EatingAsia

Kuih What?

If you've a sweet tooth, KL can be heaven or hell, depending on whether you're in indulgence mode or steering clear of all seven of the deadly sins. Temptation - in the form of an endless array of multi-hued, variously shaped and textured sugary kuih (lit. "cake") - lurk on every corner, peddled from mobile carts, sold by generously-girthed, smiling mom-like ladies seated behind folding tables outside grocery store entrances, hawked at permanent stalls in coffee shops, or served in air-conditioned comfort at shops in any one of KL's numerous shopping malls.

Resistance is futile -- unless you can't stand coconut, despise palm sugar, or (heaven forbid!) are revolted by both. (Most Malaysian sweets contain one or the other, in some form or another, and quite often, copious amounts of both.)

For the ten years or so prior to moving to KL, I was a once-a-month-or-so sweets consumer. All too aware of the dangers posed by a half-finished cake or a tin of cookies sitting on the kitchen counter, I don't often bake at home (the pound of Valhrona bittersweet chocolate I purchased two months ago to make a flourless chocolate-black pepper cake is still sitting in fridge). And I rarely order dessert at a restaurant (vacations being the exception), preferring to devote my calories to delectable savories and good wine.

But living in KL has posed a challenge. Malay sweets, with their coconut-y richness and haunting palm sugar complexity, have thrown a monkey wrench in my attempts to "stay clean".

The weekend before last was a bit of a disaster. First, on Saturday, there was the kuih seller outside Restoran Fook Yun. The little lovely pictured up top consists of two thick layers of rice flour, coconut milk and sweet corn (yellow) sandwiching a thin layer flavored with coconut milk and pandan leaves. I love, love, love sweet corn - but not in a dessert, so I approached this kuih with a bit of caution. In this instance though, it worked, the corny sucrose seeming very at home with the coconut.

Then there was the kuih ketayap (or kuih dadar) sold at the Aroma Nyonya Kueh stall at Chun Heong coffee shop in Bangsar's Lucky Garden.

This is, without a doubt, my very favorite kuih. Soft, spongy pandan-flavored pancakes enclose a filling of grated coconut and palm sugar. There's nothing quite like a kuih dadar hot off the griddle, when the pancake is still warm enough to soften the palm sugar. But a well-made dadar will stand the test of hours, its wrapper remaining supple and yielding long after the treat has cooled.

Then we stepped into the abyss, deciding on the spur of the moment to check out the offerings at this kuih cart that parks outside Nam Chuan coffee shop every Sunday afternoon. The cart was mobbed and our wait was substantial and tortuous, as I watched the supply of kuih dwindle. Happily, there was plenty left when our turn rolled around.

This vendor sells kueh lapis (chewy, multi-colored layers of rice flour and coconut),

kuih kosui (rice flour dough flavored with coconut or pandan and coconut, steamed in cups  -- the khui is scooped plastic, cut into quarters, and topped with fresh grated coconut),

and kuih apam (not-too-sweet spongy brown cakes lightly flavored with palm sugar --I imagined them as part of a delicious trifle, sliced and layered with strawberries and vanilla ice cream).

And much more. Behold our haul:

Clockwise from upper left (readers, thanks for providing correct names!): kuih apam, kuih kosui, kueh lapis, kuih seri muka (a cake of glutinous rice cooked with coconut milk, topped with a pandan layer), onde onde (Dave's fave - steamed pandan flavored glutinous rice flour balls with a semi-liquid filling of palm sugar, rolled in grated coconut), a "sandwich" of pulut tai tai (coconut and glutinous rice flour cakes that traditionally get their blue hue from a dye obtained from dried bunga telang, or butterfly pea flowers) with a kaya (rich coconut and egg "jam") filling, a coconuty kueh with a wrinkly "burnt" topping of palm sugar, and kueh talam (a layer of rice and green pea flour flavored with pandan topped with a layer of rice flour and coconut cream).

This was not a typical weekend, but I think it's pretty obvious that I am no longer master of my sweet tooth. I may require detox.

