Dorm Cooking 01: Chicken Curry for First-Time Cooks of Non-Veggie

[Guest-Post by Anita Dixit]

1. Take down from the supermarket shelf the smallest available pack of chicken drumsticks. Look at it with some trepidation. Replace. Take down again. Replace. Repeat three times. Finally, cross fingers and buy.

2. Take home and announce to unsuspecting spouse 'I have bought chicken drumsticks. I'm going to cook them myself.' Ignore his look of panic. Also ignore his pleading look as he says 'will you also take off the skin yourself?' He's trying to make you say No. Don't say no - you're going to do this all on your own!

3. Open packaging. Take final, scared, look at chicken. Then grasp firmly. Let out a sigh as you find that it does not feel slimy, or ooze blood onto your hands, or any such disgusting thing.

4. Remove skin. Correction, attempt to remove skin. Chicken will resist having its skin removed and tenaciously cling onto it. Do not give up. Continue to pull off skin.

5. After two drumsticks have been skinned, start swearing fluently under your breath. This makes the skinning easier. A sentence like 'saale, tu kya, tera baap bhi niklega!' is extremely effective. Preferably, swearing should be done in one's native tongue. However, take care to keep the volume down, to prevent spouse offering to help again. You DID want to do this yourself, didn't you?

6. After skinning four drumsticks, start contemplating philosophical issues: why would a dead chicken be so attached to its skin? what use does it have for it? is this a sign that consumerism is moving from humans to chickens - a form of reverse bird flu? or is it evidence that the soul exists even after death and resists dispossession of what it considers its own? Such philosophising will enable you to get through the last two drumsticks.

7. Finally get through last two drumsticks. Wash hands and knife thoroughly, they're totally sticky and slimy by this time. Give chicken one last baleful look. Then proceed to make several deep cuts in each drumstick. Resist temptation to attack it with the knife as if you're trying to murder it. Remember, it's already dead, no point giving vent to your anger through violence.

8. Now you're in your element! All you have to deal with is spices and herbs and cooking, and you know how to do that! Smile. Then proceed to marinate the chicken with yoghurt, salt, turmeric, and red chilli powder. Mix thoroughly, make sure drumsticks are properly covered. Let it sit for 2 hours.

9. Slice onions fine, make a paste of ginger, garlic and green chillies. Saute onions in about 3 tablespoonfuls of cooking oil. When they start turning golden, add garlic-ginger-chilli paste and saute a bit more.

10. Add marinated chicken. Let it cook till most of the yoghurt gets absorbed into a thick gravy. Don't worry, it WILL get cooked, and in a reasonable time. Just because it's not a vegetable, that doesn't mean that it's uncookable. You can make the gravy as thick as you like.

11. Remove from fire, garnish with lots of coriander leaves. They taste good, and they look very good too!

12. NOW you can complain to spouse about the tenacity of the chicken in holding onto its skin. He will tell you that there's a right way of doing it. Doesn't matter now, since you've proved that you can do it all on your own, you can take help now. Give sheepish grin, and say 'Yes, I'm sure I was doing it all wrong, you show me next time.'

13. Ladle onto plate, cross fingers hard. Voila, it's cooked! And tastes good too! Look tentatively at spouse. He's licking his fingers. He turns around and says, 'accha banaya hai!' with a big smile. Way to go, baby! You finally cooked chicken! A world of endless possibilities is open to you now...

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Dorm Cooking 00: Prefatory Note

Another new series, and this one marks a fresh approach for the blog. So far I have resisted posting recipes. Like I mentioned in the recent policy update, the blog was envisaged as an attempt to understand food, particularly street food, in its larger social and economic context. Recipes tend to do the very opposite - their purport is to detach preparations from their origins. That is what they achieve when they instruct the Peruvian how to cook Tagine, or the Japanese the right way of making Borscht. Often they suggest how ingredients difficult to procure can be substituted with easily available alternatives; this has the effect of further distancing the dish from its roots.

