauce, that is. So, did Crispy Pork Ribs with Dried Tangerine Peel qualify? You bet! It passed with flying colours. Mind you, expectations around the table were high, because I said this was another Xi Yan founder's recipe. Nevertheless, there were nods of approval from everyone at the Sunday family lunch. No suggestion at all on how the recipe might be tweaked to achieve the last bit of perfection, only appreciative grunts. That was quite an achievement, given the number of self-professed foodies chomping their way through the pile of prime ribs.

Compared to my marinade that has everything in the kitchen except the sink and detergent, Jacky Yu's simple marinade is just as good. Not better – ahem! – but just as good, which is quite something considering the minimalist approach. Jacky Yu once again proves that his recipes are tried and tested and really work, not something the chef or his ghost writer dreamed up. This is one of his simpler recipes but, you know, the others in his cookbooks aren't very difficult either. The most complex ones have no more than five steps. Clearly, there is no attempt to show off or 'shock and awe'. So simple, so good.

Check these out:

Tangy Tamarind Pork (Babi Assam)	Char Siu Pau (Roast Pork Buns)	Kong! Bak! Pau! (Stewed Pork Belly)	Pork Ribs with Fermented Black Beans

Steamed Pork Ribs – With Fermented Black Beans

One of my favourite dishes is Steamed Pork Ribs with Fermented Black Beans, a standard item at dim sum restaurants. But I don't like ordering it when I'm on a Sunday dim sum pig-out, because I like to eat it with rice. All that savory, fragrant and umami goodness from the ribs just begs to drench a bowl of steaming white rice! But I can't have rice during a dim sum pig-out because it would take away tummy space for the other goodies, right? Sigh! Sometimes, I wish I had four stomachs like a cow. Hey, hang on a second! I'm not a cow but I'm a tigress in the kitchen! I can make my own steamed pork ribs at home. Easy peasy. It's a steamed dish but I start with stir-frying garlic, ginger, fermented black beans and chillies to create a wonderful aroma. This is a classic technique used in Chinese cooking to enhance steamed dishes which might be a bit bland otherwise. The ribs are marinated with this flavourful mixture, then steamed till tender. The result is so good and so perfect with a bowl of rice, it's all I want. Nothing else.

Check these out:

Fried Bee Hoon (Rice Vermicelli)	Sweet and Savory Beancurd	Chwee Kueh	Bombay Duck Soup