The Cocoa Nut

A New Beginning

2005-10-27T22:51:00.000+08:00

To the readers,

I don’t know how many people actually visit my blog, but for those of you who visit here frequently, you might have encountered a blank white page these past few days, instead of the comforting and beautiful food photos (heheh) and my accompanying opinions.

This blog has moved to a new server, http://www.thecocoanut.wanzafran.com/ for practical and strategic reasons. The server is owned by a good friend of mine, and this migration would, hopefully, lead to an expansion of creativity and content, which - given my lack of technical knowledge - would have been limited with blogspot.com.

At the moment, work on the new blog, in terms of design and layout, is in hibernation mode due to exams. As well, content-wise, the blog would be limited to only a few posts (if at all) due to exams (Gee, exams really know how to screw up our lives don’t they?).

To everyone who visits here, those who make their presence known through comments or those who simply come here anonymously, and the odd ‘stumbler’ (“I just happened to come across your website from no where!”), thank you for your support. The blog is still running at http://www.thecocoanut.wanzafran.com/, and I can’t wait to splurge on food once again, to go all out and spend well beyond my means in the quest for the most gratifying meal, and to make you, the reader, salivate.

To those who are fasting, good luck with the last 7 days of Ramadan. To those who aren’t, lucky you.

Selamat Berpuasa, Selamat Berbuka dan Selamat Menjamu Selera.

Akki

Strategic Flanning

2005-10-20T23:40:00.000+08:00

I consider myself extremely lucky to be living just a stone’s throw away from one of Melbourne's most loved food strips, the iconic Lygon Street. Although predominantly Italian in flavour, anchored by the likes of Papa Gino’s, Tiamo, Donnini and Il Dolce Fredo, this street has seen a healthy influx (and competition) from new establishments espousing Nepali, Royal Thai, Middle Eastern, Malaysian and Japanese flavours.

A relatively recent addition to this diverse culinary mix is Inkari, a colourfully-decorated and cosy Latin American café. On my first visit here I had their very unorthodox chili hot chocolate, a frothy concoction of cocoa and spicy heat that was a radical change from the normal European treatment of chocolate that favours mild complements such as milk, caramel, praline, or at its most “extreme”, orange.

If there’s one thing Latin Americans are good at, it’s passion. If there’s another thing they’re good at, it’s mixing two items that, to everyone else, seems so outrageously contradictory, but to them, makes perfect partners. And so we have the hedonistic and flamboyant Mardi Gras in the devoutly Catholic nation of Brazil, the fiery ideals of socialism espoused by the medically-trained Che Guevara, and of course, the perfect embodiment of epicurean yin yang, chili and chocolate. No one else would have dared to mix the two together (except maybe Heston Blumenthal who created the bacon and egg ice-cream), but the world is a better place due to the ingenuity of the indigenous Indians of South America.

One dessert that echoes this culinary creativity is the Flan De Queso, a signature dish of Puerto Rico, Guatemala and the Dominican Republic. It is, according to Inkari, a cross between crème caramel and cheesecake. And that is really, the perfect and most basic description for it.

And what a clever combination! The silky-smooth, sugary sweetness of crème caramel is complemented by the dense, slightly sour flavour of cream cheese.

First it was chili and chocolate. Now, it is caramel and cheese. What other refreshing combinations will you enlighten me with next, Inkari?

The Koko Nut

2005-09-30T21:56:00.000+08:00

In today’s world of rampant consumerism and infinite choice, food companies continuously compete with one another to entice the customer with the best offer. Too often, the “best offer” translates to the “biggest”, and you end up with oversized cartons of cookies, giant meal deals and super-sized cans of drink.

Increase in size is unfortunately, not accompanied by an increase in quality. In fact, there seems to be an inverse relationship between the size of food and its degree of freshness and taste. The only reason why those cookies sold at convenience stores are so big (wall clock big) and cheap is because, obviously, the ingredients are either artificial or of compromised quality. Similarly, some fried chickens appear so massive because you haven’t removed the ridiculously thick batter.

When I eat these things, I may feel full, but I am not content. People eat not only to refuel their body, but also to feel satisfied. That is why we complain when our food tastes like shit. If food’s sole purpose was to fill our stomach, we wouldn’t have to spend so much effort seasoning and cooking to make it edible.

Humans do not need that much food to maintain their daily activity. The reason why some, no, many people seem to eat so much is because what they are eating is not delicious in the first place, and they compensate this lack of flavour by eating repetitively in the hope of tasting what it is that they were meant to taste.

This happens to me all the time. Whenever I buy dirt-chip chocolate or cookies, I end up shoving one, two, fifteen pieces into my mouth in one go as I desperately search for some semblance of taste in those godforsaken cookies. And I fail each time. I keep telling myself it is better to buy slightly expensive but higher quality food than the bigger but cheaper alternative, because I would feel satisfied and the intensity of flavour means I wouldn’t need that much of it, but the lure of oversized and 2-for-1 packages prove irresistible for my simple mind.

However, this time around, my mind won the resistance. For our bout of chocolate hit, we paid a visit to the cocoa mecca that is Koko Black. Its chocolate menu is well-balanced; not too limited and more importantly, not overloaded with so many offerings to the point that each becomes an anonymous entity. However, I felt its alcoholic menu was over-extensive and I sometimes wondered if I was in a chocolaterie or a downtown pub.

I had the hazelnut crème brulee, which I have long desired after watching Audrey Tautou crack the caramelized sugar glaze in the film Amelie. Its hazelnut custard was very rich and creamy, going very well with the crunchy and warm sugar coating. It was amazing. And although the serving was tiny, the intensity of the flavour was so strong that I really didn’t need much to feel satisfied (nor could I afford to anyway).

Koko Black’s specialty Chocolate Platter is presented in a long, slender rectangular plate, with a selection of chocolate mousse, two pieces of chocolate, shortbread and chocolate cake. Small, yes. Satisfying? Definitely.

People always wonder why the French never seem to get fat, despite their rich and creamy cuisine. The secret lies in their small serving sizes, which are so laden in flavour that they do not need so much of it to be satisfied. Americans, on the other hand, need to super-size their fast food because it tastes of junk.

Koko Black, with its distinctive European ethos and a strong Belgian connection, is a fine example of ‘small but satisfied’ over the crass and greedy habit of ‘supersizing’.

Can You Handle My Bagel

2005-09-30T21:53:00.000+08:00

My sudden and unexpected interest in bagels began when I first visited Bagel Station at Avenue K, with its eye-catching orange trademark colour and slick modern décor. Incidentally, Kuala Lumpur’s Bagel Station is the first Asian outlet for the Vienna-based franchise, which prides itself in fresh ingredients and making its products on-site and in full view of customers, which seems to be the trend nowadays for high-quality franchises (think Australia’s Koko Black and Grill’d and Malaysia’s BreadStory)

Bagels have often been given bad publicity by health magazines due to their high refined-carbohydrate content, but we can’t all lead our lives eating wholemeal our multigrain forever. The only thing I wanted is bagels, with smoked salmon and cream cheese – a classic combination!

I headed over to QV one morning for a bagel breakfast at a joint whose name, for some reason, I forgot. I ordered the above-mentioned classic and waited in anticipation. The outcome looked presentable, and it tasted OK. Not great, just OK. It was nice, but there was just something missing in the overall presentation. I wasn’t sure if it was the sun-dried tomato bagel itself, which did not taste like sun-dried tomato, or the light cream cheese, or the smoked salmon that was the problem. The smoked salmon was either too little, or not fresh enough, because I could not taste the whole flavour. Basically, the end product was less than the sum of its parts.

I visited Bagel Station in 2004 and I can still remember the exact details of my first experience – the décor, the very friendly staff, the herbed bagel chips, the modern lighting. This one I visited a week ago, and I hardly remember anything. I now know why I forgot. It’s because I care not to remember.

Market-ing

2005-09-30T21:52:00.000+08:00

One of the things which I look forward to in my weekly routine is going to the supermarket/market. A year ago when I was living in a boarding house in Geelong, the nearby Safeway would provide hours for me to while away time, scouring the aisles for the latest baked chips, admiring the range of cheese and amuse myself with the amazing variety of Asian-inspired sauces and tandoori kits. I still do this whenever I’m at the market, however, since I live in a residential college, where food is provided, I don’t really have a valid reason to go and shop there.

Yet I go anyway. The Queen Victoria Market, just a 7-minute tram ride from my place, is a Melbourne institution, famous for its fresh produce, delis, and souvenir stalls. A visit there is always a refreshing experience, as I discover cheese wrapped in smoked salmon, homemade Greek dips, honey roasted macadamias, chewy and crunchy flavoured nougat and the biggest eggplant I have ever seen.

