Mention chicken rice to any Singaporean and it is likely that you elicit a paean to what many consider the national dish of Singapore (there are surprisingly many of those). Originating from the island of Hainan, from which many immigrants made their way to Singapore – the dish is simplicity itself. Whole chickens are boiled in a pork and chicken bone stock liberally laced with cloves of garlic and ginger. Separately, rice is prepared with a similar chicken stock – resulting in an oily but intensely flavourful rice. Both chicken and rice are served together, typically with slices of cucumber and soup broth derived from the stock. It is also common to eat this with chilli sauce and dark soya sauce as dipping condiments.
Because of its simplicity, I am of the opinion that there are no bad versions of this dish in Singapore. You just wouldn’t be in business otherwise – the competition would weed you out. You can’t compete on price because chicken rice is so commoditised that it is cheap almost everywhere. There are mediocre ones, sure, but you would have to know your stuff to tell them apart. And even then, the less fussy among us would definitely still eat those versions gladly.
The good versions, though, are a joy to eat, and take care in the preparation of all the different elements of the dish: the chicken, the rice, the chilli sauce, the soya sauce and the soup. I count myself very fortunate in the fact that in the immediate vicinity of my office there are several stars of the chicken rice world. As if lunchtime decisions weren’t difficult enough. But you don’t see me complaining.
Chin Chin
Chin Chin is located near the end of Purvis St, a (comparatively) large eating house always bustling at meal-times. If I had to pick a representative chicken rice as a first-time experience for anyone, this might be it. Both their boiled and roasted chicken are very good without being spectacular, the soup is very tasty, and the rice decent enough. Neither the rice nor the meats are overly oily, and the portions enough to satisfy without being too much. They also have evolved into a more typical tze char place and have a wider menu of alternative and side dishes than the other places on this review. Almost everything is decent to good, and I have rarely been disappointed going here. A trusty fallback with efficient service.
Yet Con
Directly across the street from Chin Chin, this is an old-school, more traditional Hainanese eating house. The furniture and the décor are both stuck in decades past, and the old man at the counter still insists on tabulating your total bill with the use of an abacus. You feel as if you’ve stepped into a time warp. But no matter what time of day you go there, there is often always a line, and with good reason. Yet Con is a little more traditionally Hainanese in that they use older birds, which tend to be springier and have a stronger poultry taste. Not everybody likes this: the Cantonese tend to like younger birds, which have more tender meat; and most palates in Singapore have been attuned to the milder, more agreeable taste of these younger birds. Yet Con also only does their chicken one style – boiled in stock – so there are no options of the roasted variety or other braised meats. But they do have an assortment of great Hainanese side dishes, including a spectacular Hainanese pork chop in tomato sauce; and the soup they provide with your meal is good and strong and has no hint of MSG or bouillon – which sadly happens to be a common shortcut taken by many others.
Old Swee Kee
There are names, and then there are names. Long before marketing became a management discipline, one brand stood head and shoulders above the rest in chicken rice hawker history. Swee Kee is to chicken rice what Chanel is to haute couture and Cartier is to timepieces: an affirmation of history, tradition and above all, excellence. But the word on the street is that the original Swee Kee clan has long since exited the business and hung up their cleavers, leaving a network of disciples, former cooks and distant relatives to carry on the tradition. And banking on the name is not such a bad idea – I am sure many of the people who come here are drawn by its allure. Old Swee Kee is located on Seah St across from Raffles Hotel – another venerable name in Singapore’s history, but I am unsure of its origins and its connection to the the real Swee Kee. Yet the stall is never very crowded, and from the one time I went there I could see why. All the components of the dish here are quite ordinary – not bad, but just ordinary. And in the chicken rice world, ordinary is a big sin.
