Merry Christmas

It's shorts and tees on the beach this Australian Christmas.

When I finally decided not to spend the rest of my life single and fancy free, I started internet dating eligible bachelors from the world over but working in Singapore. And what they say is really very true: within the first fifteen minutes of meeting the guys in person, you can tell if there's the right chemistry, even if it's as simple as sharing mutual feelings about Christmas.

That's right: Christmas. Those who came from the northern hemisphere equate the yule tide season with neighbourhoods covered with glistering snow, sitting round open log fires toasting each other with egg nog. And they have a general agreement that spending that time of the year in my tropical island home a far cry from the joys of a winter wonderland.

So it was a welcome relief to discover, when I first met hubby at Borders Bistro nearly eight years ago, we shared the same sentiments about a summery celebration in December. Yes, South Australia blisters with a dry heat that can hoover around the low side of 40 degrees Celsius, drying the meadows to a brownish terrain. Then the Christmas lunch is often partaken under an open air pavilion on the ranch, as the hungry flies buzz around eyeing the summery spread.

And you get raw salads lightly dressed with Tetsuya's finest concoctions, pickled beet roots straight from the bottle and barbecue steak and lamb chops washed down with a chilled Australian shiraz comes along side the roast turkey and leg of ham. And the children get home-made raspberry rippled ice-cream served with their share of yule tide log cake. Just right for even a X'mas celebration in Singapore, should family decide to congregate in Asia for next December in 2012.

Hubby could never imagine not serving a summery fare in our little slice of home in the tropics.

Stock it Up?

Korrs: as simple to use as the setting sun.

I used to collect the breast bones, when I buy the fillets of breast meat, from the chicken stores in the wet markets; for the sole purpose of making my own stock. And it was a stock with a difference: there's no added vegetables at all, despite what Julia Child and Michael Smith wax on about using veggies to add flavour - so, no carrots, no celery sticks. Instead, the pot of water is simply filled with chicken breast bones, and this successfully intensifies the chicken essence.

However, I find it a pain to stock up on my home-made chicken essence. It takes up too much room in my freezer (they have to be frozen because I use a recipe that requires it only once in a while). And I hate thawing out the frozen packets of liquid only to discover that it wasn't necessary to have thawed two whole packets - that was just way too much stock.

So I've since packed up my stock pot and have now resorted to using Korr's cubes of chicken essence. The primary rule in this instance is very simple; whatever volume of stock is required by a recipe, I use the same measure of water and melt into that a single cube of Korr's magic ingredient.

And that concentrates the flavour so much, I don't need to season my dish with salt and pepper. And this rule of thumb I adhere to regardless of whether I am stirring up some warm rice salad, making the pea salsa sauce to dress my salmon or baking limey chicken in a very hot oven. It's definitely a cube for what I dish for a dinner for two.

Even then, there's a word of caution here: don't automatically think that you need to triple the cubes from Korr when you're now serving six. The liquid and stock cube ratio isn't a linear progression. Two cubes is plenty for   half a dozen seated for dinner, or even seven.

Harissa is In

So delicious harissa draws the birds from their roosts.

I first came across harissa as an ingredient in my cookbook on Moroccan recipes. But even though it had a recipe on spooning out a home-made version to use as a spice, I had resisted from making and bottling it for two reasons. For one, I cook Moroccan once in a blue moon and the home-made version stores for only three months. For another, when I do cook a dish from that part of the world, I've made do swapping Nonya curry paste for this chilli paste of a North Tunisian origin.

But all that was about to change when I chanced upon commercially bottled harissa in a local supermarket in the heart of Paddington in Sydney, Australia. Using it for the first time authentico in my home-cooked dish opened up my taste buds to the essence of Moroccan flavours. It is as far a cry from a Nonya curry paste as the Arctic is to the Amazon jungle.

And for the first time, I can understand why harissa is so popular and vital an ingredient in the very souls of African cuisine; as I can now comprehend its migration and nestling down in the domestic and commercial kitchens of Morocco. Even the hearths in Europe are opening their doors to this amazing spicy concoction for their fusion cuisine.

So I've made up my mind that when the bought bottle of harissa eventually runs out, I'll put my nose into that Moroccan cook book and whip some up of my own. And yes, that's the only way I can ensure a constant ready supply: the shops in Singapore haven't caught on to stocking this kitchen miracle yet.

Pasta Sauces

Pasta: As comforting as the Tasmanian woods.

We grace our dining table with pasta dishes on a weekly basis, as it's comfort food for my hubby and they tend to follow very simple recipes. So besides loving these dishes, it gives me opportunity to veg out in my kitchen on a lazy Sunday.

So I'm quite happy to use commercially bottled pasta sauces. Be it a tomato base with a lovely mushroom flavour, or one with garlic and basil. But I move these flavours from the acceptable to the extraordinary by enhancing their flavours. That means a dash of shiraz and stirring in tons of grated mature cheddar. Other times I spice up the tomato sauce with minced olives and crispy bacon bits. Still others I melt the finely chopped anchovies into the sauce.

But I always stop short of buying bottled cream-based pasta sauces, regardless of its added flavours. I believe the canning process destroys the fulfilling taste of fresh cream. And that is the essence of creamy pasta sauces - the cream, be it single or double, must be added to the pasta the moment the milk has been processed into its final consistency. Fresh is yum.

And so I stick to the rule of building my creamy pastas from scratch. And that is as simple as tossing fresh cream into the pot of Italian noodles. And letting the stir fried mushrooms and bacon bits to flavour the dish. Or use capers and dill to offer contrast to generous chunks of baked salmon.

Since both types of pasta sauces are thus simply simple to dish out, this comfort food is a staple when we go rent a self-contained cottage for a holiday. There's certainly nothing move comforting than chowing down on a generous serve of well-sauced fettucini by a log fire, its aromatic scent perfuming the air.

Lemons & Limes

Even among frogs, differences are only skin deep.

The minister officiating my wedding ceremony. four and a half years ago, wanted to talk about the challenges of a cross-racial marriage. We decided against it as the differences he alluded to are only skin deep. So he went on to talk about the hills we'll climb growing old together, after all in his mind I was already 43 and my hubby to be was seven years older. This topic wasn't any better but at least he was now focusing on individual differences rather than just racial ones.

And so it is with lemons and limes. Think west, and you tend to mention lemonade, pan seared salmon with caramelized lemon; even a lemony-citrus hot toddy as a remedy for the common cold. Think east, and you bring up lime juice as the thirst quencher for a hot and spicy curry dinner, lime as an a vital ingredient for a Viet inspired nan jin chicken and a sprinkling of this green citrus to liven up the palate for a serving of freshly stir-fried char kway teow.

