EatingAsia

Meet the Photographer - Kuala Lumpur Photography Workshop

We're a little late with this, but...

Dave will be conducting a brief sort-of workshop on Travel Photography this Saturday, July 11 at 2pm in Kuala Lumpur, at the MPH Bookstore in Utama 1. His (illustrated) presentation will last about an hour, and he'll hang around a bit afterwords if want to chat about photography. If you'd like to check out Dave's work beyond this blog (and beyond food) hop over to his photography website (recently updated) or his photo blog.

Dave's presentation is in conjunction with a pretty neat photo contest being put on by CIMB Bank, in which you can earn up to RM100,000 for your favorite charitable cause. (The photos on the site are Dave's.) Stop by to listen and watch or just to say 'hi'. He'd love to meet you. 

UPDATE July 10: The previously posted time of 1030a is wrong -- Dave's talk is at 2pm. Hope to see you there!

Take A Hard Left From Penang...

Where We'll Be Tomorrow AM

When we were on Penang two weeks ago we re-visited eighty-year-old coffee shop Toon Leong. It's been 18 months, but we found the same vintage decor, same vintage crowd, same vintage owner - though he and his son now wear matching 'uniforms' consisting of navy blue shorts and lighter blue t-shirts.

The coffee is still as good as ever and, now that we've ranged around a bit, I feel almost qualified to pronounce it maybe the best in Georgetown. It's rich and smooth, with an intensity bordering on chocolatey, and served over ice it's reminiscent of a great Vietnamese cafe sua da.

Places like Toon Leong draw us back to Penang.

Here we are, again.

And there we'll be, tomorrow morning.

About That Egg & Tomato Dish...

Anyone who's spent time in China has undoubtedly downed a fair bit of fanqie jidan (tomatoes with eggs). I've probably eaten thirty or more versions over the years (including one on Hainan in 1985 - the best fanqie jidan I've ever eaten, made with eggs from the chickens that scratched around in restaurant's front yard), and the dish never fails to amaze me with its basic goodness.

In China - or at least in the provinces in which I've eaten fanqie jidan - the dish is a stir-fry, beaten eggs gently folded into tomatoes softened by the wok's heat. In Taiwan - or at least at Patriot's House Little Eats in Hsinchu - it's more of a luscious, comforting soup-stew that also includes bean curd. It's a wee bit sweet, with a 'broth' so tomato-y it's almost a tomato jus.

I was so taken with Patriot House's fanqie jidan that I asked the owner, Mr. Zheng, to share his technique. He laughed.

"Tomatoes, eggs, tofu, sugar, salt. I put them in a pot and cook."

I found this difficult to digest. To produce a dish so delicious from such pedestrian ingredients surely Mr. Zheng must employ some special technique, some culinary voodoo, I thought. So I queried again the next day. He shook his head at me.

"I told you yesterday. Tomatoes, eggs, tofu, sugar, salt."

What could I say? I took Mr. Zheng at his word and, after we returned to KL, made his fanqie jidan for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, again and again. I was, I admit, a little obsessed. Now, I think I've gotten as close to Mr. Zheng's version (which is still superior) as I'm ever going to. My version's good, but I still think he's is holding out on me.

Mr. Zheng's Fanqie Jidan gen Dofu (Tomatoes and Eggs, With Bean Curd)

This recipe is a little loosey goosey. Amounts will vary depending on the juiciness of your tomatoes and the size of your eggs. Just keep in mind that the final result should be soupy, and the 'broth' bursting with tomato flavor. (Don't even bother with this recipe if you're not in the vicinity of really delicious fresh, height-of-the-season tomatoes.) And it should be a little sweet, so don't leave out the sugar - and add more if your tomatoes are particularly acidic. If you have access to fresh eggs and fresh, artisan bean curd, so much the better.

