EatingAsia

New But Not-So-New in George Town

 

Dave and I spent last week in George Town, Penang. We were there mostly for work, and to be honest eating well was not Priority Number 1. In fact there were moments, whole hours even, during which I didn't think about food at all. Meals were skipped. Imagine that.

But while I was busy with interviews Dave was out scouring the city for images and in the process, ended up discovering and sampling some new-to-us fare. That's the beauty of George Town -- no matter how much time you've spent there, if you roam far and wide enough you're bound to find something yet untasted.

We sincerely hope that the city never gentrifies so much (and gentrifying it is) that the Municipal Council does away with George Town's mobile hawker stalls. Like this one, parked on a lonely stretch of Lebuh Pantai just east of Lebuh Melayu.

It seems to be a mother-and-son operation; he stir-fries, and she tells him how to stir-fry (when she's not assembling and delivering condiments). Around 4pm they push their cart up the street, set up their ingredients, and place a few tables in the portico of a crumbling warehouse

After eating here Dave raved about the gorgeous late afternoon light -- and the noodles. Then he dragged me to Lebuh Pantai.

They do two dishes here: Hokkien char and char hor fun. The former is not to be confused with Hokkien mee Kuala Lumpur-style, which is a greasily indulgent dish of yellow noodles stir-fried (in lard, preferably) with lots of dark soy sauce and pork. Nor is it to be confused with Hokkien mee Penang-style, which isn't a stir-fried dish but a soupy noodle featuring a rich, spicy prawn and pork stock. Confused yet?

Hokkien char, we think, is the Penang version of KL-style Hokkien mee, but lighter and saucier and relatively oil- if not fat-free (tucked in amongst those noodles, prawns, slices of pork, and stems of Chinese mustard are bits of crackling). It's served with a sour-and-fiery sambal.

A tasty dish and Dave's quite keen on it, but I took a shine to this gentleman's char hor fun, rice vermicelli and wide rice noodles stir-fried with pretty much the same mix of vegetable and protein as the Hokkien char, but in a lighter Cantonese-style sauce (egg optional -- we didn't go for it this time around).

What I love about this dish is the way the rice vermicelli wrap around the wide noodles, forming a web that, when it rests on the surface of the wok, firms and sucks up the pan's smokiness. What you end up with then are wok hei-infiltrated, triple-textured noodle nubs: crispy on the outside of the 'nest', yielding but toothsome just beneath the outer layer, and soft inside.

A very simple dish that I would never be able to recreate at home. Which pretty much guarantees that we'll be visiting this hawker stall again on our next trip to George Town.

Char hor fun and Hokkien char, Lebuh Pantai between Malay and Aceh streets, from about 4:30pm (to be safe) until ????, George Town, Penang.

1 Coffee Shop in George Town

This Los Angeles Times article about 1 Malaysia, the Malaysian government's ongoing campaign for national unity, brought to mind a conversation I had last week with a young Malay from KL. I mentioned Penang, and he -- who hasn't spent much time there -- said, somewhat dreamily "I have this image in my mind of Penang as this place where 1 Malaysia really exists."

Penang is no La-La Land of racial and religious harmony. (Is there a place in the world that is, these days? Certainly not my home country.). But in some respects this young man's misty water-colored image of the place isn't completely off the mark. In Penang there is a certain air of live-and-let-live, and a level of social mixing that sometimes appears to my (yes, foreign) eyes absent this far south. Coming from KL, Penang feels different.

I don't know if this can be pinned to history or location (a Chinese proverb about how being far from the capital allows for thinking and acting outside the 'party-line' box comes to mind) or a sort of island mentality. Maybe it's in the water. But Penang-ites recognize it themselves.

"We're not like those [Fill in Race, Religion, Political Party Affiliation, etc. Here] down south," I've been told by many a local. "No one tells us how to think. We do things our own way."

