EatingAsia

In Kuching, A Good Cup in a Forgotten Corner

I have often thought about giving up coffee. Because as a traveller my life would be so much easier if I didn't need that first killer cup in the morning.

It's not as if I don't, or can't, consume other forms of caffeine. In fact it's not coffee but Diet Coke that delivers my wake-up jolt. There, I've written it for all to see: I wake up with Diet Coke. Every morning, whenever I'm home: half a can (I share one with Dave) to get me out the door and walking our dogs.

And sometimes, when we're on the road, half a can to get me out the door in search of ... coffee. Do I embarass myself by confessing that when we road-tripped in southeastern Turkey last June we hoarded Diet Cokes, scooping cans off convenience or grocery store shelves by the half dozen and stashing them on the floor behind our car seats so that we wouldn't have to go a single morning without? Our days in Gaziantep, Mardin, Midyat, Van, Kars, and Erzurum began with a muffled "thuup" as we opened our warm can of Diet Coke and passed it back and forth before hitting the streets. To look for coffee.

Because even after a Diet Coke I still need that cup of coffee, a good strong coffee, to set things right. Just one cup (well, a big cup) and I'm good to go. Most of the time I don't touch the stuff again for the rest of the day.

So we were in Kuching last week, and I had a problem. The local kopi wasn't doing it for me. I tipped back mug after mug (a Kuching-ism -- kopi is often served in mugs, Nescafe is in cups) to negligible effect. Asking for my kopi "gaeow" (which means "strong" and rhymes with "how") didn't do any good.

By our second morning in town I was seriously in need. And then we found Nam Seng.

It wasn't coffee that initially drew us into Nam Seng, but the shop itself. It is one of the loveliest old kopitiam we've ever seen -- wide and deep, with a red tiled floor and old wooden front counter ood and glass cabinets running its length along both walls.

Nam Seng is sited alongside an alley so one wall is pierced with windows. The coffee station occupies the shophouse's central airwell, which in fair weather is left open to the sky. Morning light loves its yellow walls.

The coffee is good, and if you ask for it to be made strong it will be.

Most of the coffee consumed in Sarawak (plantations in the state grow robusta and Liberica beans) is roasted without the addition of the butter/margarine and sugar that lends peninsular Malaysian kopitiam coffee it's beefy bitter edge. If it's not made strong enough all flavor disappears with the addition of sweetened condensed milk.

Not a worry at Nam Seng.

The kopitiam is run by a couple in their late sixties. They're not especially voluble but they're friendly enough, and he takes a quiet pride in the kolo mee and wonton mee he prepares at a stall parked at Nam Seng's entrance. The wonton mee alone justifies a visit.

Ordered "dry" it arrives graced with meaty slices of Hong Kong-style barbecued pork, thick-skinned wonton encasing a decent-sized plug of more pork, chopped, and perfectly al dente noodles dressed with nothing but cracklings and lard oil. Sliced chilies in white vinegar and clear broth are the only accompaniments.

Nam Seng has its regulars but it's sadly nowhere as busy as it once was. The same could be said for most of the businesses at this end of town, no doubt hit hard by the municipal government's lame-brained decision a few years ago to remove the Kuching's wonderful wet market from its riverfront. 

Nam Seng, Jalan Market, Kuching, Sarawak. Closed Sunday.

 

Sloppy Joes, Foochow Style

We're just back from a whirlwind jaunt to Kuching, in east Malaysia.

Dave was on assignment and had quite alot of ground to cover in not a lot of time. So food, other than dishes he was asked to shoot, did not figure large in this rushed trip. But between orangutangs, longhouses, boat rides and walking the city up, down, and around dozens of times, we did manage a few great bites.

These "Chinese hamburgers" (the vendor's monikor), served up by a Fuzhou-nese hawker in a coffee shop on Padungan Road, were among the best.

More Sloppy Joes than burger, they consist of roughly minced pork sauteed with sugar, maybe a smidge of soy sauce, and black pepper, stuffed into deep-fried sesame seed-coated buns. Bagel-like is how I would describe the buns; they're wheaty, dense and chewy. Or maybe I should say "pepper biscuit-like", because except for its crispy fried exterior their dough is quite reminiscent of that gracing these oven-baked peppery pork-stuffed treats we enjoyed on the street in Taipei.

The burgers/sloppy joes are served with saucers of super-hot minced fresh chilies bathed in dark (but not sweet) soy sauce. The spicy-saltiness of the dip perfectly complements the greasy sweetness of the burgers.