Suggestion Box: Kolo Mee

A couple of Saturdays ago I opened my email inbox to find a message from an EatingAsia reader, advising me of a "Chinese kopitiam selling delicious Sarawak's famous kolo mee" near the Malaysia Institute of Baking (MIB) in Petaling Jaya (PJ) new town. Three hours later I was wandering the area with Dave, scribbled note in hand, pestering young and old alike for directions to a nonexistent coffee shop. My source had gotten the name of the kopitiam wrong, but no matter. We found it soon enough and, though he may have incorrectly named the venue, our reader was absolutely spot-on as regards the deliciousness of said kolo mee.

Restoran Fook Yun wraps around one corner of the intersection of two pedestrian-only lanes. The ladies selling kolo mee from a stall topped with a yellow and red sign touting "handmade noodles" have been in business for only a little over a year. For the uninitiated, kolo mee is a simple dish of noodles topped with barbecued pork, a few stems of one Chinese green or another, and a sprinkling of spring onions, served with a bowl of meat soup.

Fook Yun's kolo mee ladies ratchet the dish up a notch, adding scrumptiously seasoned pork mince, scrambled egg pieces, and lots of fried shallots to the mix. Toppings are so generous that they literally blanket the noodles. Bobbing in the broth served alongside are two tender, meaty orbs studded with tasty bits of green onion and red capsicum. All well and good and delectable, but for me the real gastronomic excitement of this dish is in what lies beneath.

The vendors tell me that they rise extra early everyday to whip up a fresh batch of these semi-wide egg noodles, and I believe them. I'm a bit of a noodlehead, especially when it comes to thicker, more substantial versions like these. Silky and supple, with a pure eggy flavor, and cooked agreeably al dente -- these scrumptious strands of pasta could easily stand up to some of the best fresh pasta I've sampled in Italy. So much so, in fact, that I briefly pondered purchasing a kilo to take home and sauce up with a nice chicken liver-y ragu Bolognese for dinner that evening (I may yet pursue this fantasy).

'Nuff said. These nectareous noodles had me humming a happy tune the rest of the afternoon. Thanks mucho, TH!

Oh I'm sorry -- did you think we were finished? After just one bowl of kolo mee between the two of us our stomachs were still growling; this Ipoh chee cheong fun a few steps away whispered our names. Chee cheong fun often make an appearance at dim sum; they're big, wide rice noodles rolled around a variety of fillings (minced pork, or shrimp, or scallops, or...) into a sort of log, and doused with a sweetish soy sauce. Ipoh-ites do theirs a bit differently, chopping an unfilled noodle log into chunks and liberally lashing them with chili sauce, sweet-salty "brown" sauce, and sprinkles of sesame seeds and fried shallots. As the sign says, fish balls are an optional add-on.

Are these chee cheong fun really handmade? I couldn't tell you, but I can say that their texture was simply sublime. Thinner and lighter than the usual dim sum variety, they were so soft as to be almost pillowy. Just another noodle-related reason for a repeat nosh at Restoran Fook Yun.

On the way back to the car we stopped in at MIB's ground-floor bakery. Chocolate fudge layer cake: flavorsome frosting, disappointingly dry cake. More than redeemed by the springy orange muesli bread (no added sugar) which, though a bit skimpy in nuts, is blessed with the glorious fragrance and flavor of orange peel. Yummy toasted and eaten with honey.

Sarawak kolo mee and Ipoh chee cheong fun at Restoran Fook Yun, PJ new town. No address, but -- stand with your back to the MIB (11 Jalan 52/8, Merdeka Square). Fook Yun is just a minute's walk forward and to the left.

Update: Friend, EatingAsia reader, and vigilent copywriter SW has set me straight as regards what Ipoh chee cheong fun is, and is not. Question is, what gives with the "Ipoh" on the sign of this not-Ipoh chee cheong fun vendor?