 

On the most superficial level you see it in places like the ground-floor coffee shop of the Rio Hotel, at the edge of George Town's Little India. Three hawker stalls run by a Malaysian-Indian Muslim and two Malaysian-Chinese husband-and-wife teams, mee jawa and mee goreng cooked up within sniffing distance of char koay teow and sliced pork-topped wonton mee (Penang-style, with deep-fried wontons).

 

The coffee at the Rio is good (though not as good as Toon Leong's) and the pleasant proprietor, son of the shop's original owner, always asks if we want 'sweet milk' or 'regular milk' when we order kopi peng (iced coffee) -- a nice touch.

The large and airy corner space attracts cross breezes and a mixed crowd -- folks in shirt-and-tie on their way to work in one of the nearby banks, elderly couples who've been patrons for decades, domestic tourists, housewives, gaggles of retirees in exercise togs on their way back from power-walking the circumference of Fort Cornwalis. And occasionally you'll see wonton mee-slurping Chinese elbow-to-elbow with Malays indulging in a plate of greasy (but delicious) mee mamak and Indians supping on char koay teow. 

 

Long before we moved to Malaysia I read an article which quoted a Malaysian thus: "We have our differences but we can always come together at the table." I don't see that sentiment in action often here in KL. But you don't have to look far to find it George Town.

Granted, it's just noodles. Sharing a coffee shop or even a table won't change minds or erase prejudices, or solve whatever troubles the nation. But perhaps it's a start?

Photography Walks in KL and Beyond

Assembling dumplings in a Chinatown alley, Kuala Lumpur

EatingAsia's photographer David Hagerman has begun offering photography walks in Kuala Lumpur and -- when we're there -- Penang. The above is an image he shot while walking a photographer around Kuala Lumpur's Chinatown last week.

If you're interested in improving your skills, trying new techniques, and/or getting feedback drop him a line. Walks are private and tailored to your interests (markets, hawker food, street photography).

For a look at more recent photos from Chinatown and to contact Dave, hop over to his photo blog Sky Blue Sky, here. His work is also viewable on his not so up-to-date professional website and on Photoshelter (links are at the top left of this page). Dave's not one to toot his own horn, so allow me to: he's shot food and non-food pieces for, among other publications, Wall Street Journal, Travel+Leisure, Saveur, and the New York Times.

And oh man, does he love to talk photography. He'd love to hear from you.

Walking and Eating George Town

For those not following EatingAsia on Twitter or Facebook, a link here to our walking tour of George Town published in yesterday's Wall Street Journal Asia. This isn't just any old walking tour, but a stroll that highlights delicious eats from shops and hawker stalls with a pedigree. We start early, at a decades-old lor mee stall, and end at 4pm next to Fort Cornwallis with the best mee goreng on Penang.

If I had to choose one don't-miss spot from this tour it would be Leong Chee Kee, a tiny bakery hidden in a parking lot where master baker Leong How Keng crafts what I'd wager are the most delicious coconut tarts in all of Asia. Just have a look at these babies (photo above): they're big, plump, and double-crusted, and their layered pastry wrappers, impossibly flaky, are filled with a generous amount amount of not-too-sweet coconut. Just fantastic -- which may be why they're often sold out by 11am.

Leong Chee Kee also does a wonderful hor chio pia, thin shortbread-like biscuits with a swirl of black pepper-heavy ground spices. Most tourists buy their hor pia at a nearby shop on Cintra Street, which in our opinion turns out an inferior version. Seek out Leong How Keng and his baked goods -- we promise it will be well worth the effort.

Welcome, 'Splendid Table' Listeners

 

Street food (our favorite kind) in Saigon, Vietnam

A few months ago in the middle of a crazy, deadline-packed week I sat down at 11:30pm (you should know that when we're here at home in Kuala Lumpur we're usually in bed by 10) with a can of Diet Coke and took a phone call from Lynne Rosetto Kaspar, host of the American Public Radio show 'The Splendid Table'.