One obligatory purchase from the Queen Victoria Market is the Spanish Doughnut, exclusively sold here in this busy churreria stall. Be prepared to queue, but bear in mind it’s worth every waiting minute!

The Dough Nut

2005-09-30T21:51:00.000+08:00

Churros, often called Spanish Doughnuts in English-speaking countries, is a Spanish breakfast snack often eaten dipped in thick hot chocolate as an energy boost for the long day ahead.

The Spanish Doughnut is similar to the Nyonya delicacy ‘kuih kocok’ in that they are both made with flour and deep fried till golden brown, but unlike the latter, the churro feels less oily in the mouth due to its ‘thinner’ shape.

Unlike the common doughnuts, churros are not round, but resemble long, curly sticks. Their texture too, is very different from the soft chewy bite you get from a typical Dunkin Donut. The only reason I could think of why they are called so is because there’s no other word to describe deep-fried flour that’s not quite bread and not quite cake.

Variations of the churro include dusting it with cinnamon, or filling the centre with fruit-flavoured cream or caramel, but the classic plain version sprinkled with icing sugar is hard to beat.

They are easy, fast and more importantly, deep fried! Since the churro satisfies the three fundamental requirements of a Malaysian snack, I’m surprised we didn’t come up with it first.

Sweet vs Savoury

2005-09-17T18:37:00.000+08:00

Without wanting to sound over-dramatic (but dramatic enough to get your attention), ice-cream, that frozen confectionary loved by just about everyone, has undergone a major evolution over the years.

When once you were safe in the comfort zone of predictable and familiar flavours such as vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and caramel, nowadays walk into any gelateria and chances are you would be inundated by the sheer variety of ice-cream on offer.

Gone are the days when Mint was the symbol of adventurous taste buds; confectionary eccentricity is now represented by wasabi, green tea, caramel sesame and durian flavours.

However, it is the savoury ice cream that is really making the waves and pushing the boundaries of culinary innovation, exemplified by Heston Blumenthal’s now-famous bacon and egg ice cream. Chefs all over the world are racing with each other to create the weirdest but unsuspectingly delicious concoctions, coming up with such odd tastes like Parmesan, Harissa (a North African spice), green pea and barbecue-flavoured ice cream.

But it is the Japanese, naturally, who have perfected the art of gastronomic insanity. Tokyo recently witnessed the birth of extreme ice-cream, with genuinely dubious flavours such as prawn, octopus, chicken wings, fish and ox tongue.

Does that mean gelato will now be featured in the Mains menu? Or will our desserts no longer be sweet, but rather a frozen version of what we just had for our main course?

There’s also the question of how these savoury ice-cream will be marketed. Just a passing fad, you say? Not according to British commercial giant Unilever, whose €100 million investment specifically targets savoury flavours, which it plans to bring out from the exclusive domain of the chef’s kitchen to the wider audience of enthusiastic consumers.

Currently ice-cream advertising broadly follows two distinctive styles; the fun, careless memories of childhood, or the sinful temptations of a sultry femme fatale licking on a cone of chocolate-topped vanilla. Suffice to say, advertisers would have to alter their promotional formula if savoury ice-cream are going to hit the mass market. Flavours like gorgonzola, black pepper and mango chutney just doesn’t convey the message of fun and joy like chocolate or strawberry does, and neither do they go well with the tantalizing seduction techniques of a devil disguised as a bombshell.

There was a time when the most bizarre expression of gastronomic rebellion was the seemingly impossible deep-fried ice cream. Nowadays, as you stare at your scoopful of balsamic vinegar gelato, you just can’t help but wonder what they will come up with next.

The "Office"

2005-09-14T18:01:00.000+08:00

This is where I work, 85 Acland Street, St Kilda. A retro-inspired, minimalist gelato parlour with an ice cream display cabinet that resembles a solarium.

Acland Street is a strip famous for cake houses, funky restaurants and trendy cafes in an area infamous for street prostitutes, used needles, a struggling theme park and a beach with no waves.

What used to be a druggie joint is now a foodie haunt, occupied by, among others, Chinta Ria, a famous Malaysian restaurant in Melbourne, Grill’d, voted by Epicure magazine as one of the best burger joints in town, and 3 ice-creameries, each only a few doors from the other. Can anyone spell C-O-M-P-E-T-I-T-I-O-N?

Two good things to have when you find yourself in Acland Street are money, and a dining partner. Unfortunately for me, I have neither. And so it is that my half-hour breaks would inevitably be spent eating alone by the nearby park, or not eat at all.

Today I packed two oranges intended for break, but I decided to go for some falafels at the nearby Falafel Kitchen, because frankly, despite what dieticians and healthy people tell you, fruits ain’t that great. OK, maybe they are. Nothing else can beat the refreshing buzz you get as you bite into the luscious red flesh of a watermelon. Or a thick slice of a ripe mango, so sweet they hurt your teeth. Strawberries dipped in chocolate fondue or eaten with whipped cream is an enjoyable sin worthy of hell itself. Right now, however, I am just not in the mood for fruits, or any of the antioxidants and vitamins that they’re loaded with.

Falafels are great with dips or rolled in pita bread, or tossed in a salad. And despite my bullshit about not being in the mood for healthy fare, these tasty snacks are full of protein, folate, zinc and vitamin C, courtesy of that superfood, chickpeas!

Falafels are a Middle-Eastern specialty, made from chickpeas, onions, garlic, parsley, mint, coriander and cumin, rolled into small balls and deep fried till brown. They are made famous in Australia by the Lebanese, but it is the Israelis who claim them as a national dish.

I had my 10 balls of falafels heavily dipped in a mixture of eggplant and garlic tahini dip. Tahini is a paste made from unroasted sesame seeds, and forms the base for traditional Turkish dips such as hommus (chickpea dip) and baba ghanouj (eggplant dip).

After that it’s back to work, scooping sorbets and serving customers until my shift finally ends, when I get rewarded with a Big Cup, 3 generous scoops of any gelato of my choice. What can I say, it comes with the job!

Happy Belated Birthday, Malaysia (Where's The Cake?)

2005-09-07T22:13:00.000+08:00

Last Wednesday, on August 31 2005, Malaysia turned 48. As Malaysian students abroad reflect on what it really means to be a warganegara, they inevitably turn to the privilege of enjoying some of the spiciest, diverse and relaxed cuisine in the world.

Despite a rich and varied heritage, Malaysian food does not get the same kind of attention compared to other world cuisine such as Italian or French, probably because we lack the intensity and snobbery that lends an air of prestige and exclusivity to the latter two. Malaysian food, by comparison, is genuinely humble and laid-back. There are very few rules when it comes to dining ala Malaysia. No complicated etiquette, no confusing sets of silverware, no bullshit. You can eat with fork and spoon if you wish, or you can eat with your fingers; you can eat on a plate, a metal bowl, banana leaf, even a plastic sheet laced with newspaper will do you fine. The key idea here is to eat and enjoy. And Malaysian food is the better because of it.

The Malaysian obsession with food is legendary. When Aussies go overseas they miss hearing the accent. When Malaysians travel abroad all they can think about is nasi lemak, teh tarik and mamak. We are willing to cross state borders if we know a particular stall in Johor sells the best Nasi Biryani Gam or a Mek from Kelantan makes the best nasi dagang. Distance and increasing petrol prices will not stop a Malaysian from devouring a state’s best-kept secret. Eat and enjoy.

However, this obsession seems to manifest itself only as a love for food, not a love of food itself. We are eager to eat, but we don’t take the trouble to learn and respect our dishes. When Malaysian newspapers review restaurants, they devote more space to promoting the establishment and informing us about the reviewer’s contented stomach rather than critically exploring the finer details of the food itself.

Malaysians do not possess a heritage of haute cuisine like the French or the Royal Thai dishes of our northern neighbour. We are not inventing new food, we are merely preparing the same old favourites. This, if left unchanged, will only reduce Malaysian cuisine to a mediocre set of the same old hawker-style fare, devoid of innovation and fresh ideas.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer, the influential Indonesian author, when asked about Indonesia’s future, replies. “Destruction. I believe that Indonesia has no character as a nation, because national character is achieved through production. Indonesian people don’t produce, we just consume. Without producing we will continue to take the short cut of corrupting.”

Although I am in no position to agree or disagree with his bleak assessment of his country, I would hate if the same situation were to happen in Malaysia. We are not producing new dishes. We are consuming old ones. While Spaniards are enjoying foam dishes pioneered by Ferrand Adria and Australians experiment with savoury ice-cream and East-West fusion, Malaysians are content with the same tired, formulaic menus of local favourites (overwhelmingly Nyonya) or tried and tested Western fares such as fish and chips, spaghetti bolognaise, shepherd’s pie and ice-blended coffee drinks.

