How to Make Soon Kueh

Success at last at making the dough for soon kueh/koo chai kueh. It was my seventh attempt and sixth recipe. How's that for perseverance? As I kneaded the dough, I felt quite sure that this time it would work. And it did, beautifully. Even the bangkuang filling was cooperative. Half of it had been already made into deep-fried spring rolls, and gobbled up for lunch. The remaining half turned out to be just the right amount for the dough. I guess all the stars were in the right places! Mind you, I had more spring roll wrappers standing by in case the dough failed again.

What was wrong with the five recipes that didn't work?

The one from Chan Chen Hei, ex-chef of Hai Tien Lo, failed outright because it had way too much water. What the recipe made was a batter, not dough.

The Best of Singapore Cooking, gave me a dough that cracked before it was steamed, rather like the one made by cornercafe which used a very similar recipe. The ingredients – rice flour, tapioca flour, water, salt and oil – were actually similar to the recipe I succeeded with. But the water used to mix the dry ingredients was hot instead of boiling.

I also tried the recipe in Cooking for the President. The dough I got, using rice and tapioca flour cooked on the stove, was simply too wet and soft to be shaped or rolled. I think there was way too much water and oil.

And then there was a Taiwanese recipe which used glutinous rice flour mixed with a bit of plain flour. That one wasn't too bad if eaten hot but it hardened badly when it was cold.

And then there was cornercafe's recipe for 'crystal pastry' which used tapioca flour, wheat starch, oil, salt and boiling water. What I got was a very bouncy dough that squelched (!) when it was kneaded, somewhat like what The Best of Singapore Cooking gave me although the ingredients and methods were substantially different between the two. The squelching was, quite frankly, rather scary. I threw the dough away before it became alive and attacked me.

The successful recipe I tried was from Rose's Kitchen. The dough was not bouncy, not too soft and, most importantly, it didn't fart squelch. The minute I started kneading, it just felt right.

It's a nice feeling, finding what I've been looking for.

Check these out:

Chicken Feet in Spicy Fermented Black Bean Sauce	Dumping Asian Dumplings	Five-Spice Beancurd Skin	Salt-Grilled Salmon Head (Sake Kabuto Shioyaki)

Babi Masak Assam – As Taught by Mrs Wee Kim Wee's Sifu

Compared to Shermay Lee, who supposedly began learning Peranakan cuisine when she was five years old, Wee Eng Hwa was a very late starter. She began learning Nyonya cookery at the relatively ancient age of 47. Fortunately, she had two advantages over the self-proclaimed culinary child prodigy. One, she could see what was in the wok without standing on a chair. Two, her sifu has been guiding her for some 20 years. Shermay's, even if you believe her marketing spin, kicked the bucket after lesson one.

Judging from Cooking for the President, Mrs Wee Kim Wee has been an outstanding sifu to her daughter. What about Mrs Wee herself? Who was her sifu? No, it wasn't her mother. Instead, it was her maternal grandmother, Saw Hai Choo. Mrs Wee, who was the matriarch's eldest granddaughter and favourite, recalls:

'Granny had an extremely sharp nose and very discerning taste buds. One morning, while I was cooking ikan masak assam – my first attempt at cooking that dish – Granny came home from the market and exclaimed loudly from afar, 'Telampon assam, kurang garam,' meaning in Baba Malay, too sour and not enough salt. She had not even entered the house, but from the aroma wafting out of the kitchen, she could "taste" the food I was cooking!'

In fact, Mama Choo's eyes were as sharp as her taste buds and nose. Did you know she handpicked and matchmade Wee Kim Wee to her granddaughter?

Two of Mr and Mrs Wee's seven children were born before Mama Choo passed away in 1940. The eldest, Wee Hock Kee, recalls:

'Cho-cho would reject any ingredient that was not cut in the correct way. She would not accept sloppy preparation of food. She would follow up by asking for a spoonful of the food to taste. It had to be just perfect. I remember Cho-cho had a strong loud voice. Often, she would complain, "Macham ayer longkang!" meaning, like ditch water in Baba Malay, if a soup or gravy dish was not up to par.'