This was pretty thrilling for several reasons, not least of which is that Lynne's book The Italian Country Table is one of the most well-worn in my cookbook collection. She's a wonderful storyteller and an ace recipe writer, and that book inspired our first trip to Italy, in 2001. Its binding has dissolved, pages are falling out, and the text is stained with sauce and grease splatters. I love that book and if you adore Italian food you should have it on your shelf. Three words: Tyrolean Pot Roast. And two more: Potato Gatto.

At any rate, the interview is airing on this weekend's episode. If you'd like to listen to me wax rhapsodic about eating in Malaysia -- Penang, mostly -- you can do so via this link. And if you're here via that 'Splendid Table' episode, Welcome!

We've got almost 5 years' worth of archives so I thought I might make getting to know us, and the way we eat (and write and photograph), a bit easier, by linking our last year's food and travel highlights:

In April 2009 we swooned over a new menu item -- rolled and stuffed, cracklin'-encased pork roast -- at our favorite old-style Kuala Lumpur coffee shop and tried two street versions of Indonesian rujak (fruit salad) in Jakarta.

May saw us in Taiwan for the first time (second time for Dave the photographer). There, we tried and honestly loved chou dofu, the infamous 'stinky bean curd' and discovered a tandoor oven-cooked meat pie worth traveling for.

In June we extended our stay in Taipei once, and once again. This gave us time to check out Hsinchu, a wonderful and often-overlooked little town just an hour from Taipei by train. Back home in Malaysia we road tripped to George Town, Penang, which we love for many things, including long-established food businesses with interesting histories, like Kwongtuck Sundries.

The photographer took off for northern India in July while I stayed behind and ruminated on Islam, Politics, and Hidden Pork Stalls (incidentally that post quickly became the most commented-on in all the years we've been blogging).

After several years of cancelled trips we finally made it to the Toraja region of Sulawesi, Indonesia, where we ate freshly harvested white and black rice at a homestay in an idyllic setting and visited a coffee roastery Back in KL, we posted Cholon (Chinatown)-focused supplement to a walking tour of Saigon we wrote and photographed for Wall Street Journal Asia. 

Memories of one the best Malay meals we've ever eaten  -- on Langkawi Island -- made for blog fodder in September. We also coined a new name for the over-the-top double-cooked pork dish served at one of George Town, Penang's finest old Chinese restaurants.

In October we headed back to the U.S. and, on a cold and rainy morning in the Berkshires we virtually revisited a tasty charcoal-cooked egg-and-rice street food treat in Jakarta.

November found us attending a fascinating conference on World Street Food at Culinary Institute of America in California's Napa Valley, where I spoke with CIA's head chef about what it's like to cook authentic street food for hundreds of people, jotted down bon mots uttered by Roy Choi of Los Angeles-based Kogi Korean taco fame (yes, the tacos really are worthy of the hype), and interviewed Turkish chef and fantastically nice guy Musa Dagdeviren.

We remembered making piong ayam -- chicken and banana tree stem cooked in bamboo, a Torajaan specialty -- and eating homemade ulang sa gata, an unctuous prawn-and-coconut-milk dish, several Christmases ago in Pampanga province, the Philippines. 

This last January was all about Sichuan province, China -- and mostly about Chengdu, where the photographer and I taught English way back in the eighties. The power of food memories was brought home to us during that trip. I'm proud of all our posts from Sichuan, but it was this one, about the glories of one-man wokkery, that received the most comments. You might also want to check out the photographer's gallery of images -- food and otherwise -- from Sichuan.

We are proud to contribute to writers' collective / food and wine website Zester Daily. One of our favorite pieces for the Zester so far is one we researched while in Sichuan, a combination text-slideshow about an organic farm outside of Chengdu, that was published in February. I also maintained what I consider to be an admirably neutral tone while reporting the proposed ban on the sale of dog and cat meat in China.