A good remedy for this stagnant predicament is the Fruits Festival organized a few years back by the Ministry of Tourism, where hotels and restaurants are encouraged to feature local fruits in their dishes. This provides an incentive for local chefs to experiment and create exciting menus with fruit that extends beyond the classic fruit platter.

The hallmark of Malaysian fare is its boldness. We are neither afraid nor ashamed of using spices and herbs to flavour our dishes. While the Swedes stick to dill and the English remain happy with salt and pepper, Malaysians add taste and colour with a liberal sprinkling of lemongrass, galangal, ginger, garlic, shallots, spring onion, turmeric, tamarind, belacan paste, pandan, ketumbar, pegaga and a host of other herbs and spices. We flavour our rendang without covering the natural taste of the beef, and although we deep fry our fish and chicken without the protective batter, we do so without compromising the tenderness of the meat to give the soft, aromatic sambal Malaysians simply cannot do without.

It is hard to blame our fellow citizens then, for their gluttony and obsession with food. Malaysian cuisine, through a combination of taste, aroma and sight, scream out EAT ME! EAT ME! EAT ME! to the haplessly tempted local. Unlike the cuisines of Japan or Sweden, which are defined by their propriety and minimalism, the concept of Restraint does not exist in the vocabulary of Kamus Dewan Makan. Malaysian dining is a celebration of abundance and plenty. Visit a Ramadan Bazaar and what you see are mountains of ayam percik stacked one on top of the other, bucketfuls of nasi dagang, mee hoon goreng and nasi tomato, and never-ending trays of kuih seri muka, kuih basah and kuih pelita.

We may not (yet) be a wealthy country, but our food and dining lifestyle paints a totally different picture. Happy belated Merdeka Day, Malaysia.

Got Gelato?

2005-08-25T20:58:00.000+08:00

I recently got a job as a gelato scooper (official title, Ice Breaker) at the Trampoline Gelato store opening in St Kilda’s Acland Street in September. The induction, which is basically an introductory briefing of the company, was held at its headquarters in Richmond.

As part of the induction, we were given a tasting of the ice-cream we’d be scooping, and our challenge was to name the anonymous gelato. My mysterious gelato was a bright white, the same colour that you would get if you made an icing of caster sugar and water.

It had to be lemon sorbet. No other ice cream was this white. I am a lemon freak. Lemon slice is still my favourite morning tea or supper dessert, and my lemon tarts and lemon meringue pie has always ended up being eaten by only me as no one else can stand the intense, over-lemoned desserts that I make at home.

The best part about making a lemon dish would have to be grating the skin, as you smell the aroma of that very tangy fruit wafting from the grater. The next best part is squeezing as much lemon juice as you possibly can with your hands. Good exercise for the palms.

I took a deep big scoop and piled it into my mouth. No tangy burst of flavour. No intense acidity. No lemon! The texture was really smooth and the taste, whatever it was, was actually really creamy and yummy. But it was not lemon.

“Hmm…I was expecting it to be really intense and tangy. Sorry, but I really can’t taste the lemon. It’s very…subtle…” I could have lied and made a big great squeal to reflect the delightful burst of lemon, but my integrity was at stake. I didn’t want to upset my bosses, but IT REALLY WASN’T LEMONY AT ALL.

“That’s because it’s Caramel Pear Sorbet,” my supervisor noted, clearly unsurprised by my initial shock.

Visit www.trampolinehq.com.au to whet your appetite for more gelato. I’m usually anti-advertisement, but seriously these guys are really good (and I swear I’m not just saying this because I work there). If you’re in Melbourne, this is one place you should mark in your Must Visit List.

3 Great Things To Do With Egg

2005-08-20T20:18:00.000+08:00

The egg has been an enduringly powerful symbol of life in many cultures, even though ironically, we are killing the creature that would otherwise evolve from the egg, had we not eaten it in the first place. There are of course, potentially hundreds of things one can do with eggs, but for the sake of brevity and laziness, I give you 3 of my personal preferences with this most wonderful of nature’s gift.

1. So Good You Can Even Eat It On Its Own
Very few things in life taste good on its own. Chocolate, that thick slab of creamy luxury you so love and enjoy, only gets that way when mixed with sugar, milk and butter; otherwise it is no different than a potent drop of medicine. Most things need a sprinkle of salt (some, like bad French fries, maybe more), but salt itself gives very little pleasure to the taste.

The reliable egg, on the other hand, is really only served justice when eaten exclusively on its own. Hard boiled and devoured from one end to the other, appreciating the change in texture as you move from the soft, silky egg white, to the rough and coarse yolk, its crumbling pieces seemingly glued into every corner of your mouth, before returning to the familiar and comforting smoothness of the albumen.

2. Death by Cholesterol
I generally prefer my pasta to be on the lighter side, tossed with pesto sauce or done Marinara style, with heaps of mussels, squid and prawns. However, when I decide to indulge in cream-based dishes, then I must go for the absolute fat, literally the crème de la crème. If you want to sin, you might as well go all the way, and so it is with my creamy pasta meals.

This means none of that weak, runny Alfredo sauce; only the thickest, driest Carbonara goes past my tongue (if I can help it, but alas, I’m not the chef). To make things even better, do as they do at Shook, and place half an eggshell, with the raw egg inside, on a heap of spaghetti Carbonara. Drench the pile of pasta with the raw egg and mix well. What you end up with is Carbonara sauce so thick you have to wipe your mouth every time you put a forkful in; Carbonara so thick you have to drink to ward off dehydration; Carbonara so thick you might just pass out from all that overwhelming cream.

3. Liquid Gold
The thing I love most about eggs is the yolk, that creamy golden yellow liquid flowing inside the fragile, thin hemispherical coating of a perfectly executed sunny-side up. Sometimes, in moments of quiet contemplation/ boredom, I would just stare at the bright centre of my bulls-eye, knowing full well that the serenity of the central body of the egg only needs a gentle poke of my finger for it to explode into an uncontrollable mass of molten yolk.

One Sunday morning, I would toast two pieces of white bread, apply a judicious spread of butter or margarine until the charred surface glistens with melted fat, and very carefully placing my perfectly executed sunny-side up on one of the bread, and enclosing it with the other.

Squeeze the two pieces of bread together, and wait for the yolk to drip onto your unsuspecting fingers. Feel the heat of the yolk, watch it coagulate, and lick it with your tongue.

A Picture Of Desperation

2005-08-20T20:12:00.000+08:00

Being someone who is quite obsessed with food, I invariably include the subject into my conversations with friends, and I was surprised, shocked, even alarmed to find that a number of them choose to skip lunch altogether on a daily basis. I am the ultimate three-meals-a-day (sometimes more) person, being totally unable to perform my daily routine without the compulsory turns of breakfast, lunch and dinner. I can forgo sleep and still function, I can go without my lenses and still cope, on a worst-case scenario I can even skip morning shower and still survive, but deny me breakfast and I die. I just die.

In truth, I am unhappy with my over-dependence on food. Surely I’m able to skip at least one meal and get along just fine. It’s all in the head, it’s all in the head. I decided to give breakfast a miss one morning just for the fun of it and see what it does to me. (In times of financial difficulties, it is these sorts of activities that provide entertainment in my life).

It was 12 in the afternoon and my stomach was rumbling with an intensity of seismic proportions. I could not wait to get back to college to have my lunch. The ensuing lunch was a disgusting and shameless orgy of vegetables, bread, fried rice and tuna with mayonnaise which disappeared into my mouth as soon as I put them on the plate.

And yet I was still hungry. Lucky for me, I stocked some fruits and spreads in my room, for emergency situations such as this one. I was desperate for something fat, creamy and satisfying. Some researchers think our preference for fatty food is a remnant of our ancient predecessor’s need for a substantial supply of energy for their active, labour-intensive lifestyle. Although we now lead a sedentary lifestyle, that primordial obsession with fatty, energy-rich food has not disappeared. And at that moment, my brain has never been closer to a Neanderthal’s.

It was out of this need for fat that Akki’s Energy Boosting ‘Banana N Spreads’ Recipe was born. Scoop a generous amount of crunchy peanut butter and Nutella into a bowl and mix until a two-layer spread evolves. Chop a banana into slices. Combine the slices of banana with the Nutella and peanut butter mixture, making sure not to mash the banana. Sprinkle half a teaspoon of desperation and eat immediately.

My Favourite Breakfast

2005-08-03T15:52:00.000+08:00

Every morning, on a narrow lane next to a row of shophouses, a woman sets up her stall, made up simply of an oversized multi-striped umbrella and a table, where she displays her range of breakfast bungkus, targeted for the busy Malaysian in a hurry.

