MasterChef Challenges

What does a busy uni student who just got back to her dorm room after attending (and catering) for a 150 person event on a cold Wednesday night do? Turn on Masterchef, join the Masterchef chat hosted by Chocolatesuze on http://www.lhcw.net/chocolatesuze, and take on a challenge posed by one of the chatters.

Cook a student meal for $4 in less than 10 minutes.

(Without resorting to mee goreng.)

The result?

Oyakodon.

Just to prove it was less than $4, here's a breakdown of the costs:

1 chicken thigh, $1.80

1/2 onion, around 50c

1 egg, 50c

Water, sugar, soy sauce, 50c (max).

If anyone is as pedantic as I am, the declaration was made at 8:06pm, I was back on the chat at 8:17pm (allow me a minute to travel to and from the computer to the kitchen!).

Oyakodon (serves 1)

1 chicken thigh, cut into bite sized pieces

1/2 onion (any variety), sliced

1 egg, lightly beaten

4 tbsp hot water

1 tbsp light soy

1 tbsp sugar

1/2 cup cooked rice (white, brown or combination of both)

In the smallest frypan or saucepan you can find, place the water, sugar and soy and boil over high heat. Slice the onion, and place in the sauce. Cut the chicken thigh into bite-sized pieces, and put it in the pan. Turn over the chicken after it 3 minutes (it should have cooked on one side), and allow to cook for 3 more minutes. In the meantime, heat up the cooked rice in a bowl. Beat up the egg lightly, and drizzle over the meat and sauce. Allow to cook for 30 secs to a minute. Serve the lot over rice. Feeds one hungry (and picky) uni student.

Secrets...just the way it is.

Secrets.

Those little juicy bits of fact you just want to keep for yourself. Or are just too embarrassing or painful to share with others. Then there are those which seems to pass themselves off as fact and public knowledge, but no one could verify

or confirm their existence or accuracy.

Like private dining.

Sure, there are those which are pretty much open to all. Unlicenced restaurants. Paying for "friends" to cook you a meal in their "home". (I am not trying to cause offence, merely to say that friends are not really friends but acquaintencs and homes are not homes but also function, well, as something else.)

Then there are those we've heard then laughed.

Private dining, that works on much the same principles as calling on geishas in Kyoto. No fresh faces; you have to be a guest of a regular. And just

because you've been there once does not warrant you a welcome: you have make a reservation through the regular, or become a regular yourself. And even if you are a regular, you still need to book months in advance.

Then there's the food.

It's not your regular fare.

A note of warning: if you're adverse to the consumption of certain seafood products such as dried shark fin, abalone, etc, LOOK AWAY NOW.

Yes, you read right, shark fin and abalone. Dried sea cucumber and fish maw are also available. And that's only what the new regulars know about. Old regulars, well...

But, once you have been there, you will understand the obsession with shark fins and abalone. And snake, sea cucumbers, goose feet and all the "wacky" food in Cantonese banquets.

Needless to say, this private dinner was unlike any other. The food speaks for itself.

First course: Stir fried stomach with Chinese celery 唐芹炒肚尖

Only the thickest, fleshiest part of the stomach of a pig (called the "sharp" stomach) was used, each stomach has about only a square inch or two which can be used. The thickness works well in providing not only flavour, but also texture, resulting in a tender but bouncy, totally ungamey and refreshed by the crispness and fragrance of Chinese celery. Chinese celery has a more intense, concentrated flavour than normal celery, and works well in countering the wok's breath, a deep, smokey aroma that rounded off the whole dish. Even though I'm not normally a fan of offal, this was absolutely fantastic.

Course Two: Fresh local Hong Kong lobster in Salt and Pepper sauce 椒鹽本地龍蝦

I know, we rave on about how awesome Australian lobster is. And in most cases, I agree. But this totally changed my view. Hong Kong local lobster is much smaller than Aussie lobster, somewhere between a yabbie and a lobster in terms of size. The shell is removed, without cooking the lobster, and the tail meat used for stir-frying. It is not chopped into bite sized pieces--it does not need to be. This served a table of 14, with 2-3 pieces of lobster per person: that's right, this dish alone has the meat of around 30 lobsters. And the taste? The sweetest, tenderest lobster imaginable, with delicate strands of meat and absolutely no strain of bitterness at all. This is what lobster is all about.

Course Three: Shark Fin braised in Superior Broth 上湯火腿魚翅

It was thick, luxurious, full of umami awesomeness and collagen goodness. Unparalleled. Incomparable. Unforgettable.