A definate do not miss taste for any pork-loving visitor headed to Sarawak's lovely laid-back capital.

"Chinese hamburgers", Foochow stall in coffee shop on Jalan Padungan, Kuching. Here's the rub -- I didn't get the shop's name. But it is on the north side of the street and if you're walking along Padungan from the Majestic Hotel the coffee shop is located on the first or second corner after Batik Boutique Hotel. This is a morning place, and it's very popular. The stall also served rice wine chicken beehoon and a few other Foochow noodle dishes.

 

What Mr. Zhang Taught Me

Mr. Zhang taught me many things. Let's start with this: No Soy Sauce.

In September we ate, over the course of 5 days, seven or eight meals at the Chengdu "fly" restaurant of Zhang Lingchen and his wife. One thing I love about these low-key establishments is the accessibility of their kitchens. Want to learn how to cook a few local dishes? No need to sign up for a class. Just find a fly restaurant serving food you that strikes a chord and hang out in the kitchen.

Granted, some cooks will be more receptive than others to close observation and note-taking. When we asked, Mr. and Mrs. Zhang opened their door wide.

We had some wonderful meals at Mr. Zhang's table. They all came from a kitchen that justifies use of the  over-used adage "less is more".

A cement floor, a single window, two doors, a small refrigerator. Two gas burners (I only ever saw one used at a time),

a simple shelf holding wok-ready fresh ingredients,

and a wok-side table displying Mr. Zhang's mise en place.

Left to right, top to bottom (disregard the bowl at the very upper left; it's a dish in progress):

sliced green onions, Pixian chili bean paste, soy sauce, black vinegar

sliced green chilies, sugar, MSG, salt, chopped ginger

salted black beans, cornstarch, chopped garlic, thickly sliced garlic.

Not in the photograph are a bowl of chopped tomatoes, whole dried red chilies (2 varieties, one for fragrance and one for heat), and whole hua jiao (Sichuan "peppercorns"). On a shelf under the table, pickled ginger and pickled red chilies, and sliced local leeks.

Mr. Zhang's restaurant shares a narrow alley with a couple of others. His is always busy, even when his competitors are quiet. Many of his customers come from nearby construction sites and run tabs that they pay when they receive their salaries. But others come from beyond the neighborhood. After a couple of visits we saw familiar faces. We're not the only ones who like Mr. Zhang's food.

One of the restaurant's most popular dishes is corn and edamame stir-fried with sliced green chilies and sometimes, la rou -- pine bough-smoked and air-dried pork belly.

If you visit Chengdu you must eat la rou. And if you live somewhere with lax customs and visit Chengdu, you must pack at least 3 vacuum-packed kilos of la rou home with you. That's what we did in September, and we're wishing it had been 5 kilos.

One night I watched first Mr. Zhang and then Mrs. Zhang, when the Mr. disappeared on his motorbike for half an hour, make yumi huangdou larou pian (corn with edamame and la rou slices). As with many of Mr. Zhang's dishes this one contains no soy sauce. In fact, other than the la rou it incorporates no ingredients explicitly "Chinese".

This is one of a few things that I took away from Mr. Zhang's kitchen -- salt is used as often, perhaps more often, than soy sauce. I don't think I once saw him add soy sauce to a vegetable dish. Which, if you've ever gawped at the vegetables on display at a market in Chengdu, makes perfect sense.

When you're working with ingredients as beautiful as those which Mr. Zhang has at his disposal seasoning beyond salt would be overkill.

Mr. Zhang's Stir-fried Corn and Edamame with Sliced Bacon

This is not a difficult or time-consuming dish (that can be said for most everything from Mr. Zhang's kitchen, actually). After you've gotten your ingredients together -- which may be very quick indeed if you're using frozen veggies -- it will take all of three to five minutes to cook.

La rou is probably not available where you live -- substitute a really good quality bacon (smoked is best, but it doesn't have to be), or maybe guanciale, or any other super porky cured meat. Don't cut off the fat! And don't overdo it with the protein -- there's plenty of meat here, but it shouldn't overshadow the flavors of the vegetables. Instead the meat's saltiness and the smokiness of the wok should enhance them.

What makes or breaks this dish is a pan or wok hot enough to give a little smokiness. I've successfully stir-fried on an electric stove using a flat-bottomed non-stick frying pan, and I make do now with a wok and a crappy gas burner. The secret is letting your pan get so hot that a drop of water sizzles and evaporates on contact.