This dish makes for a nice light (summery) meal, accompanied by steamed rice and liangban huanggua, Chinese cucumber salad (recipe below). I could also see throwing in some cooked rice noodles and calling it a meal in a bowl.

about 2.5 pounds ripe, delicious tomatoes, roughly chopped (if you're in Malaysia, splurge on momotaro tomatoes)

5 eggs, beaten

2 blocks medium firm bean curd, drained and wrapped in a kitchen towel, then weighted for 30 mins - to squeeze out excess water - and cut into cubes

sugar

salt

a few scallions, sliced crosswise

1. Place about 2 pounds of the tomatoes in a saucepan and cook over medium heat until they release their juices and start to break down, about 5-10 minutes depending on the type of tomato. 
2. Turn the heat down to low and slowly pour the eggs in so that they form a cap on top of the tomato 'soup'. Let the eggs cook, without stirring, until firm, and then gently stir them into the tomatoes. You want to leave the eggs in large curds, so don't stir too much.
3. Gently stir in the tofu and remaining tomatoes, along with 1/2 to 1 tsp sugar and salt to taste. 
4. Taste and add more sugar if needed - the 'stew' should have a sweet edge.
5. Remove from the heat, cover the pan, and let the tomatoes and eggs sit for 10 minutes or so, then serve warm (but not steaming hot), sprinkled with scallions.

Liangban Huanggua (Chinese cucumber salad)

Another Chinese standard, cooked and eaten everywhere. It's done a bunch of ways, with chili oil and/or vinegar (white or black), sometimes soy sauce. I prefer it the way I was introduced to it in Sichuan, back in the mid-80s: plain and simple, the cucumbers front and center (I actually didn't know, until I lived in Sichuan, that cucumbers have a flavor!).. Excellent cucumbers (not big, tasteless, watery ones - maybe English or Armenian, or little pickling cucumbers) and good sesame oil make this dish sing. Adjust amounts to suit.

a couple cucumbers

good salt

chopped raw garlic (optional)

sesame oil

chopped cilantro leaves (optional)

1. Do not peel the cucumbers, but wash them well to remove any dirt or wax from their skins. Chop them into rough, uneven, largish-bite-size chunks.
2. Place the cucumber in a colander and sprinkle with salt, then rub the salt into the chunks. Leave aside for about 30 mins.
3.  Squeeze the water from the cucumber chunks and place them in a bowl. Add garlic, if using, and drizzle with a decent amount of sesame oil. Use your hands to mix the salad, lightly rubbing the sesame oil over the cucumber chunks.
4. Serve sprinkled with chopped cilantro, if using. Serve room temperature or straight out of the fridge (you can make this a couple hours ahead of time).

We Heart Hsinchu

The blogosphere is a wonderful thing. Especially when it leads you to little gems like Hsinchu.

Hsinchu is about an hour south of Taipei by train. It rates the merest mention in most guidebooks; we wouldn't have even thought to include it in our Taiwan west coast itinerary, had it not been for the urgings of this blogger, who was lucky enough to spend two months there last summer.

So we stopped in for a night. And ended up staying three.

Home to a Science and Technology Park, Hsinchu is ground zero for Taiwan's high-tech industry. Think Silicon Valley and all that it's meant for the San Francisco Bay Area and you'll get an idea of Hsinchu's attractions. The city boasts an energetic vibe probably attributable to its youngish, well-educated (more PhDs per capita in Hsinchu than anywhere else on Taiwan), fairly well-off population. There's an arts scene, and a fair bit of live music - both touched with characteristic Taiwanese wackiness. The city's downtown is exceedingly walkable, a wonderful mix of old (Japanese colonial buildings, old temples, even a moat) and new (cheeky bars, restaurants, coffee houses and boutiques, many hidden away down narrow lanes).

First, the old - and delicious.

Sketched on one of Aiguo Wu Xiao Chi's ('Patriots' House Little Eats') two windows is a cartoonish drawing of a pigs's head. Serious Pork Served Here.

The thirty-year-old restaurant, squeezed into a rear corner of Hsinchu's central Dongmen Market, is run by fifty-something Zheng Fu Wen and his wife (he does most of the cooking). What you see in the photos above and below is pretty much what you get: four tables (two inside, two out), a tiny prep area and,outside and in front of the shop's other window, a case displaying the day's dishes.

Some are already cooked, to be eaten room temperature or gently reheated in one of Mr. Zheng's well-worn hand-hammered sauciers. Others are an assemblage of raw ingredients waiting to be boiled, steamed, sauteed, or fried. 