The great thing about shark fin in a private dining context is that you get what you pay for. If they say they're giving you 1.25 kilos (dried), they're giving you 1.25 kg. Our table of 14 had 2 bowls of this decadence each.

Before you start asking why I haven't mentioned the customary red vinegar that seems to accompany all shark fin soups everywhere else, it's not there. Because properly braised shark fin needs no adornment. Apart from maybe just a couple of drops of the finest cognac you can find, to lift the fragrance to an even higher level of enjoyment. I was told that the former president of ATV HK was the one who started the practice.

Palate cleanser: Superior broth 極品上湯

After that collagen and umami packed experience, it's only understandable one would want to cleanse the palate. In this case, it is a bowl of the superior broth used to braise the shark fin. Packed with organic, free range fresh chicken, Kam Wah (or Jin Hua) Chinese ham (the best stuff, think Iberio Jamon), and a whole bunch of other secret ingredients, it is simmered for hours (if not days), and made without a grain of salt added. The result? The best damn chicken broth you have ever tasted.

Course Four: Steamed Brown Marbled Grouper 清蒸老虎斑

Unlike the generic Cantonese steamed fish you get at most Chinese restaurants, this grouper was steamed using the superior broth that was also the palate cleanser, so that the flavours of the shark fin carry through the meal. The grouper was steamed to perfection, a feat in itself and also a mark of the chef's skill, for the larger and thicker the fish, the harder it is to steam. It was moist, flakey, melt in your mouth and silky smooth. Even the skin, which I would normally discard, was absolutely delicious, the silkiest sheet of collagen goodness ever. I didn't even complain when served the fins for seconds. They were definitely the best part, with the cartilage steamed so perfectly it was melting with gelatinous collagen chopstickfuls.

Course Five: Braised Abalone and Goose feet 吉品鮑魚扣鵝掌

It was stunning. Rich, glossy brown gravy from the braising smothered the abalones (15 in total), on a bed of goose feet.

It's not clear in the photo, but each abalone was bigger than my palm. It was thick and meaty, with what the Chinese call a "sugar heart" (溏心), which is basically the equivalent in abalone terms to medium rareness in a well dry-aged good cut of steak. Pink in the centre, the aroma of the abalone in one's mouth was overpowering, but pleasantly so. Tender, yet chewy, rich but not greasy, each chew extracted more and more flavour from the bite. I didn't want to swallow it at all.

The goose feet may seem to be just a larger version of the familiar phoenix claws at yum cha, but it was definitely much more. The skin was cooked until it was gelatinous, but not melting, rough with the dimples but soft in each bite, and not a speck of fat in sight. A few strands of meat still on the bone provided a great contrast, the fibers injected with the awesome sauce, resulting in almost a tasting plate of abalone, three ways. The choi sum topped off the experience with freshness, sweet with just the right amount of bitterness to cut the richness of the dish.

Course Six: Fried Free-Range Young Chicken 炸子雞

Organic, free range chicken. Fresh, and never been in the freezer. Fried to perfection. The skin was crispy, the meat tender and moist, light on the salt after the umami packed courses that preceded it. Not an extra drop of oil was in sight. An absolute joy.

Course Seven: Fried Glutinous Rice 香炒糯米飯

This has to be one of the hardest dishes to prepare. One version, which I had on my previous visit well over ten years ago, was to start the cooking process with raw glutinous rice in the wok, adding ladleful after ladleful of stock to the rice as it was stir-fried. While this might sound like cooking risotto, it is much, much harder, as so many things can go wrong in the stir-frying process. Nine out of ten of my attempts ended in failure.

A decade (and some years) later, the fried rice is still great, but not as fantastic as before. Cooked rice is used, so that less oil is required in the cooking process, a healthier alternative. Chopped Chinese sausages, spring onion, specks of egg and prawn meat provide flavour and an interesting contrast of textures, a great source of carbs from a protein-loaded dinner.

Course Eight: Chinese lettuce in Superior broth with Chinese Ham 上湯火腿唐生菜

Chinese lettuce looks like something between a cross of cos and iceberg lettuce. It's small and long like a cos, but with the intense flavour of iceberg. Quickly cooked in boiling superior broth and topped with shaved Chinese ham. Refreshingly sweet, with just a hint of bitterness from the chlorophyll, and not too salty, it was a great finishing dish for the savoury courses.