In March we took off for Chiang Mai, where we were introduced to an exceptional grilled pork stall, and northern Laos, where we visited Luang Prabang for the first time in 15 years and discovered a nifty, natural alternative to plastic bags. I also penned a piece urging travelers to venture outside their comfort zone for the day's first meal.

A homemade Shan / northern Thai pickle figured in a post last month, and EatingAsia joined the gzillion other food blogs and sites on Facebook.

We've just returned from a quick trip to Saigon, and in less than three weeks we're off on a long jaunt to Turkey.

So it goes. Stay tuned.

In Praise of Unfamiliar Breakfasts

Garlic cloves, chili sauce, and vinegar. Yes, at breakfast.

A few weeks ago I read something that got my ire up: this article for travel site WorldHum , in which travel writer and author Eric Weiner argues for sticking with what you know for breakfast when on the road.

For the traveler, breakfast grounds us in our home culture so we can work up the gumption to explore a new one. It also reminds us that however adventurous our spirit, however global our citizenship, we’re still products of a particular culture. At least once a day, preferably at the start of the day, we need to reconnect with that culture.

It's a great piece of writing. But I couldn't disagree more.

Let's start with the last bit. I travel not to remind myself of where I come from, but to immerse myself in where I don't; the last thing I want to do when on the road is to actively 'reconnect' with my own culture on a daily basis. Besides, for me the simple act of being abroad is in itself an ever-present reminder of where I come from. I never feel so 'American' as when I'm not in America.

As for the foodish aspect of Weiner's article -- it is true that, for many otherwise food-focused travelers, breakfast is the 'Last Frontier'. But getting past that is one of the best things you can do for yourself as a traveler.

Why?

Well, it's a bit like street food. Avoid it, it and you're closing yourself off from not only from a whole class of flavors and dishes but also opportunities for unique experiences and encounters. By the same token, no matter where in the world you are, breakfasting locally will expand your culinary horizons and afford an entree to bits of local life that are lived only in the wee hours.

This was brought home to me in Hoi An almost a year and a half ago, as Dave and Iwalked to the morning market. We passed a traveler's cafe just outside the old town, where four young tourists drank Nescafe (the tell-tale jar sat on their table) and ate toast made with floppy bread from a packaged pre-cut loaf . In a land of fantastic local coffee and bread they were, essentially, eating and drinking garbage. Not only that, they were missing Vietnam's morning-only self.

Dave and I walked on, stopping by our favorite fruit shake stall for a small plastic bag of kumquat 'marmalade' (meant to be eaten with shaved ice I think, but we surmised it might have other uses as well) and then continuing on to a touristy waterfront cafe that until 8am serves Viet-style iced coffee to locals at low tables out front. Dave ordered cafe sua da while I bought a baguette, split in half and warmed on a grill, from a mobile vendor steps away. We drank our coffee and ate our toasted baguette halves with the marmalade squeezed from the bag -- all with a bird's-eye view of the lively comings and goings to and from the market.

I'm not unsympathetic to the impulse to take the easy route when it comes to food, especially first thing in the morning. But we breakfasted on coffee and toast, just as those young travelers had -- yet ours was so much tastier (not to mention cheaper), and came with a slice of Hoi An's a.m. culture (the nature of that street leading to the market changes quite drastically between 7-8am and 9:30 or 10, when guided tour groups begin showing up).

Perfect boiled dumplings with plenty of chili oil. For breakfast.

Some of you reading this might be thinking, 'Easy for you to say. You eat everything.'

It's true, I do eat almost everything. Moreover, I'll eat almost anything at any time of the day. Which makes eating whatever for breakfast, wherever I am, easy. But it hasn't always been so.

When Dave and I lived in Chengdu I was an adherent to the Western breakfast. Every morning Dave left extra early, to pick up a couple of garlicky pork and Chinese chive-stuffed steamed buns before class; I stayed in our apartment, eating instant oatmeal that I'd brought from the U.S. Some days I cycled into town, to the Jinjiang Hotel, for their 'Western breakfast': awful, fluffy bread toasted and served with stone-cold fried eggs and really, really bad coffee.