Our introductory meal here, an assemblage of dishes including stuffed and simmered squid;

silky soy sauce-brushed milkfish (which has nudged aside tuna to assume top position in our ranking of tasty piscene specimens) with housemade chili-bean sauce; vibrantly green-tasting local spinach;

a version of fanquie jidan (tomatoes and eggs) that elevates this basic Chinese classic to new gustatory heights (this dish just knocked our socks off - seriously, it did);

 

and a bowl of rice topped with Serious Pork -- an over-the-top stew of fatty cuts (opening photo) -- and liberally sprinkled with black pepper, left us frankly awed.

It was an utterly unpretentious, homely meal prepared from wonderful ingredients utilizing techniques that highlighted their flavors. And it cost thirty Taiwan dollars (about 95 US cents) a dish.

Wow.

Was there any doubt we'd return the next day?

This time we scored an inside table,

                     

and feasted on more of that Serious Pork, this time splodged over thick, chewy noodles;

batons of tofu skin simmered in soy sauce with red and green peppers - a bit of gluten-ish chew, a bit of crunch; and okra, eggplant, and white bitter melon lightly blanched, drizzled with oyster sauce and sesame oil and sprinkled with chopped scallions and garlic.

 

We would have gone back the next day for more, had Aiguo Wu not been closed.

Before we rolled out the door after our second lunch the chatty Mr. Zheng, who's puffed with pride in his kitchen skills (and justifiably so), hauled out a jar of rufu (fermented bean curd) that he put up himself and offered us each a spoonful. It was smooth as mochi skin, a little sweet, quite rice-winey, barely salty. Fantastic, in a word. I could see spreading on toast.

Patriots' House - just one reason to return to Hsinchu, as soon as we get the chance.

(Thanks Xander. We really owe you one!)

Aiguo Wu Xiaochi, 1001 Dongmen Market. Early morning to 7pm-ish. Days off not fixed. (03) 5249612, (0911) 569-019.

Kwongtuck Sundries

Penang-ites like to chat. It's one of the best things about the place.

Many older residents can be a bit stand-offish at first, but we've found that's usually because they're not confident of their English. In most cases if you're friendly and a little persistent the barrier falls, and this is when you can hear some great stories.

Walking up Campbell Street towards Cintra one morning we passed a big smoked pig's leg hanging in the entry to an 'everything' shop called Kwongtuck Sundries. The place looked, well, storied. The old man sitting at the counter glanced up at us without obvious interest, then back down at his paper. We were on our way to somewhere else and kept walking.

A couple days later we found ourselves lunching next door at Tho Yuen, an old Cantonese restaurant, where we ordered our meal from the stall at the front. The vendor's Hainanese-style poached chicken is fine, his roasted chicken is excellent, and his kiam chai boi superb, sharply sour and spicy with an intensely fowl-flavored broth. After two days of heavy-duty hawker stall chowing we were in need of vegetables, and Tho Yuen's female staff cooks choy sum leaves, lettuce, and broccoli just so, blanching the greens for thirty seconds maximum and then drizzling them with garlic oil and soy and oyster sauces.

We took a table on the sidewalk. Next to us was a collection of regulars seated around a couple teapots, all in various states of caffeine and comradery-induced gaiety. One man offered us some local cashews (perfectly toasted, crisp and tasty), another told us of family in California, still another listed the advantages of living in Penang (relatively little traffic, green space, good food). When the men learned that we were in Penang to work on a food story, they simultaneously turned to the shop behind them.

"You've got to check this place out!" they said. It was Kwongtuck Sundries. We hadn't noticed until then that their table sat directly below the big pig's leg.

"Will the owner talk to us, do you think?" I asked. The old man was once again behind the counter, reading a newspaper, studiously ignoring the activity right outside his shop.

"Definately!" they laughed.

And sure enough, when I approached and told him that we were interested in old foods in Georgetown eighty-year-old Woo Shee Khow lit up like a jack o' lantern, jumping up to grab a copy of a local newspaper featuring a story about his shop.

Kwongtuck has been selling liquor, packaged foods and sauces, dried fish and meats for over 170 years. The leg hanging in the entryway is 'Chinese prosciutto', salted and air-dried ham from Chin Wah district in Zhejiang province, forty-two ringgit a kilo. Kwangtuck used to receive stock directly from China, until Penang lost free port status. Now everything comes via Kuala Lumpur.