But just as hubby and I are both homo sapiens, so are lemons and limes sour citrus fruits. The differences are really only skin deep. And that means that we can safely swap a lemon for a lime and vice versa while preparing a dish. So the next time you are marinating freshly peeled ocean fresh prawns with salt and paprika, reach instead for the limes. And when you want to twang up the flavours for oyster sauced deep fried chicken wings, squeeze the juice out of some lemons instead.

And when you have a little of both citrus fruits, mix the two together. For what's better than home-made lemonade or lime juice? Well, a fresh batch of lemon lime of course! You get the best of both worlds in one thirst-quenching, palate-cleansing drink.

Fresh Greens are In

Veggies as lushly green as the Malayan rain forest.

Before my family converted to Christianity, we’d frequent the Chinese temples for ancestral worship. And that was culminated by a vegetarian lunch on temple grounds. And I was always amazed by the variations of vegetarian mock meats on the nuns’ menu. Delicious though they were, I’ve always had a preference for the honesty of a traditional vegetable dish.

So in my kitchen, I ensure the dominant green showcases its dominant taste. This is one principle I apply to all my fresh and cooked salads. Hence, the anchovies play a secondary role seasoning my cauliflower dish, as the slivers of almonds do in the way I dish out my broccoli.

In a raw apple slaw, the spritely green koo chye serves only to enhance the flavours of the finely chopped cabbage. And the spring onions are only added into a serve of Asian greens for the sole purpose of highlighting the contrasting crunch of the blanched snow peas swimming daintily in a sprinkling of fragrantly light soy sauce.

Even when King Island blue cheese is added to a refreshing rocket and Peckham pear salad, its prime presence is to sharply define their abundance of distinct flavours, when dress with extra virgin olive oil and coyly aged balsamic vinegar.

And that is the crux of this message: the authentic flavours of garden fresh greens deserve to be showcased. Over powering them with too many added ingredients does them a grave injustice, for the fresh greens are in.

This Thing with Fresh Mussels

Mussels just cooked to the freshness of its origins.

Picture this: at low tide, the rock pools are filled with eight-pronged starfish trying hard to stay immersed in the sea waters, and the delectable baby mussels are clamped shut till the tides return to shore. So it’s little wonder that Eden’s coastline is dotted with mussel farms and its restaurant with wharf views offer them truly fresh as appetizers and mains.

What a great promise for a divine dinner watching the sun setting below the dreamy blue horizon. But it is a promise unfulfilled: the mussels were rubbery and tasteless from spending too much time in the cooking pot. It’s only saving grace was the sumptuous new Asian slightly spicy soup in which the mussels are cooked.

It is doubly disappointing because I have three great ways to serve mussels to my dinner guests’ satisfaction. The first is inspired by the way the restaurant, Three Chimneys, prepares its mussels in the Belgium (European?) traditional fashion: speedily poached in a dry chardonnay with hearty chunks of celery, carrots and shallots. The moment their mussel shells gap open, they’re equally speedily served.

But that is out rivaled by a wonderfully modern and equally simple Australian take: it smolders the fresh mussels in sparkling verjuice and creamy basil-infused tomato passata. Again, the mussels are cooked a relatively short time, so that they retain their orangey muscle and keep its insides truly creamy.

That both features must be retained holds true even when the raw mussels are added into a Spanish paella. For only then can it lend its wonderful flavour to complement the seasoned rice and remain a tender contrast to the pleasantly spiced grainy grains.

So I’ll drink to my good fortune that I live in this garden city, no bigger than a little red dot on the globe left under the sun, where we get a fresh catch of all sorts of seafood from our surrounding neighbours. For cooking the above dishes with pre-cooked air-flown varieties will lend that rubbery and tastelessness to all three of my dishes drastically. Now that will never do, a double crime to over cooking fresh mussels.

Leftovers with a Twist

As twisted as this little critter in Langkawi.

Sweet Sour Salt, Orange’s recent addition to the new Asian culinary scene, lifts the growing food and wine town in New South Wales to new heights. That its resident chef is Lebanese holds testimony that Australia’s forte is fusion cuisine.

But what I liked about this restaurant is its decision to include offering Asian fare in a beautifully presented tasting plate. So two dainty bowls of deliciously spicy pumpkin soup sit on one side of the square plate; balanced by a plate with superbly prepared tandoori fish on the opposite end of the dish. The other two corners of the tasting plate get two halved to-die-for mother-in-law eggs and two servings of crisply roasted pork belly seated in total contrast juxtaposed in opposite positions. All these were served as an entrée, minus the steamed jasmine rice.

That I must admit is brilliant out-of-the box thinking and should be generously applied to sizable leftovers from any of last nights’ home-cooked dinners. So what’s left after stuffing the wholesomely creamy mash of tantalizingly cooked minced crab and prawn meat into savoury crepe suzettes can be reheated and now served as a light lunch on whole meal toast the next day.

Or what remains of a sumptuous beef and mushroom casserole can be reheated as a tasty gravy; now generously spooned over a lovely heap of al dente sundried tomato laced fettucini. Just garnish the chunky sauce with freshly grated parmesan cheese and a few spritely sprigs of parsley.

These transformations then add new tastes and presentations to day-old leftovers; breathing a new lease of life to the dish served the next day. It’s almost like having something refreshingly different the second time round.  

Balancing Dijon Mustard

As delicate as balancing on this fallen tree branch.

I love kir royales, the way their fizzy slightly acidic champagne is delicately balanced with sweetish pinkish cassis. This nifty trick on the balance beam is only out-rivaled by the bubblies the Union Bank House in Orange, New South Wales serves. Its sparkling wine is beautifully poised with wild hibiscus dipped in sugary syrup. So this lends that same balance but one better: this fizzy concoction is not only more palatable as a thirst quencher, it entices our visual realm as well. As one sale staff at Orange’s kitchen ware shop cum deli, The Essential Ingredient, testifies, “we ran out on our bubblies, even though none of our invited wedding guests were champagne fans. Every one wanted the sparkling wine as there’s a pretty flower in their drink!” 

And I’m so endeared with this New South Wales restaurant’s sparkling wine with wild hibiscus that I’ve actually rushed into The Essential Ingredient and bought those irresistible hibiscus flowers dipped in pinkish subtly sweet syrup (and no, I’ve never been enticed by kir royales to buy some cassis). That is one steady feat I want to repeat in Singapore. And should it work, hubby will be sent on a mission to stock up on those pretty syrupy flowers the next time he’ll be in Orange.

