Lucky, lucky me

One of my supervisors emailed me recently asking for the address of this blog – he said he had heard I was writing about food. This is the person who once packed a ton of rendang from Sumatra to take along with him on his 9,000-mile journey home (and we got to taste it at a party he threw!!). The point of this aside is that while this is not strictly a food blog, I’m beginning to feel the pressure to deliver!

Lucky me, I am eating well, both at home (Mum’s cooking!) and outside. One of our favourite joints is this unassuming steamboat (alternatively known as hot pot in certain parts of the world) restaurant in a corner shoplot not far from home.

They have sets, depending on the number of diners, that include fish, prawns, meats of all sorts, vegetables, tofu, stuffed tofu, beef balls, fish balls, eggs, noodles etc. We normally add to their sets or order off their non-steamboat menu.

Steamboats are simple dishes, really – the success depends almost entirely on the quality of the ingredients since all of them are boiled lightly, and not subjected to heavy cooking. Luck Kee Steamboat takes pains to ensure all the ingredients – especially the seafood – are fresh and of a better grade. Here’s a close-up of the pot just as the lid is being taken away…

The above pictures are from 2006. Just recently, we went back to have their non-steamboat food. We’ve always ordered their crabs as a side dish (yeah, right, crabs as a ‘side dish’). This time we decided to go the whole hog [actually, you can order braised pig’s trotters (chee keok) from a nearby stall (bak kut teh) too].

We started out with a plate of khau yoke mai fun – bee hoon/bihun (vermicelli) stir fried with strips of braised pork belly; a dish with deep flavours that one can appreciate with just a few mouthfuls. You might think it strange that the noodle dish appears first, since noodle and rice dishes appear at the end of fine Chinese banquets. But when you’re having a crab meal, the crabs are usually served last, during which all conversation stops and everyone is all hands on deck, literally.

Next came the yim kook har, or salt encrusted/baked prawns. (I am getting terribly hungry as I write this, sigh!). Deep-fried to the right level of crispiness, you can throw the whole thing into your month, chomp on it, and swallow everything – head, eyes, legs, tail, meat, stock and barrel. (You’ll need a fairly big mouth of course, or a way to unhinge your jaws.)

A plate of vegetables also arrived at this point, but I felt sure my salt-encrusted fingers should not be touching the camera.

Then came our chilli crab. We held our breath. I said a silent prayer for the folks in the San Francisco Bay Area – the side of a tanker had scraped against the Bay Bridge, and oil spilled out of a huge gash, sparking an environmental crisis that led to the restriction of the Dungeness crab season, much to the dismay of the locals there.

And then we tucked in! As expected, all conversation stopped, until the arrival first of the mantou (bread) to soak up the chilli crab sauce, and then the piece the resistance…

… our steamed flower crabs (fa hai). Flower crabs are soft-shelled crabs that have a more delicate flavour, which makes them less suitable for the robust treatment handed out to their bigger and meatier cousins (stir-fried either with chilli; peppercorns; curry leaves, ginger and spring onion; and so on). Instead, flower crabs are best steamed, on a bed of egg white whipped with Chinese wine, and sprinkled with some fresh spring onions.

Man, was that a feast!

Chemor is still relevant today

Okay, so I have a soft spot for old towns and places with a bit of history. They're a window not just into some sepia tinted era that has little relevance to today, but they show us how the people who came before us lived their lives even as they built for the future – that it, built the world we live in now.

We are inextricably linked to the past, individually and collectively; linked even to those who are not family, who lived in places far away, in unfamiliar circumstances. That's why the feature in today's Sunday Star on Chemor, caught my eye. This is a story not just of a town living in some time warp, but a glimpse into the very real and concrete lives of the men, women, teachers, labourers, students, town officials and others in this small Perak town.


The grand Chemor Theatre once staged
Chinese opera and Malay bangsawan shows,
explains Law Siak Hong of the Perak Heritage
Society. – Caption and picture copyright
from The Sunday Star newspaper.

The accompanying story is on the Mandailings, who fled from Sumatra in the 19th century and made their home in Chemor (and other parts of Perak, too). The Mandailings have striven to preserve their cultural identity and uniqueness, an effort that has sometimes at odds with the official project to construct monolithic "Malay" identity/ethnicity.

The political parties in Malaysia, both governing and in the opposition, are formally, or effectively mono-ethnic (the latter may claim to offer a multi-ethnic platform, but their support is often derived largey from one ethnic community), and thus it serves their purposes to perpetuate the idea that "Malay", "Chinese", "Indian" are large homogeneous groups that march to one ethnic agenda and spring from one particular cultural heritage.

This is patently not true, as the Chemor/Mandailing articles and the Johan Jaafar lament that I talked about in my previous post shows (Johan recounts how the Javanese were seen as a very distinct and different ethnic group in his village).