She does not know this, but one of her home-cooked meals happens to be my favourite breakfast in the world. This lady’s nasi pulut is the only bait that will get me up from slumber at 7 in the morning on a semester break.

This time around, I only had her nasi pulut once, on my last day in Malaysia before I returned to Melbourne. The timing was deliberately planned so that the memory of my final breakfast in this country would be one etched with fondness and of unsatisfied desire, to be used as bait for me to once again return to this land.

It was a very good Malaysian morning. The sky was clear, with thin scratchings of light white clouds and the road black, still soaked from last night’s thunderstorm. My hair, fresh from being pressed onto the pillow throughout the night, stood vertically up as if it was trying to escape from the domain of my head. Is stiff, unruly, morning hair the exclusive preserve of Asians?

In the kitchen waited my nasi pulut, with chicken and beef rendang as its obligatory side-dishes. I washed my hands. Never eat pulut kuning with cutlery. It is best eaten with the hand, the starchy, soft pile of rice gently massaged by your eager palms. Tear off a piece of chicken rendang, incorporate it into those sticky golden-yellow grain, and mop up the excess sambal before delivering a spicy, pungent scoop into your hungry mouth.

Top Hat

2005-08-03T15:01:00.000+08:00

The entrée, in my opinion, is without doubt the most important component of a multi-course meal. Many people place a stronger emphasis on the mains, presumably because size-wise it is the biggest, and stomach-wise it fills the most. But what they might not realize is that it is the appetizers that develop their craving and hunger for food in the first place.

I’ve always believed that the best entrée comes in the form of bite-sized finger-food, which you can simply pick with your hands. Pappadams, spring rolls, cekodok pisang, garlic bread, nachos, prawn fritters and keropok lekor will never fail to whet the appetite and build the anticipation for more to come.

My current favourite is the nyonya Pie Tee, first made famous in Kuala Lumpur by the restaurant Top Hat, where these tiny little appetizers serve as its namesake. The crumbly, wafer-thin shell provides a delicious contrast to the generous mish-mash of finely chopped baby corn, spring onion, mushroom and chili. A lone, chunky piece of cashew gives the whole thing a comforting creaminess that only nuts know how to deliver.

The Reunion

2005-07-21T13:40:00.000+08:00

The menu for the party, in all honesty, was more a reflection of food that I felt strongly about, rather than a prediction of what my guests would enjoy. This makes me a rather selfish and ungracious host, and I apologise.

However – and this is not a justification for my selfishness – I was glad that some of the dishes came close to the expectations of many of my guests. For example, a friend wanted a sizeable vegetarian offering, and I hope the Vietnamese spring rolls, together with the nasi kunyit and kway teow goreng, satisfied her wishes. A few girls specifically asked for desserts, and I was more than happy to oblige, with desserts being my favourite area and all.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was very adamant to have Vietnamese spring rolls in the menu. I wasn’t too enthusiastic about including nachos, but this came about as a last minute decision, because I had to cancel two other appetizers, namely falafels and salad, due to time constraints. Careful consideration was given to the choice of nachos, with the help of my brother the junk food expert, who felt Doritos was far superior to Chachos. I can’t tell the difference between the two, but then again I’m no junk food connoisseur.

For the mains, I have to thank my mother, who cooked kway teow goreng, nasi kunyit and rendang ayam, whose recipes were given to us by my grandmother. I really wanted nasi kunyit to be featured because it is not a very common dish, with Malaysians preferring to eat nasi lemak, nasi goreng and briyani instead. We decided to make the kway teow goreng spicy, because we find that kway teow goreng sans belacan is way too bland and inconsistent with the national love affair with chili. The rendang ayam, cooked according to family recipe, is a reflection of our Palembang heritage, simple and not too-spiced, but still managing to pack a mean, heaty ‘pedas’ taste, in line with Southern Malay cooking style.

For the desserts, baklava would be mandatory considering it’s one of my favourites and also to provide a new Middle Eastern experience for those who have never tried it before. The truffles were equally compulsory, given that chocolates occupy a special, almost sacred place in many people’s hearts.

Right from the start, I decided that air bandung would have to be included in the drinks selection. This is by far my favourite drink of all time. In our family, air bandung is reserved for only special occasions such as bulan puasa, when it would be the perfect drink to end the day-long fast. The world may come up with all sorts of new drinks, from coffee-flavoured Ice-Blended to extravagant cocktails, but I would readily give them up for a cold, frothy glass of the pink-coloured air bandung.

All in all, the menu for the reunion was a simple affair - Vietnamese spring rolls, Doritos nachos, nasi kunyit, ayam rendang, kway teow goreng, baklava, truffles, cookies n crème, fruit-infused water, root beer and air bandung.

Thank you to my mother, for planning and cooking and putting up with me, my brother for helping prepare the spring rolls and truffles, my grandmother for giving us the recipe for the mains and friends who helped set up and clear up the party and for just being there and making it happen.

Paper Thin

2005-07-21T13:15:00.000+08:00

The Vietnamese spring rolls were by far the most troublesome dish for the party. The pastry was delicate and sticks to one another quite strongly, and during the first few minutes I was extremely stressed up in my unsuccessful attempts to separate the layers without tearing them apart.

Once separated, however, it was a breeze to prepare the rolls. All I had to do was take a pinch of vermicelli, bean sprouts, grated carrot, finely chopped baby corns, mint leaves and coriander, pile them on the pastry, and roll all the way.

With the pastry, the more water you add, the more translucent it became, and I originally wanted to thoroughly immerse it with water so that the pastry would appear like a fine layer of membrane and the ingredients would be entirely visible, much like the delicate jellyfish of the deep oceans whose heart could be seen pumping inside its protective outer layer.

However, soaking the pastry in water made it susceptible to tearing and my clumsy hands, paired with the ticking clock, were not suitable candidates to make such beautifully crafted food.

Despite the difficulty involved in preparing the spring rolls, I was very adamant for it to be included in the menu. They are amazingly wholesome and clean; you get none of that sticky, oily feeling in your mouth after biting into the greasy skin of the deep-fried version.

The soft, smooth pastry skin marries well with the crunch of the vegetables, especially the bean sprouts and carrot, while the vermicelli adds a soft, chewy texture to the equation. Best of all, the mint gives such an invigorating, refreshing aftertaste in your mouth; a sharp, succinct breeze to tease your tongue and whet the appetite.

Are You Having A Ball?

2005-07-14T17:55:00.000+08:00

Truffles, those famous chocolate candies, are one of the most enjoyable things to make in the kitchen. They are so versatile and easy to prepare, and at its most basic, all you need is the ingredients (which can simply consist of chocolate and cream), a bowl, and a microwave or stove to heat the chocolate.

For the get-together, I made two batches of truffles, one purely consisting of chocolate and cream for the serious chocolate lover, and the other, combined with crushed Marie biscuits, which is more suited to the hot Malaysian weather.
The first version was a hell of a job to work with, as the chocolate and cream mixture melts very easily. I could not work with my hands, as body temperature melts the mixture, and instead I resorted to shaping them with a metal spoon and quickly placing them in the freezer (instead of the fridge) for them to hold shape. The result, however, was well worth the effort. The heat had distorted the truffles’ shape, but thankfully it did nothing to the taste. As you bite into the cocoa-coated balls, all you get is the pure bittersweet flavour of dark chocolate and rich cream. That is it. And that is all I need.

Bak To Brag

2005-07-14T17:51:00.000+08:00

Another item that I really wanted to include in my dessert menu was the classic Baklava. The Bak, as a friend likes to call it, has been one of my favourite treats ever since I had my first bite at Saray, a Turkish restaurant in Jalan Doraisamy.

What is it that fuels my obsession for the Baklava? For me, it has to be the combination of contrasts that lies in the body of the Bak, just patiently waiting to tease your senses as you sink your teeth into them.

The culinary world loves paradoxes. I think one of the main reasons Nigella Lawson is so famous is because you’ve got this extremely beautiful, attractive woman who continuously heaps praises on butter, fat and cream. There is something so seductive about the two contrasting elements co-existing in harmony. The same logic applies to deep-fried ice cream. It is no more enjoyable than ‘frozen’ ice cream, yet the idea of ice cream being subjected to intense heat and still remaining cold seems to turn on so many people.

The contrasting components of baklava lie in the creamy crunchiness of the nuts, together with the sharp delivery of sweetness of the honey. The best part, however, begins the moment your teeth touches the surface of the ‘bak’. Initially you enjoy the fragile crunch of the paper-thin filo pastry, alternated with the thick layer of nuts. But as you reach the base, the crunch transforms into a satisfying chew, as the last layer of filo pastry, after being completely immersed in honey, develops into a gooey, chewy, soft-to-the-bite coating of sweetness so sharp it feels like a prick to the unsuspecting jaw.