Dessert: Red Bean Soup with Lotus seeds 蓮子紅豆沙

The Chinese for this dessert actually translate more closely as Red Bean sand: it is supposed to be a tad grainy on the palate, like a fine semolina, in a thick soup that coats the tongue. This was just that. Sweet, thick soup made from red beans that have completely disintegrated, with no bean shell at all to get stuck between teeth. The lotus seeds may seem to be whole, but one gentle push of the tongue broke it down completely, a powdery oversized pellet with a hint of bitterness that is unique and addictive. The host knew it would be so good, he had the good sense to order two pots instead of the usual one.

This was certainly not the usual Western perception of Chinese food to be just sweet and sour pork and lemon chicken. This was the real deal. A once in a lifetime experience, that could never be replicated at a Chinese restaurant for the same price, or even the same quality. Sure, my environmental concerns did come to mind when I heard about the shark fin and abalone, but considering that the owner inherited the dried goods, and has not made an order for new stock for at least five years, I would hate to see good food go to waste.

A note on the owners: this private dinner is owned and operated by a brother and sister pair, who inherited it from their father. Their grandfather was master to a famous Hong Kong chef, who has won accolades from all over the world. Their father learned his skill from the grandfather, and passed them on to his son, who is now the chef. His daughter heads the service, a most interesting person to talk to, with years of gossip and a great judge of character. She is also an avid photographer, the hobby has taken her to very interesting corners of the world. So not only the food was great, the company and service was also tops, something that simply cannot be repeated in a restaurant context.

Unforgettable, just the way it is.

Under New Management...?

More often than it should, things like this happen: you head to a "reputable" restaurant, with moderate expectations, only to be disappointed by some (if you're lucky), most, or all aspects of the experience. Then you're faced with a dilemma: do I warn others about the potential dangers, or let them discover and decide for themselves?

For my twitter followers (there aren't that many, to be honest) you probably would've seen my tweets about my disappointment at a certain Chinese restaurant in Sydney CBD. I'll recount (in detail) what happened tonight, and decide for yourself whether my comments were fair or not.

We --a party of 5-- arrived at the restaurant shortly after 6pm, and were promptly seated at a table set up for 4, though numerous, if not all the tables set up for 6 were available. Once seated, we were given one set of 2 menus for the table, leaving 3 of us with basically nothing to do but inspect the cutlery and plates. All of them had water stains. All of them had some sort of food remains on them. One had fatty sauce stuck on half of the underside of the plate. The same for the bowls. A prompt and polite request for fresh (and clean) plates and other pieces of crockery was made, only to be met by an icy and somewhat annoyed response. Nonetheless, new plates (and plates only!) were delivered; however, on closer inspection they showed pretty much the same problems as the first batch, though on a smaller scale. Fearing retribution, we clean the plates ourselves, with tissues and hot tea.

Orders were taken (the response to each dish ordered was "sure, you can have that"), and the complimentary soup delivered. The waiter discovered that we had no spoons, went to fetch them, dropped them off and went away. Three other waiters and a manager passed us by, none of them noticing that the soup had not been served. We give up and do it ourselves.

Then the food. Roast Pipa duck was delivered with the stir-fried spinach (vegetable dishes are usually served last), as well as the rice. The duck had not been flattened and dried enough, and the spinach much too salty. And, yes, the rice was self-service. The third dish, a beef and mushroom stirfry on a hot plate, comes shortly after, a seemingly smaller portion to the one served to the neighbouring table. The meat had been so tenderised with bicarb, its appearance was the part that resembled beef. The fourth, braised sea cucumber with prawn roe in a hot pot, came when we had almost finished all the other dishes. The sea cucumber pieces were a bright orange instead of a mellow brown; the taste was, however, acceptable.

It took a good 15 minutes after clearing all the food on the table for the wait staff to realise we were done, and another 5 before they did anything about it. While for our neighbouring table dessert consisted of sweet soup, biscuits and a moderate-sized fruit platter for their party of 4, we were only presented with a small offering of sliced fruit (5 pieces each of orange, rockmelon and watermelon). Seeing that our chances of getting anything more than that were next to none, we call for the bill, met again by a sour and spiteful cashier who looked on with distain as the credit card was replaced by cash. No thanks, no smiles, only looks of spite and disgust as we walked out of the restaurant.

Sure, it wasn't a expensive meal, the bill coming to less than $30 per person. But for the restaurant's former reputation, location, and target market, paying $30 per head is, in my opinion, too much. Apart from the delivery of food, all other requests were met with disgruntledness and distain. It was as though we were not guests at their restaurant, but unwelcomed gatecrashers who were squandering their food. Not to mention the hygiene--or lack thereof. Beneath its seemingly shiny exterior is a restaurant which is crumbling, from its bathrooms to its management. Considering last time they tried to charge me tea and rice even though I showed up at the restaurant after the bill had been called, I'm more convinced than ever to avoid that place like the plague from now on.