This is a great, easy anchor dish for a Chinese meal -- paired perhaps with something spicier and a plain soup. It's also wonderful topped with a fried egg!

1 or 2 long green chilies, sliced about 1/4-inch / 1/2-cm thick

1 to 1 1/2 cups each corn kernels and edamame -- if using frozen, do not defrost

1 1/2 - 2 inches/3-5 cm of bacon (or other cured pork product) sliced about 1/8-inch/ 1/4-mm thick

Salt

Cooking oil -- preferably rapeseed or peanut oil

1. Heat your pan/wok to very hot. Test by flicking in some water -- it should sizzle and evaporate.
2. Add a glug of oil, pick the pan/wok up and swirl the oil over its surface.
3. Throw in the green chili and bacon/pork. Stir-fry for 1 minute.
4. Add the corn, the edamame, and a pinch of salt. Stir-fry for 1-3 minutes. How long will depend on whether you're using fresh or frozen veggies and how hot your wok is. You only want to barely cook the vegetables. The corn should not be soft.
5. Taste a bit of vegetable for salt and add a bit more if necessary.
6. After one final stir, plate and serve, preferably with rice and maybe a simple soup or another stir-fry.

Just in Time for the Holidays: 20% Off Prints

For pig lovers only

Folks, we try to keep advertising to a minimum on this blog. But one of us makes his living from selling images, and the holiday season is upon us. So allow us this brief advertorial diversion.

For a limited time Dave is offering 20% off all prints. You can view and purchase from his galleries -- including George Town (Penang), Rice, Street Food, Markets, Coffee, the Philippines, Bali, Pulau Ketam, food-related and not -- on Photoshelter, here. He's just added two new galleries: one of images that beg to grace a kitchen or dining room wall, here. And another of his own favorite/best-selling images, here.

The fiery foods addict in me likes this trio of images, from the kitchen wall gallery:

As a markets hound I'm also drawn to this couple of photos, also from kitchen wall:

And street foodies should be able to relate to these two, from the Street Foods gallery.

Photoshelter prints and ships worldwide within a couple of days; previous purchasers have been pleased with the print quality.

To get your 20% off simply enter 'EatingAsia' in the coupon box upon checkout.

If you're looking for something specific and don't see it in the galleries, drop us an email (there's a 'Contact' link on our sidebar). And of course any image you've seen on this blog can also be made available.

Happy holidays, and thanks for your support.

A Wonton Mee Taste-Off

Early last Friday our friend H, a seriously food-obsessed Penang native, squired Dave and I to Jelutong, a suburb about 15 to 20 minutes -- in rush-hour traffic -- from George Town. At the entrance to the morning market H turned down a narrow lane and into a makeshift parking area, squeezing his dimunitive box of a car between two others.

We had wonton mee to sample -- two versions. A taste-off was at hand.

A few words about wonton mee in Penang: there it is less likely to be served with the sticky sweet char siew (barbecued pork) or multi-layered crispy/fatty Malaysian-style char yoke (roast pork) that adorns versions further south in Ipoh and Kuala Lumpur. Pink-edged, relatively lean Hong Kong-style barbequed pork is the norm.

Second, wonton mee eaters in Penang may choose to accompany their noodles with either steamed/boiled or deep-fried dumplings. Or both.

Finally, sambal belacan (chili sauce made with shrimp paste) is as likely a noodle go-with as are the pickled green chilies ubiquitous to wonton mee elsewhere on the peninsula.

We started at Kedai Kopi Lum Wah, a typical tile-floored corner coffee shop at the intersection of Jalan Jelutong and Jalan Penaga. H has been eating the wonton mee served here by a husband-wife team since he was a child.

The couples' noodles (H isn't convinced that they make the pasta themselves) are exquisite -- slightly transluscent and somewhat flattish, with a nice chew and even a bit of snap. "Q" (springy, chewy, elastic) to the max, in other words. There is certainly lard oil in the dark soy sauce mixture that dresses a "dry" order -- a positive characteristic, in our book. And the shavings of roast pork that sit atop each nest of noodles are moister and generally have more flavor that that which we've tried elsewhere on the island.

But the gold star of this wonton mee goes to the wonton. H ordered extra for he and Dave and I to share, and that was a Good Thing. With skins thin but not so delicate as to wimp out after 5 minutes spent in hot broth, the dumplings are dainty in proportion but packed with meat. And their incredibly flavorful pork filling isn't overly dense; like a meatball formed with the lightest of touches, it falls apart with the nudge of your tongue.