Of course, it can be argued that recipes serve to bridge cultures; the Tagine recipe may well constitute, say, the Peruvian's sole exposure (no matter how tenuously approximate) to Moroccan Culture. My simple response is that true or not, this has little to do with what the FoodScapes blog has set out to do. It was started with an express remit (namely, to understand food in its context), and publishing recipes goes against this.

However, there does exist a genre of cooking that transcends context, so to speak. And for good measure, it is a genre which we ourselves, my friends and I, regularly add to. Most of us are either grad students or young professionals in academic or semi-academic streams. Money and time are both prized commodities, and yet we appreciate good food as much as, and may even more so than, the next person. In the face of such onerous demands, something or the other has to give way, and usually it is adherence to convention that is a casualty. Let's face it, our cooking is not conventional. It is dictated likely as not by what is convenient, what the local department store is offering a discount on, what is left in the fridge, and whether it'll fit into the microwave. Not conventional, as you can see, but boy, are the results good! I've gained quite a bit of weight in the last year, despite subsisting largely on nuked vegetables.

Incidentally, I find this genre of cooking has garnered some wider recognition even. Heidi Swanson's 101 Cookbooks blog recently featured an article on "dorm food ideas". Apart from anything else, that resolved the issue of what to call this genre. "Grad Student Cooking" didn't sound right somehow, not the least because many friends and potential contributors are no longer students. For that matter, even yours truly might gain a respite from studenthood within this week! "Dorm Cooking" sounds better - it conveys a feeling of haste, a bohemian disregard for conventions, a freewheeling lifestyle marred only by looming deadlines. And let's face it, that's mostly what both grad-student-life and early-professional-life are all about.

This series also represents another break with convention. So far I have been the only one writing on this blog. We start the series, however, with a guest post by Anita Dixit on chicken curry. More posts as and when. As usual, this prefatory note also contains a list of posts in the series.


List of Articles:

1. Chicken Curry for First-Time Cooks of Non-Veggie (guest post by Anita Dixit)
   

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Thaksin Beef Noodles - II

[Continued from Part I]

The first time I went there was soon after I had shifted to Gillman Heights, a few bus-stops away. My then-flatmate Mainak and I decided to go there on the spur of the moment. It was a cold, damp evening; had rained almost throughout the afternoon. Neither of us had cooked anything, or was inclined to do so. And so we decided we could do with something hot, spicy, filling and, most important, cooked by someone else.

Actually we also wanted something dryish by way of noodles, not soupy or overly gravy-laden, and that's where we messed up. The Signboard had two pictures - one soupy and the other dry - and we didn't know which was which. (Like I said, this was in my comparatively greenhorn days.) We tried asking the ladies manning the stall, but they had only minimal English, only slightly more than I had Malay. So we finally asked for the beef noodles and, sure enough, we ended up with the soup! I mean, it was bound to happen.

We had opted for $4 bowls. This gave us a substantial amount of broth containing lots of noodles and a fair amount of meat, and topped with large cilantro leaves. The Travelling Hungryboy reports the $5 version is garnished with garlic, which makes an immense difference. Also, apparently, its broth is far superior to that used in the $3.50 version, though he wasn't able to understand how this could be so. I am yet to try either version, so am unable to comment. So let me say only that the broth in the $4 version tasted just fine!

In his comment on Part I, my friend Soumya asked how this Thai Muslim version is different from the non-Halal soup sold on Thailand streets. He also mentions the Thai food he'd tried in Singapore's Lau Pa Sat was noticeably sweeter and less spicy. I have never been to Thailand myself (about the nearest was the Tom Yam I had at Kota Bharu, Malaysia, just south of the Thai border). Nevertheless, my guess is that the Thaksin version (at least, in stock form - pun fully intended) was milder that what one gets in Thailand. There are many Chinese who have no stomach for spicy food. At the same time, the soup was not exactly bland; it had its bite all right! It was also mildly sour, but the taste that stood out was the umami of the meat. The meaty broths and stews I've had so far have all been thick, usually creamy. This is the first time I have come across a broth that is thin and so markedly meaty in its flavour. The usual Thai seasonings went into it - one could discern lemongrass and a good deal of coriander. And of course the ubiquitious chilli. Like I said it was comparatively subdued, but certainly made its presence felt.