Sin Swee Kee
Literally the “New Swee Kee”, this is located down the street from Old Swee Kee and has done a little better. It’s the age-old sales trick of bundling a good product with a bunch of other useless ones to increase revenue. I say this in jest, but in actual fact Sin Swee Kee does offer a “degustation” of chicken together with other various side dishes for parties of 4, 5, or 6. I’m not sure if you can order a la carte, and of the side dishes that I have tried, none have been spectacular apart from the steamed egg, and really, how hard can that dish be? In any case, the chicken here is very decent, and they provide ground garlic laced with spring onions that is a very delectable condiment indeed. The rice is somewhat lacklustre, and the soup almost devoid of flavour, but if you’re not a stuck-up snob like I am, you would enjoy this place very much.
I may have been harsher on the latter two stalls, but in actual fact if you take them in comparison with any other chicken rice versions across the island, I am sure they would be up there. But competition is stiff in the Bugis / City Hall area, and sometimes even good is not good enough. Objectively, I think the best version of chicken rice in Singapore is Tian Tian at Maxwell Hawker Centre; and personally my favourite is the chicken rice on the fifth floor of Far East Shopping Centre, but the versions around my workplace leave me no shortage of very respectable options if ever I crave this dish.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Random mobile uploads
132 mee pok in Siglap, one of the few reasons I am glad to be alive.
A "mantou" at Kim Moh all by its lonely self, after we have polished off the rest of them.
"White" Lor Mee at a Tsinghua coffeeshop in Little India.
Having a beer at Paulaner.
There is so much more fruit in my diet now, I love it.
Longans.
Durians.
Loosely translated as "Saliva Chicken".
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Golden Goose
Yung Kee
32-40 Wellington St
Central, Hong Kong
+852 2522 1624
Almost every culture, every cuisine – wherever in the world you go – has roasted meat of some form. There is something decidedly primal about this, and despite it being theoretically such a simple task – applying heat to meat – it has inspired a wide variety of styles and techniques. From Texas to Tokyo, wood fires to charcoal fires, perhaps the only common denominator is the love of food.
I was recently in Hong Kong for work, and made a trip to Yung Kee. An “establishment” restaurant famous for its roast goose, Yung Kee has been around since World War II and has made the transformation from sidewalk “dai pai dong” to multi-level banquet ball. It is one of those places that generates lots of commentary, some good and some bad; and this has increased exponentially ever since the Michelin Guide awarded it one star. But I noticed that even the people who rail against it and how its standards have slipped often still wind up going there anyway – so I knew it was worth a shot.
Yung Kee is housed in a grand building on the outskirts of Lan Kwai Fong, an area littered with bars and dominated by expatriates. Apparently you get seated – depending on how important you are or how regular a customer – on different floors within the building. The 4th floor VIP area is the most desirable, followed by the ground floor, which is in full view of the street. If you are unlucky enough to get banished to the second or third floors, not only should you expect inferior service but also inferior food. In Yung Kee as in many large Chinese restaurants, this customer segmentation happens very often. Because the average Chinese restaurant does hundreds if not thousands of covers each night, only a small portion of the food is actually prepared, or even passes through the hands of the head chef. The likelihood of your food being prepared by the head, or even the senior chefs, corresponds to where you are seated. That is why locals are so picky about where they sit. As a rule of thumb, if you see any expatriates in your section, always ask to be reseated.
By a stroke of luck, we were sent to the 4th floor even though we were by no means important – much less very important. But we were not complaining. We sat in the general area, facing a wall of doors that led to private rooms; and every time those doors were opened for food to be brought in, I could see and hear much merriment, and half-expected a celebrity to walk out. What recession, indeed. The restaurant was not short on customers, hustling and bustling with families, couples and all manner of food enthusiasts. There is a certain look to the true local Hong Konger - people whose families have been in HK for generations – and almost everyone on the 4th floor had that look.
Ordering tea in a Chinese restaurant when it is the first time you are eating with your dining companions is always tricky. I like to drink puer or tieguanyin; but those are not always to everyone’s tastes. Jasmine tea is always a good compromise, but the lowest common denominator is chrysanthemum. Now, I like chrysanthemum tea, but I get mildly annoyed when I have to drink it when there are other more delicious options available. In my mind, chrysanthemum is for children who have not acquired the taste for more refined teas.