The shop also formerly sold a much wider selection of Chinese liquors, but that business fell off when Malaysia increased the duty on imported booze.

"But I won't complain too much about that," said Mr. Woo, referencing an old Chinese saying: Ren pa chu ming, zhu pa fei. (A man is afraid of becoming well-known, a pig is afraid of getting fat.)

Mr. Woo is the fourth generation in his family to run Kwangtuck, whose name is a combination the first character of his great-grandfather's hometown (Kwangtung or Canton) and another character, de in Mandarin and tuck in Cantonese, which means 'virtue' or 'moral character'.

On a wall at the rear of the shop hang two black and white photos. On the left is Mr. Woo's father as a young man, on the right his grandfather, in traditional Chinese dres. "Taken during the Qing Dynasty," Mr. Woo proudly told us.

We've developed a bit of a fetish for old Chinese shop houses. Architecturally speaking Kwongtuck is gorgeous, its high wood-beamed ceiling exposed and original wooden staircase intact. Light streaming through the shop's characteristic interior air well floods its rear reaches. Standing in the front, amidst boxes of dried squid and sea cucumber, you can squint your eyes and almost imagine this little slice of Georgetown a hundred and fifty years ago.

We would have liked to hang out with Mr. Soo a bit longer, but we had another appointment to keep. We'll be back.

Before we left, Dave asked Mr. Woo to pose for a photo. He agreed, but insisted on donning a proper shirt first.

Ayam Goreng Jogja

I'm well behind on posts - we've still lots to show and tell from Taiwan, Penang, and now Langkawi, where we've been parked since Sunday.

Today I haven't even a photo to share (the photographer's off somewhere in the mangroves as I type), but I do have a link - to our story, in today's Wall Street Journal Asia, on Jogjakarta's tasty take on fried bird.

More after we return to the big, bad city (that's Kuala Lumpur). Have a great weekend, folks!

Cafe Society

Everytime we go to Penang we cover Georgetown on foot, north to south and east to west, often walking the same stretch of road five or six times in a single day. Yet - amazingly - we always come away with new finds.

This find isn't our own; a friend who's known Penang much longer than we have can take credit for the perfect kopi with toast and kaya we enjoyed the other morning at Toh Soon Cafe.

To label Toh Soon a 'cafe' may be stretching it a bit. The place is more of a family-owned assembly line occupying a galley kitchen that opens onto an alley crowded with tables.

At 8am on Saturday we grabbed the last two available seats, placed our order and, following the example set by the cafe's regulars, sat back to await delivery.

Malaysian kopi has its detractors, but when it's made well (and it's not always) we quite like it. Like Vietnamese coffee - about which most every tourist seems to rave - it's adulterated. Most beans that go into a classic cup of Malaysian kopi  are roasted with sugar, which caramelizes and even burns during the process, resulting in an exceedingly dark and slightly bitter brew that - like Vietnamese cafe (in Vietnam beans are also often roasted with sugar, among other ingredients) - marries perfectly with sweetened condensed milk. 

Toh Soon's kopi is not the very best in town, we think. But it's right up there.

Another element in Toh Soon's favor:before it sandwiches salted butter and a thin smear of excellent kaya (coconut and egg jam), the cafe's bread is painstakingly grilled over charcoal. It's quite an ingenious contraption they've got going in that galley kitchen, actually - an old oil drum with a charcoal fire in the center. On top, water boils for kopi. Beneath, flames brown the bread.

Sure, a toaster would be more convenient. But the result wouldn't be as delicious, and that's why Toh Soon is heaving. Untill 9am anyway, when traffic police take to the streets to enforce Georgetown's ban on curbside parking, and you're practically guaranteed a seat.

Toh Soon Cafe, alley off Lebuh Campbell just shy of Jalan Penang (across the street from from Lean Wah Silk Merchant), Georgetown, Penang. Mornings, every other Tuesday closed.

We're Taking a Brief Hiatus ...

                One darned friendly mee goreng vendor, King Street, Georgetown

...from our  'I Love Taiwan' series for a few posts on Penang.

We've been here for a couple of days and - yes - we still love it. More to come.