The meat was the best part of the experience - fresh, of excellent quality, and minimally seasoned. As the notice promised, it had not been marinated using tenderisers or vinegar. Neither had it been sauteed or braised to get rid of the stink most meats have. And yet it was neither hard nor stinky. It was soft and juicy, and the lightly marbled fat imparted a feeling of substance. And they were pretty generous with the meat too.

By the time the food came we were both famished, not the ideal frame of mind for taking levelheaded decisions. Mainak, moreover, craved something really spicy. Poor fellow, he heaped chilli flakes onto one of those little sauce-dishes, and tipped the entire lot into his soup. Thankfully I stopped myself from following his example, and remained content with a few tentative sprinkles. That itself was powerful enough for me. It got me just the right amount of bite, I settled down to a nice, pleasant dinner. And then Mainak start to glow. A fiery incandescence spewed out of his eyes: his heavily swarthy complexion was suffused through with a redness angry like molten lava. He could only gasp for breath. Perspiration saturated his t-shirt and likely as not collected in little puddles on his seat. And still he continued, in spite of my protestations. He finished the bowl, and then together we walked across to Vivocity for some Korean-style barbeque. Ultimately we had some ice cream, and that seemed to finally cool him down a little.

I went to Thaksin again a few weeks later. This time I tried out the Phad Thai. Very well cooked (the meat was tender and flavourful as always), and sprinkled over with coarsely ground peanut. True, it lacked the sheer personality of the Soup. Nevertheless, it made for a very satisfying meal, arguably more satisfying than the latter.

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Thaksin Beef Noodles - I

Truth be told, I'm getting a little bored of Singapore food. When I first came here, I was impressed with the variety every hawker-centre seemed to offer. After nearly two years here, I have come to a paradoxical conclusion - that mostly it's the same sort of variety they feature. Go to your first food court, you'll find at least ten different kinds of stalls. Very impressive. Go to the next one, you'll once again find ten different varieties of stalls, but at least six in common with the first one. Go to your third, fourth and fifth, and gradually the truth dawns on you - like an expert cardsharp the city's been dealing you the same set of outlets all along without you realising it!

Few hawker-centre stalls in Singapore rise above the average. Some exceptions have carved a niche for themselves through dint of sheer culinary excellence, and aided largely by word-of-mouth advertising. The legendary No-Signboard Seafood Restaurant has made a remarkable transformation into a chain of upscale restaurants. Some like Sin Huat Seafood Restaurant have remained true to their hawker-centre origins, though they charge heftily - a plate of Crab Bee Hoon sells for S$ 45, no less! Still others plod on with their old ways, charging reasonably, largely unknown beyond a select circle of foodie-loyalists. The beef kway teow shop on Lorong 9, Geylang still offers a near-ambrosial experience at five Dollars, but how many know about it?

These shops have all taken decades, literally, to achieve their present eminence. In contrast, Thaksin Beef Noodles is clearly in a hurry. The sheer outré cheekiness of the name is enough indication of this. Set up a Thai (to be precise, Thai Muslim) food stall and name it after the most controversial Thai around, what could be a more surefire way of attracting attention? The brazen note also finds reflection in the tagline, admittedly nowhere near so funny - "We are bullish about beefing you" (italics in original). Below the main signboard at the Seah Im branch lies a second, smaller one. This contains mention of the other branches (two others listed, and as far as I know at least one more not stated); and a gloat about press coverage ("5 Totally Independent & Unsolicited Editorials (sic) in 3 years").

Thaksin is situated in the eastern half, towards the adjoining Harbourfront MRT station. Very few Chinese outlets in this part; most seem to be Halal. Just a coincidence, or was it planned that way?