The Cookie Monster Within

2005-07-14T17:42:00.000+08:00

I had a get-together last Tuesday to catch up with friends and see what everyone’s been up to since the last time we met, which for some of us, stretched back to three years ago during our last days of high school.

The menu would involve appetizers, mains and dessert, and I was especially enthusiastic with the last component, seeing how I had the most experience in that area. Appetizers are great because they’re bite-sized and you get to sample a range of tastes and flavours without getting full, but they are such a burden to prepare because they are generally prepared individually and not in whole batches. Mains, on the other hand, are made in batches so they’re not as troublesome but I find that cooking noodles or meat dishes are not that fun.

Desserts, however, are not only enjoyable, they’re even more fun to prepare, and in the days leading up to the get-together, I could not wait to get started.

It is hard to find a person who is indifferent to the frozen richness of ice cream, and I set out to prepare two flavours, namely cookies n crème and coffee. The coffee ice cream turned out to be very creamy and/but strongly bitter (and/but depending on whether u like the distinctively bitter coffee flavour). It was not so much a ‘coffee-flavoured ice cream’ as ‘coffee in ice-cream form’, which suited me perfectly but may not be to everyone’s liking, and so it was up to the cookies n crème to win people over.

This turned out to be a pretty good outcome, because cookies n crème is perhaps the most enjoyable frozen confection to prepare. Crushing a pack-and-a-half of Oreos into small, chunky pieces is a stress reliever equivalent to kickboxing, and scraping them off the fingers with your mouth is pure pleasure.

Visual entertainment is what you get as you watch the milky liquid of whipping cream transform into a thick, velvety texture of whipped cream after absorbing all that air, courtesy of our trusty cake mixer.
The thing that irritates me quite a bit about commercial cookies n crème is that the cookies are hardly there. They are normally reduced to specks of fine powder and only one or two chunky pieces, just enough to satisfy the minimum cookie requirement. With the homemade version, I went no-holds-barred with the Oreos, leaving the ice cream with a judicious amount of small cookie bites.

The F-word

2005-07-07T17:59:00.000+08:00

One of the many things I detest in this globalised world, like quite a number of people, is the rise of multinational franchise outlets. The biggest problem I have with them is that their ubiquity sucks out any excitement one expects to get when one visits a different country. Everywhere I go, I am confronted with the giant yellow arches of McDonald’s, the green Starbucks logo with the sublime Mermaid as its mascot, or the vast expanse of a Borders bookstore.

The franchise culture is very pervasive in Malaysia, possibly due to a lack of entrepreneurial spirit among the locals, a preference for familiar and predictable products or the shopping mall-centric mentality, which is impossible to change because of our hot and humid weather.

Therefore, I have given up my resistance towards the franchise system and have decided to embrace it wholeheartedly, because otherwise, I will not be able to live in peace in this wonderful country.

Franchise, after all, is not an F-word. You can still be unique and keep your identity intact without abandoning the much-maligned concept totally. You just need to be selective in the franchise that you patronize.

The number one rule that I always abide to in my effort to maintain my individuality is to avoid the biggest motherfranchiser of them all, the super-sized McDonalds. It just goes against the spirit of good taste to gobble on their bland Big Macs and chomp on those greasy Granny Smith apple pies amid the tacky interior. If you have to have an Oreo McFlurry, do takeaway. I find that being a hypocrite in private is less taxing on the conscience than doing it in full view of the public.

Bakeries are popping up all over the city nowadays, a far cry from years ago when the only thing available was Angel Cake House. BreadStory is a gem among the franchise outlets available, with its slick pastel green interior and stylish hand-graffiti logo. Each individual pastry is given a name that is cheesy but cute enough to be funny – Tuna Turner, Sirens of the Lamb, Flossy Hottie - which adds a bit of fun to the whole shopping experience besides giving me inspiration for my next cheesy title. My favourite has to be the Nutty Professor, where two individual bread are joined together by a “glue” of peanut butter, topped with nuts to give it crunch, perfect for a post-workout treat.

However, I got a bit of a shock when I visited their website (http://www.breadstory.com/) and sensed an almost evangelical quest to monopolise the bakery industry with a zeal that makes Microsoft look tame. With a mission to “become the preferred choice for baked bread products, WORLDWIDE” by “continuously re-engineering historically divine bread and pastry”, I wish them all the best, but I only hope that bakeries like this will put more passion into the bread they make first, instead of focusing on the profiteering aspect, which their mission statement not-so-subtly expresses.

Delving deeper into the BreadStory psyche, I found, to my surprise, that “the BreadStory saga is a continuing story of the development of ‘Designer Breads and Pastry into the 21st Century”. Whoa, easy there tiger!

An enduringly popular and well-accepted franchise concept – that still manages to keep its humility in check - is the Swedish Ikea brand. Its café, which resembles a canteen, in tandem with the brand’s Social Democratic ideals of frugality and egalitarianism, is refreshingly spacious and comfy. The food is simple and basic, a gastronomic representation of the Scandinavian minimalist design movement, which is markedly different to the lavish and ornate Malaysian cuisine.

The café offers classic (some might say cliché) Swedish dishes such as meatballs with lingonberry sauce, sausages and gravad lax, salmon pickled with sugar, salt and fresh dill.
They’ve included local fare into the menu such as nasi kunyit and nasi lemak, which is nice, but I would prefer if they’d offer more Swedish specialties such as Jansson ‘s Temptation (anchovy and cream casserole) or the world-famous smorgasbord.

Lemon Meringue's A Series Of Unfortunate Events

2005-07-01T16:44:00.000+08:00

In line with the Experimentation theme of the evening, I decided to bake my very first pie, and also my very first meringue, in the form of the iconic Lemon Meringue Pie.

This particular dessert is overbearingly labour-intensive, and although I appreciate the experience gained, I sometimes wonder if it’s worth the trouble, especially considering the ease at which we can satisfy our sweet tooth at the many cafes available. The three main components involved in creating this dish is making the pastry, the lemon custard filling and the most stressful of all, the difficult meringue.

The two most important things to note when making shortcrust pastry is to divide the butter into cubes to make it easy to rub with flour, and to use ice-cold water. This was easy enough, but the first unfortunate mistake is that I underestimated the proportion of dough to use. I realized, when it’s too late to do anything else, that the pastry could not fit into the pie tin completely, and so I resorted to chipping off bits and pieces of dough and filling it like plaster in the parts unfilled. This created an uneven surface, which is pretty difficult to hide.

My second mistake was being hasty. Cooking is such a pressure-driven activity. Even when you’ve got all the time in the world, the tendency is to try to minimize cooking time, which means you work as fast as you possibly can. This can sometimes cause accidents, and in my case it was in the form of a broken mug which I dropped by lifting a tea towel underneath it.

The third unfortunate event is in the egg white whipping, a problem I seem cursed to repeat every time I make a dish that requires this technique. Whipping incorporates air into the egg white, creating a white, smooth foam. Over-whip, and the foam turns into liquid, which was what I did.

The final, and most critical mistake, is getting over-excited with lemons. As I grate two big lemons, I could not contain my excitement over the overwhelming aroma of those yellow acidic delights. I ended up pouring every bit of lemon into the custard; not realizing that with aroma comes sourness, for which lemons are infamous for. It was only to be expected, therefore, that a few faces scrunched and tweaked as the mouth bites into those golden brown (and extremely sour) lemon meringue pies.

Pizza Nut

2005-07-01T16:17:00.000+08:00

The perfect, laid-back dish to share among friends or family needs to involve fingers and lots of mess. Cutlery and cleanliness goes against the spirit of a fun evening meal, and that makes the humble pizza the obvious choice for our cook-out, since the classic combination of bread, topping, and lots of stringy cheese makes no use of fork or spoon and is usually devoid of any form of tidiness.

What started out as an ambitious plan to create our very own pizza from scratch quickly turned into a semi-ambitious plan after the supermarket tempted us with pre-made pizza base, complete with pomodoro sauce. At only RM6.99, we were not just buying a simple pizza base, but rather an hour’s worth of freedom from all that mixing and stirring and rolling and shaping the dough.

The vital ingredients in our seafood pizza would be shrimps, canned salmon, mushrooms and leftover crabsticks. Obviously freshness was not a priority. Unsure of how unseasoned shrimps would taste, we sautéed those small tiny crustaceans with butter, garlic and onions before spreading it on the base, together with the other ingredients and heaps of mozzarella.