Ipoh-style chee cheong fun is usually served with minced pork and mushrooms. The chee cheong fun in the pic is the standard chee cheong fun - some stalls just sell it in plain flat sheets, others in rolls and some offer you a choice of both. The sauces drizzled over are "teem cheong" (Cantonese - sweet sauce) and chilli sauce. There's also a dash of oil, sesame seeds and sometimes soya sauce. Some stalls also offer you the option of "karlay chup" (Cantonese pronunciation of curry gravy). There are also variations of "teem cheong" - it ranges from a reddish almost maroon coloured sauce to various shades of brown.

How One Lunch Becomes Two

There are seven days in every week, two meals in every day (breakfast and lunch are usually one, for me). I don't eat out every meal, I don't even eat out most meals. I love to eat, but I also love to cook, which dictates a fair amount of lunching and dinner-ing at home. So even in an omnivorously busy week I've got, at the most, six meals to play with.

This is the problem: in KL, when it comes to food, choice overwhelms opportunity. It's very, very frustrating.

Sometimes I just have to double up.

A typical Sunday afternoon: we've just had a good workout and are on the prowl for sustenance. We head over to backpacker land behind Jalan Bukit Bintang. We know that Tengkat Tong Shin has a lot to offer in the scarf department, and the sign above this vendor's stall advertising Ipoh sar hor fun reels us in.

"Hor fun" is Cantonese for rice noodles ("kway teow" in Hokkien/Fujianese). The rice noodles in Ipoh, capital of Malaysia's Perak state, are said to be smoother, softer, and generally tastier than those made elsewhere. Ipoh-ites attribute their kuay teow's special deliciousness to the high alkali content of the local water, which originates in the mountains around the city.

Dave and I aren't certain we'll be able to appreciate the no-doubt subtle differences between Ipoh and KL kuay teow, but sar hor fun is new to us (we crave adventure), so we order a couple of bowls.

Noodles aside, this dish illustrates the old adage that, sometimes, simple is best. It's nothing but shredded chicken breast meat, a couple of halved prawns, a few wilted stalks of gai lan (Chinese broccoli), and rice noodles, all floating with some scallion pieces in a shrimp-chicken broth slicked with the teeniest bit of bright red chili oil. But what broth (so rich!), what prawns (no mush! and they tase of the sea!), what chicken breast (so moist and tender!), what greens (still toothsome!), and -- what noodles! They are indeed the softest-without-being-mushy kuay teow we've ever eaten. Of course, they slide down without effort.

A fine find, we depart Ching Hai satisfied that the day has been well spent. Except that those bowls of noodles were small, and we're still feeling a little bit peckish. We get the bright idea to wander up the street in search of a small final nibble. About halfway, we come across a very busy coffee shop. One vendor is busier than most -- great! -- problem is, he's dishing out fish ball noodles, which in my book qualifies as more of a meal than the finale to a meal.

Especially when one orders one's own bowl (one with thick yellow mee, one with thin rice vermicelli, both dry), instead of sharing.

The noodles arrive at table showered with chopped scallion, perched atop a handful of blanched sprouts. Both are doused with a lightly bitter, not-at-all sweet, salty black sauce that's easily tamed with a splash or two of fish ball broth.

And speaking of fish balls (there's a couple of fish "sausage" slices floating in there as well) -- soft and springy at the same time, if that's possible. There's a bit of resistance to tooth pressure, but once I'm "in" they're very yielding. And plenty fishy.

Well. It was way too much food for one lunch. But when you've only got six opportunities a week.......

Ipoh Sar Hor Fun at Ching Hai coffee shop, Tengkat Tong Shin at the corner of Jalan Tong Shin, opposite Corona Inn). Early morning till 3 or 4-ish pm. Fish ball noodles at coffee shop just up TTS, on the same side of the street as Ching Hai.

Dim Sum Low

Kedai Kopi Mee Bon looks pretty much like any other kedai kopi (coffee shop) in KL: a plain open storefront with a fair amount of seating inside and a number of sidewalk tables. Huge bamboo steamers -- well worn from use and stacked high -- and a couple of multi-tiered, glass-sided warming cases out front are the visual signals that the place specializes in dim sum.

