EatingAsia

Not Heart-Healthy

"Heart attack on a plate." This is what I think to myself as I ingest spoonful after spoonful of the mee jawa goreng ('Javanese' fried noodles) served up at an out-of-the-way stall in SS 3.

The vendor expertly wok-tosses thickish yellow noodles with nibs of fried tofu, nubs of tomato, egg, slices of softened red onion, and potato cubes. Speckled with brown, crunchy crumbs of char, this mee jawa goreng is plenty greasy, but greasy-good, good in that way that food you know you really shouldn't be eating (hot dogs with everything, Milky Way bars, the fatty-crispy skin from a roast suckling pig) so often is.

The garnish - wide ribbons of iceberg lettuce - adds a pleasing bit of freshness and texture, but does nothing to lighten the dish, which has also received a serious lashing of tomato catsup. Catsup catches on potato bits, bringing to mind that scrumptious but so-lubricated-it's-toxic staple of hearty, American diner breakfasts: country fries.

So good, and so not good for me. But you only live once.

Mee jawa sup - the soup being more of a gravy than a broth - is lighter but, for my money, just doesn't sparkle. Its ingredients are identical to those of the fried mee and the thickish gravy is richly tomato-y and admirably spicy. Noodles are springy and a bit chewy, not the least bit overcooked.

But as I sample this version I find that the thrill - perhaps the thrill of saying to myself, "The he** with it, I'm gonna eat every last bit of this fat bomb on the plate in front of me, and I'm gonna love it, too." - is gone.

 

Mee jawa sup and goreng at Restoran Siong Pin, SS 3/31. Open early morning till about 3pm. RM 6.60 for one plate of each.

On the Road: Fish Tales and Tamu in East Malaysia

We're in Kota Kinabalu, capital of Malaysia's Sabah state.

We're not here to climb Sabah's majestic Mt. Kinabalu, dive/snorkel the colorful reefs off Sipadan Island, visit the orangutangs at their Sepilok sanctuary, or watch turtle-ettes making their way through sand to sea on the Turtle Islands. We're only here for a few days, for goodness sakes!

But in the short time we've been here we've certainly managed to - yes, you guessed it - check out the local eats. We've been spending lots of time at KK's mammoth Central Market, and hauling ourselves out of bed before dawn to watch the fishing boats unload their daily catch. We've made our way to a couple of memorable tamu, Sabah's version of the once-a-week outdoor market. And we've been ingesting lots and lots of the sea critters this city is justly famous for, in just about every way possible. We enjoyed the char-licious grilled specimens above at KK's vibrant pasar malam (night market) last night.

The verdict? At the risk of sounding like the Sabah Tourism Promotion Board... this island state is one fantastic destination - perhaps Malaysia's tourism jewel. The locals are friendly, the coast is lovely, pristine islands are numerous, and the interior offers lots of diversions. The roads are easily navigable and in decent enough shape; driving is rather less frightening than it can sometimes be on the Malaysian peninsula. And the seafood is top quality, and dirt cheap (especially in comparison with Kuala Lumpur). What on earth took us so long to get here? No matter, for there's not a doubt that this, our first visit to the 'Land Below the Wind' (Sabah lies below the cyclone/typhoon line, and so escapes the ferocious storms that batter its neighbor, the Philippines), won't be our last.

And now, another breathtaking sunset beckons. EatingAsia resumes its regular programming on Thursday.

Chiang Mai's Edible Sunday Market

I doubt there's a traveller to Chiang Mai who doesn't make it to this northern Thai hub's moat-enclosed 'old city'; many tourists end up staying there. The old city is dotted with the most stunning of Chiang Mai's wat, or Buddhist temples, and if one veers clear of the main drags - clogged with travel agents, beer and juice bars, and quite a few mediocre eateries offering cheap but shamefully awful grub (in Thailand, there's absolutely no need to eat less than excellently, no matter your budget) - it's possible to get a sense of what a charming and peaceful place Chiang Mai must have been, before it became Thailand's second boom town.