What can I say? I was 22 years old, not yet grown into my now rather food-obsessed skin. All I know is that now I wish I could have all those mornings -- and all those uneaten steamed buns -- back.

My breakfast breakthrough came 6 years later when we returned to Sichuan for a holiday. In Leshan to see the world's largest buddha statue, we arrived at the dock early only to find that the 7am boat had become the 7:30am boat. Dave went in search of breakfast and I tagged along with no intention of eating.

He ordered boiled jiaozi. Big as coin purses they were, and emitting a Chinese chive reek that might have turned my stomach. But as I watched Dave eat, lips leaking a drop of chili oil and blissfully happy, something gave. He offered his chopsticks and I accepted. As soon as the first dumpling hit my mouth I was ravenous. I ordered my own bowl.

I think of that morning in Leshan as my watershed. From then on anything has been fair game for breakfast. I never afterwards pined for toast and jam or went hungry until lunchtime for the lack of it. That breakfast gifted me another opportunity, every single day, to sample local specialties. I would never again miss out on dishes, or the often memorable -- and irreplaceable -- experience of being part of the local breakfast scrum because of an insistence on sticking to the breakfasts I grew up with.

So -- yesterday at Luang Prabang's morning market we sat shoulder-to-shoulder with a gaggle of local women and tucked into nem kao, then moved down the block for a fantastic bowl of soup noodles made with ragu-like spicy pork mince and our pick of veggie add-ins. To my knowledge neither of these dishes are sold here outside of breakfast hours.

In a village on Java our morning hungries led us to a lone mobile cart, where we watched children tromp to school and women carry goods to market while warming our hands and stomachs with perhaps the most delicious rice porridge I've ever eaten. We exchanged some conversation with locals, and ate well. The latter took on extra importance when we found that evening how limited (and of limited appeal) post-breakfast dining options were.

In Saigon a grilled pork and rice breakfast gave us a ringside seat as a neighborhood woke on a weekend morning. In George Town a dish of noodles topped with gloppy five spice-infused sauce and thick slices of crackly-skinned pork belly gave us a reason to investigate a storied coffee shop we'd walked by a hundred times.

 

Breakfast noodles, with mutton and mutton parts.

If not for my openness to noodles first thing in the morning we might have left Langzhong, an ancient river town in northeastern Sichuan, without ever realizing that many of its residents are Hui.

Though there are a couple of Muslim bakeries in the old city there appear to be no restaurants (at least not that we could find). There are, however, a whole row of Muslim noodle shops on the street leading to the market. Open only in the morning, they all serve the same thing: za mian ('mixed' noodles), made with mutton and mutton parts.

Quality varies among the shops; the most atmospheric also serves the most delicious version of za mian, with a rich meaty broth and very substantial pasta. It's also run by a woman -- the only shop in the bunch -- with a big voice (she can really bark orders) and a friendly smile. (Note the glass jar next to the wall -- it holds meizi jiu, a not-too-sweet fruit wine with more than a bit of alcoholic punch.)

When I travel I aim for the tastiest morning meal rather than one that will remind me of home. So in Chengdu, when I spotted an 8am crowd at a tiny shop in Xiao Jia He district I made sure to return the next day.

I found wonderfully fresh doujiang (soy milk), crispy fried crullers with barely a lick of grease, porky steamed buns, and a characterful crowd.

 

We ate in close, steamy quarters against a backdrop of bellowed orders, chatter around mouths full of dough, the clang of metal ladle against doujiang pot. In other words, we ate immersed in China -- as much a great experience as a delicious one.

I was quadruply thankful for my tendency to eat outside the breakfast box on our last day in the city.