What would Mama Choo have said about Shermay Lee's bamboo shoot water? Without a doubt, 'Worse than ayer longkang!'

After reading about the legendary cook who didn't mince her words, I was eager to try one of her recipes. I picked Babi Masak Assam because it seemed like the kind of thing I'd like, and I wasn't disappointed. The big pot of spicy, sour and salty meat and vegetables had strong, bold flavours that were right up my alley. I particularly liked the mix of salted, sour and fresh mustard greens. That was fun 'cause all the veggies looked the same after they were braised, so I had no idea what I was eating until I started chewing. Did anyone mention longkang? Nope, not at all, thanks to Mama Choo who passed her cooking skills to her granddaughter, who passed to her daughter, who passed to me and the whole world by writing an excellent cookbook. Had Mama Choo seen Cooking for the President, I'm sure she'd have been very proud of it.

Mrs Wee's Recipes:

Sambal Timun (Spicy Pork Cucumber Salad)	Sambal Udang (Prawns in Chilli Paste)	Mee Siam (Nyonya Spicy Rice Vermicelli)	Udang Masak Nanas (Prawns in Spicy Pineapple Soup)

Not LKY's Babi Pongteh

Cast your mind back, all the way back to when you were five years old. Do you remember anything much?

Would you believe that a five-year-old child is capable of learning how to cook, and remembers what she's learnt when she's a 28-year-old adult? That a five-year-old can be instilled with a passion for cooking?

This is what Shermay Lee, author of The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook and The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook Vol. 2, says on her cookery school's website:

'Shermay started cooking at the age of 5. She learnt the rudiments of cooking first from her grandmother, Mrs Lee Chin Koon, who was considered the doyen of Peranakan cuisine and was the author of the famous cookbook, Mrs Lee's Cookbook, a kitchen stalwart published three decades ago.'

And in her first cookbook:

'[My grandmother] instilled in me a passion for cooking from a very young age.'

What did five-year-old Shermay do in her grandma's Peranakan kitchen? Could her little wee hands handle knives, ladles, or a mortar and pestle? Did she stand her little wee legs on a chair to watch her grandmother stir-fry sambal in hot oil? What exactly did little Shermay cook? Would you, dear reader, let your five-year-old child boil an egg (assuming you could do so without being sued for child negligence)?

Why does Shermay Lee say she 'started cooking at the age of 5', which must sound totally ridiculous to anyone with common sense?

Two reasons: One, her grandmother was Lee Kuan Yew's mother. Two, said grandmother very inconveniently kicked the bucket when Shermay was five. If little Shermay weren't cooking when she was five or younger, then she didn't learn anything from Lee Kuan Yew's mother. In which case, the only selling point for her cookery school and cookbooks wouldn't exist.

Shermay Lee's two cookbooks are an update of her grandmother's Mrs Lee's Cookbook, which was published in 1974. The first updated recipe that makes me scratch my head is Bawan Kepiting, a Chinese style clear soup with crab meatballs. The stock is made with 300 g of bamboo shoot fried for two minutes, then simmered 10 minutes in 2.3 litres of water. And that's it, there's nothing else in the stock except sugar and salt. It's so totally bizarre it can't possibly be correct!

What does Grandma's original cookbook say? Aaah, there's indeed an ingredient missing after her granddaughter modified the recipe to suit modern times. Is it an old mother hen? Some expensive dried scallops from Japan? Yunnan ham from China? No, the missing ingredient is – hold on to your chair! – two teaspoonfuls of MSG in the stock, plus another teaspoonful in the meatballs!

Wow, three whole teaspoonfuls of MSG, which work out to one-quarter teaspoonful per rice bowl-sized portion! That's a hell of a lot but at least the soup MSG water tastes of . . . MSG. Bamboo shoot water, on the other hand, would taste of . . . water.

Curious, I check out the Pong Tauhu recipe to see if it's any better. Believe it or not, the soup containing meatballs made with beancurd and pork has almost twice as much MSG as the Bawan Kepiting. Almost half a teaspoonful per serving! Good grief!