We didn't plan to spend much time in the old city when we were in Chiang Mai in February. Our lodgings were across town, on the other side of the river; besides, we'd taken in the cultural and historical sites inside the moat on previous trips. But I'd been looking, without luck, for kanom jeen saow nam, a Chiang Mai specialty of fermented rice noodles (kanom jeen) sauced with coconut milk, dried shrimp, chilies, ginger, and fresh pineapple. The owner of our guest house suggested the old city's Sunday afternoon market. "If you're going to find kanom jeen saow nam anywhere, you'll find it there," he said. Shaking his head and wincing slightly, he added, "I really don't like that dish." 

I won't keep you in suspense. Sadly, we didn't find kanom jeen saow nam at the Sunday market, or anywhere else in Chiang Mai, for that matter. But we did come across enough tasty treats to serve as salve for my disappointment.

The market, which gears up at about 3pm and stays up and running till past 9, starts in front of Tha Phae gate and stretches along Ratchademnern Road right to where it deadends at Wat Phra Bingh. Don't be fooled by the swamp of clothing vendors on the square in front of the gate; there's food (albeit not as much as I'd like there to be) within. Just inside and to the left of the gate, in front of Black Canyon Coffee, a vendor hawks one of my favorite Thai kanom (sweet or savory snacks), kao tom gluai (kao=rice, tom=boiled, gluai=banana).

This sweet consists of kluai nam waa, a peculiar variety of banana that turns a deep pink when cooked, enclosed in a 'dough' of pounded glutinous sticky rice. It's eaten with freshly grated coconut and, because it's otherwise unsweetened, a sprinkle of coarse-grain sugar. Kluai nam waa tastes more like strawberry than banana: a smidge of tartness mixed with a full-on red fruit flavor. (It also makes an appearance in a luscious, eggy Vietnamese dessert that's a cross between bread pudding and clafouti.)

Most of the market's edible action takes place inside the gates of the many wat along Ratchadamnen Road. In the courtyard of Wat Sam Pao (the first wat on the right after Tha Phae gate) we found a newfangled take on haw mawk (fish and coconut curry 'custard' steamed in a banana leaf dish): a sort of grilled egg pudding topped with mushrooms and pork.

Also on offer, kanom jeen with a choice of curries (bottom, gaeng kiaow waan, sweet green curry with chicken and basil leaves, and above, nam yaa plaa, red coconut curry with ground or flaked fish) .

Another vendor, working behind a table topped with old-fashioned clay curry pots, dished up kanom jeen with nam ngiaw, a pungent, coconut milk-free sauce of stewed pork (or beef), tart cherry tomatoes, and - when truly authentic - blood cakes. Nam ngiaw is believed to have originated in Thailand's far north, among the Shan ethnic minority.

Further along, at Wat Chai Pakhet, we found chicken roasted over charcoal, in a huge stainless steel drum.

The roastmaster told us that the birds are marinated in a dry rub for several hours before they're hooked and hung inside the drum; in thirty minutes they're crisped, juicy, and ready to eat.

Steps away, kluai bing (grilled bananas, opening photo), one of Thailand's most humble, and delightful, snack-on-a-stick. Whole firm, ripe bananas are cooked until just soft, then smashed flat. They're adorned with a few thin banana cross slices, and then returned to the grill to continue cooking until gooey but still holding their shape. The result is almost-cream of banana in a crisped banana crust.

Thais love their Thai-ified dim sum, usually eaten with a sweet chili dipping sauce. Here, sao mai (open-top pork dumplings) share a steamer with bpuu jaa, chopped pork and crab meat mixed with lemongrass, cilantro root, and garlic.

Even if we hadn't been hungry, our tour of the Sunday market would have been justified by the education in the art of pork ball making that we received courtesy of a friendly vendor with a sparkling smile.

Spoon in one hand to assist in scooping, she uses the thumb and first two fingers of her other, hygenically rubber gloved, hand to transform flesh-hued pork 'mash' the consistency of thick and lumpy pancake dough into firm meatballs.

The process takes, amazingly, less than twenty seconds - most of which this lady pays not a whit of attention to what her hands are doing. The finished product is dropped into a bath of boiling water.

While the Sunday market attracts loads of tourists (who else is buying all the schlock on offer?), there are plenty of locals too. The feeling is friendly, neighborhoody, and laid back. Few vendors apply the hard sell, though some use irresistable props to attract customers.