But it is the roast goose we are there for – and it does not disappoint. Goose is similar in taste to duck, but typically fattier and gamier. Yung Kee’s version is smothered in a sweet plum sauce and served on a bed of soy beans. The meat is moist, with just enough fibre to make you chew, and the glossy, lacquered skin is this side short of sinful.
In the background of the photo is their suckling pig, which was decent as well. You can always judge Cantonese restaurants by their roast meats, and for some it seems as though there isn’t much else worth eating. The tofu dish that we ordered was mildly disappointing; I think you have to go to mainland China or Taiwan for good tofu. But everything else was well executed, and while the meal was not earth-shattering one could hardly find fault with it. We ordered a dish of steamed egg with conpoy that convinced me once again, if I had needed any convincing, that simplicity is always better.
The service was calm and efficient, which was quite admirable given that it often seems nigh-on impossible to retain your calm working in an environment like the average Chinese restaurant. The captain who attended to us had a perpetual look of placid composure on her face, and attended to our every need smartly and wordlessly. It made me smile to myself just imagining her walking through the doors leading to the kitchen and yelling at the runners for her food, which I have little doubt she did once out of sight.
When all was said and done there were no regrets visiting Yung Kee. It could have been better, but it also could have been a lot worse. Prices were high, but not high enough to call them exorbitant. If anything, this Hong Kong institution is worth visiting just for the roast goose alone. Just remember to decline if you are asked to sit on the second or third floors.
UPDATE: Another picture:
32-40 Wellington St
Central, Hong Kong
+852 2522 1624
Almost every culture, every cuisine – wherever in the world you go – has roasted meat of some form. There is something decidedly primal about this, and despite it being theoretically such a simple task – applying heat to meat – it has inspired a wide variety of styles and techniques. From Texas to Tokyo, wood fires to charcoal fires, perhaps the only common denominator is the love of food.
I was recently in Hong Kong for work, and made a trip to Yung Kee. An “establishment” restaurant famous for its roast goose, Yung Kee has been around since World War II and has made the transformation from sidewalk “dai pai dong” to multi-level banquet ball. It is one of those places that generates lots of commentary, some good and some bad; and this has increased exponentially ever since the Michelin Guide awarded it one star. But I noticed that even the people who rail against it and how its standards have slipped often still wind up going there anyway – so I knew it was worth a shot.
Yung Kee is housed in a grand building on the outskirts of Lan Kwai Fong, an area littered with bars and dominated by expatriates. Apparently you get seated – depending on how important you are or how regular a customer – on different floors within the building. The 4th floor VIP area is the most desirable, followed by the ground floor, which is in full view of the street. If you are unlucky enough to get banished to the second or third floors, not only should you expect inferior service but also inferior food. In Yung Kee as in many large Chinese restaurants, this customer segmentation happens very often. Because the average Chinese restaurant does hundreds if not thousands of covers each night, only a small portion of the food is actually prepared, or even passes through the hands of the head chef. The likelihood of your food being prepared by the head, or even the senior chefs, corresponds to where you are seated. That is why locals are so picky about where they sit. As a rule of thumb, if you see any expatriates in your section, always ask to be reseated.
By a stroke of luck, we were sent to the 4th floor even though we were by no means important – much less very important. But we were not complaining. We sat in the general area, facing a wall of doors that led to private rooms; and every time those doors were opened for food to be brought in, I could see and hear much merriment, and half-expected a celebrity to walk out. What recession, indeed. The restaurant was not short on customers, hustling and bustling with families, couples and all manner of food enthusiasts. There is a certain look to the true local Hong Konger - people whose families have been in HK for generations – and almost everyone on the 4th floor had that look.
Ordering tea in a Chinese restaurant when it is the first time you are eating with your dining companions is always tricky. I like to drink puer or tieguanyin; but those are not always to everyone’s tastes. Jasmine tea is always a good compromise, but the lowest common denominator is chrysanthemum. Now, I like chrysanthemum tea, but I get mildly annoyed when I have to drink it when there are other more delicious options available. In my mind, chrysanthemum is for children who have not acquired the taste for more refined teas.