I'm a jiaozi (boiled dumpling) lover, and we tried many during our 3 weeks in Sichuan. But none quite measured up to the best we ate at least 4 times a week in 1985, or even to my liberating bowlful in Leshan.

It was 10am, we were strolling down one last narrow lane, and we had to get back to our hotel to pack. And there she was: a lone vendor, stuffing and crimping wontons and dumplings. Her set-up -- a folding table and chair piled with dumplings, a single table surrounded by stools for customers, one pot boiling over a charcoal fire -- told me all I needed to know: this was going to be the jiaozi I'd been looking for.

 

And it was. It really and truly was, with skins thick enough to boast a chew but with enough elasticity to keep from gumming up in the boiling water, a porky filling heavy on Chinese chives, and a sauce made with fragrant sweetened soy with a hint of anise.

 

Her homemade pao cai, tart and garlicky and made with slices of fresh mustard tuber, was icing on the cake.

And if I still turned my nose up at anything other than my own country's breakfast food for breakfast, I'd have missed it all.

Good and Greasy

Here we are, eighteen hours into the New Year. The passing of an entire decade is a significant event. I wish that I had some appropriately weighty musings to share with you.

Unfortunately all I can think of at the moment is what Dave and I ate for breakfast this morning.

 

We took our first meal of the new decade in George Town, Penang, at a food court tucked deep inside Chow Rasta Market. We went in search of only a glass of kopi peng (iced coffee), and found one.

But as we sat at our table getting caffeinated the sounds and scents of a good fry drifting from the char kuih kak stall at the food court's edge woke our sleeping appetites.

We've probably eaten, at most, four plates of char kuih kak, a.k.a. stir-fried carrot cake (the 'cake' is not really made from carrots, but from daikon, known locally as white carrots), since moving to Malaysia 4.5 years ago. There's a good reason for this -- the dish is fabulously, grossly unhealthy.

If you're referencing char kuih kak, 'greasy' is an adjective of high praise. It's the sort of dish that you know, as you're loving every bite, will put you in the ground sooner rather than later if you eat too much of it.

But we figured what the heck -- it's the first day of an entire decade! Dave and I passed a relatively low-key Eve, so why not make up for it on the Day? Sure, it ain't a bottle of champagne or a tub of caviar, but a plate of char kuih kak says 'celebration' in its own 'I know it's bad for me but today I just don't care' sort of way.

 

Char kuih kak starts with a well-seasoned cast-iron griddle boasting the diameter of a truck tire, a generously sized bowl of oil, and a jiggly radish cake, which the vendor cuts into squares by pushing it through a cross-hatched wire rack.

The radish cake cubes are vigorously stir-fried with lotsa oil (note how he keeps it close to hand -- and warmed -- right on the griddle) and dark soy sauce. When the cake is ready he pushes it to the side of the griddle, adds one egg per order (you can ask for an extra egg) -- breaking the yolks but essentially leaving the egg(s) be -- and a few dabs of chili paste.

Bean sprouts are next. They're quickly stirred into the eggs,

the radish cake is pulled forward and incorporated (with another spatula tip or two of oil to smooth things along) with a few quick stirs. As some point bits of crackling have also found their way into the mix.

 

The lot is dished up on a square of banana leaf -- a nice old-style touch (the leaf releases a bit of scent when it's hit with the hot fry-up) that's all too rare among char koay teow and char kuih kak vendors these days.

This vendor's been working his stall at Chow Rasta for about twenty years, and his char kuih kak is excellent: the radish cake is soft but not mushy, bean sprouts retain a bite, and everything -- egg and nubs of crackling included -- is touched with smoke. He's not cooking over charcoal, but we didn't miss it.

It's a greasy pile, no doubt about that, but if there's a better day of the year on which to start with something a bit over-the-top we don't know it. If every day of 2010 begins this well we'll be fortunate and happy campers indeed.

Happy New Year, and best wishes for 365 days of goodness in 2010!