Of muhibah, kampungs and the slow travelling movement

I don't normally do news round-ups - see Jeff Ooi for that - but a few things caught my eye today.

The first is Johan Jaaffar's lament on "Those long-gone days of muhibah in the kampung" in today's New Straits Times. Johan's point is not new: In the past, during more innocent times, before and just after Malaysia gained her independence in 1957, it was not unusual for families of various ethnicities to not only live cheek-by-jowl with each other, but have genuine interactions and friendship. This pining for the good old days is particularly prevalent among Malaysians of a certain vintage as well as politicians out to mask their tendency to fan ethnic chauvinism with empty rhetoric of multi-cultural harmony, or muhibah.

I highlight Johan's lament because my friend John is right now undertaking a ride across the country in search of that muhibah spirit, and is at this very moment, passing through Muar, the setting for Johan's commentary. What was remarkable about Johan's picture of an idyllic kampung was that "in 1948, the area surrounding my village was the scene of the worse racial turmoil the country had ever known."

Meanwhile, two Morrocan scouts are walking through Asia to promote "love, peace and tolerance", and has arrived in Malaysia. What is it about people taking the slow road to spread positive messages? Is it because the physically draining act of walking and cycling humbles a person and makes him or her more sensitive or self-aware? Is it that the slower pace allows one to truly appreciate the worth of every single human being one encounters? Or is one just too darned tired to argue?

Riding is of course an environmentally-friendly, low-impact way of playing tourist, as this feature on Pulau Ketam bike tours attests. My recent post on the charming island failed to include some of the nitty-gritty travel details that good, responsible bloggers are supposed to have provide. Oh well, *shrug*.

But I did have a pix of pepper crabs! :)

P.S. If any of the links to the articles become broken, leave a comment and I'll fix it!

Sinful

In an earlier post, I had commented on the irony of serving char kuay teow for a charity event raising funds for survivors of stroke (as well as our ex-Prime Minister asking for equally sinful Malaysian street food after his heart operation).

You see, the ingredient that makes char kuay teow sinfully delicious is, well, lard! But isn't this such an innocuous ingredient? It's just so white, and pristine! So harmless looking.

All you have to do is to just cut a big piece into cute little tiny cubes...

... and have them simmer in a wok over a gentle fire.

And before you can say "angioplasty, pshaw!", they've turned into lil' golden brown snacks, leaving behind the liquid that adds that indescribable extra to char kuay teow and countless other favourites. How bad can they be? ;)

Fortunately, in this health conscious age, more and more cooks are consigning this naughty booster to the realm of memory ("Oh, food tasted so different in my time"), although it is threatening to make a comeback.

Still, its widespread absence has enabled even survivors of strokes to have a plate of char kuay teow now and again without their nutritionist having a heart attack.

And he's off!

Updated version: I had blogged earlier about my friend John who planned to ride from the southernmost to the northernmost part of peninsula Malaysia in a journey to uncover his place in his nation and his nation in him. Well, he left this afternoon and you can follow his progress in his own blog.

The southernmost tip of Malaysia is Tanjung Piai, a National Park that has visitor friendly boardwalks criss-crossing parts of the 526 hectares of coastal mangrove swamps and canals.

A Ramsar certified site, Tanjung Piai is also the southernmost tip of the Asian continental land mass.

We headed out to Tanjung Piai at mid-morning and reached there just before noon. John, Mei and I decided to play tourists for a while and we walked along the boardwalk marveling at the swamp and the rich animal and plant life it sustained.

We finally reached the southernmost point, a stark, soulless jetty with concrete floor, bizarre sayings nailed onto the railings, and ...

... a globe that looks like it has seen better days in a 3rd rate amusement park. John, though, seemed transfixed by it, perhaps plotting his next trip?

After a lacklustre lunch in Kukup at a seafood restaurant designed to relieve unsuspecting Singaporeans of their dollars, we headed back to Tanjung Piai for the real business of the day... The Journey.

First off, getting the gear out of the car. "Hmmm, I seemed to be missing something?"

After much moving things about...

... out comes the frame and the bags.

Take out the second wheel...

... and make sure there is enough air in it...

... before securing it to the frame.

Tyre pressure check for the back wheel.

And make sure all the bags are secured properly.

Now it's time to put on the right gear, starting with shoes.

Load the bags at the back...

... making sure they are balanced.

Put on the funny little thingamajig they call a bicycle helmet...

... and some mean gloves....

before taking a swig of holy water, blessed by the patron saint of cyclists, St. Wheely.

Give the ol' gal a good, long hug. Notice how I cleverly focused on the background, rendering the tender moment in soft focus, something I totally intended to do when releasing the shutter of my idiot-proof camera.

Then it's time to climb on board, test the gadgets and go for a quick spin.

All set, the man flashes his trademark cheeky grin...

... and he's off. Good luck, John. Be safe.