And as champagne or sparkling wine seems to pair up well with a sweet liquid, so does the acidity in a Dijon mustard pair up very well with a sweet or savory sweet ingredient. So I have three ways I can actually serve my lamb. The mustard can be equal parts stirred into pure golden honey and then pour as a sauce over the oregano roasted lamb racks. Or it can be laced with sweet soy sauce and that is splattered over the freshly bought lamb chops, lovingly marinating the red meat for at least a speedy hour before barbecuing the individual chops till they are charred on the outside by nicely pink inside.

And if you have run out of the soy sauce, this dilemma is easy to remedy: Just swap this all time time-honored Chinese sauce with an extra sweet fruity jam or chutney. The essential trick is to balance the Dijon mustard with something intensely sugary. Then the char grilled lamb will still be beautifully marinated before the burning charcoal caramelizes the sugar in the mixed marinate.  

A Diet that Saves Gas

His diet doesn't even need gas.

My neighbourhood uses bottled gas for cooking over the stove. And some of my neighbours find this a nuisance as they have to get a replacement every two to four weeks. That surprised me completely as I’ve lived in the Novena area for more than a year and a half now, and have yet to empty the bottle I had put in when I first moved in.

But it soon became clear why there was such a huge disparity in gas usage: my neighbours choose to chow down on traditional Asian cuisine breakfast, lunch and dinner. And that means stir-fried, deep-fried, stewed, steamed and boiled dishes that often take a long cooking time.

Unlike them, I only use my trusty gas stove when I prepare my mains for dinner. And that is deliberately confined to recipes that need only a quick sauté or boiling of the meat, served with a raw salad on the side:  the tropical climate is just too hot and humid to induce me to serve every dish cooked.

And that is the only meal I use my stove. It’s definitely cereals, fruit or yoghurt with an orange juice for a quicky breakfast. Lunch finds me serving the equivalent of John West oysters on toast. Or the microwave will thaw out and heat up the generous slices of quiche lorraine, baked in the electric oven the week before. And my thirst is quenched with icy cold diet Coke or a refreshing home made lemonade – made by stirring the freshly squeezed lemon juice into hot water that was boiled in an electric kettle.

Given the rate I use my stove it’ll be another year or so before I need delivered a new bottle of gas for twenty-seven dollars.  

Saucy Sauces

As saucy as these long tail macaques.

When I first got hold of Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking", I was really intrigued by her section on sauces. But having owned this book for nearly a year now, I must admit that the only time I've had to delve into that section in her book was when my hubby desires to barbecue the meat Australian style - that is, not marinated. Having said that, her white sauces go very well with grilled seafood, and her brown sauces work wonders with red meat.

But the main reason why I've found little opportunity to delve more frequently into her section on sauces is because the new generation of cook book authors include their versions along with cooking tips for the meat. So I have a wonderful Australian recipe on halibut in a white wine sauce, which basically uses white wine to de-glaze the fish's juices from the frying pan. As does an amazing Greek take on a side of beef: a full bodied shiraz is used to soak up all the red meat's juices, after you've cooked it with peppery peppercorns, aromatic crushed garlic and zesty horseradish.

These two recipes result in sauces that look traditionally like sauces - they've a thick rich but smooth consistency. However, the new generation of sauces can drastically but marvelously differ. For one, a salsa can become the sauce; as does a pureed cooked peas, shallots and chicken stock blend that's liberally splashed over salmon fillets that's been pan fried to perfection. For another, some sauces aren't even pureed after they've been cooked. Take the cherry tomatoes and fresh basil sauce for a sensitively sauteed steak: they are basically tossed whole into the meat's drippings with a little sugar and cooked until they're just slightly wilted and then liberally dressed over the rested rib-eyes.

Such sauces don't require reducing any more. And the same can be said to the marmalade that's added into the piping hot juices of the pan seared pork bellies. All that's required is for the heat to do its magic in melting the jam, so that it can superbly blend with the fatty juices from the nicely done white meat.

And not all sauces require any cooking over the stove any more, even when you're roasting your racks of lamb. In deed, an awesome sauce to go with this roast is a thorough stirring together of equal parts golden syrupy honey and beautifully sunny yellow dijon mustard at room temperature. Or you can transform a refreshing yoghurty raita into a dipping sauce for that same roast of lamb racks, still prettily pink when cleaved and served.

Indeed, cook book authors have all gone really saucy with their sauces. And that means, where saucy concoctions are concerned, we have already crossed national boundaries. In fact, the sky's now really the ultimate limit.

A Lasagna to Die For

Even this little critter wants to check out my lasagna.

In "Nigella Express", Nigella Lawson shares a nifty cooking tip in getting large potatoes baked thoroughly more quickly: she skewers each potato before chucking these root vegetables, skewers and all, into the oven. Then as the skewers heat up, the heart of each potato draws this heat from her metal rods. Thus their hearts get cooked at the same time as the potatoes' surface.

Just like her tip of micro-waving the cooking chocolate to melt it super quick, her tip with the skewers offers a cooking tip. Well, I have a great tip to offer too (I hope) and it's a tip that will turn you off from ever ordering lasagna when ever you choose to dine out as I have yet to come across a restaurant that offers a tastier serve in comparison to the one I personally whip up in my own kitchen.

You see the secret to my success doesn't lie in relying solely on an abundance of good quality tomato passata or paste. Oh no, as neither will do more than render the lasagna with added tomato flavour. You see, my secret ingredient is in upending a bottle of Ragu's mushroom enhanced tomato-based pasta sauce. The more the merrier.

Then you can do away with adding chicken liver as contrast to the mince beef. The mushroomy pasta sauce will do that instead. And does it so well that you needn't throw out the bechamel sauce once a film forms over this rapidly cooling milk-based gravy. The full bodied taste of Ragu's sauce successfully transforms that imperfection into a harmonious perfection with all the ingredients that goes into making the lasagna enter into a league of its own.

And the inclusion of this little secret ingredient can be replicated when you whip up a vegetarian lasagna or a lamb moussaka. Then you've under your belt more than just a beef lasagna to die for.

Thin is In

Pastry shells as thin as butterfly wings.

They say that a great cup of Illy coffee is always served with a biscuit on the side. At Laurent Bernard Cafe and Chocolate Bar, the biscuit comes bite size - which is just the right size to aromatize and enhance the flavour of its freshly brewed cappuccinos.

And the same paradigm can be applied to making the pastry shell of a rich tomato and anchovy quiche. You want the shell to do its job of keeping the pie's shaped without dominating the rich flavours coming through it's savoury fruit and fish filling. The same applies to making a cheesy tattie pie.

But to get the pastry shell that papery thin, you'll have to discard the traditional way the dough is made to fill the pie tray. Rolling it flat out and then draping the flattened dough always make the crust thicker than it should be. You see, if the dough gets flattened too thinly, it will tear as you roll it out over and into the baking tin.