The Seah Im Food Centre is located next to Telok Blangah Road (and the elevated West Coast Highway running above it), right opposite the HarbourFront Centre.Thaksin offers a startlingly limited menu. It comprises all of two main items, listed as "Beef Noodle" and "Pad Thai Fried Kuey Teow". Both of these are available with a variety of trimmings and garnishes, but the only distinct side-dish on offer is rice! Perhaps this tightly focussed menu is part of their gameplan - targeting a (very) niche market. We can draw credence from the curious legend right where the bill of fare abruptly ends: "Traditional Thai Beef Noodle Soup served with succulent beef cooked with herbs & spices WITHOUT the use of tenderizer preservatives or added MSG." Informative, despite the idiosyncratic construction. Correction, not even very informative. Because the first time we went there we couldn't figure out which of the two items it referred to! This was of course in my days of relative ignorance.

[Continued in Part II]

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Policy Update

As regular readers may recall, the FoodScapes blog was born in response to an attitude that is steadily distancing us from our roots. Best summed up by the Hindi adage that privileges eating mangoes over counting trees, it embodies not so much a love of success as a contempt for all that is extrinsic to one's myopic objectives. The realm of food plays host to arguably some of the most virulent manifestations of this phenomenon - think faux-ethnic and other 'trendy' eateries intent solely on exploiting prevalent fashions to make a quick buck. In conscious reaction to this, this blog has set out to understand food in its larger frame of reference; it thus addresses not only the proverbial mango, but also the number of trees, the kind of trees, the location of the orchard, and all other such circumstantial details that impart meaning and context to the fruit.

I have come to realise that confining this blog to only food can be counterproductive. Some of my most interesting foodie adventures have occurred in the course of travel. And addressing just the food part in isolation from its larger background, namely my travel experiences as a whole, surely defeats the very purpose the blog was set up for! Take my recent trip to Kelantan in north-east Malaysia, the main cause of this present self-realisation. The deep impact the expedition had on me was due as much to its wonderful people, its culture, its way of life generally as to its food. Indeed, people, culture, and food intermesh so deeply and profoundly that it actually hurts to write about just one in isolation from the others. It follows naturally that the blog will remain meaningful only if I expand its remit to cover travel in general as well.

There is another reason for this policy change. A few months ago I acquired another camera, a DSLR this time. Pundits brand the Canon EOS 450D an "entry-level" model, but I strongly feel that's a load of hooey. Considerable differences exist between it and the next model the 50D, but upon close inspection these differences are what I consider peripheral to the core of photography, and certainly to the kind of photography I enjoy doing - people, travel, urbanscapes and so on.

Yet another layout redesign, within months of the previous one. I am very comfortable with the present one. True, it's a simple design, does not incorporate either the stylistic cues or the techniques I have devised over the recent months. At the same time, it is uncluttered, well spaced, and generally easy on the eye. I think I'll stick with this one for some time.

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Sinar Pagi Nasi Padang

At half past eight in the evening, Geylang Serai Food Centre wore a deserted look. It is a huge place, mainly a wet market around whose periphery lie enough food stalls to comprise a largish hawker centre in their own right. By evening the wet market activities grind to a halt, as do most of the food stalls. The action shifts further southwest along Geylang Road - action as in food stalls as well as other uh, pleasures of the flesh.

This shifted action was partly the reason I was at the Food Centre. I have come to the conclusion I share a strange affinity with Malaysia and Malay culture. Something about the very place sets my pulse racing. Right before reaching Geylang, I was at the KTM station at Keppel Road, enquiring about trains to Kota Bharu. The station is in almost all respects a Malaysian outpost - the people; their clothes; the language spoken; the bustling, slightly chaotic food stalls whose tables spill over onto the platform, even the the toilets are marked "Tandas".

All this evoked such a powerful nostalgia in me that going over to Geylang Serai, the other Malay stronghold in town, was almost natural. (I wanted to travel a bit that day, which is why I didn't stick around at the station itself.) Likewise, once at Geylang, I decided to avoid the "action areas", where Chinese culture and cuisine dominate, and proceeded to the less glamorous predominantly Malay hinterland.