The Fish Ball Redemption

 
I've noted before that a good meal can put a shine on an otherwise unattractive city. And so it was in Taichung.

First strike against Taichung: we arrived from Tainan, a fantastically friendly xiao chi ('small eats') lover's paradise (more on this later). Tainan is a hard act to follow.

Strike number two: Taichung is ugly. Or, at least, the part of town we landed in is. Our guidebook praised the 'charming' Japanese-era architecture in the city's older section. The train station is lovely and there are a few gems within walking distance. But the area is dominated by grimed-up, hulking blue glass and tile-clad monstrosities, the likes of which we haven't seen much of since our days on the mainland.

More discouraging: in this area, anyway, a curious lack of eateries, street food vendors, even the tiny tea stalls we'd come to take for granted in Tainan and Taipei. Walking or cabbing in the latter two cities is like going on an Easter egg hunt. Every city block holds treasures; train your eyes to sift through the clutter and you'll find the most wonderful things. Not so in Taichung; we walked a good twenty minutes before even landing an iced tea.

The final blow - and granted, this has nothing at all to do with the city itself - came when the skies opened up. At about 5 in the evening it started to rain and it didn't stop until we left town16 hours later. That night we ate mediocre rice noodles and roast goose at a stall close to our dump of a hotel. It was heaving with customers; we never did figure out why. We left half-full bowls and plates on our table (a first - and last - on this Taiwan trip). Then we picked up a bottle of Tunnel 88 (Premium) and headed back to our room to plan our escape.

We awoke to gray skies, monsoonal rains, and second thoughts. 'Maybe we should try again,' we said to each other. And so we headed to the nearest 7-11 for umbrellas and then to the market where we found, at 8:30am, all but two of the stalls in an otherwise promising-looking (in size, at least) food court shuttered.

'It's raining,' shrugged an orange juice vendor, when I asked why the place was deserted.

We pulled up stools at a stall selling fried radish and rice cakes. The seller was sullen. I tried to engage her in a little chit-chat about her specialty but she wasn't having any. We were finding Taichung-ites to be another of Taichung's drawbacks.

Then, ready to throw in the towel, we stumbled across what may just be Taichung's 'historic' quarter's single redeeming factor: Fuzhou Yimin Lao Dian (Old Fuzhou Yi Noodles Shop).

'Third-generation' the shop's sign says, but it's a little out of date. This man is the fourth generation - fourth generation!! - to run the business started by his great-grandfather, who immigrated from Fuzhou to Taiwan during the Japanese occupation.

He's not resting on the shop's laurels. Everything is still made by hand (his father helps out now and again). And the food is superb.

We started with a noodles - dry, balls in broth on the side. The wheat flour pasta was flat, silky, supple, with a pleasing toothsomeness, embellished with blanched bean sprouts, truly porky minced pork, and slivered green onions; broth on the side also tasted strongly of the pig. Here black pepper is applied with a heavy hand (as at our favorite Fuzhou meat biscuits stall in Taipei).

There are three kinds of fish balls (see opening photo): shrimp, studded with nubs of water chestnut, sweet and bursting with the briny flavor of the shellfish; ocean fish, really tasting of their main ingredient (fish balls are so often disappointingly devoid of true fish flavor); and a fish-and-meat combo ball, consisting of a thick 'shell' of similarly fishy fish paste enclosing a large marble of chopped pork mixed with minced Chinese celery, more black pepper, and sesame oil.

When Dave took a bite of the latter it spurted meaty juices; my t-shirt has the grease stains to prove it.

Each ball boasted a distinct texture. The shrimp balls, rustically nubby, were only slightly resistant to the teeth, while the fish balls were decidedly 'Q' (that bouncy elasticity that Taiwanese prize). The combo balls were Q outside, all crumbly tenderness within. 

We were so thrilled we went back for more, dipping into the justifiably famous handmade wonton (slippery wrappers, sublimely porcine filling) and ordering another round of balls.

By the time we downed our last shrimp balls and slurped our last drops of soup Taichung was definately looking up. We vowed to give the city another chance on our next swing through Taiwan.

Or at least, stop in long enough for fish balls.

Old Fuzhou Yimin Shop. No. 1-7 in the No. 2 Market (Sanmin Road, Section 2), Taichung. 04-2220-4335.