Once you've eaten your fill and shopped till you drop, consider dropping a baht or ten for a good cause.

Most Sundays find volunteers from Lanna Dog Rescue working to adopt out their rehabilitated former street dogs. Travellers can't take these sweet souls home, but the organization passes out literature, sells t-shirts, and has a donation box.

Chiang Mai Old City Sunday Market, from around 3pm to 9 or so, starting at Tha Phae Gate.

A Restorative Pit Stop

Though visitors to Malaysia would be foolish to give the northeast coast a miss, be forwarned: driving its truck-clogged, two-lane highways is no picnic, especially on a weekday during the monsoon season, when open for business roadside refreshment stops are few and far between. Two and a half hours north of Kuala Terengganu, still at least forty-five minutes from Kota Baru, Restoran Herba's sign shown like a beacon on a gale-whipped night.

Fronting a tropical plant and herb nursery, the restaurant is the 'baby' of Ali, head of a family of enthusiastic proponents of herb-based cuisine as a way to better health.

While Chinese use of medicinal and culinary herbs is well known, the Malay way with these plants is less so. According to the authors of Herbs of Malaysia, before the 19th century many herbs were introduced to the country by foreign traders (mint by Sri Lankans); beginning around 1900 others were carried in by Indonesian and Indian migrant labor brought to Malaysia by the British. The Malay love of ulam (herbs) is evident in dishes like kerabu (salads of various ulam mixed with ingredients such as grated coconut, dried prawns or fish, shallots, chilies) and nasi ulam. Ulam are also eaten raw or blanched, dipped in spicy sambal. Malaysian wet markets are sources for a mind-boggling variety of ulam, but those living outside the country's urban areas can also forage for ulam in jungles, streams, and paddy fields.

The menu at Restoran Herba is limited to sup (soups) and hot and cold beverages. At Ali's suggestion we began with tall, cold glasses of jade green air pegaga, made from pounded pennywort leaves. The herb's natural bitterness tempered with a bit of sugar and livened with a good hit of kalamansi juice, this drink proved just the thing after a long drive.

Partial to sun and moist soil, pennywort is believed to stimulate the appetite and aid in digestion. Its medicinal uses are wide-ranging, from ingestion for treatment of epilepsy and skin diseases to the application of the herb in paste form to the forehead and body to cure fever. Traditional Malay medicine recognizes pennywort as a 'warm' herb, recommended to mothers who have just given birth.

Dave's bowl of sup ekor (oxtail) contained several meaty bones in a broth fragrant with white pepper, five-spice, and dried chilies. Sprigs of Chinese celery and coriander, chopped scallion and fresh chili, and thin slices of barely blanched onion added sharp, fresh notes.

The mild flavored chunks of eel in my soup belut were surprisingly fleshy, cooked to a tenderness that allowed disengagement of fish (is eel in fact a fish?) from bone with just a nudge of the tongue. The broth, spiked with white pepper and fresh chilies, was pleasingly sour, a quality Ali attributed not to tamarind or lime juice, but to a mixture of herbs.

   

To accompany our soups, a saucer of suprisingly spritely sambal made from shrimp paste, fresh red and green chilies, lime juice, and finely chopped daun kesom, to eat with cucumber slices and an assortment of ulam: leaves of keremik (false daisy), cekur (Chinese ginger or finger root), selasih (sweet basil), and pennywort.

We finished with hot glasses of peppery, tongue-tingling halia madu, a soothing combination of ginger and ginseng (aka 'super ginger') mixed with honey.

This light lunch, marked by interesting and assertive (and, in some cases, unfamiliar) flavors left us restored and ready to tackle the last miles to Kota Baru. After a turn through Ali's peaceful nursery and a final good-bye to his friendly family, we hit the road.

 

Restoran Herba, about 45 minutes outside Kota Baru at 10 Jalan Bara, Alor Pasir, Pasir Puteh, Kelantan.

Just When We're Sure We've Tried 'Em All.....

Pulled noodles, dandan noodles, Xinjiang noodles, wonton noodles, knife-cut noodles, 'explosively fried' noodles, peanut  noodles ... after nearly four years in China I was pretty sure that we'd run the gamut of Chinese noodle dishes. Until we moved to Kuala Lumpur. I haven't consulted this blog's archives to do a tally, but over the last eight or so months we've probably introduced ourselves to more Chinese noodle dishes than we encountered in all our time in China.