Next, we dove into the market, maneuvering our way past plastic bag-lugging shoppers to a cart fronting a vanilla bungalow with a dozen or so tables set on its concrete lawn.

The attraction here, H told us, is the sauce that dresses an order of dry wonton mee. Made with copious amounts of viscous black soy sauce, it's much thicker than usual, sticky and sugary. On its own, not so exciting, H points out. But when mixed with a spoonful of sambal this black goo is transformed into an roller coaster ride of sweetness, fishiness, and fire. Probably anything cloaked in it would be irresistible. The noodles certainly are.

Although this version's noodles aren't as notable as those at Lum Wah, they're better than average. The vendor's method -- boil, soak in cool water, and then reheat with a quick re-dip into boiling water -- insures a springy texture and a decent chew.

Also notewothy: plentiful nubs of crackling to mix through the pasta, and deep-fried wonton boasting sturdy but thoroughly crispy skins that somehow reminded me of thick potato chips. Be sure to ask for extra green onion when you order here, advises H.

This was meant to be a taste-off, but in reality we're talking apples and oranges here. On some days you're going to wish for meaty boiled dumplings and enticingly Q-Q noodles; on others, only over-the-top sweet, spicy stickiness and a crackly wing of wonton skin will do.

Either craving can be satisfied in Jelutong.

Wonton mee at Kedai Kopi Lum Wah, Jalan Jelutong just across from the entrance to the market. Mornings, off Sundays and public holidays.

Wonton mee inside Jelutong Market: enter the market across from Lum Wah and proceed straight up Jalan Penaga. Turn left just after the market building housing the fish section (it will be on your left). The stall is a few dozen paces ahead, on your right, in front of a cream house with green shutter. This stall is open Saturdays, Sundays, and when they feel like it.

 

 

 

Rejuvenating George Town, Penang

Old and older in George Town's Little India

Changes are afoot in George Town, Penang. We reported on the ongoing transformation of this once down-and-out (but always lovely) city, precipitated in large part by its designation as a UNESCO world heritage site in July 2008, for the New York Times.

Amelie Cafe, on Armenian Street, is just one of a number of locally-owned new businesses

Long story short: so far, so good. Yes, boutique hotels and, to a lesser extent, shops and restaurants are sprouting in George Town like mushrooms in a forest after a long rain, but the inner city still boasts a true and truly unique living culture. We hope that, despite all the changes that lie ahead, George Town never loses this part of itself.

Read the article here, and view Dave's accompanying slideshow here. More outtakes from the story on Dave's photo blog, here.

A George Town resident at Nagore Shrine. We hope the city never loses the likes of him.

To Market: Permanence and Evanescence in Luang Namtha, Laos

There was a time, when we were writing and photographing only for this site and not for a living, when our travels were all about marketing. Not the sort of marketing that requires credit cards and ends with stuffed shopping bags and a big dent in your bank account, but the kind you do if food is one of the first things you think about in the morning and among your last thoughts before bed before bed. The kind of marketing that sees you cruising crowded aisles while ogling fresh produce; trading smiles, hand gestures, and shrugs with vendors who don't speak your language any better than you speak theirs; stepping daintily between puddles in dimly lit, cavernous structures; holding your breath as you transit areas thick with the smell of caged fowl; and dodging pushcarts heaped with melons or bags of ice or pig carcasses.

Yep, Dave and I are market hounds -- connoisseurs, even. "Market before sights" is our motto; quite often sights don't figure at all into our travels around Asia and beyond. Click the 'Markets' category on our sidebar and you'll find market photos and ruminations from Mindanao to northern Sumatra. We've got a stack of notebooks and a store of photos focused purely on markets that would fill a small filing cabinet.

But this changed when we started traveling for work. Sure, we always make time to hit a market no matter where we are, but rarely anymore do we have time to do markets justice, to really dig into them the way we used to. To spend hours a day, days in a row, becoming a temporary regular. Names of produce and dried goods duly recorded, recipes eeked from busy vendors and chatty shoppers, connections made over a number of visits that enable Dave to get close with the camera.

What a refreshing change it was then, to find ourselves in Luang Namtha with no work and some time on our hands. We'd just wrapped up a couple weeks of work in Luang Prabang. We hadn't enough energy for a trek (perhaps next visit -- Luang Namtha is northern Laos' premier eco-tourism destination), but we did have a few days to ourselves in a beautiful place, with no internet and no obligations.