Shock and horror aside, there's something in the Pong Tauhu recipe that makes me laugh: pounding beancurd with a mortar and pestle! That's like LKY totally obliterating his enemies, isn't it? Seriously, why pound beancurd? Just squash it with your hands or, if you want it really fine, push it through a sieve.

The recipe for Heepeow Soup is even more bizarre. The stock is made with 1.2 kg of pork or pork bones, which is nowhere near enough for the six litres of water used but at least it's better than a few shreds of bamboo trunk. Except the meat needs 1½-2 hours of gentle simmering to release its flavour, whilst big pork bones need 3-4 hours. The recipe, however, tells you to simmer for only 30 minutes. So it's just another pot of water, with or without MSG depending on whether you follow the grandma or granddaughter. There are, floating in the water, yellow (!) prawn meatballs deliberately jaundiced with artificial food colouring. Next to the weird looking meatballs float slices of pork maw which stink because piggy tummy can't be cleaned properly by just rubbing it with salt. There're fishballs too, made by beating 600 g of finely minced fish with a dash of pepper, then gradually adding 350 ml of water while stirring continuously, followed by beating the mixture till it's smooth, then adding one tablespoonful of salt. You know what? If this fish paste makes fishballs that are bouncy, I will – to borrow a colourful phrase from the Cantonese – chop off my head and let Shermay Lee sit on it!

Little Shermay 'learnt the rudiments of cooking' when she was five, eh? Judging from her soups, she didn't know the basics even when she was a 28-year-old adult. Neither did Mrs Lee Chin Koon who was supposed to be 'the doyen of Peranakan cuisine'. Did you know LKY's mother gave cooking lessons to British and Australian expatriates? I hope they liked MSG and jaundiced meatballs!

Bad recipes are one thing but dangerous ones are another. If you make a raw fish salad with, as Shermay Lee instructs, 'fresh' fish bought at a wet market, you have a 99.99% chance of being very sick, or dead. Fish and stuff not sitting on ice are quite common at markets, and there's filth and dirt whichever way you turn. Even if there's fish that's sashimi grade, it's bound to be contaminated by something that isn't. Obviously, Princess Shermay has never been to less-than-clean wet markets where grubby commoners with questionable personal hygiene poke and prod everything. Well, why would she? Her cousin has his chef fly to Japan to buy some sashimi, then fly back to Singapore! I'd guess her lifestyle is similar to his.

The New Mrs Lee's Cookbook, published in 2003, won two awards from Gourmand World: Best Cookbook Award - Special Awards Category (English), and Special Award of the Jury in the Respect of Tradition. It was a bestseller in Singapore, as was the second volume published in 2004, and both books received strong reviews in a number of publications. Did the judges, reviewers and readers notice the appalling soups, the Satay Ayam Goreng that's boiled although 'Goreng' means fried, and the Mee Siam made without assam? These, along with deep-fried (!) Peking Duck, were award winning recipes?! For tradition?!

The recipe I'm sharing today is Babi Pongteh from Cooking for the President. I've chosen this over the one Lee Kuan Yew grew up eating because his mother and niece say babi pongteh has coriander powder whereas babi chin doesn't. That is, of course, incorrect. It's babi chin which has coriander power, and babi pongteh which doesn't . . . unless Lee Kuan Yew has decreed otherwise? He might not have but if you're his relation, your cookbooks will win awards and you'll get paid to give lessons even if you can't tell your babi pongteh from babi chin. All you need to know is how to make bamboo shoot water, or add MSG by the bucketload.

Check these out:

Pork Maw Soup	Ayam Sioh (Chicken with Coriander Seeds & Tamarind)	Penang Achar (Nyonya Pickle)	Babi Masak Assam (Pork & Mustard Greens in Spicy Tamarind Gravy

Lotus Seed Sweet Soup (蓮子爽) – Hot or Not?

I was buying lotus seeds when a fellow aunty shopper who was waiting for her turn asked me how the dried seeds should be cooked. Whilst I pondered the question (and sized her up), she told me hers were still hard after soaking overnight and simmering for two hours! Ah yes, my mother had warned me about that. I said (after deciding she wasn't trying to sell me something), 'You mustn't let lotus seeds touch cold water, otherwise they won't soften. You have to wash them in hot water and, when you put them in the pot, the water must be boiling.' By soaking lotus seeds in hot water which became cold overnight, the lady had violated the golden rule: no cold water!