This time it's tai po mee, another creation of the Hakka. At this stall in Subang Jaya we order wet and dry versions. The noodles here are wide, wheaty, and substantial. They're served with pig two ways (BBQ'd and thinly sliced, and ground and fried with a touch of soy), crispy squares of deep-fried tofu skin, and plentiful sprigs of choi sum. I'm not much of a wet noodle lover, but must admit that this vendor's rich meaty broth spiked with plenty of white pepper is very fine indeed.

The dry version, I think, allows for deeper contemplation (and appreciation) of pork nubbins and slices, joined here by pig a third way, in the form of bits of sweetish lap cheong (Chinese sausage). Generously coated with pungent garlic or shallot oil, the noodles are delightfully slippery and take well to dabs of hot 'n fishy sambal. In the accompanying bowl of broth, thinner and weaker in flavor than that featured in the noodle's wet version, float shards of tofu skin and a single wonton.

Not nearly sated (it occurs to me that this is becoming a refrain at EatingAsia), we check out the offerings at a coffee shop across the street before heading back to our car. The lunch crowds are thinning and it's getting awfully late, but we manage to snag a plate of curry chee cheong fun just before the vendor closes shop for the day.

The curry here is thin and, though coconuty, not overly rich; aromatic spices win out over chili, so there's just a hint of heat. Rice noodle rolls are more sturdy than silky, pleasantly chewy, and wrapped tight around a mystery filling that I guess - wrongly, the woman in charge tells me - includes fish (she declines to enlighten me further, but then again I was interrupting her lunch). At any rate, these tasties are lovely - though probably even lovelier a bit earlier in the day.

On our way to the street we spy a sign for tong hoon (dong fen in Mandarin - translating roughly to 'winter noodles'), yet another Chinese noodle we haven't sampled.

Add it to the list.

Hakka tai po noodles at Nanking Restaurant, 36 Jalan USJ 10/1, Taipan, Subang Jaya. Open 11am-8pm. Curry chee cheong fun just across the street at Yat Wo Food Court. Open early morning till 3pm.

"Johor, j'adore!"

Or that's what we would have been saying, if we spoke French, as we took our leave of Mat's Bess, a petite purveyor of specialties from the southern Malaysian state of Johor. In actuality we rolled out the door of this Subang Jaya eatery rubbing our tummies, smacking our lips, and uttering utterly pedestrian American phrases like "Wasn't that tasty!" and "Yummy!"

'Bess' is meant to be 'best', there really is a Mat (upstairs, napping, at the time of our Saturday afternoon visit), and he does, in fact, hail from Johor. Enter this place hungry at your own risk; the luscious odors wafting from the kitchen into the dining room are likely to induce over-ordering.

We began with nasi briyani gam Muar (Muar is Johor's second-largest city and the origin of a number of well-loved Malaysian dishes), which, we were told by Mat's somewhat taciturn sister-in-law (she did not seem to welcome our always-constant dining companion, the camera-and-tripod), is a family recipe. Unlike Hyderabad briyani, in which curried meat and rice are traditionally cooked at the same time in a dough-sealed pot, briyani gam brings the two separately prepared elements together for only a final few minutes of steaming.

Underneath the caramelized shallot-sprinkled mound of fluffy, distinct grains of rice scented with turmeric and whole cardamom seeds lies a surprise of fall-apart tender pieces of mutton on the bone (chicken is another option) and a hard-boiled egg in a small pool of thick curry.

The plate comes with a saucer of thin curry and a plate of luridly neon-colored achar (sweet and sour crunchy 'pickle'), both of which are tasty enough (especially the achar, which happily falls more on the side of sour than many of its cloying cousins) but utterly unnecessary. I happily devoted myself to savoring the mutton on its own, and when that was done didn't want to sully the delicious rice with anything but leftover mutton-ness, so left both aside.

