Spice Power

Curry masala (top left), vegetable curry served with Ikea flatbread (top right)

vivid colours of grapefruits and navel oranges (bottom left), juice (bottom right).

See Instagram. 

Despite the intense heat of the day, Mom & I decided to make curry. It's her typical vegetarian day where she intends to settle on simple stir-fried greens. But I thought it'll be perfect making a curry so I could toss in the Indian cottage cheese, i.e. paneer, I bought at Mustafa a few days back. 

I settled on Jamie Oliver's Curry Base Sauce recipe as a reference to make my own spice blend/masala today. 

Of all the ingredients, I ended up with the following for today's curry:

I carrot

1 cauliflower

3 potatoes

1 bowl of paneer

a bunch of organic long beans

a bowl of pasteurised milk

a bunch of chopped coriander

salt

water

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For the blend:

1 tablespoon ground coriander

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

half tablespoon black pepper berries 

(I misread teaspoon as tablespoon)

1 tablespoon paprika

1 tablespoon red chili powder

1 tablespoon turmeric powder

I didn't have garam masala, so I added

3 Bay leaves

half a teaspoon of cloves

1 cardamon seed

Perhaps it was because I added 4 times the black pepper needed because of my misreading, the curry turned out really hot and we had to add sugar to it. Otherwise, it would have been the perfect curry for today. Mom enjoyed it despite the spiciness. Grandma had trouble trying to stomach it. Dad was nipping the beans off. So I guess today's kitchen experimentation went ok! Yes! *Curryskill Unlocked!* 

Later, it was suggested some cold juice might help quell the fire in our tongues and I got my paws busy squeezing juice. Although I drank none of the juice, it was nice knowing the juice was gone right after it was made. 

Souvenirs from the Singapore Gardens Festival

Other than admiring the gorgeous Orchids, landscaping designs and Bonsai during the Singapore Garden Festival this year, we bought some beautiful souvenirs home. My dear and I chose 9 embroidered birds to bring home this festival. 

A Personal Reflection on Babi Pongteh

Image from Annielicious.

Although my mother was never capable of making dishes using exquisite ingredients that graced the tables of the affluent, I will always regard her as a good cook. Even though she knows nothing of preparing Shark’s fin or abalone and such, I will remember her cooking—especially her Babi Pongteh.

My mother arrived in Singapore three decades ago, from Malacca, in search of employment. She found work in manufacturing in a company producing cassette tapes and met my father. Since her marriage, she seldom returned to her hometown. But on the occasions we do visit her birthplace, we remember the eating.

Her place in Malacca was surrounded by farms producing kangkong, chillies, asparagus and all manner of popular Asian greens. She grew up eating free fresh vegetables tossed into the wok with sambal belachan and chilli padi. When my maternal Grandfather was alive, he would wander into the asparagus fields—half naked, and only dressed in a sarong—to pick the shoots for the dishes that would welcome our arrival. He was an intuitive cook who learnt to cook like most chefs in the older generation; he was one who learnt to cook by watching, rather than from recipes like we do today. It may be hard for many of us to imagine doing the following, but he made all his delicious food on charcoal and wooden stoves under a tin-roof kitchen. Among all the dishes he made, the Babi Pongteh was the one my brothers and I missed when he was gone. The person who made it afterwards just did not made it the same.

It was the dish my mother tried to replicate in the modern kitchen in Singapore. Without a doubt, it was different from the one my grandfather made. But this particular dish is what connects my family and me to the asparagus field of Malacca and the memories of my grandfather in his sarong. For those who grow up in the Singapore today, the links between our country and Malacca may not be very obvious. Yet the Babi Pongteh reminds me of this link, of the time when Singapore was part of Malaysia, when people on both sides of the shore shared blood ties and a common heritage.

Despite the heritage importance of the Babi Pongteh, it never fails to make me wonder, just like the Singapore Rojak or Laksa. I find myself imagining the moment when this dish was born. What could have been the inspiration for this fusion dish whose tau chioh (or fermented beanpaste) speaks of its Chinese-ness and the copious amount of onion paste, giving it a heady aroma points so strongly to the indigenous influences it has wonderfully soaked up? This marriage of onion and fermented bean paste created under the sultry heat of the tropics holds plenty of promise for us. It points to something in the atmosphere here, conducive for wonderfully delightful marriages between unlikely elements.

So I will bring the Babi Pongteh along with me when I move out and have a family of my own in future. It will be a precious heirloom I hold close to my heart and make for my children. It would not taste the same as my mother’s or my grandfather’s. That doesn’t matter. But it will remind my children, of where we come from, especially when my future father-in-law is a great Teochew cook and would make plenty of traditional Teochew dishes rarely seen anywhere these days.  

Remembering the Travelling Satay Man

Image from MummyICanCook.