40 minutes later, our very first pizza was ready, with the cheese melted and golden on the sides, and the dough, crunchy and slightly burned, not the way we intended but still good enough to eat.
How does one test the degree of delicious-ness of a pizza? One unscientific but highly reliable method is by clocking the time it takes for the pizza to vanish into thin air. Ours was gone in 10 minutes, which was a respectable achievement, although it pales in comparison to our personal best of 4 minutes, achieved by a very tasty pizza Margherita in one very good Italian restaurant.

Let's Do Business? It's A Pleasure! (Part II)

2005-06-27T00:43:00.000+08:00

One of the first things you notice as you adjust yourself to the Business seat is the complete lack of no-space. No-space, that physical constraint which defies logic and Newtonian laws, is widely available, free-of-charge, in Economy class for us passengers to barely squeeze through.

Before the flight, we were offered a choice of mango and apple juice. Only mango and apple? I was taken aback by the lack of variety in the juice menu. I always had the impression that Business passengers enjoyed more choice than us Economies, who are only presented with the nice but oh-so-common O.J. One of the things which have always puzzled me about Malaysia Airlines is its limited choice of juice. Being an airline where a substantial proportion of its passengers are Muslim, one would think that the choice of non-alcoholic drinks (not including mineral water, coffee or tea) would be a little bit more extensive than the current number of around three. If Malaysia Airlines can afford to equip itself with almost a dozen labels of alcoholic beverages, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble to include pineapple juice, bandung, lychee or even cincau in its menu.

Air travelers in the 12.15 am flight from Melbourne to Kuala Lumpur enjoy a late supper and an early breakfast. If memory serves me right, the Economy supper is usually a tasty salad and very tempting Mocha cake. I never have any complaints about the food in Economy. In Business that morning, we were presented with salad, roasted duck and scallops and the signature Malaysia Airlines satay. I found the satay sauce a bit mild, but I presume it is made that way to suit the tongue of foreign travelers, whose tolerance for chili is quite unremarkable. The dessert, lemon meringue tart with mango puree, was just excellent.

Breakfast was done in true Malaysian style- nasi lemak with prawn sambal that looked so red and hot but tasted not, muesli, and cooling jambu air juice.

I arrived in KLIA with my appetite satisfied, my legs un-cramped, and my psychological state of mind devoid of any memory of claustrophobia. I wonder if I will ever get upgraded again. Lady luck, if you’re reading this, please know that I really love you…

Let's Do Business? It's A Pleasure! (Part I)

2005-06-27T00:35:00.000+08:00

It is very rare that Lady Luck would chance upon us and grant some much needed fortune that we can treasure, if not forever, at least for a brief moment in our life. I can safely say that I’ve met the grand old dame on several occasions; when I was voted the most charming guy this side of France, having a beautiful woman by my side, and owning a profitable restaurant with service to match. Alas, I always have to wake up at 7 in the morning without fail.

In reality (that is, when I’m not asleep), the chance of meeting Lady Luck is as high as the probability that she even exists. But the beauty of probability is that it can happen, whether it’s a thousand to one, or seven billion to one.

My encounter with the bringer of good tidings happened when I got upgraded from Economy to Business, a class I never thought I would enter; something so distant that the closest I ever got was when I walk past the aisle to get to my cattle-class seating way down in Economy.

I stepped into the Golden Club Class lounge in true rusa masuk kampung style, as distinguished by the way the person walks loftily in disbelief, eyes wide open and gazing from left to right, up and down, with mouth gaping, nostrils expanding, and ears red with pride. So this is where the other five percent of air travelers wait for boarding! I was wrong – I was the only one there. Maybe the true Business passenger is so classy he doesn’t even use the lounge facility. The rich and famous are a weird set indeed, but that’s OK, because it means there is more food for me.

I headed straight to the buffet line. There was an extensive antipasto platter, an ordinary-looking sandwich set, an amazing range of drinks, and two pathetic-looking hot food dishes, one of them very mild chicken tandoori pieces on skewers, and the other, grilled chicken in puff pastry roll.

An extensive sampling of sublime slices of smoked salmon, grilled salmon, prawns, button mushrooms, grilled eggplant, artichoke, pickled onions which I mistook for lychee (biggest misjudgment of my life), green olive, semi-dried tomatoes, bocconcini and feta cheese provided a delicious glimpse into the life of the Business traveler.

One by one, fellow air passengers made themselves comfortable in the lounge. To my surprise, a few of them looked like me, ie normal and pretty average. Were they upgraded too? I wondered if patrons of the Business Class were something like the spectators of the Malaysian Formula-1 event, where most of them get in for free, their tickets usually sponsored by corporations or some very generous soul ie parents.

……

30 minutes before the flight, an announcement was made for us to board the plane. I’ve done the Lounge, now let’s get down to business, literally.

Leaving Home To Go Back Home

2005-06-27T00:25:00.000+08:00

It was my last day in Melbourne, and what better way to bid farewell to this city that so proudly declares its love affair with food than to sample its gastronomic pleasures, lust, spice and all.

Bright sun and clear blue skies are best accompanied by al fresco lunch, and the best spot for this most relaxing of activities is on the grounds of the magnificent State Library. Don-Don the Japanese eatery seems like the obvious choice to get some grub, since it’s just across the road. Their haphazard décor and illegible graffiti on the entrance may provoke one to doubt its merits, but make no mistake, this quirky takeaway, featured in the city’s Cheap Eats, serves what is possibly the freshest salmon sushi I’ve ever set my eyes on.

I am a staunch liberal and I don’t believe in force, but a stopover to the Queen Victoria Market is COMPULSORY for anyone leaving Melbourne for more than two weeks. We walked around, getting lost in the maze of traders selling cheese, homemade dips, crackers, the biggest eggplant I’ve ever seen, nougats, chocolate fudge, and lots and lots of nuts. The honey roasted macadamia was expensive, but its crunchy texture and sublime creaminess left a longer lasting impression than the price.

It was time for dinner in the college dining hall, and I knew this was just the thing I needed to leave Melbourne without any sense of sadness. After all, what could be worse than bad food? Answer: Good food. The chef decides, of all days, on my last day, to serve us Paella, the national food of Spain, which was possibly the best experience I’ve ever had of college life.

……

As the shuttle bus sped through the freeway, making its way to Tullamarine airport, in my mind lingers the memories of all that’s happened in the first six months of uni life. The first week of Orientation; group stripping in front of the State Parliament; getting lost in campus; meeting strangers, friends, even more strangers; the temptation of plagiarism, the fulfillment of plagiarism; Federation Square; the Comedy Festival; the unpredictable weather. And that bloody awesome Paella. I’m going to miss this city.

Pasta Masta

2005-06-19T13:13:00.000+08:00

When I was younger, the only Italian food I knew was pizza and spaghetti Bolognaise. The lure of the cheese-topped pizza is not hard to understand, but for some reason the Bolognaise sauce has always been the firm winner among all the other pasta sauces, and is a favourite with people despite being a challenge to pronounce.

Just as non-Malay speakers have difficulty with our –ng words and occasionally cringe when they find themselves in conversations that involve ‘jangan’, ‘ternganga’ and ‘mengada-ngada’, I was not aware of the peculiarity of the Italian –gn words. For years to come I would, in otherwise perfect pronunciation, order a bowl of “Spaghetti Bolok-neese, please” with full confidence and pride.

The world got better, and I got wiser. My Italian gastronomic vocabulary expanded to include thick-crust and thin-crust pizza, and this could only mean better things were to come. My first encounter with a non-Bolognaise sauce was the classic Marinara, a bed of rich tomato sauce with mussels, calamari, prawns and scallops with parsley and lots of garlic. I had always associated Marinara with lots of tomato, which was why it was a surprise to find a tomato-less version at a quaint and quiet restaurant in the iconic Lygon Street.

After years of eating tasteless pasta at terrible establishments (read: boarding house and college dining halls), I have developed an aversion to the stuff, equating it with just a medium for the sauce and meat to be devoured. The restaurant’s, however, was bursting with so much flavour I swear I could eat the pasta sans sauce. The absence of tomato was compensated, no, enriched by a combination of what I assume is fish stock, a judicious amount of garlic, the natural flavour of prawns and mussels, and very strong parmesan, unlike the plastic cheese they serve at the aforementioned terrible establishments.

And so with great pride I add to my ever-expanding Italian Gastronomic Vocabulary: tomato-based Marinara and tomato-less Marinara. The pasta masters would be very proud.

I Believe I Can Fry

2005-06-14T19:18:00.000+08:00

To Greeks and Romans, the olive was a crop of great importance. To destroy an enemy’s olive trees was a sign of ruthlessness in war. Olive oil is accorded the highest admiration, which is easy to understand when you realize what a difference a drizzle of the stuff does to a plate of pesto spaghetti or a crisp and stringy pizza Margherita.