Sure enough, I couldn't spot a single Chinese stall at the Food Centre. Indian stalls there were aplenty, likewise Malay stalls advertising exotic-sounding preparations I hadn't heard of before - Kacang Pool, Kebab Tornado, and Briyani Tomato. Of the few stalls still open, only Sinar Pagi Nasi Padang at #209 seemed interesting. Nasi Padang is not Malay, strictly speaking. Padang, from which this culinary genre originates, is in Indonesia, south of Singapore.

Unlike most hawker-centre stalls, this place had a certain personality. A white placard proudly proclaimed: "Theirs is the Kapau Indonesia style . . . rich, spicy and not adulterated for 'softies' (ie those who can't take spicy stuff) with very little use of sugar." It also listed some of the outlet's specialities, and stated that the authentic Kapau style uses for Rendang a harder, textured beef. Lined up just above the placard were an impressive range of reviews and certificates, including one from Makansutra.

The person running the place, a most amiable gent called Mohammed Effendi, asked me to wait a little while as he had run out of rice. I said I was very hungry, and could he just give me some meat. So he waved me towards the glass-fronted cabinet and asked me to make my selection, as per usual Nasi-Padang-meets-hawker-centre custom. I didn't pay much attention to the several interesting fish and veggie preparations on display - I was in an aggressively carnivorous mood that day.

There were two kinds of Rendang on offer - chicken and beef - as well as something called Dengdeng Belado, or marinated sliced chilli beef. I was hard-pressed for choice. Initially I thought I'd settle for Belado and Chicken Rendang. Then as he was ladling the Belado, I suddenly thought why not? and asked for Beef Rendang instead of chicken. Lots of red meat, but so be it. I also asked for a helping of Acar (pickle). Effendi then remembered he had just a little rice left, enough for a half-portion, which he served to me without charge.

I'd describe the Belado as "interesting". It was hard and chewy, as the placard promised. While this made eating slightly laborious, it was not as irritating as, for example, the badly cooked cheap cuts at CLE African Restaurant. The rich meatiness was complemented by judicious if strong use of spices.

Funnily enough, I didn't think the Rendang meat was all that hard, though maybe it benefited from an inadvertent comparison with the Belado. It was firm, yes, but easily chewable. And the gravy had been reduced to a thick, glutinous consistency over low flame, so that it formed a viscous, richly flavoured layer around the meat chunks like rapidly-melting chocolate coating on a biscuit. It made for a pleasant change from some recently encountered Rendang, more soup than stew even. I wouldn't call it the best Rendang I've had, but it came very close.

The meal was a brief one, mainly due to the miniscule amount of rice I was given. Nevertheless it was quite enjoyable, thanks to the cooking as well as the relaxed surroundings. Oh yes, I also immensely enjoyed surreptitiously gawking at the strange-looking (and even more strangely dressed) people hanging aound all over!

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CLE African Restaurant

Lovely weather it was. The surroundings were noisy as Little India always is, and yet strangely reposeful. A clear, crisp day, rare in Singapore, had given way to a twilight of deep mystical blue. Against this backdrop stood rows of quaint old houses, chocolate-box pretty, and painted in cheerful colours. And what was I doing in such a charming atmosphere? Trying to finish, in decidedly hostile surroundings, the most miserable meal I've ever had in Singapore, that's what I was doing. Welcome to CLE African Restaurant.

The place is located behind Mustafa's. Go out through the rear exit, left towards Rangoon Road, then first right at the Chinese food-court at the corner. Don't suppose the location of the place matters, really. One, I don't recommend it to anybody; and two, the management (such as it is) didn't seem too keen on outsiders intruding into what was clearly intended as a meeting-place for Africans.