Younger Singaporeans, especially those who grew up in the brand new housing estates of the country island, have no inkling what the Satay man is or understand the privilege of having one.

A decade or two ago, which seemed like a long time back in the fast-paced city of Singapore, the travelling Satay men visited neighbourhoods like bees buzzing from flower to flower. In our eager pursuit of progress and GDPs, we left the travelling Satay men to a nostalgic distant past. I liked to imagine the inhabitants of these honoured neighbourhoods yearning for the weekly or bi-weekly visit of these Satay men. Excitement follows wherever the Satay man goes as the tantalising smell of barbecued meat creeps into the conglomeration of boxy apartments, luring its inhabitants out. Sometimes the smell lingers too, though we would have gotten our fill of delicious Satay to not be bothered by it.

In some neighbourhoods, the Satay man announces his arrival by calling out “SAAA-TAY!” or honking a little horn. But when enforcement was stricter, and their presence was illegal on the streets, we know the Satay man is here when we smell him. When we reach the spot where the mobile charcoal stove puffs away with diligence, money in hand, there would already be a couple of customers. We would stand around, in silence, enthralled by the embers and the smoke while the Satay man works his magic. As the sun sets and the sultry heat of the day slowly dissipate, the neighbourhood comes alive with the buzz of people heading home for dinner after work. The Satay man chooses his timing well—usually beginning his day at this moment. We might be thinking about school, about the day we had, losing ourselves in the memories of the day we had, or busy planning for the coming evening, yet these thoughts sink to the back of our mind when the meat sizzles and drip animal fats into the hot coals. The smell of the sugar caramelising and the delicious fat burning is thought arresting. We are brought back to the present and we would eye the Satay man’s movements hawk-like, our mouths watering at the idea of savouring those little pieces of meat in the privacy of our homes with the people we love.

Many late afternoons and early evenings, our lives have been enriched by these short and transient visits by the Satay man. As my siblings and I stepped into adulthoods, these were wonderful childhood memories we would recall fondly. If we had a choice between a cleaner Singapore where street food are all institutionalised into Hawker Centres or one where street food like these could thrive, I would choose the latter. Even if the risk of getting diarrhoea or food poisoning is present, the possibilities of bringing people in the neighbourhood closer to each other, and having a great reason to love the place you grow up in would be enough to compensate.

In this current Singapore, allowing street food back on the streets would raise many concerns. We might see a greater diversity of them, Thai, Pilipino, Indonesian, Chinese, Indian etc. But we should be given the opportunity to choose and to take the risk of discovering if we have found a gem or a disappointment. Perhaps, with greater openness towards a street food culture, Singaporeans will not only discover what the new inhabitants have brought to this island through food, and the cacophony of voices may begin to amalgamate and sing in unison. 

The bright side of Haze

The smog hits the lovely island of
Tioman, M'sia on 18th June' 2013

The Pollutant Standards Index (PSI) hits record high in Singapore at 321 last night. As countries around Indonesia are hit by billows of smoke from its burning plantations, pressures has been on Indonesia to do something about this situation. 

Like any problems of this scale, there's always the usual finger pointing to push the blame. Indonesia tries to blame Singapore-owned plantations in Indonesia for the slash-and-burn practices which contributed to the haze. Although it may be hard to conclude who is truly responsible for the ghastly smog, there is a silver lining to these dark clouds.

Without the haze, it is hard to imagine Indonesia to be that close to Singapore and Malaysia--pardon my ignorance in geography. The haze is a tight slap across our cheeks to remind us that our neighbours are very much part of us. In everyday living, it's hard to imagine a farmer in Indonesia, in a land so far away, could have any impact on our lives. It's hard to imagine what they do can be felt here. We would see their lives as their lives and our lives as ours. But the haze proves it's not. Their livelihood is connected to our livelihood.

I am supposed to be doing sales on the streets today. But I'm home because the actions of my Indonesian neighbours made my plan redundant. 

Divided by national boundaries, race and culture, our neighbours and us are united by natural geography. Nature makes no distinction of countries and nationalities. The earth needs to be treated with a sense of share responsibility; we don't live our lives without consequences for others. Our pollutants here is not just our pollutants. Their pollutants there are not just theirs. 

Haze is a manifestation of selfish irresponsibility, the attitude that we don't give a damn about others as long as we earn our keep. 

But so what if I have a billion dollars if this is the earth I am leaving my children and my children's children? We may not live to see them. If we do, what would they say about the mess me made and the livelihood we destroyed? It's a disgrace the way things are. 

Yet the situation today is a reminder of what needs to be done. While humans are fortunate to have the voice and the power to change the history of the world, many others are not so fortunate. The other creatures we share this earth with, they have no voice to protest when we destroy their livelihoods and displace them, perhaps forever.