But it is the roast goose we are there for – and it does not disappoint. Goose is similar in taste to duck, but typically fattier and gamier. Yung Kee’s version is smothered in a sweet plum sauce and served on a bed of soy beans. The meat is moist, with just enough fibre to make you chew, and the glossy, lacquered skin is this side short of sinful.
In the background of the photo is their suckling pig, which was decent as well. You can always judge Cantonese restaurants by their roast meats, and for some it seems as though there isn’t much else worth eating. The tofu dish that we ordered was mildly disappointing; I think you have to go to mainland China or Taiwan for good tofu. But everything else was well executed, and while the meal was not earth-shattering one could hardly find fault with it. We ordered a dish of steamed egg with conpoy that convinced me once again, if I had needed any convincing, that simplicity is always better.
The service was calm and efficient, which was quite admirable given that it often seems nigh-on impossible to retain your calm working in an environment like the average Chinese restaurant. The captain who attended to us had a perpetual look of placid composure on her face, and attended to our every need smartly and wordlessly. It made me smile to myself just imagining her walking through the doors leading to the kitchen and yelling at the runners for her food, which I have little doubt she did once out of sight.
When all was said and done there were no regrets visiting Yung Kee. It could have been better, but it also could have been a lot worse. Prices were high, but not high enough to call them exorbitant. If anything, this Hong Kong institution is worth visiting just for the roast goose alone. Just remember to decline if you are asked to sit on the second or third floors.
UPDATE: Another picture:
Thursday, May 07, 2009
My kingdom for a Wallaby yogurt!
When I first left Singapore for the US to go to college, it took me a while before I noticed that my diet had fundamentally changed. I suppose I was still a growing boy – concerned with quantity over quality, and blissfully oblivious to the impact of such a diet change to my physique and physiology. That’s right, I’m blaming Nature for putting on so much weight. But about eight or nine months into college, I noticed just what a drastic change I had wrought in the food I was putting in my mouth – and its effect on me.
There was the weight gain, obviously. But fundamentally I had gone from a place where carbohydrates were the focus of the meal (starches like rice and noodles) to one where proteins were the main focus. I ate my vegetables raw (if at all) instead of cooked, and my intake of fruits dropped drastically. It proved surprisingly difficult to get fresh fruit in Providence. I’m not sure how this affected my body, but I’m sure it must have.
I say that because I an undergoing the reverse change right now, and I am now more acutely aware of how I am adjusting to the Singaporean diet. After such an extended period of time away – most of it spent eating well – there are things that I am slowly getting used to again. There is the spice, for example. I am relearning to love eating everything topped with red or green chillies pickled in soy sauce. Cooks here also tend to season everything on a sweeter note, which was comfortingly familiar when I first returned, but now takes some wrestling with. Little things – but for some reason I am so much more aware of them now.
And there are also some things I’ve left behind that I miss. I miss a good sandwich. There are many times when I say to myself that I could really go for a nice sandwich, some honey mustard, chips and a bottle of Nantucket Nectars Big Cranberry juice. And there isn’t a lot of cheese in the Singaporean diet, so I miss that too. But one of the things that I miss the most is Wallaby organic yogurt.
Hunter first introduced me to Wallaby yogurt, and I think he succeeded where I failed subsequently because he did the soft sell on me. Later when I became a fan of the yogurt I would literally grab people by the arm and yell at them to try this yogurt. I don’t think I converted very many people that way. But I remember Hunter telling me, almost offhandedly, that Matthew had turned him on to a new brand of yogurt and it was good. That was all he said. A few days later I was at Whole Foods when I saw the yogurt he was talking about and bought a couple to try, on a whim. I didn’t look back.
According to their website, Wallaby yogurt was inspired by the creators’ visit to Australia (hence the name) and the creamy-style yogurt that is apparently available there. The difference, allegedly, is that gelatins are not added to Wallaby yogurt to thicken it, but instead it undergoes a slow cooking process to give it a smooth, creamy texture.