What I told the lady was what my mother had told me. But, whilst I followed Mom's method, I thought her warning about cold water was just an old wives' tale. I'd never tested her theory, and I couldn't think of any reason why or how water at 30°C or thereabouts could have an effect on lotus seeds. However, judging from what the lady said, it seemed the golden rule might have some basis.

I had no idea whether the fellow shopper went home and tried my mother's method, but I came home and tried hers. I wanted to see if I could replicate her problem, and prove my mother right.

I didn't bother with soaking anything overnight. Instead, I put some lotus seeds in the slow-cooker filled with water from the tap, which took about 1¼ hours to boil. I then placed some lotus seeds in a paper pouch, and popped that in the boiling water. 30 minutes later, the lotus seeds in the paper pouch were perfectly soft and powdery whilst those that had been sitting in tap water before it was boiling were still hard. Hah, my mother was right!

The soaked lotus seeds weren't hard throughout but just on the outside. I continued the simmering and after another 30 minutes, the outer layer softened. It was, however, cracked and not powdery, and the inside was too mushy by then. The unsoaked seeds, in contrast, had a smooth exterior, and were evenly cooked and evenly powdery.

If I'd soaked the lotus seeds longer, like the lady who had left hers overnight, I think the hardened outer layer would have been thicker and harder. On the other hand, a brief rinse in cold water was actually ok provided the lotus seeds were then placed in hot water immediately.

I guess cold water had an effect on the starch in the lotus seeds' outer layer. Why and how exactly, I had no idea. But it was good to know my mother hadn't pulled a fast one on me as I dug into my bowl of Noi Ji Suan.

Noi Ji Suan, aka Lian Chee Suan in Hokkien, is a Teochew sweet soup. It's a close cousin of Tau Suan but is more glamourous because lotus seeds cost more than green beans. Why do some people think Lian Chee Suan, along with Tau Suan, is Hokkien? That's another story for another day . . . .

Check these out:

Tau Suan (豆爽, Green Bean Sweet Soup	Glutinous Rice Balls (湯圓)	Kacang Putih (Frosted Peanuts)	Snow Fungus & Pear Sweet Soup (银耳雪梨糖水)

Pork & Kiam Chye Stir-Fry, Not . . .

Do you know what the difference is between pork stir-fried with kiam chai, and kiam chye stir-fried with pork? If you think they're the same, you're wrong. If you think it's a trick question, you're wrong too.

Pork stir-fried with kiam chye is when there's more pork than kiam chai. Pork is the host and kiam chye the guest, so to speak. If there's more kiam chye than pork, that's kiam chye stir-fried with pork.

I don't like pork stir-fried with kiam chye because there's no kiam chye to go with the pork at the end. I don't like kiam chye stir-fried with pork either since there's no pork to go with the kiam chye at the end.

An equal partnership of kiam chye and pork is the ideal combination for me. I like to eat a bit of pork and a bit of kiam chye in every mouthful, right down to the last. (Go ahead, call me a fusspot.)

There's nothing like a pork & kiam chye stir-fry. Pork stir-fried with kiam chai, doesn't even come close; neither does kiam chye stir-fried with pork. So said the woman who was right about everything – my mother.

Check these out:

Braised Pork with Red Fermented Beancurd (炸肉焖木耳)	Minced Pork & Olive Vegetables Stir-Fry (肉脞炒 乌橄榄菜)	Hakka Yong Tau Foo (客家酿豆腐)	Steamed Pork Ribs with Pickled Plums (梅子蒸排骨)

Bring Back 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 that 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 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?

I have a hunch though. Let's google 'Wuzhou language', shall we? *type type type click click . . .* Hah, guess what? 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.'

Is popularising and inventing something one and the same thing to the doctor? Gosh, I hope he's a bit more discerning when he's treating his patients!

Check these out:

Sesame Chicken (麻油鸡)	Stuffed Tau Pok with Rojak Sauce	Thai Stuffed Chicken Wings	Sambal Kangkong (Water Spinach in Chilli Paste)