So, dear reader, having heard my tale, would you prefer to be warned, or to discover the disaster for yourself?

quick meals

There is always a batch of wontons in my freezer. Always.

While most of my friends stock up on Mee Goreng or Nissin noodles when they're on special, chances are I'd be sitting at my desk endlessly wrapping wontons, freezing them one tray at a time.

Why?

I don't know.

Growing up in a family that ate predominantly Shanghainese food even though we lived in Hong Kong, the difference between Chinese cuisine styles have occasionally stumped my 2-and-a-half year old self. Like why are the wonton wrappers we use white instead of yellow? Why do we not put prawn mince in the filling? And why do we have veges in the filling? And why are wonton wrappers square while dumpling (jiao zi) wrappers are round?

Why? Why? Why?

...and that's how my nickname, yygall, came into existence.

And also signified how much interest I had in food since a young age.

I remember on one occasion insisting on stir-frying my own fried rice, while mum held me in her arms. And on another cool spring day watching mum wrap wontons at amazing speed. I tried to learn, but honestly can't remember how mine turned out. It probably wasn't until age 7 or so that I could finally do it and the resulting wontons (at least, cooked ones) were indistinguishable from Mum's. To this day our uncooked wontons still look different: most of the time hers would have 2 or 3 dimples, while mine would have 1 or 2. But I've gotten much better at making the filling: one taste, and the difference is there.



Celery, carrot, waterchestnut, shiitake mushroom and pork wontons

Wonton fillings are various, and occasionally unexpected. In Shanghai, a lot of "fast food" stores would have a small collection of fillings, from the 三鮮(San Xian, with pork, dried freshwater prawn or kai yang and preserved vegetable; another popular combination is freshwater fish, prawn and pork mince) to various 菜肉 (vegetable and meat) combinations, depending on what's in season. Most vegetables can be used in the filling, though traditionally leafy greens that aren't bitter, are fresh and fragrant are preferred.

One of my favourites is 薺菜肉餛飩. Shepard's purse is quite popular in Shanghai-style home cooking, for its fragrance and texture. Only the youngest of shoots are used, though; and it's almost never served to pregnant or breastfeeding women, or those with heart disorders (Chinese medicine principles). Another favourite is water celery and pork: water celery is like a smaller, condensed version of normal supermarket variety celery, with most stalks not longer than 30cm and as thick as a pencil. It's refreshing, light, crunchy and oh-so-fragrant; something I can eat every day and not get sick of. Ever.




But, having not yet found water celery yet, this combination of water chestnuts and celery is almost as good. It's crunchy, refreshing, colourful, and fragrant; the combination of flavours and aromas from the pork and shiitake is almost perfect. And the carrot...it does little in terms of taste and texture, but adds that extra little something visually: after all, we eat with the eyes as well as with our sense of taste and smell.

Why have instant noodles, when you can have this instead?


Celery and Pork Wontons
Makes 80
2 packets of Double Merino Shanghai Wonton wrappers
500g pork mince
1 egg
1/4 celery, finely chopped
10-12 water chestnuts*, smashed then chopped
1/3 carrot, finely diced
4 medium-sized dried shiitake mushrooms, soaked overnight, finely diced

1 Tbsp Shaoxing cooking wine
2 tspn salt
large pinch of finely ground white pepper
2 tspn sugar
1 Tbsp water
1 Tbsp sesame oil

*Frozen water chestnuts are available in the freezer section of some, if not most Asian groceries. They're white, round, almost pebble like in appearance. To thaw, just pop a few in a freezer bag, tie it up, then submerge in a bowl of cold water - this prevents them from being overly waterlogged. Pare off any of the skin that may be on (it's dark brown and woody and inedible), smash with the back of a knife (preferably a cleaver of sorts), then roughly chop.

In a large mixing bowl, place the pork mince, cooking wine, salt, pepper, sugar, and mix through. Beat in the egg and water, mix vigorously until the mince is reminiscent of a sticky dough. Add the sesame oil and mix through til well dispersed. Add the chopped vegetables and mix thoroughly.
For more even distribution of filling, divide the mix into 16 lots (halve the mix 4 times), each lot should have enough filling for 5 wontons.
To wrap, the easiest way is to fold diagonally, then press the 2 corners on the hypotenuse (longest side) together in the middle.
To cook, place the wontons in a large pot of boiling water (no more than 20 at a time), stirring gently but constantly during the first few minutes on medium to high heat. Once it returns to the boil, add 1/2 cup of cold tap water for every 10 wontons. Once it comes to boil again, turn off the heat and serve immediately.
The traditional base for wontons is pork bone soup, but it chicken soup, or even watered down soy sauce with a smidgeon of sesame oil can be used. No dipping sauce required.

