Glutton Abroad: Still full, lah

Stir-fried guay thiew at perennial street food favorite, Newton Food Centre

Stir-fried guay thiew at perennial street food favorite, Newton Food Centre

Singapore and Bangkok are often seen as flip sides of the same coin. Where Singapore is clean, orderly, and green, Bangkok is … not. What can you say? Both have their advocates: light vs dark, security vs chaos, angel vs devil. One will never be mistaken for the other, but there are more than a few similarities, the most prominent of which is a nearly debilitating obsession with food.

Yes, Singaporeans love their food. Like in Thailand, food forms the backdrop to every social interaction, is the insistent hum underlying almost every conversation. While you are eating, let’s discuss where we are eating next. Did you try this yet? We can shoehorn it in between that other place and the one down the road and, oh, that reminds me of the place across the street too. Let’s take a walk and look at other restaurants while we’re eating dinner. Why not? Also: I love this. I feel you on this, Singaporeans. I feel like you get me. Let’s be friends.

Bina and Poh Sun get me. This is why, minutes after we have settled into our hotel, they come to pick me up for dinner. They have a plan … for the entire weekend. No meal will go unattended, a lazy stroll down some sidewalk and a quick dart into the first fast food venue that beckons. That is not for us. Every meal is a learning experience, aka a chance to stuff my piehole with something different. Because — despite its relatively tiny size of 660 sq m — Singapore still contains multitudes. I would try to consume them all.

First stop: Newton Food Centre. We acknowledge that it is one of the island nation’s more touristed spots, but it is also one of the biggest, and the easiest way to jump into Singapore’s street food scene. All the favorites are represented: stir-fried noodles, birthed in volcanically hot woks with lashings of dark soy and chili sauces; satay, paired with fresh chunks of cucumber and oddly-comforting wedges of sticky rice; egg prata, a gossamer-thin slip of dough filled with egg and veggies; and roti John, a baguette stuffed with what you would find in a regular murtabak, accompanied by a sweet, neon-red chili sauce and a perfect fusion of Anglo and  Muslim influences.

Prata in the process of being made at Al-Noor Biasa

Prata, mid-make, at Al-Noor Biasa

Of course, there are also “touts”: people who “help” newbie tourists — instantly recognizable by the dazed expressions on their(my) faces(face) — by suggesting tables and then plying them with laminated menus that promise delicious seafood. That seafood may very well be delicious, but buyer beware: the story of the tourist who paid S$800 for four prawns is something I still remember quite vividly.

But if touts are your biggest worry during your street food experience, there would seem to be very little for you to be concerned about. Street food in Singapore is a carefree, diverting experience, and one that is perfectly suited to Singapore. My opinion on the possibility of herding the cats that masquerade as Bangkok’s many food stalls (and their customers) into their own food centers, however, has not changed. Vendors here are perfectly happy forming their own little collectives — the more, the merrier the chance of encouraging more foot traffic. But to cut the spontaneity and autonomy out of the decision-making process would be to cut out all the fun — anathema to Thais. Of course, I could be wrong and railing against what may be an inevitable result of a city shedding its sordid, cluttered past and evolving with the help of a lot of money (see: Hong Kong). But to have to travel to a food center to get my street food (instead of, say, stepping out onto the corner and even at the edge of my driveway to find a stall has spontaneously sprouted somehow from the concrete) would make me sad.

Next stop: Katong. If Singapore is downtown LA, Katong is … oh forget it, I don’t know LA. Let’s say Singapore is Manhattan and Katong is Brooklyn. And in Katong is a wealth of great Malaysian and Peranakan (a mix of Chinese and Malay) places that provide great food at prices that are actually reasonable. At Glory Catering (www.glorycatering.com.sg), an array of stir-fries, curries and noodle dishes await the extremely hungry; particularly recommended are the brinjals (garlicky, peppery stir-fried eggplant) and the porpia (soft “egg” rolls stuffed with vegetables with a tart-sweet chili sauce, freshly made with every order). At House of Peranakan Cuisine (210 East Coast Road), the ayam buah kelua — chicken curried with stuffed Indonesian nuts that are also macerated and cooked into the sauce — may not be black enough to satisfy devoted Peranakan food lovers, but the long beans, stir-fried with bits of baby octopus, and meatballs are delicious enough to make up for it.

Meatballs and long beans at House of Peranakan Cuisine

Meatballs and long beans at House of Peranakan Cuisine

Possibly best of all are the hot buns, dripping in kaya (a mix of eggs, coconut milk, pandanus leaf extract and, of course, sugar) and baptized with an obscene square of butter at Chin Mee Chin Confectionery (204 East Coast Road). With a cup of sweet coffee and an egg boiled just enough to form a thin white skin over the yolk, this is enough for any lunch. Although the two other lunches before then were pretty good, too.

Buttered buns at Chin Mee Chin

Buttered buns at Chin Mee Chin

Third stop: Far East Plaza. Alongside all the aspiration that pervades much of Orchard Road is a humbler collection of downmarket shops and no-frills Asian eateries known as Far East Plaza, the Singaporean equivalent of Bangkok’s MBK. Amidst the sushi bars, Malay-style curry stands and yong tau fu (sort of DIY noodle shops featuring fresh veggies and your choice of protein) shops is William’s Rojak, the first purveyor of the Chinese-style salad made up of chunks of green mango, pineapple and rose apple tossed in a sauce of shrimp paste, chilies and pulverized peanuts and garnished with bits of torch ginger and patongko (Chinese-style flat fried bread). It reminds me of Thai-style som tum in that its main fanbase is predominantly female. The similarities pretty much stop there. There is also a Malay version hewing closer to the standard idea of a vegetable salad, as well as an Indian version that simply tosses out everything that is healthy about this dish and then fries it twice. I have yet to try those. But I doubt I’ll like them more than I like this.

