More Asian than in Asia? – Recipe: Drunkard Noodles

In addition to being Internetless for the past month and a half, my blogging has been stalled by the everyday routines of maintaining a home, seule, plus keeping up with a pile of readings that seem to be extending upwards toward the heavens with no end in sight. But seeing as I was recently surprised by a gift from a dear, dear, friend, sent from the humid and heat-blessed streets of Singapore, which consisted of a most lovely set of chopsticks and matching dog (gasp!) chopstick rests, I thought I would dedicate this post to my new found Asian-ness.

The way to a woman's heart...through all things canine

For sure, I’ve never been one to consider myself inherently “Asian” both in terms of outlook and tastes– for example, I’ve never been away on vacation for weeks and found myself missing rice or a particular place in my home country. Nor do I feel that my views, especially my political opinions, conform to the mainstream. Yet there is no doubt that growing up in Southeast Asia has shaped my perception of the world, in ways I’m always finding predictable, on the one hand, and surprising, on the other. You will never find me, for example,  ever walking in front of a television set (no matter how big the damn screens are these days) while someone else is watching something without first excusing myself for interrupting them and bending forward so as to not block their view (thank you, Assunta!)  And how funny it is, that my Southeast Asian friends here are the only ones that will sit cross-legged on the floor and use the lounge chairs as a “table” for our laptops instead of our actual laps.   A friend of mine recently coyly teased that I seemed more Asian than back when I was actually in Asia – she judged this, for example, by how my face lights up when we plan a trip to the Asian Quarter here in Paris, or how I inadvertently nod in greeting when I see another Asian walking by through the streets of Paris. The other day, I found myself saying, “Look, honey, one of my kind!”

Chalk it up to old age, homesickness, the inability to find anything even remotely vegan in a proper French restaurant, or simply being injected into an environment in which I find, for the first time in my life, I am no longer able to either express myself or understand what others are saying to me, I do seem perhaps more aware of my own cultural differences here. My newfound Asian-ness seems to have manifested, among other things in i) me adopting an ever softer tone of voice when conversing here, even in broken French, ii) a mad craving for spicy food and chilli padi,, iii) the inexplicable obligation I feel to defend Lee Kuan Yew when people comment about the lack of democracy and human rights in Singapore and Asia in general!  and iv) confronting my dinner at a restaurant, thinking to myself how the bland, blanched dish of nappy-textured vegetables in front of me would be just that more palatable had I just a dash of soy sauce at my disposal.

Drunkard noodles is a dish that I discovered on the menus of Thai restaurants in Boston some ten years ago. It goes superbly with drinks, particularly beer, much like Korean/Japanese bar food.  I never quite found a comparison in Thailand, but I do love the spicy, peppery, and savoury blend of the base sauce with the rice noodles and vegetables. I managed to find fresh sen yai noodles, whose counterpart is the humble kuey teow in Malaysia and Singapore, as well as Thai holy basil, both of which I feel make a real difference in the results of the dish. The sen yai noodles are chewier and more malleable than kuey teow, so you are able to cook it and mix it with the rest of the ingredients without everything turning into a pulpy mash. The other ingredients which I feel are a must for this dish is kalian or Chinese kale and capsicum. You can make this with chicken, pork, shrimp or beef instead of tofu, as long as you stir-fry the meats separately before the vegetables. Tonight I was also able to cut down quite a bit on the amount of oil I used by using a good quality non-stick skillet. The list of ingredients may seem long, but the whole meal was prepared in just half an hour.

Ingredients:
300 g fresh sen yai noodles (substitute kuey teow if desired, but cut down cooking time)
2 tbsp vegetable oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
2-3 shallots, minced
1 slice young ginger
1-2 green chilli, chopped
2 tbsp oil
1 block firm tofu, deep fried until golden brown and cut into cubes
4 button mushrooms, sliced
4 stalks Chinese chives, sliced into 2 inch pieces
½ red capsicum, sliced thinly
4 ears baby corn, cut into thirds
150 g Chinese kale, leaves and stems separated and washed thoroughly
1/2 carrot, cut into thin slices
2 spring onions, cut into 2 inch pieces
Large handful of beansprouts
6-8 cherry tomatoes, halved
1-2 tbsp of chilli boh/paste
General handful of Thai holy basil leaves
Sesame oil to drizzle
Lime wedges and chopped coriander leaves to serve

Sauce:
2 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tbsp soy sauce
½ tsp sugar
½ tsp black pepper
2 tbsp water

Heat oil in a non-stick skillet until hot. Add ginger slice, shallots, garlic, and chopped green chilli and fry, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 2-3 minutes. Add mushrooms, tofu, chives, baby corn and capsicum and fry for another 5 minutes. Add chilli boh paste, kalian, carrot and fry for another 2-3 minutes or until slightly soft (Sprinkle in some water at this stage if mixture seems to dry.) To the hot pan, add noodles, as well as beansprouts, cherry tomatoes and spring onions. Working quickly,  add sauce ingredients and toss well to mix. When noodles are just pliable, drizzle sesame oil over the top and add basil leaves. Mix well. Adjust seasoning and serve piping hot with lime wedges and chopped coriander leaves.