Malaysians may not worship their oil as much as their Mediterranean counterparts, but we make up for it by the ubiquity of the golden drip in our everyday cooking. There is absolutely nothing in this world that a Malay cook does not see fit to fry.

Bananas, the most potent symbol of tropical living, can be covered in batter and deep fried to be eaten as a mid-afternoon snack, or sliced into thin chips and, yes, deep fried and salted to make an addictive batch of kerepek pisang masin (salted banana chips) or smothered in melted sugar for a sweeter version.

Shallots, garlic and sambal are tossed into the fiery kuali and fried to make a mean tumis for a fish or chicken dish, which of course, have been seasoned with turmeric and asam jawa (preserved tamarind) before being deep fried in a boiling vat of palm oil.

We have perfected the art of frying that makes developed nations blush with shame and envy. Without a doubt, the embodiment of this perfection lies in the humble kerisik (fried grated coconut). Added to a masak kicap or rendang dish, the kerisik gives the aroma and flavour so distinctive in Malaysian cooking, with a delicate but unmistakable hint of lemak (fat), without turning the dish into a creamy concoction. Frying and Subtlety have never been so beautifully intertwined.

The most tragic predicament that can befall a fish is to be sliced into a fillet, covered in disgusting over-floured batter or breadcrumbs before being fried in ignominy. Luckily, the Malaysian cook spares the local catch this most terrible misfortune. Our kurau, siakap, bawal and tenggiri are fried whole, so that we are able to devour the crunchy tail and fin, and sometimes even the bones, after eating their succulent flesh.

The world may come up with weird and tacky inventions like the deep fried Mars bars of Scotland or their cheese stick cousins of fast-food USA, but the secret to a good fry will remain in the cuisine of Southeast Asia.

Turkish Delight

2005-06-04T23:18:00.000+08:00

My first trip to a Turkish restaurant was at the tender age of 12, at Kuala Lumpur’s Telawi strip, the first suburban area in the city to seriously dedicate itself to diverse and adventurous food. In cuisine chronological terms, 12 is as bad an age as it gets, a time when the unenlightened tongue has stomach for only the saltiest, deep fried junk food. At the time I couldn’t understand my parents’ high regard for Turkish fare, as I desperately searched for some hint of taste (read: deep-fried saltiness) in my doner kebab. Needless to say my Turkish dish that evening was left unappreciated.

It was only 6 years later at Saray, an elaborately decorated joint in the newly-christened Asian Heritage Row, aka Jalan Doraisamy that my love for Turkish food first blossomed. Rid of the salt obsession that defines a pre-pubescent tongue, I consumed with pleasure the tender chunks of grilled lamb kebabs, the velvety smokiness of baba ghanouj scooped with leftover pide bread, and to finish it off, a cold, sweet slice of baklava.

This evening, we set off for an adventure of sorts, passing through the unexplored territory of Sydney Road, Brunswick, famous for its ethnic cuisine and availability of halal meat.

Stepping into one of the many Turkish eateries, I felt the sense of unknown that characterized my first visit to the restaurant in Telawi strip, but this time around, I’m no longer the 12 year old with a pining for McChickens. I ordered the dish I was most unfamiliar with, the Samsun Turkish pizza, and waited with high hopes while soaking up the atmosphere, which was lively but not loud, perfect for a night out with friends.

Samsun, I later found out, is the name given to lightly spiced minced meat, stuffed together with cheese inside a wrap of flaky pastry. Unlike Italian pizza, whose claim to fame would be the topping, the winning ingredient in the Turkish version is the golden pastry, light and flaky outside but extremely tender to the chew. It’s so good you can eat the bread on its own, but who could resist dipping it in creamy yoghurt and spinach dip?

I had more-than-adequate sampling of a friend’s Iskander kebab, tender slices of meat coated in a luxurious layer of tomato puree, its freshness heightened by its blood-red tone. I could get used to this…

Now that I’ve properly acquainted myself with Turkish fare, the next thing to do is to try even more. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but with food as good as this, the only possible outcome is total respect.

Eye Candy

2005-05-29T17:48:00.000+08:00

It’s almost impossible to miss The Original Lolly Store in Lygon Street, stacked to the brim with bottles and jars of raspberry drops, coconut quivers, eucalyptus diamonds, peanut brittle, aniseed humbugs and a myriad other cleverly named candies.

Once in, it’s hard to resist the temptation to grab a handful of those multicoloured lollies, although many would find it even harder to navigate inside the cramped store, where every part of your body is merely inches away from the jars and boxes of sweet treats.

The small, confined maze gives the tempted visitor the impression of being trapped in candy heaven, which can never, ever be a bad thing. There is no particular décor, except the one that results from efficient stacking of candy jars, no doubt to maximise walking room. This mish-mash of sweet treats lends an air of authenticity to the lolly store, giving it an intimate, personal feel.

Which is why I was surprised to find that The Original Lolly Store has another outlet in Melbourne Central mall, with the same shopfront display, the same lack of space, the same lollies. Is it now possible to franchise Authenticity too?

The franchise concept is so persistently popular because the whole idea is about replicating success. You only franchise a store once that store has shown considerable success with shoppers. It’s all about giving more of what people want, to different people, in a different location.

Add to this the psychological tendency of people to stick with what they’re familiar with, to remain confined in their comfort zone, and the franchise philosophy becomes a recipe for quick success.

Geography poses no barrier to the franchise system. You could be in another suburb or state, and chances are you would still be able to visit your favourite franchise outlet, be it Red Rooster (if you’re in Australia), Laksa Shack (if you’re in Malaysia), Pret-a-Manger (if you’re in Britain), or the granddaddy of franchising, McDonalds (if you’re anywhere in the world). In fact, it is probably geography and the problem of travel distance associated with it that has made franchising such an enduringly successful retail concept.

The Original Lolly Store in Melbourne Central is a mere 15 minutes’ walking distance from the original Original Lolly Store in Lygon Street. One can only guess if there will be more outlets popping up in the city, from Armadale to Yarraville, Narre Warren to Dandenong.

The Passion Of The Cocoa

2005-05-25T18:00:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: The hot, steamy Mexican flick, Y Tu Mama Tambien

My insatiable craving for hot chocolate was first developed by Koko Black’s thick, flavourful concoction, disappointed by Max Brenner’s hyped-up Suckao, and aggravated by Brunetti’s Italian version.

That said, there was something missing in the previous hot chocolates, rich as they may be, which leaves me from being wholly satisfied and yearning for the perfect brew of molten cocoa.

Hot chocolate should be thick. A drink which has only a slight hint of chocolate that just happens to be warm enough is not hot chocolate, it’s just a chocolate-flavoured drink. Starbuck’s very tame and tepid version comes to mind.

A thick and scalding brew makes for an intense drink, but what does it take to turn it into molten bliss?

A small Latin American café may have the answer. Inkari offers, among others, tamales, tapas, empanadas and best of all, the Aztec Submarine, a heady mix of hot chocolate with honey, vanilla, cinnamon and chipotle chili paste. The combination of chili and cinnamon produces a mean burst of heat and spice, teasing the throat with a momentary burn that begs the tongue for another dangerously slow sip.

Finally, a hot chocolate that is not only rich, but full of passion. This is what I have been yearning for. If there’s one thing the South Americans are good at, it’s turning everything they do into a passionate indulgence. Tango, Mambo, Evita Peron, Che Guevara, Pablo Neruda, soccer – they are all defined by the fiery passion they elicit.

Little wonder then that chocolate, the universal food of passion, originated from this great continent. Considered an aphrodisiac, chocolate as devoured by the Aztec kings is reminiscent of an exotic curry blend; a potent mix of chocolate, chili, herbs and spices.

My Aztec Submarine may not equal the drink of the Aztecs, but I now know the secret ingredient to a molten bliss of liquid cocoa. The craving has been satisfied.

Sweet Dreams

2005-05-20T19:19:00.000+08:00

I woke up at half-past six in the evening to a pitch black skyline. Dark is setting in earlier in Melbourne, signaling the coming of winter. I did not like being trapped in darkness at a time when the sun is supposed to gentle down to golden amber, when the clouds are immersed in deep crimson.

Sleeping during the day is a habit I generally avoid. It robs you of the most productive moments in life. However, the past couple of nights have seen me transform into a nocturnal animal, and I had to catch up on sleep lest I degenerate into a haggard monster.

Truffles, like daytime nap, is something I try to avoid, although I find they make a good companion to a glass of warm milk you just must have before tucking in to bed at night (Sometimes you cannot ignore that night-time hunger pang).

Truffles are basically a mixture of chocolate and cream rolled into a ball, and then dipped in tempered chocolate. Tempered chocolate is chocolate that has been melted to a certain temperature, cooled, and re-melted again to alter its structure, so that it achieves a fine consistency and glossy appearance when used to coat the truffles.