To get that pastry shell super thin, I use a pinch, press and mosaic technique. I pinch off small balls of dough and use my thumb to flatten the ball onto the base of the baking tin. I station the balls at distances from each other in a pattern that allows the edges of their flattened forms to link up and merge into one continuous mosaic. And I do the same to the sides of the pie tin.

This technique takes a lot longer in getting the whole inner surface of the pie tin covered with waffle thin dough. But the effort is definitely worth the inconvenience as the freshly baked pastry shell holds the shape of the filling nicely. And when the nicely baked dish is served, the tomatoes and anchovies stay the lunch time stars; just as you would want the parmesan and potato slices to shine in the tattie pie.

So as far as pastry shells are the concern of this everyday "chef", thin is definitely in.

Spuds are It

A wonderful day in New South Wales for piping hot chips.

I always say that I can tell how skillful a chef is by the way he prepares his duck. And the duck confit at Culina's bears testimony to my belief. This confit is crisp to perfection and yet its morsels of flesh are as tender as a duckling's. Then little wonder that my hubby swears that this restaurant-cum-deli makes the best steaks in town, and I'm really stuck into the bowl of potato wedges that comes with his steak, generously dipping them into tomato sauce made Culina style.

Coming into a close second are the French fries Novus cafe dishes up for its fish and chips. They are fried to pale yellow perfection. And it serves these up with such a generous amount of yummy creamy tartar sauce that there's loads to spare for dipping the chips in.

Now before you decide that I'm probably a grease junkie (which I probably am to a certain extent), I steer clear of deep frying my potatoes at home. Rather, I'd serve them up in just three ways: roast them, bake them or mash them.

I love putting this starchy vegetable into the oven to cook as I'm freed to get on with preparing the second dish. So I'll quarter medium sized potatoes, drizzle them in extra virgin olive oil and generously sprinkle truffle salt with chopped fresh from the garden rosemary. But it'll be whole lot larger spuds if I choose to bake them and when they are done, they are served piping hot with in a thick mixture of yogurt and blue cheese.

But the most tasty way to serve potatoes is to mash them. And first boiling them peeled frees you too to get ready the milk, butter and finely grated parmesan cheese to thoroughly stir into the mash. So getting them ready for the plate takes a little longer... but the end result is definitely worth all the labour - a labour of love, that is.

La Dolce Vita

Balsamic as ageless as the setting sun.

Some years ago I followed my hubby on his business trip to Pordenone in Italy. While meetings filled up his days, I could wander through its town centre at leisure. The women were friendly and the men were generous with their "complimenti". And so it wasn't any surprise that when hubby found me sipping surprisingly great tea in a local cafe at the end of his work day, I had a glow on my face that spoke volumes - I'd discovered the secret of Italy: la dolce vita!

The same can be said of the pizzas La Villa here serves. Its funghi spread sang like choir boys from St Petersburg for the restaurant was as generous with its mozzarella and mushrooms as it does with its divine truffle paste: you can taste that secret ingredient in every bite. And I would confidently say that that's the best pizza I've ever had in Singapore.

So you might then say that I'm nick picking when I express my disappointment with not the bread it serves, but with the balsamic vinegar it offers as a dipping sauce with its olive oil. But I don't think I'm being severe on that establishment here: when balsamic becomes the dominant seasoning for a dish, even one as simple as being a dip for the bread, aged balsamic vinegar should be the only choice. And that's because the thicker sauce has taken 10 to 15 years to lovingly mature beyond being predominantly acidic. With the patience of time, it has mellowed into a subtle well balanced bland of rich sweetish sourness.

And I uphold this belief when I toss a rocket salad with fresh crunchy peckham pears and generous doublets of King Island blue cheese: I use only extra virgin olive oil and aged balsamic from Antica Acetaia Cavedoni. And it has to be this Italian vinegar as dressing for a light dessert fresh strawberries happily smouldered with icing sugar.  

Then and only then will I be transported back to that time in Pordenone. And I hope my dinner guests will get a small glimpse of attaining the Italian nirvana - la dolce vita.

Butter Up

Climb the heights of cooking with butter.

In the movie "Julie and Julia", Julie Powell says that there can never be too much butter in cooking recipes from American chef, Julia Child. And when she goes to the gallery on Child's achievements in the culinary circle, she leaves a huge slab of butter behind as a tribute to Child's finesse as a master of French cuisine made easy to follow by American women.

Now I agree with Powell's observation in her kitchen. You see, butter makes a great base to saute fresh green asparagus with a liberal sprinkling of orange juice; as it is to stir fry spinach in a generous doublet of extremely heavy cream. And when it's mixed with chicken stock, the pea, koo chye and shallot salsa is transformed into an absolutely mouth-watering saucy sauce to dress some Norwegian salmon, quickly panned seared in lots and lots of creamy butter.

Now the last proves a second point about cooking with butter: the pan frying has to be done rapidly. Just a minute to saute the freshly chopped garlic and fiery red chilli, before you add in the ocean-fresh prawns to cook in another two to three minutes. Then the melted butter works its magic in seasoning the dish.

However, if you have to cook the chicken for about twenty minutes in butter, you run the risk of burning the oily golden yellow liquid if you keep the pan seated on high heat. And you know that that has happened because the yellow turns a murky brown, with a bitter after taste.

But there is an Italian recipe that does call for cooking prettily pink chicken breast in melted butter for twenty minutes. Then the only way to divert the butter from heading for a burn is to drastically lower the enthusiasm of the flames the moment all that diary product has just melted. And the chicken breast has to be quartered so that the heat from the stove can sear its insides more rapidly.

If that proves difficult to muster, then the trick is to mix the melted butter with extra virgin olive oil. This oil and butter mixture can then withstand high heat from a larger flame, even when a longer cooking time is called for.

So once you have mastered the way the flames interact with melted butter for a recipe that needs a longer cooking time, then by all means use as much of this luscious ingredient as you like. For truly, you can never use enough butter.

Freeze!

No, the raspberry cake goes only into the fridge.

In "Jamie's 30-Minute Meals", celebrity chef Jamie Oliver shares that he buys his fresh kaffir lime leaves once a year, freezing the bulk and thawing just what he needs to complete his twist on a Thai green curry. This to me validates my closely-knitted culinary relationship with my freezer in more ways than one.

You see, I love Da Paolo's olive ciabattas and Carrefour's baguettes. But neither establishment is walking distance from my place. So when I chance in going to Great World City or Plaza Singapura, I help myself to as many loaves as I can carry home on my own. Now, let me correct your assumption that I feed a family of eight. Oh no, there's just hubby and me. So we can't even get through a whole loaf in one sitting. That means dividing each loaf into thirds and securely Glad wrapping each third before all thirds go into the freezer.