Char kuih kak, outdoor food court off Jalan Chowrasta (between Jalan Kuala Kangsar and Jalan Penang), Chow Rasta Market, George Town, Penang. Mornings. Other possibilities for good eating at this food court include curry laksa and mee jawa. The freshly made Hong Kong-style chee cheong fun (filled with shrimp and/or chopped pork) are only yibande (so-so).

Update: EatingAsia reader and Penang native (now Stateside) Jenny was so excited about this post that she ran out to buy the ingredients for this dish and made it for her husband for their 11th wedding anniversary. If you're similarly inspired you can find her recipe here.

A Holiday Find

We've been living in Malaysia approaching four and a half years now and, while we certainly haven't gobbled up everything the country has to offer, we are pretty familiar with its culinary landscape. It's not often that we come across an unfamiliar edible. When we do, it's always cause for celebration, but especially so in this case.

Most of our sojourns in George Town (there have been quite a few of them these last six months) involve at least one trip to Chow Rasta Market -- usually on our last day, to buy a bulging bag of purslane to take back to our kitchen in Kuala Lumpur (why is this lovely green vegetable not sold in KL? or perhaps it is, and we just don't know where).

By now we know Chow Rasta's lanes and shops and hawkers well. But about ten days ago we came across something new: an elderly vendor making an unusual type of kuih ketayap, on the spot.

 

How could we have missed her before? It turns out she's only there on Saturdays, public holidays, and school holidays -- when her daughter-in-law is free to help with the rolling, wrapping, and selling.

This lady's ketayap differ from the standard version -- the type that's sold all over Malaysia -- in several ways.

There's no pandan juice in the batter, so the kuih's wrapper is white instead of green. And it's made only of rice flour and water (so we're told, anyway), so the wrapper's texture is sticky-chewy rather the usual flapjackish chewy-spongy.

The filling is made not of shredded coconut cooked with gula Melaka (coconut palm sugar) and a pandan leaf, but of shredded coconut and a sprinkle of chopped peanuts mixed with white cane sugar.

 

There is something quite special about a kuih ketayap hot off the griddle. This vendor's always are; she can only cook two wrappers at one time and customers tend to purchase in bulk. 

So you place your order. The daughter-in-law jots it down on a plastic bag with a magic marker and tells you to go and find something else to do for thirty minutes. You return and claim your bag of too-hot-to-hold ketyap, blow on them furiously to cool them down, and take a bite.

The lightly oily wrapper is pleasantly soft and gummy, and its warmth heightens the aroma of the roasted peanuts and the flavor of the fresh coconut, and melts some of the sugar. This ketayap's not too sweet, so two -- three, even -- aren't at all out of the question. 

Daughter-in-law tells us that mom-in-law learned to make ketayap this way from her husband, and that he began selling at Chow Rasta Market over 40 years ago. She thinks she's the only Penang vendor of this sort of kuih ketayap still at it. Whether or not she's right about that I don't know. But I do know this all-business ketayap vendor is a treasure.

Here's to serendipitous finds. I think you can guess where we'll be this Saturday morning.

Chinese kuih ketayap, Chow Rasta Market, George Town, Penang. Saturdays, public holidays, school holidays from 7:30 am until sold out (usually by 10:30am or 11am). 60 sen each.

(The pandan version are sold freshly made at night, from a stall at George Town's McAllister Road night market, in front of the Sunway Hotel.)

Taiwan, Asian Coffee Mecca - Who Knew?

Not us, until research for a story on coffee in Asia led us to the island last June.

As we relate in an article in today's (Friday's) Wall Street Journal Asia 'Weekend Journal', Taiwanese are serious about their java, and that makes the island one of the easiest places in Asia to find a superior cup. I'm not sure where else in the world, other than Japan, you're more likely to find nothing-special neighborhood cafes serving siphon coffee brewed by the cup with fresh beans ground a la minute.