がむしゃら

Chronic Ramen.

Two simple words that, somehow, managed to nag me endlessly for weeks, ever since I came across the first blog post on Gamushara (or, phonetically, Gumshara). The thought of thick, tonkotsu (pork bone) stock, chashu and ramen haunted my mind ever since.

To me, anything with yellow noodles is a reminder of Dad. My father is a big noodle lover. A gourmet in his own right. Most of my earliest memories involve food, all thanks to him. On one occasion during my grandfather's visit to HK, he drove his Mercedes to this Dai Pai Dong (HK street vendor) for beef noodles after dinner one night. Just him, and his father-in-law. It was so good, my grandfather talked about it to no end, claiming that the beef noodles he had in HK was "the best in the universe". Nothing else compared, according to Grandad. And it irked me to no end that Dad never once thought of taking me there fo a bowl of beef noodles. It was a grudge I held until last year. And man were they good.

Noodles, to be more precise, ramen, formed one of the two reasons for him visiting Japan (the other being onsen, but that's somewhat a different story). Last year it happened twice: once in January, and the second time in December. Both times I was assigned the task of planning the itiniery (he had bought airfares+accommodation, not tour group, because "my daughter speaks Japanese"), and his only request was for ramen. So instead of going to Tsukiji for sushi and sashimi, we loitered around Shibuya and Shinjuku looking for obscure noodle stands. It irked my mum and aunt so much they decided to take matters into their own hands and went to a kaiten sushi for our last meal in Tokyo, leaving Dad and I to enjoy steaming bowls of ramen with only a plastic sheet between our backs and the hurling winter winds outside.

But the best ramen we've had so far was in Osaka, at a place called Kiou Ramen (亀王らーめん). The 黑肉一本面 had a big piece of Kuroniku, their special boneless pork rib chunk which rested on a steaming bowl of noodles, with the usual sides in a white, thick tonkotsu stock. It was so good we were there for two nights in a row. Had the kid from the other family we were travelling with not gotten ill from indigestion (he ate 2 bowls of ramen the previous night), we probably would've made it three.

So, when Gamushara began appearing on blog posts everywhere (well, almost), I wanted to check it out for myself. See what the fuss was about. And if it lived up to the amazing ramen I've had over the years.

Condiments (self-serve, from left to right): roasted sesame seeds, pickled garlic, pickled ginger.

It was Sunday, and way past lunchtime, so the food court was relatively empty. I spotted the stall at once upon entering the food court: all I could see was the back of a man slaving over a pot of stock, who, upon seeing me with eyes at the back of his head or something, turned around and greeted me with a smile. Orders were promptly taken, and about 5 minutes later the bell was rung.

"If the soup is too thick, just bring it back and I'll thin it down for you."

Tonkotsu Ramen ($8.50) with half-cooked egg ($1.50)

I look down on the tray, and can't help but smile. The stock would be the least of my problems: it was just what I wanted. Thick, collagen-rich, it slid over my tongue and lingered on my tastebuds like velvet. It was almost as good as what I had tasted in Japan, or anywhere, for that matter. The chashu was much leaner than a lot of the chashu elsewhere-it had more meat and less fat, which was the way I liked it. And this was before I tasted the noodles.

Oh, the noodles.

The thick tonkotsu stock clung to each strand, like a child refusing to let go of their parents on the first day of school. It carried the richness and flavour of the stock perfectly; and I was done with half the bowl before realising that the condiments remained untouched on the side. Hastily they were added, and what resulted was a nuttier, richer, with the hint and bite of ginger and garlic which merely elevated the experience. Stares came from the neighbouring table, wondering why this silly little girl sitting on her own with three humungous bags was grinning like an idiot while eating her bowl of noodles.

Ramen...no more.

Somehow, I managed to finish the entire bowl. It was only then that I started to feel guilty, remembering all the tales of unfinished ramen and realising my expanding appetite...and gluttony. That I had a special occasion dress to fit into at the end of the week. That I was supposed to be on a "diet" of sorts. That thick, collagen-filled bowls of ramen was definitely NOT diet food.

But the heck with diets. Dad would approve, though he may want a thinner soup. Which means it was worth every single mouthful. And every cent of the $10 I paid.

Gamushara (Gumshara) Ramen

25-29 Dixon Street,

Haymarket

Closed Mondays

Food Court is open 10am-10pm, 7 days.