Also, a good rib-eye going on specials gets me rushing to buy great cuts by the kilos. Back in the kitchen, these get sub-divided into Ziplock bags, two serving sizes a bag. This way, I can literary jam tons into the ice box.

Then there are recipes that are just impossible to cook only for two; like a yummy pumpkin and green pea frittata or a genuine beef and Burgundy pie. I make these in my 27-inch pie tin and when these freshly baked lunch time treats cool down, I'll chuck them straight into the freezer and leave them there until the blowing north wind has the whole pastry dish gets truly frozen over. That's when they get taken out again, emptied from their baking tin, and immediately cleaved into ten serving sizes. These are then individually well wrapped in aluminium foil and placed into Tupperware that's put back into the freezer.

I Tupperware my sauces in the same way too. Again, only a miser will succeed in making just enough sauce for two. So I make a huge batch of peppercorn sauce, use what I need to fancily dress my oven-grilled T-bone steaks, and put the rest in the freezer for another rainy day. You'll be surprised but mind you the sauce gets richer in full-bodied flavour with the freezing: leaving it in the chamber of ice actually gets the fullness of the peppercorn infusing throughout the sauce.

So yes, I always manage to fill the freezer in my side-by-size fridge. But it makes economic sense and adds culinary finesse. So much so that right now, we're contemplating the option of acquiring a stand alone freezer as well. And if we do, that'll go into hubby's shed.

Move Over, Parsley

Lets not make dining at the resort the automatic choice.

What's the automatic response to feeding a sick child?: in the west, it'll be chicken soup; while it's porridge in the far east. Such an automatic response has grown within my very being an aversion to porridge of all sorts, however tasty it might be, when I'm fit and healthy.

Such an unthinking culinary response may be said to a choice of garnish: it'll be fresh sprigs of flat leaf parsley in the west or middle east, and slivers of sprite green spring onions over steamed fish, whole or fillet, in the far east. And that makes me think that the choice of colour dominates this auto-response as very frankly speaking, parsley doesn't enhance the flavour of a tomato-based pasta sauce much. And the spring onions are always pushed aside so that diners can get to the hearty chunks of fish beneath.  

And though we feast first with our eyes, letting colour dominate our choice of garnish short changes our diners' culinary experience, as the parsley and spring onions add little to the flavour of the dish. So what would influence our choice of garnish if we think of taste and colour?

Well, I'll sprinkle fresh thyme or tarragon leaves over the pasta sauce, offering an enhanced contrast to the tomato-flavours of the gravy. And I'll generously add depth and potency to ocean fresh mussels steamed in a tomato passata by stirring in heaps of coriander leaves picked the very last minute from my garden. And also  serve this tasty oriental herb up with chunks of steamed fish fillet onto my guests' dinner plate.

And the choice of substitutes are as endless as there are a choice of garden-green herbs. The trick is to remember to balance the dominate taste of your mains with the herb you add. The taste of the herb must enhance rather than distract. Then your choice complexes the flavours of your dish.

Racing Before the Races

As quick as a monitor lizard looking for cover.

The practice sessions at the recent Singapore F1 were as chalk is to cheese in relation to its actual competitive racing. When time is of paramount importance, as there's only one chance at getting it right for only one of the twenty-four drivers, the grand prix took on a nerve cutting edge. I found myself rooting as much for the underdog as I did the leading driver.

And so it was to dishing out dinner over the three nights the grand prix was in town. You see, friends from Australia had come to crash at our pad for the sole purpose of catching the races with us, post satiation with yummy mains and salads. So that means the dinner menu must not only be speedy to prepare, but also had to take their palates right to the very edge of gastronomical cuisine.

And that called for tried and tested recipes that can be prepared in a jiffy, within a time span shorter than what it would take a take-away to be delivered to your door-step after you have completed your order by phone.

So on Friday, I stuck some steaks on the grill, and while they were sizzling away on the bbq, I whipped up a fiery green peppercorn sauce and inter-laid an abundance of rocket with slices of Peckham pears and bite-size portions of King Island blue, dressing all in a velvety coating of extra virgin olive oil and truly aged balsamic vinegar.

On Saturday, I chose a fifteen-minute roasting for my lamb cutlets, all air-flown from New Zealand. And that gave me plenty of time to toss together the diced cabbage, with hearty chucks of koo chye and generous slivers of granny smith apples - all nicely coated with home-made mayonnaise and a golden tablespoon of Manuka honey. And so had plenty of time left to leisurely and lovingly stir together more of the same honey and Dijion mustard - which became a cooling sweet and tangy sauce for the pretty as pink cutlets of lamb fresh from the oven.

And for the final evening before the races, I caramelized ocean fresh fillets of salmon together with zesty slices of lemon. And as the frying pan did its magic on fish and fruit, I sauteed generous sprigs of Malaysian asparagus in melted salted butter and freshly squeezed orange juice.

And there is never a better feeling than watching the races, after we've attended to the equally important affair of appeasing our appetites. For our adrenaline was kicking in even after all that food had commanded the rush of blood to our bellies.

Anchovy Seasons

See the difference viewed East or West.

While Australians associate owning a car as gaining the liberty to go on an extended road trip, often to unwind, explore new terrain or find one self, car owners in Singapore see their vehicles as a means to convenience: they will even drive down just a block to get to the nearest hawker centre! Such a contrasting difference can be said too of the way anchovies are used in getting a dish up from scratch.

In this part of the world, the anchovy serves not as a garnish but a main ingredient in many local dishes. So you have a hearty serving of these fish deep-fried to go with the nasi lemak, mixing it up with spoonfuls of fragrant coconut rice and rich spicy sambal; as you would too when the deep fried fresh catch is eaten by the Teochews with watery but grainy porridge. Or you can take to the dish the Cantonese way, by stir frying the freshly raw anchovies in sweet dark soya sauce and sliced red chillies, and accompanying that with steamed jasmine rice.

But when you go west, this humble fish, preserved in brine, takes an invisible twist: most dishes require you to finely chop them up, so that the flesh of the fish will evenly melt into the sauce, strongly lending to a dish just its obvious flavour. And often it’s a major seasoning, as it is too when tiny slivers of this finely chopped catch from the sea are stirred fried with florets of cauliflowers. Then there’s this linguine dish, where you doublet into steaming tomato passata generous amounts of rapidly melting anchovies.

And you are by no means confined to using the brine preserved anchovies with just reddish pasta sauce. The anchovies melt just as well into cream based gravy tossed together to garnish those parcels of freshly steamed prawns and koo chye raviolis.