Mat's serves up a fine version of mee bandung, another Muar native. We've tried it before, at a shopping mall cafe in downtown Kuala Lumpur; it's been so long since that first version that I can't honestly compare the two. Suffice it to say that this tantalizing medley of thick yellow mee noodles, tofu and squid strips, and poached egg wallowing in a zesty, slightly 'grainy' (in a good way) chili-garlic-shallot-dried prawn gravy didn't linger long on its plate. I loved the way the gravy's sweetness hid - at first taste - a slow, creeping heat that grabs hold at the back of the tongue.

Unlike briyani and mee bandung, botok-botok is a Johorian dish we hadn't encountered before. The steamed dish arrives at the table as an oblong coconut leaf-encased bundle of ... more leaves. In the very center are pieces of sweet, firm-fleshed ikan tenggiri (mackerel) in a dry red curry (heavy on the lemongrass, garlic, and galangal) mixed with grated coconut.

While the coconut leaves are mere wrapping paper, the tender leaves directly enclosing the fish are meant to be eaten. The intriguing mix of paku pakis (fern tips), kadu (??? in English???) daun kaduk (pointed pepper leaves), papaya leaves, kangkung (water spinach or 'morning glory'), coriander, and other greens is sweet, bitter, medicinal, and refreshing all at once. Once we'd finished forking up the fish we were left with a bottom layer of greens shot through with fish juices and curry scrapings -- exquisite.

After a meal like that there was no question but that we'd find room for dessert. We started with one of the number of banana leaf-wrapped packages that grace each table.

Tapai ubi, fermented tapioca flour dough (there's also tapai pulut - fermented rice) with a strong nose and a slight alcoholic taste, is an acquired taste. I've not enjoyed previous encounters, but Mat's version may have turned me around with its light, almost mousse-like texture and a complex, sweet-stinky flavor that, this day, seemed more alluring than repellent.

Diners who prefer their desserts without an overpowering aroma have plenty of choices. Kueh dadar, pandan-colored 'pancakes' enclosing a mix of palm sugar and grated coconut, are ... just OK, not quite up to versions I've sampled elsewhere. Better are kueh koci, palm sugar and coconut enclosed in a pleasantly gummy rice flour dough steamed in a coconut cream-smeared leaf; and lipat lepat pisang, mashed banana mixed with glutinous rice flour and palm sugar and steamed. The latter is especially delish, with a lovely chew and tasting something like a banana caramel.

Also on offer at Mat's: lontong (rice cakes) Johor, roti canai, mee rebus, something called 'sweating noodles' (worth investigation, I think), and nasi lemak kuku. The nasi briyani can be had prepared in a claypot as well.

Mat's was reviewed a few weeks ago in the Malaysian Sunday Times - thanks to S for the tip.

Restoran Mat's Bess, 97 Jalan SS 15/5A, Subang Jaya (across the street and up a ways from Carrefour). Tel. 012-313-6149.

Update -- Owner Mohammed Nasir informs us that as of November 2011 the restaurant has a new address: No , 3 USJ 1/6b, Petaling Jaya. You can follow his blog, Matsbess Kitchen, here.

Street Smart

In today's edition of the International Herald Tribune, an interesting look at the life of a khao man gai (Hainan-style chicken rice) vendor in Bangkok. I love this kind of reportage.

Credit Where Credit's Due

If you're a regular reader of EatingAsia, you know me pretty well by now. You're familiar with my interests (food, food, food, travelling for food, and food), my hobbies (eating, travelling to eat, thinking and writing about eating, cooking, eating), my edible likes (Malaysian kopi, any dessert incorporating palm sugar and coconut, raw oysters, la jiao, Bhutanese chilies 'n cheese) and not-so likes (innards and Sydney's Icebergs restaurant). But I'm only half, or less than half, of EatingAsia. The other half you know not much at all.

And it'll probably stay that way. I'm the writer, I tell. Dave's the photographer, he shows.

I love beautiful photographs. I just can't take them. No doubt about it, EatingAsia wouldn't be what it is without the pics. Time to give credit where credit's due. This last week Gridskipper, which made it onto Forbes' list of best travel websites, had nice things to say about EatingAsia - especially Dave's photos. And his shot of sate sizzling on the barbie at Temerloh's riverside Sunday market won the February '06 round of 'Does My Blog Look Good in This'.

Now, back to 'work'. Dave, what're we eating today?