The beginnings of a rojak

The beginnings of a rojak

 

Have I gotten into everything that I’ve tried in Singapore? Hell no. I have a reputation for laziness to maintain. Do I look forward to trying more on my next trip there? Of course I do. You’re on notice, Singapore.

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Filed under Asia, food, Singapore, Thailand

What’s Cooking: Elvis Suki

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Scallops ready for the grill

(Photo by @karenblumberg)

Elvis Suki (Soi Yotse, Plabplachai Rd., 02-223-4979, open 17.00-23.00 daily) is one of my favorite places to take visitors from out of town. Its specialty — the Thai-style sukiyaki after which it is named — is an unglamorous but delicious goop of glass vermicelli, a blank canvas on which a yin-and-yang-likedrama is played out nightly: blanched seafood or meat versus the vibrant thrashings of a spicy-sweet-tart chili sauce, like the Meg underpinning a buoyant Jack.  That said, it’s still the Cleveland of street food dishes, solid but unlamented, probably a nice place to live but unlikely to haunt your dreams.

Their scallops, however, are another story. Other people make scallops like these: an unlikely pairing of scallops and a dab of pork, minced or otherwise, both doused liberally in a sweet, garlicky butter. Yet somehow no one can hold a candle to Elvis Suki’s version.  Maybe it’s the atmosphere? (no-nonsense open-air shophouse or, if you are fast enough, no-frills air-conditioned room?) Maybe it’s the people? (A mix of families and office workers). Or maybe it’s the service? (Probably not). In any case, few diners leave Elvis Suki without those scallops.

 

Elvis Suki’s grilled scallops with pork (makes 4)

What you’ll need:

–       4 large scallops

–       1 slice (about 60 g) pork neck

–       2 Tbs butter

–       2 large cloves garlic, finely minced

–       Salt and pepper (to taste)

–       Sugar

To make:

  1. Make garlic butter by mixing garlic with softened butter
  2. “Dry brine” pork by coating in salt for 15 minutes. Before using, pat dry.
  3. Clean scallops and place 1-inch-long piece of pork alongside scallop on the shell. Season both with salt and pepper.
  4. Dot with dollops of garlic butter and sprinkle both scallops and pork with ¼tsp of sugar.
  5. Grill or broil in oven for about 5 minutes, keeping a close eye so that the scallops do not burn.
  6. Take out and serve while hot.
The grilled scallops at Elvis Suki

The grilled scallops at Elvis Suki

 

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A spoonful of sugar

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The formidably cluttered work station at New Chu Ros

The first time we set out to find this place (and by the first time, I mean: the first time after the four times I’d been there before while researching the first book), we got lost. I thought this old Banglamphu standby — located deep in the bowels of a covered-walkway market specializing in bits of fabric and ladies’ undergarments — was located in Little India. Pahurat somehow figured in the location of the place, I knew (I am not very good at directions). All I needed to do was to find the outdoor market.

Except … there are a whole lot of outdoor markets. All over Pahurat. And all around Banglamphu, too. Because the second time, we were lost irreparably — this time in a random alleyway around the corner from the old-style shopping center known as Old Siam (incidentally, a great place for coffee, juices and a bathroom break if you ever find yourself in the area). The third time, I found it. And it was closed. And the fourth time, I forgot where it was and found myself in the same random alleyway again. Yes, I know.

The fifth time, it was open, AND in the place we thought it would be (after going to the wrong market one last time. Because, we are us). It’s in a place called the Pahurat Market, yes, but really, how helpful is that? Better yet: across the street from the KFC at Old Siam (the actual KFC, not the sign, don’t use the sign). More specific? After crossing the street, turn right, and then turn the corner, and the market will be the first on your left. It’s a proper market — no listless little alleyway with cutesy stationery shop and a couple of sad old vendors selling incense here. It’s lined with fabric shops and jam-packed with stalls selling girdles and nightgowns and the odd touristy knick-knack or two. And it’s there — about 30 meters in to the left, or, if you want a shortcut, directly through the shop specializing in dancers’ traditional Thai headdresses and to the right upon exiting.

If you are still confused, there’s the voice — the proprietor of the shop has a very distinctive voice that really defies description. Any pedestrian within hailing distance will get an earful, exhorting them to come in and listing the specialties of the house: in this case, noodles, every kind, in a pork or tom yum or fermented red tofu broth.

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A bowl of yen ta fo with iced coffee

My favorite order at these kinds of noodle places is yen ta fo — the red fermented tofu-based sauce paired with fish meatballs, slippery slivers of squid, deep-fried pork bits and blanched morning glory — without broth or noodles. I don’t need the yen ta fo garnishes to have to share the spotlight. I find yen ta fo is a maligned sauce even among Thais, many of whom say they won’t eat it because it’s too sweet. I find that funny because, well, have you had Thai food lately? I think that the real measure of whether you’ve transitioned to becoming a true Bangkokian today is when you start sugaring your noodles. Anyone can revel in the dirty trashcan stink of fermented fish sauce or bomb their palates to Neverneverland with the typical assortment of chilies and spices … but it takes a true Bangkokian to add a heaping spoonful of sugar to all that drama. No longer can we have the savory without the sweet, and (maybe) vice versa.

I’ll admit it: terrible yen ta fo is indeed too sweet. But the very best ones, like the bowl at New Chu Ros, throw in plenty of tart and a tinge of spice, making yen ta fo a literal party in the mouth of textures and flavors. So if you are intrepid enough to brave the Pahurat market, and willing to possibly get a little lost, try out the bowl at New Chu Ros. Girdle optional.

(All photos by @karenblumberg).

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Filed under Asia, Bangkok, food, food stalls, noodles, Thailand