And as these varied, but all equally yummy, dishes exemplify the differences in the way we use this unassuming  fish, it is worth noting too that that variety is driven by this basic disparity: In South East Asia, we use the fish freshly harvested from our seas. Look west, and they pull together delicious dishes with only anchovies preserved in an ingenious variety of ways. And so when taken as a holistic perspective, the culinary world becomes a lot richer and tastier. 

To All Things Olives

Going the distance: as far as they can see

I first gained an inkling of the labourious process of making olives tastily edible in an episode of "The Food Lover's Guide to Australia". The freshly picked fruit has to be immersed in salted, flavoured water for weeks on end. And the water has to be changed a couple of times within that time frame! However, if you have a recipe on par with the way Coriole gets their kalamata olives up to scratch, by all means bottle that. Otherwise, do as I do: buy a dozen packages from this winery when I'm next in South Australia. It's so good it's definitely worth carting all of them back to Singapore.

And you'll be amazed how quickly I'll go through the dozen. You see, they make wonderful after five nibbles with that glass of pinot grigio. And like any good crisps, you can't ever stop at one. Yes, they are that additive!

Then generously toss them pitted and whole onto a tomato passata-ed pizza base that's been slapped with lip-smacking delicious slices of salami and three cheeses. Although the olives stick out like UFOs, they hold up  to the oven's heat pretty well - neither burning up or shrivering.

Or slice the pitted olives up and patiently stir them into a basil, mushroom and garlic tomato pasta sauce. Well, not that patiently, as it doesn't take that long for the olive slices to completely dissolve and disappear into the rich gravy; enriching it ever so slightly ever.

Or you can toss the pitted olives into a food processor, along with sprigs of fresh rosemary and a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. And keep the machine switched on high till a smooth paste is formed. This then naturally becomes a great succulent crust slabbed over the portions of meat on each lamb cutlet, after the seasoned red meat has been sitting in high heat for about fifteen minutes. And this offers a balanced contrast from the Greek-inspired lemon-spliced fresh salad of halved cherry tomatoes, whole kidney beans, sprite-ly green koo chye and crumbled marinated feta.  

The versatility of this delicious savoury fruit holds no bars to your leaps and bounces on the culinary balance beam. Only the limits of our imagination will hold it back from going for a perfect ten.

Wanton Wrappers

Bedding down well in Langkawi's tropical forest

When the Convent of the Holy Infant Jesus school building in the heart of town was gazetted to be converted into the dining hub, CHIJMES, former students rallied together to petition against it. Unfortunately for them, they failed to block the move. And to this day, old girls of that school lament their lost roots. Fortunately for  the rest of Singapore, there is now one more place to dine surrounded by a poignant sense of the country's past.

And this holds true too for the venue from which The White Rabbit operates. As does Australia's passion in converting historic church buildings, with rapidly dwindling congregational attendance, into private residential homes or self-contained holiday cottages. There is something almost magical about spending a couple of nights shrouded within former churches, surrounded by furnishings nicely in tune to their time in history.

This versatility, wanton as it may sound to church-goers, is mirrored by the humble wonton wrapper.  Born rooted in traditional Chinese cuisine, it can be transformed into deep-fried crisp "crackling" bases on which the Thai infused chicken mixture sits, giving this Australian fusion tapas a cut above the ordinary. As it can make a successful wrapping round a minced prawn and chive patty, morphing into boiled fusion ravioli, drizzled with extra virgin olive oil infused with anchovies, cherry tomatoes and finely shredded basil.

I've even swapped filo pastry for these Chinese wrappers, and so simplified the process of making Moroccan seafood birouats, having retained the Middle Eastern tradition of dipping the deep fried wonton wrapped  tapas into a small bowl of sugar mixed with cayenne and cinnamon.

Similarly, I've thrown out the laborious process of making my own dough for wrapping round the salmon and herb filling for a Jewish piroshki. The humble wonton wrapper serves as a divine substitute that crisps up nicely when you bake the "crescent moons" of piroshki. And you'll want them in no other way save piping hot from the oven.    

As such, this humble Chinese "invention" succeeds in going to bed with diverse cuisines from the world over. And this encourages me to experimentally dip deeper in such wanton "marriages" with culinary recipes that have stood the test of time.

Complexing Pasta's Flavour

A repeated gush of palatable sensations. 

Forty-four nationalities worship in St George's Church, a good representation from every continent on earth. Given all these layers, the social dyanmics is always refreshingly different.  So meeting someone for the first time there is an adventure, just like the entertainment and dining hub Dempsey has successfully become. And this multicultural cauldron ensures that you end up with a little taste of each from the world over, layer upon layer.

That cannot be said about a pasta recipe I looked up. Using a tomato passata with blended anchovies as the sauce, and whole capers, chopped up kalamata olives and fresh basil as contrast, there's still a singularity in taste: savoury with a salty zing, added by the sprinkled grated parmesan over the fettucine al dented.

To layer in the complexity, I did a couple of add ons: first, I swapped the tomato sauce with Prego's mushroom flavoured pasta sauce, and the parmesan with mature red cheddar. The latter I pureed with the anchovies, garlic, and large de-seeded green chilli. And that pureed mixture I stirred thoroughly into the pasta sauce, after sauteeing my weight-watcher's minced beef, capers and chopped kalamata olives. As such, my sauce becomes a decidedly yellow-orangy hue (because of the melted cheddar).

To deepen the hue of the sauce and further positively complicate its flavour, I splashed a liberal slosh of spicy red wine. And only stirred in a generous serving of fresh chopped basil after I'd taken the pot of pasta sauce off the stove: this ensures the herb retains its charming green hue and refreshing flavour.

The end result is the layering of flavours that sing in resounding harmony. And becomes a recipe that decidedly has to be repeated again when close friends come for relaxed home cooking. For though its taste has gone from strength to strength, it still holds to this truth: its making retains the simplicity of making pasta.

A Fuss Free Luxury Picnic

As fuss free as a stay in Alila Manggis

The early evenings are the best time to go on a picnic in Singapore, seated on the grass by the edge of a tranquil pond teeming with aquatic floral and fauna. The long shadows cast by the setting sun cools the Botanic Gardens to a pleasant 26 to 28 degrees Centigrade, and occasionally there will even be a soothing breeze.

In keeping with the leisurely pace of such pleasant surroundings is a pack I make with my hubby that the meal we pack along will be fuss-free but luxurious. So along with a previously chilled wonderful Lehman's Eden Valley riesling, we include in our picnic basket a dozen freshly shucked raw oysters with slices of zesty lemon and a crack black pepper shaker.