Like most cheap eateries in Singapore, the tiny shop-space contained only the kitchen and the counter, and tables and chairs were laid out on the sidewalk. As I approached the counter, I could feel suspicious stares boring into me from all sides. Even the guy at the counter, though not exactly rude, didn't seem particularly disposed to chat. I ended up not even asking him which part of Africa he came from.

Older writeups list a more extensive menu, but when I went there the bill of fare was limited to about five dishes. Chicken and beef sold for two Dollars a helping, rice sold for a Dollar, and there was something called Suji, also priced at two Dollars. Back home in India, Suji is what we call semolina; I wondered what it meant here. So I asked the manager. He paused a bit and said, "You know, semo . . . uh, semonlina?" Oh.

(I shouldn't have been so surprised, actually. Once I had tried to explain to Jacinta, a friend from Uganda, what clarified butter was. After listening about ten minutes she brightened: "Oh yes, we also eat it back home. We call it Ghee." I'm not sure how these words have infiltrated Africa. My guess says, through generations and generations of Indian shopkeepers.)

As is my habit, after placing my order (Suji and beef), I fished out my camera and started taking pictures of the surroundings. That is when the other customers' sullen discomfiture at my presence flamed into outright belligerence. Some five of them, each about a foot taller than I, walked up and said, "We don't want you taking pictures of us." Clearly there were immigration issues involved, so I didn't pry further. Instead, I pointed out I was clicking only the surroundings, and that at no time had I pointed the camera at them. That had them only half-placated. They continued to glare at me and mutter, "No pictures of us." Even the manager strode up to me and asked me not to take pictures. That's why I don't have any pictures of the shop itself.

This unwonted hostility only served to trigger off my perverse genes. I set the camera to maximum wide angle, and contrived to "accidentally" get those customers somewhere within the frame. Evidently they were not familiar with wide angle, because they didn't catch on. Except one guy who covered his face when I pointed the camera not too far from where he was sitting. But even that, I think, was just being careful.

The food arrived. On a large plastic basin was placed a plate with a lump of Suji and two smaller lumps of beef charred almost black. Next to it was a bowl of stew made with okra and dried fish. I learnt later the basin contained hot water to wash one's hand in at the end of the meal. The Suji was doughy and tasteless, but that was only expected. Its pristine white colour indicated no spices had been added to it. I figured out, correctly as it turned out, you were supposed to tear off small pieces and dip them into the stew. The stew itself was decent enough. It smelled of dried fish, but not too much. The Okra masked the smell and complemented the flavour. I could smell tomatoes and garlic, but nothing much more. The meat was the wost I've ever had, fully as unappetising as it looked. It was dry, flavourless, and mostly cartilage. Even the little bits of meat were tough and chewy beyond belief. Beyond a little salt, I couldn't discern any spices at all.

While I was eating a guy came over and sat next to me. I forgot his name, but do remember he was from Nigeria. Unlike the others, he seemed to be eager to talk, and I had a shrewd idea about the reason why. Sure enough, after initial pourparlers, he asked me just why I was taking so many pictures. I pointed to one of the old houses, and started talking of scrolls, foliations and sconces. If you've read Jeeves discoursing on cow creamers and other silverware, you will know just where I had sourced my terms from. Happily, this friend was unfamiliar with architecture and Wodehouse alike, and swallowed my bullshit with little demur.

After a while he asked me if I were an architect myself. I decided to play it safe, and said I study law at NUS. Immediately came a very suspicious "So how come you know so much about architecture?" Hey, I knew that was coming! Had known it even when I was confessing to being a law student. Which had given me loads of time to invent an architect friend back home who'd asked me to take pictures for a project he was doing. Satisfied there was nothing fishy about me, the guy then lapsed into a sulky silence.

A little footnote: When I went to pay for my meal, the manager asked for five Dollars. I said Suji and meat came to only four bucks. He pointed out I was given that stew as well. True I hadn't asked for it, but people who order Suji always have stew to go with it. I decided not to argue. He wasn't overcharging me; I did get something for that extra Dollar even though I hadn't asked for it. At the same time it served to underscore just how uncomfortable the entire experience had been.

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