(The piece also includes my sidebars on coffee culture in Malaysia and Vietnam, and a writer in Japan contributed a piece on that country's java scene.)

And some photo out takes here.

***

The photo above wasn't taken on Taiwan, but in one of our favorite Malaysian kopitiam (coffee shops): Sin Yin Loong in Ipoh, an old tin mining town a couple of hours north of Kuala Lumpur. 

The beverage of choice at Sin Yin Loong is a local specialty - 'white' coffee.

While regular Malaysian-style kopi is made with beans roasted with butter (or margarine) and sugar (the latter 'burns' on the beans, making Malaysian kopi extra dark and not a little bit bitter), beans for white coffee are roasted with butter/margarine only. The result is a lighter but very rich, smooth, and almost caramel-y brew that really stands up to ice; it's always served sporting a thick head of whisk-induced froth.

When we were in Ipoh last March - for only a little over 24 hours - we spent a disproportionate amount of time drinking in white coffee, and Sin Yoon Loong's homely ambience. Whenever we stopped in for hot or iced (and a piece of the shop's justifiably famous cream-filled sponge roll) -- whether it noon, 2pm, 5pm, 7:30am, or mid-morning (the stuff really is that addictive) --  the place was consistently packed. 

In recent years white coffee has become a bit of a gimmick in Malaysia; it's served at regular and chain kopitiam (such as Old Town White Coffee, established by Sin Yoon Loong's across-the-street-competitor), and you can even buy it in instant powdered form. Just add water. 

But it was at Sin Yin Loong that we had our first taste of the real deal, no other version comes close. The locals seem to agree.

Sin Yoon Loong, 15A Jalan Bandar Timah, Ipoh Malaysia. 60-52/241-4601. 7am till evening.

 

George Town's Great Disappearing (And Reappearing) Chapati

This place we would have posted long ago, had it not pulled a 'now you see it, now you don't'. It's a hoppin' chapati shack just up the street from our favorite lor mee stall in George Town, Penang. We stumbled upon it back in June while doing some street food research for an article (not out yet).

Nasi kandar, rice and dishes served on banana leaf, and tandoor chicken served with naan are easily found just a block away, in the city's Little India. Stalls specializing in hand-patted chapati are not as plentiful. In addition to this place, called Maj, there's one up the street. But it's Maj that consistently packs in the crowds.

 

After that initial visit we returned to Maj a week later, only to find its metal doors rolled down and adjacent corrugated metal roof-protected 'dining area' devoid of tables. This scenario repeated itself on our next eight or so visits. By mid-September - Ramadan already - we'd pretty given up hope.

 

Then yesterday, after two breakfasts (one being hands-down George Town's best nasi kandar - details to come) we rounded the corner and Maj was open and humming, as if it had never ceased operations at all. After rubbing our eyes to make sure it wasn't a mirage, we hurried over and grabbed a table.

The atmosphere in the dining lean-to was festive. Apparently we weren't the only ones who'd been missing those chapati.

 

Like many eateries in George Town Maj has been in the same family for over fifty years. Its thin, supple chapati - patted, rolled out, and griddled at the rate of one every fifty seconds - are huge in wheaty flavor and fragrance. They wear a few black blisters and a heavenly toastiness from just enough time on a hot tava.

We could eat them by the dozen with no accompaniment at all. But it would be a shame to miss out on Maj's chicken curry, which is just spicy enough and the teeniest bit sweet, with heavy cinnamon overtones. The bird is perfectly cooked; even white meat pieces are tender and very moist.

Maj's owner continues to insist, as he did on our first visit three months ago, that the place is open every day except Sunday -- though he does acknowledge that 'sometimes we close'. So I'm afraid you'll have to take your chances. But if you find Maj's open, you've hit the jackpot.

Gerai Makanan dan Minuman Maj, Lebuh Ah Quee at the corner of Lorong Pitt, 7am-6pm. Closed Sunday.