Also from Cold Storage is a generous pork knuckle, roasted till we salivate thinking about its crispy crackling. And these slices of the still succulent white meat will be dipped into un-caramelized thick cut marmalade, straight from a bottle by Hediard. The savory knuckle, with the coy sweetness of this jam, opens up your appetite further. So that you'll have plenty of room to dip your quickly cut crisply green celery sticks in the slightly sweet but wonderfully savoury Chandon's tomato and red capsicum relish - a great companion to those jazzy jammed up roast pork and crackling.

And this induces us to crown our peaceful contemplation of nature in all its glory by heartily digging deep into hearty bowls of refreshing fresh blue and raspberries, generously coated with powder-light icing sugar. We won't trade this palate cleanser for the temptation of a fruity gelato - even though Estivo is just a five minute drive away.

Layering a Curry

As layered as Nara's shrubbery

Oia and Thira may be towns born on the same rock in Santorini, but there the similarity ends. While the first is about magnificent sunsets on the horizon and extraordinary signature-style architecture,  the second sings in what the buildings hold within - sensuous scenic paintings and absolutely divine jewellery. You can't have gone to just one before claiming that you've seen the Greek island in its truest form and substance. You must first experience the aesthetic adventure both promise.

This holds true too to how you'll cook cherry tomatoes in a pot of curry. It doesn't matter if swimming in its spicy, coconut-rich gravy is slices of pork, fish or chicken. What's crucial is the way the heat, as in temperature and spice, in the thick creamy sauce interacts with these divinely sweet fruit. And how that heat interacts with them depends on whether you've tossed in these cut or uncut.

If they go in whole and get cooked till the point where their skins "crack", popping them straight into your mouth brings a burst of steaming tomato juice over every taste bud embedded in your tongue. But if you splice the tomatoes in half before cooking them with the meat in the curry pot, the spicy juices permeate the cut surfaces and nicely inter-mingle with the tomatoes' juices. That mixing creates a totally new sensation surpassing every experience that you've ever made with a meal of curry.

As Santorini has layers of differences hidden within the folds rising from its shore, so too will a curry when half the tomatoes are tossed in whole, and half halved before doing so. Then this humble Asian dish takes on an added complexity in taste and texture, adding into the dish a fourth and fifth dimension.

It's Time for a Microstoven

Even the cockatoo wants to imitate the micostoven 

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. And whatever may have been the necessity that ignited whoever to invent the microstoven, he should get a standing ovation from all the cooks and chefs the world over.

How did I come to realize that such an encore should be given? Well, the European made oven I have right now has a smaller interior even though the exterior has standard dimensions. That I didn’t know until I tried baking my frittata in a frying pan, after partially cooking it over a stove: I found that out when this pan’s handle won’t fit into the oven. And as a result, the final stage of cooking the frittata failed miserably.

Now, I got round it when I went to buy a microstoven: an kitchen equipment that can go from microwave to stove to oven and back again. And that is a God sent as I now can also brown my beef in it before I deglaze the meat’s juices off the pan, without removing the browned meat. And so add all the tomato and sherry into the said magical pan before shoving this cooking miracle into the oven.  

Similarly, I can now stir fry to high heaven the spicy ingredients that formed the gravy smothering the whole snapper for a Jewish dag ha sfarim in the same microstoven. And there’s no worry that the time after the stove and so in the oven will dry out the sauce, as good old aluminium foil does its job magnificently in keeping the moisture in the fish and the gravy.

And the results are so good for all three dishes that I’m almost inclined to buy a second. Until that is I know that a pyrex, with a glass-like lid, can do just as well for the heritage dish from Israel.  

Aspartame's the Name of the Game

Opportunities: as abundant as the snow capped Swiss Alps

I had my first swirl of diet coke over eight years ago and have come to like its taste better than regular sugared coca cola. It is strange how one's taste buds get acclimatized to the change in flavour. But for years it has been diet coke, diet pepsi, soft drinks with no added sugar, water and tea, with aspartame.

Well, this tiny world of permissible drinks grew a lot larger after I had a brain wave: if I add the artificial sweetener to hot tea, with a slice of lemon, and add ice to it, I'd get sugar free iced lemon tea! And that means I can do the same for my homemade lemonade, limeade, lemon barley, etc. And all I need do is follow one simple rule: one packet or tablet of artificial sugar is equivalent to one teaspoonful of regular cane sugar.

Once I've established the suitability of aspartame in my list of home brews, I realised that I can sprinkle powdered artificial sugars over my fresh crunchy vine-sweetened raspberries and blue berries, and so no longer feel sinful when I add that scoop of double cream. Similarly, I've swapped aspartame for the icing sugar used to balance a spicy yoghurt sauce for my rack of herb-infused roast lamb.

And if you think about it, the opportunities for substituting this humble artificial sweetener for real sugar is endless. The only other rule you have to remember is this: tablets of this miracle chemical are fine when you're whipping up a piping hot liquid-like or sauce-infused dish. Otherwise, it pays to keep both forms of aspartame at hand, as the powdered form dissolves as easily into a dish as icing sugar does. Just remember to stir the powder thoroughly into the dish in the pan.  

The only noticable difference is when you're substituting brown sugar. Then you might need to add a little cinnamon, along with the chemical sweetener, into the mains or desserts.

Bye Bye Couscous

Even wild ducks'll follow a trail of cauliflower crumbs

Going past 35 was an unforgettable occasion for me: that’s when I discovered that I didn’t have all of my father’s genes. Like him, I used to think that you can soak me in a tub of oil and I wouldn’t get even a gram fatter. But within 8 months, I’d gained 10 kilos and in all the wrong places.

That was when I put myself on a modified Atkins’ diet: I could eat all the proteins, fats, fruits and veggies I want. But complex carbohydrates of all forms were tabooed from gracing my dining table - which meant that I didn’t need to opt using only egg whites to prepare a frittata, as I wouldn’t chow down on the crust enveloping a quiche Lorraine.

That I’m again attempting to get back on this diet plan is evident as it is a heaven sent when I stumbled upon a modern French recipe that substituted the starchy coucous with finely pureed cauliflower florets. And the swap was a major success as those who weren’t told never for a moment even doubted that they were enjoying genuine coucous, as the ground down cauliflower florets perfectly mimicked the taste and texture of the carbohydrate known the world over.

In many aspects, this substitution reminds me of all the mock meat Chinese vegetarians have perfected with their tofu substitute. And just as the consumption of tofu offers added health benefits, a meal served with cauliflower “couscous” has the added advantage of building up the body’s store of anti-cancer nutrients.

But the greatest joy in stumbling upon this vegetable’s winsome disguise is the realization that I no longer needed to keep stocked up on actual couscous for years on end. After all, I present a meal including couscous every seven or eight months down the road. The pureed cauliflower has become the staple swap, and I can’t wait to try this out with other recipes that have stuck to using starchy couscous.