Tempering chocolate requires a candy thermometer to accurately measure the temperature and is quite troublesome, with a degree of difficulty reminiscent of a Chemistry experiment. We decided to do away with it when making our batch of truffles one Friday night and concentrate on the bare essentials.

Our truffle recipe was entirely different from the traditional version. We combined crushed biscuits, sweetened condensed milk and melted chocolate, and shaped them into small balls, coating them with cocoa to make it look like truffles.

There is a chocolate candy called ‘rum balls’ which is essentially the three ingredients mentioned earlier, with added rum and coconut. Rum balls are the inferior cousin to truffles and the size of golf balls. Our “truffles” were in fact rum balls without the rum, so that night, we were really just making a batch of ‘balls’.

Then again, real truffles or not, chocolate is chocolate is chocolate. It’s hard to go wrong with crushed biscuits, condensed milk and cocoa fat. The philosophy for amateur cooks is that as long as it tastes good, it’s all good.

I slept really well that night.

Chocolate Drizzle

2005-05-16T21:36:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: My brother, who likes chocolates

Despite my unexpected disappointment with his Suckao, I was not going to give up on Max Brenner and his “New Chocolate Culture” just yet.

And so it is that on another cloudy Melbourne day, with the threat of a light drizzle looming ahead of us, we decided to seek refuge, and where better to keep ourselves warm than a chocolaterie?

I had the Belgian waffles topped with strawberries and drizzled with milk chocolate. The waffles were crunchy on the outside and surprisingly very tender inside. The texture reminded me of shortcake. I am normally quite averse to milk chocolate, preferring the bittersweet taste of the darker variety. However, the milk chocolate was pleasantly rich, achieving a delicate balance between milk and cocoa.

Strawberries and chocolate may be less evil that the classic combination of strawberries and cream, but it is still deliciously sinful. I just wished there was more melted chocolate for the waffle to absorb. There is no better way to clean a plate soiled by chocolate than good ol’ fashioned yeast.

Chocolate By The Bald Man

2005-05-14T12:30:00.000+08:00

Melbourne is fiercely proud of its coffee culture, and someone once noted that franchise outlets such as Starbucks and Coffee Bean will find it tough to make it big in this city where every other cafe whips up a mean cappucino.

For a city so fixated with caffeine, Melbourne is warming up just fine to cocoa, with the opening of several chocolateries, most notably Koko Black, Cacao and the very hip and funky Max Brenner.

With a corporate tagline 'Max Brenner- Chocolate By The Bald Man', my first impression was that this Max Brenner guy is either a) a megalomaniac or b) trying to normalise baldness, which is still viewed with a mixture of sympathy and fear by the general public, like it's a kind of disease.

If the creator is somewhat narcissistic, his creation is nothing short of ambitious. The chocolaterie prides itself in 'Creating A New Chocolate Culture In The World'. Such bold statements, together with the hip and flashy decor, cannot but invoke our curiousity to check out the place.

I had to try Max Brenner's signature creation, the Suckao, having read so much about it in the papers. The Suckao is an egg-shaped cup, with a candle beneath to heat the milk and chocolate which you pour to your own liking. Google in 'Suckao' and you'll find numerous websites with nothing but praise for this innovative twist on the traditional hot chocolate, taking a particular interest in the metal spoon, which, due to its hollow tube, also functions as a straw.

The whole hype was lost on me. I was thoroughly disappointed by my Suckao experience. The entire set, from the chocolate drops to the tiny milk jug to the spoon-cum-straw to the Suckao cup itself, appear to have been designed for the miniature inhabitants of Lilliputia. It was a challenging feat for my adult hands to handle such dainty ingredients and equipments, especially when all I am craving for is a good, thick cup of hot chocolate.

Hot chocolate, in my opinion, should be sipped, not sucked. Sucking is more appropriate when you are downing huge volumes of a drink, such as a Slurpee from 7-Eleven. It was frustrating to have to ration my hot chocolate sucking, only to find that I've reached the bottom of the cup before I could even begin to enjoy my drink.

Gelato Journey - The Wrong Choice

2005-05-07T23:36:00.000+08:00

It was finally my turn to choose the flavours. Two days earlier my breakfast experience was elevated when I swapped peanut butter for Nutella, and completely saturated the surface of my toast with a liberal slap of the hazelnut spread. I decided then to go for the Nutella gelato, and my second flavour would be...

"Cioccolato!" I heard myself call out to the woman behind the counter. A quarter of a second later, I realised I've made an unwise decision. The two flavours were adversarial to one another. At best, the Cioccolato and hazelnut chocolate would cancel each other out; at worst, they would simply be indistinguishable. Besides, two equally-dark brown layers of ice cream makes for a poor photographic shot. A gelato yin-yang needed to be established.

Just before she was about to scoop out the Cioccolato, I manage to blurt out "Pistachio, please". Pistachio and hazelnut complement, rather than oppose, each other. Brown and green will forever be the perfect colour combination, second only to orange and blue. As I bite into the tip of my cone, I knew I've made the right, albeit hasty, choice.

Gelato Journey - The Search

2005-05-07T22:52:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: Some good friends

A queue was building up as we reached our favourite gelateria in Lygon Street. Il Dolce Freddo is famous for its confectionery, and lining up among the dozen or so people only managed to whet my appetite even more for one of its fresh, creamy, smooth gelato.

The most popular flavour has always been the Ferrero Rocher, with its crunchy wafer and indulgent chocolate bite. But this time around I needed to try something new. It is unjust to ignore all the delicious flavours of Vaniglia and Limone, Pandan Coconut and Cioccolato, just because one of them happens to taste like it's made in heaven.

Behind the glass display were sixteen decadent gelato flavours, each one tempting the lips and seducing the eyes. Their shape is undefined, flowing freely in abundance and richness. How then, does one even begin to choose?

Tastebud Czech

2005-05-05T14:34:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: Thick hot chocolate

I spotted this pizza-shaped pastry while browsing around Queen Victoria Market. The rain outside continued to pour, so I decided to get myself a post-lunch dessert and wait for the drizzle to ease.

This dessert turned out to be Kolace, a Czech specialty consisting of pastry filled with nuts and alternate layers of apricot, cottage cheese, cherry, cinnamon and poppyseed.

As my tongue works its way from the tip to the crust, the Kolace progresses in its complexity of taste, from the juicy apricot to the soury creaminess of cottage cheese, delightfully interrupted by the tangy sweetness of cherry before reaching the last two layers, whose taste is not too easy to analyse.

The second last layer was predominantly cinnamon, with chopped nuts and a pinch of what I swear is cocoa, but I'm not too sure. The final layer was even more complicated. It was undoubtedly poppyseed, from its black colour and taste, but how do you describe poppyseed? It's not bitter, it's not bland. It's not quite savoury, but certainly not sweet.

I know I love poppyseeds, especially when sprinkled on bagels or a dense crusty bun, but I don't know exactly what is it that I like about poppyseeds.

The Mystery Of The Burning Toast

2005-05-03T21:45:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: A Smartarse

I can't say I'm an expert in bread chemistry, but I have been toasting bread for three quarters of my life now, and I still don't understand why those deliciously juicy raisin toasts burn much more easily than other types of bread.

Initially I thought it was just me. Toasting bread was yet another chore to add onto my list of Things I'm Incapable Of Doing. But then another person sat next to me, on his plate two perfectly charred raisin toasts, the over-grilled surface illuminated with glistening melted butter.

What are the odds of two college students burning their morning raisin toasts? There must be a perfectly logical explanation for this...

The Exhibitionist

2005-05-01T17:34:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: Anything but lemons!!

A fish monger in Ackland Street, St Kilda, had this eye-catching arrangement for his window display. I felt like I was walking in a museum watching an animal exhibit, rather than a fish market.

The fish looked so fresh, and the installment was beautiful, but I was slightly disturbed by the presence of the ubiquitous lemons. Australians in general are not very creative when it comes to cooking fish, and too often, a solution to this problem is to add lemon as an accompaniment.
Fish is such a versatile meat, and to include those bloody lemons* as a permanent fixture in a fish dish is nothing short of insulting.

*In truth, I love lemons. But not with fish

I Want Candy

2005-05-01T16:04:00.000+08:00

Best accompanied by: Baby Bash's Suga Suga

The dark grey clouds were threatening to shower us with cold drops of rain. We retreated to the covered pavements of QV mall and continued our shopping stroll when I stumbled upon this ultra-neon, psychedelic candy shop. Like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, this quirky little outpost dedicated to all things sweet managed to craft a smile on the lips of shoppers, in spite of the impending gloom and darkness.