Not Xin-style dim sum. Mee Bon's dim sum is to Xin's dim sum as a hamburger is to filet mignon, tapioca pudding to creme brulee. Mee Bon serves the kind of dim sum your mom would serve, if she made dim sum. Mee Bon's dim sum is comfort-food dim sum.

On an early Sunday afternoon nearly every table is occupied by families and couples enjoying a leisurely lunch. Within seconds of our zeroing in on two empty chairs, this friendly lady rushes over with a tray of delights from the glass case.

Point and choose, it couldn't be easier, but we are spoilt for choice. We've got balls of pork and fish, veggie rolls (eggplant, red capsicum) filled with fish paste, things wrapped in dough and things wrapped in bean curd skin, crab claws and steamed rice and .... after much hemming and hawing, yes-ing and no-ing, we choose a few starters.

Who would guess that this semi-deflated, unprepossessing lump of a bao (steamed dumpling)

would be so delightfully, mouthwateringly filled with big, juicy chunks of pork and chicken in a not-too-sweet char siew sauce? There's not too much sauce -- this bao is more about the meat -- and to top it off, the dough is pillowy soft.

The thing is actually quite large, large enough to make us wonder if it wouldn't have been better to tackle it at the end of the meal after our appetites were already sated, instead of at the beginning when we still had so many little bites to work our way through. On a normal day, one of these monsters would do me for lunch.

But, in the interest of the blog and our own gluttony, we soldier on, diving into glutinous rice with soy sauce and chicken. This bird-and-grain combo reminds me of zongzi, the triangular, lotus leaf-wrapped parcels filled with glutinous rice and everything from nuts to Chinese sausage , that appear on the streets of Shanghai and Bangkok (and KL?) in the lead-up to Chinese New Year.

The rice is slightly sweet from the soy and thoroughly permeated with meat juices and fat. We don't have a problem with fat. Fat is flavor. I find this dish to be irresistable ... it's what Dave calls a "real shoveller".

And of course there's more.

Starting in the upper left corner, clockwise: deep-fried firm tofu stuffed with fish paste and topped with fried shallots; fish paste, peas, and carrot bits wrapped in dough; pounded pork wrapped in fragrant, ocean-y seaweed and topped with shredded carrot; tender pork ribs in a tomato-based sweet and sour sauce; and red capsicum stuffed with fish paste. All are tasty and disappear almost instantly, but the pork-seaweed combo stands out for it unusual combination of strong flavors that work wonderfully together. The ribs evince a notable piggy-ness that stands up to the sweet and sour (usually one of my most detested Chinese food flavor combinations) -- something like a fine American-style BBQ rib, without the smoke.

Another notable nosh -- chicken wings with a light, sweet and salty glaze (plum sauce?), wrapped in paper and steamed. Finger-licking (yes, we did) sticky and wickedly tasty.

We continue to order and eat; photos of the entire meal could fill three posts. I dare say the staff is astounded. And there's so much we don't have room left to sample -- another variation on the steamed rice theme,

tender fish balls on their own,

and pork balls in "gravy".

Not to mention congee and bao filled with sweet bean paste. By my tally we share 11 items, including the big bao and the bowl o' fatty rice. And our bill totals something in the range of U$ 7-8, including drinks. A bargain by any measure.

So, dim sum high or low? Well, it really depends if you're looking to eat mom food on the street in shorts and flip-flops, or more finely crafted in air-conditioned comfort while sporting somewhat sharper duds. There's a time for each, and they're both delightful, in their way. I've certainly got another Sunday brunch at Xin in my future, but I'll no doubt return to Mee Bon to devour my favourites and investigate all the treats I missed out on the first time.

Kedai Kopi Mee Bon, 491 Jalan Ipoh (across from Public Bank). 6am-2am.

And We Have An Innard! (Oops, I Mean "Winner")

Finally! We've reached number fifty, and a small gift box of Malaysian goodies will be shipping out next week to ... where? I'm not quite sure I remember where the winner lives. Must check back.

I regret to inform said winner that, due to customs regulations, none of the items pictured above will be included in the prize box. Sorry!