Back in the days when I was working from home, I would have a Wallaby yogurt most days for breakfast. One of the amazing things about yogurt is that it is a multi-task enabler. You don’t have to be in one place to eat it, and you certainly don’t have to focus to enjoy it. Come to think of it, I was almost always doing something else while eating Wallaby yogurt. I ate it while reading the paper, or my email. I ate it while leisurely strolling out to get the mail. I ate it as I paced around my living room, talking on the phone. I ate it standing up in the kitchen, sometimes with the refrigerator door still ajar. One of my favourite parts was carefully, meticulously scraping the bottom of the cup to get every last drop of the yogurt, and then licking the back of the spoon.
I liked the single flavour ones the best (peach, blueberry, lemon) but the more exotic and mixed ones weren’t too shabby either. The creamy mouthfeel is hard to beat; and they were all just sweet enough, no more and no less, unlike most commercial fruit-flavoured yogurts that are too sweet for me.
There is nothing in Singapore that comes close.
There was the weight gain, obviously. But fundamentally I had gone from a place where carbohydrates were the focus of the meal (starches like rice and noodles) to one where proteins were the main focus. I ate my vegetables raw (if at all) instead of cooked, and my intake of fruits dropped drastically. It proved surprisingly difficult to get fresh fruit in Providence. I’m not sure how this affected my body, but I’m sure it must have.
I say that because I an undergoing the reverse change right now, and I am now more acutely aware of how I am adjusting to the Singaporean diet. After such an extended period of time away – most of it spent eating well – there are things that I am slowly getting used to again. There is the spice, for example. I am relearning to love eating everything topped with red or green chillies pickled in soy sauce. Cooks here also tend to season everything on a sweeter note, which was comfortingly familiar when I first returned, but now takes some wrestling with. Little things – but for some reason I am so much more aware of them now.
And there are also some things I’ve left behind that I miss. I miss a good sandwich. There are many times when I say to myself that I could really go for a nice sandwich, some honey mustard, chips and a bottle of Nantucket Nectars Big Cranberry juice. And there isn’t a lot of cheese in the Singaporean diet, so I miss that too. But one of the things that I miss the most is Wallaby organic yogurt.
Hunter first introduced me to Wallaby yogurt, and I think he succeeded where I failed subsequently because he did the soft sell on me. Later when I became a fan of the yogurt I would literally grab people by the arm and yell at them to try this yogurt. I don’t think I converted very many people that way. But I remember Hunter telling me, almost offhandedly, that Matthew had turned him on to a new brand of yogurt and it was good. That was all he said. A few days later I was at Whole Foods when I saw the yogurt he was talking about and bought a couple to try, on a whim. I didn’t look back.
According to their website, Wallaby yogurt was inspired by the creators’ visit to Australia (hence the name) and the creamy-style yogurt that is apparently available there. The difference, allegedly, is that gelatins are not added to Wallaby yogurt to thicken it, but instead it undergoes a slow cooking process to give it a smooth, creamy texture.
Back in the days when I was working from home, I would have a Wallaby yogurt most days for breakfast. One of the amazing things about yogurt is that it is a multi-task enabler. You don’t have to be in one place to eat it, and you certainly don’t have to focus to enjoy it. Come to think of it, I was almost always doing something else while eating Wallaby yogurt. I ate it while reading the paper, or my email. I ate it while leisurely strolling out to get the mail. I ate it as I paced around my living room, talking on the phone. I ate it standing up in the kitchen, sometimes with the refrigerator door still ajar. One of my favourite parts was carefully, meticulously scraping the bottom of the cup to get every last drop of the yogurt, and then licking the back of the spoon.
I liked the single flavour ones the best (peach, blueberry, lemon) but the more exotic and mixed ones weren’t too shabby either. The creamy mouthfeel is hard to beat; and they were all just sweet enough, no more and no less, unlike most commercial fruit-flavoured yogurts that are too sweet for me.
There is nothing in Singapore that comes close.
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