Why I Still Bite Off More Chilli than I Can Chew - Recipe: Black Pepper Udon with Chicken

This post is dedicated to the kid in all of us.  In Malaysia, as with elsewhere in Southeast Asia, where spice is king, local culture celebrates the ability to take spiciness as a form of machismo.  Both my parents absolutely love chillies – a bowl of sliced chilli padi in soy sauce always accompanies our meals at home. I still marvel at how my father dumps dollops and dollops of sambal belacan into his bowl of laksa as if it is an ice cream topping, or snacks on the pickled green chilli at the table at Chinese restaurants while waiting for the food to arrive. 

As a child, I was terribly ambitious. I wanted to be able to do all the things that adults could, which in my family meant, cranking up the heat level in my food. KLites might remember the old Raintree Club, one of the first private country clubs in the Klang Valley. Weekends in the eighties for us meant tennis for the parents, swimming for the kids, coconut juice by the pool, to be followed by yong tau foo or curry laksa. On this particular occasion, this author decided that she wanted to have her laksa just like the adults did. Although my sister warned me, I piled on the belacan and in addition, sprinkled chilli  padi all over the noodles. And even though my mouth was burning, my nose was running and my eyes were tearing almost unbearably, I ate the whole thing, including greedily drinking all the gravy. While it’s safe to say that I survived the experience, very soon I found my lips puffing up. A red, angry circle of inflamed skin enclosed my lips. If memory serves me correctly, my sister would have gotten quite a kick out of making fun of me, except she too had decided to follow in my footsteps so we both returned home, tail between our legs, with our very swollen lips that evening.

I was reminded of this episode from my childhood the other day when G and I were tucking into the Black Pepper Udon that I had prepared:

G: Pass me the chilli, can?
Me: Mad, ah, you? It’s pretty spicy as it is.
G: I know, but cannot resistlah.
Me: Hehe...same here...aiyo, die, die, die.... damn hot!
(Chomp, chomp, coupled with “ssss” and “ooh” and “aahhh”)

There are only three things that I know that can cut the burning sensation if you’ve had too much heat: i) white bread, ii) a spoonful of rice and iii) a glass of milk. I’m convinced that water actually makes it worse. Seeing as I had none of those things on hand, I gravitated toward my trusty sauvignon blanc to do the trick. What can I say? There’s something about the simultaneously pleasurable and painful experience of biting off more chilli than you can chew that is just too good to resist. As they say in Singapore, so shiok!

Most Asian noodle dishes are pretty flexible so you can substitute the vegetables according to what you have handy – the only thing I would insist upon is grinding the black pepper in your mortar and pestle or spice grinder specially for this dish.

Ingredients:

100 g chicken fillet
Dash Maggi seasoning
1-2 tsp soy sauce
Pinch of salt, sugar and white pepper
1 tsp Shao Xing rice wine
1 tsp cornflour

In a bowl, marinate chicken fillet with Maggi seasoning, soy sauce, salt, sugar, pepper and rice wine to taste. Add cornflour and mix well. Set aside while you prepare the rest of the ingredients for the noodles.

Sauce:
2 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tbsp soy sauce
½-1 tsp dark soy sauce for colour
¾ tsp sugar
½ tbsp Shao Xing rice wine
2-3 tbsp water

In a bowl mix together sauce ingredients and set aside.

Noodles:
2 x 200g packets fresh udon noodles, at room temperature
2-3 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp sesame oil
3-4 thin slices young ginger, peeled
3 cloves garlic, minced
¼ head (about 100 g) of a medium round cabbage, tough centre core removed, leaves sliced thinly
1 medium carrot, sliced into desired shapes
4 dried shitake mushrooms, soaked until soft, and sliced thinly
80 g button mushrooms, sliced
½ red capsicum, sliced thinly
½ green capsicum, sliced thinly
Handful of small bean sprouts (optional)
10-15 black peppercorns, coarsely crushed
Chopped coriander leaves and chilli strips to garnish

Heat wok or non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. First prepare chicken. Add about 1 tbsp of oil and swirl to coat the pan.  Mix chicken in the bowl and add to the pan. Stir-fry for about 5 minutes or until just cooked. Dish up and set aside. Add additional 2 tbsp of oil and sesame oil to the pan. Add garlic and ginger and fry for thirty seconds or until fragrant. Add carrot, shitake mushrooms and button mushrooms and stir-fry briskly for a minute. Add capsicum and fry for an additional minute. Add cabbage and udon noodles. Scatter pepper over and pour sauce ingredients into the pan. Lower heat, and toss well. Add  chicken and bean sprouts if using and fry noodles for an additional 3-4 minutes or until just done. Garnish with coriander leaves and chilli strips. Serve hot.