Of course, we reverted to our old ways. We hit the markets.

Our favorite by far was the morning market in Luang Namtha town. It's not a huge market, not a packed and heaving market. But it's a just-right kind of market. Small enough to cover thoroughly in a couple of hours, lively enough to draw us back several mornings in a row.

The market building itself is a typical small-town southeast Asian affair: open-sided, concrete pillars and wood cross beams supporting a high-pitched metal roof, a dirt floor, and several rows of permanent stalls displaying fresh and dried goods.

As you enter the market, flies buzz around a row of meat and fish stalls on the right-hand perimeter. Here too are upturned rattan baskets holding chickens awaiting their fate.

Far opposite are prepared food vendors offering cubes of rice flour jelly/cake in sour tomato water, scraping green papayas for salad,

pounding chilies and other ingredients for jaew (dips),

and rolling thick rice flour sheets speckled with bits of chopped scallion greens around pork. These rolls are then shallow-fried for a northern Lao-style spring roll, to be dipped in dark soy sauce seasoned with chopped fresh chilies.

This same vendor also makes a sort of filled dumpling by pouring rice flour batter into shallow ladles, adding a bit of pork, and then covering the pork with more batter before immersing the entire thing in hot oil. It must be said that these treats are incredibly greasy -- but absolutely delicious.

  

In between the meat sellers and the food makers are ladies (because in Laos women rule about 98% of the market) selling fresh herbs and leafy greens, dried fish and sakan (a woody stem that imparts peppery-ness to local stews and soups), mushrooms and banana flowers and pea greens, buffalo skin and mak tua nao (fermented and sun-dried soybean discs) tied in stacks, and goods imported from China: the ubiquitous oily chili-and-black-bean condiment called Lao Gan Ma (addictive, if you're into chilies) dried prickly ash (aka Sichuan peppercorn), ginseng, and dried sweet potato noodles. Among other things.

At the rear of the market several women cook broth for kao soi Lao and fer (the Laotian take on Vietnamese pho) in huge blackened pots set over wood fires. They'll serve their noodle soups all day long, at low picnic tables arranged in L and U shapes around their 'kitchens'.

Our favorite part of Luang Namtha's morning market exists for just a few hours each day. Each morning before dawn women and a few men converge on the patch of concrete in front of the market building. Plastic tarps are rolled out, newspapers and squares of cardboard unfolded and laid on the ground, bicycle-pulled carts parked and turned into display counters.

Braziers are fired up, for making sweet puffed cotton candy-like cassava crisps. Sellers squat behind their patch of concrete, arranging vegetables cultivated and foraged, small local river fish and the occasional batch of squid or prawns imported from Thailand,

wild birds, and the odd forest creature. The most plentiful items are mint, green onions (white portion sold separately from the green, which is generally eaten raw), watercress, yellow flowering mustard,

and bamboo.

There are other, less familiar vegetables -- including rice paddy herb

and clover, which we saw being harvested at the edge of dry rice paddies and alongside roads. Vendors told us it's eaten in soup.

An unusual find: puckeringly sour 'seeds', which the vendor called 'som pot' and said would be used to make 'mak som pot' -- dried, flattened discs of sourness to be used to flavor dishes?

And a favorite one: tart and spicy pickle of mustard leaves and chilies, sold with a frresh slivered scallion (the white part here) and feathery dill fronds. We are dedicated Pickle Lovers, and this preparation is one of the best we've encountered in southeast Asia. Dave and I took to purchasing a big bag every morning to add to and eat with our Lao kao soi and fer.

The corner of this evanescent section of the market belongs to rattan sellers, Akha women who trek to Luang Namtha from villages in the surrounding hills. You'd know them by their beautiful headwear

and the wooden yokes, attached to burnished rattan baskets, balanced on their shoulders.

Rattan -- yes, the same rattan used to make baskets and other furnishings -- as foodstuff was the most curious culinary discovery of our time in Luang Namtha.

It is the younger part of the rattan that's harvested for food. The sticks, which are covered with long thorns, are charred over an open flame and then stripped of their 'skin' with a sharp knife.

The inner core is boiled and its softened flesh pounded with shallots, garlic, cilantro, and various other ingredients and eaten as a dip, or added to soups and stews. (Note: you may be able to find bottled rattan shoots in Thai groceries.)

By 7:30am the crowd in front of the market is beginning to thin out. Arrive at 9am and you'll never know it was there.

Luang Namtha Morning Market -- every day, rain or shine. Arrive by 7am.