A Wok-less Pursuit

Varying your spices is more important

Picture this: a cook was gleefully chopping off the head and feet of a raw chicken, before marinating it with spices and then placing it in a pot. When she was asked why she had discarded those parts of her bird, she said that that was how her mom had always cooked the dish. When the old lady was asked for the reason, she replied that it was because her pot was too small to fit the whole chook!

Given the above example, it is, therefore, very frustrating to hear a London-based Chinese chef insist that one needs a wok to dish up dishes with its origins from China, or that a rice cooker is equally crucial. Or that one definitely needs a tagine to make authentic Middle Eastern dishes. What they should have said is that they have grown used to using these cooking tools and wouldn’t think of doing their dishes any other way.  

For you see, I’ve always used only western pots and pans while I lived in the United Kingdom. A deep pot works as well for steaming rice in ramekins, deep frying wanton dumplings, blanching gai lans, stewing a curry and stir frying Singapore noodles. And when the depth of the cooking utensil isn’t essential, I can even stir fry black peppered beef in an ordinary frying pan.

So what you really need are pots of different sizes: with the number invited for dinner determining the size of this cooking implement; and one trusty frying pan, with an anti-splatter to keep the heated butter from flying in all directions, and dirtying the cook top or ruining your favourite blouse.

With just these you’ll be ready to cook up a storm for almost all cuisines under the sun!

Horne Your Own Specialties

Santorini's specialty: White against a blue backdrop

While many restaurants can lay claim to fame where their pancakes are concerned, doing so with the way they make their crepes is another ball game altogether. This is a finesse few eateries here have mastered to perfection. But to my delight, I can beg to defer with the way DB Bistro serves up this dessert.

Its berry compote is as divine on the palate as if they’ve been whipped up immediately after picking the fruit from the bush. And they actually serve that along with genuine fresh cream. But what makes Daniel Boulud’s serving a piece de resistance is his heavenly waive thin crepes: you are almost inspired to wax lyrical about how its slightly crisp periphery is no culinary imperfection; rather the gastronomical aria will have lost its soul without it.

And the greatest complement I can give this chef is by refraining from any attempt to replicate his dessert in my own kitchen. Then I give hubby the wonderful opportunity to take me to this bistro for the sole delight of partaking Boulud’s sweet magic, accompanied by a decided pink toast of kir royale.

In turn, that liberates me to perfect my own intoxicating specialties when we invite guests over for dinner. So if the night is hot and humid, I’ll offer a refreshing melody of strawberries and blue berries, generously wintered over with icing sugar and to be dipped into decidedly wicked double cream. If dusk brings in a hearty breeze, guests can indulge in a chilled New York cheese cake that’s smothered with whipped cream and plated drizzled with deliciously light mixed berry compote. But when Thor decides to bucket down, there’s always a piping hot apple strudel that’s liberally spiked with dry sherry and served with enough heavy cream to light a warm glow within each of us.

And unlike crepes, these desserts of mine require preparation before the guests arrive; freeing me to do what a hostess should spend most of the time doing: engaged in animated conversation with our guests.

Then my decision guarantees DB Bistro we’ll be there whenever we crave its crepes. 

Save the Dish

As worth saving as the Parthenon

Inverness has a hip and trendy restaurant, with quite a good standing among the locals and attracts as many vacationers as does the famed Loch Ness monster. And so it obviously became the first place hubby and I chose to dine during our week’s vacation in the ruggedly beautiful Scottish Highlands.

But my bubble of eager anticipation was quickly punctured when my mains arrived. Well, the John Dory was grilled to perfection and aesthetically garnished with finely chopped fresh chilli. However, as I’ve always said, “The test is in the taste”. And in that crucial area this establishment’s attempt at fusion cuisine has much to be desired: one just doesn’t make flakes of chilli the main ingredient, no matter whether it’s fresh from the greenhouse and organically nurtured to fruition on the vine.

Now, I did inform the wait staff about the severe lack in flavour. But I turned down their suggestion that I pick another mains which their chef would prepare in lieu. Rather, I asked that some of the chilli flakes be removed and the fillet salt-and-peppered as well and be re-served with a fresh slice of lemon. That saved the dish!

While I had to add flavours to the fish, I had to save last night’s Greek chef’s Lebanese take on lamb cutlets by moderating the amount of spices he had used. You see, he had creatively turned a raita into a spicy yogurt sauce. But his decision on being liberal in his use of a variety of intense middle-eastern spices has turned the yoghurt awfully bitter; as if finely ground charcoal bits had been added.

But toning down the use of spice couldn’t take all the bitterness out of his sauce. To do that without cutting down the spiciness even further, it was erased by generously mixing in icing sugar. And the resultant spicy sweetness offered a wonderful contrast when lovingly poured over the roasted pink lamb. 

Relish the Swap

Checking out the fine lines dividing chutneys, jams and relish.

India is renowned for its numerous surprises that await visitors to this South Asian country. And many who have been there enthusiastically encourage others to journey through its immense diversity of culture, architecture and the natural to savour its layers and complexity.

Little wonder then that the same can be said of its variety of traditional chutneys. That they are delicious is an understatement upheld by the fact that they were prized Indian exports to Europe and the whole world since the 17^th century. And eventually, the Anglo-Saxon communities came up with their own versions, especially the fruity variations.

And they have taken to include it as a vital ingredient for recipes, making the red meat dishes even more luxuriously delicious: the crumbed lamb noisettes seal the coating of sweetly tart mango and apple fruit chutney onto the loins and into the bones. And the curried meatballs enjoy the balance between the hot and spicy with the appealingly saccharine.

But before you go load up with an enviable range of fruity chutneys to subtly vary the taste of both these dishes, you would be delighted to know that chutneys are actually a category of relish, in which belongs the jams as well. So freely stir into the freshly minced beef and sausage mixture the apricot chutney, and melt into its spicy gravy wickedly purplish black current jam; which was added only after the lid refused to pop off the newly bottled fig and orange relish.

Then the difference in both sugary components provides a successful depth of sweetish contrast between the finely ground up meat mixture and the heartily spicy gravy – and it’ll transcend as a dish above others that you already truly relish!

The Economics of Cooking

Won't MAN power be more economical?

Although shopping’s a Singapore pastime, I’m not an avid fan of this sport. I shop only when there’s a purpose to do so. Then I’ll keep at it till I find the ONE outfit. And that may well mean ten trips down to the shops in Orchard Road and the heartlands before I find THE dress I am happy to carry off for that special occasion. And if the guest list for the second function differs from the first, I’m simply delighted that I can put it on again.

And that is how I view what’s still available in the pantry or fridge. If I have another 8 eggs, and there’s half a fresh crunchy capsicum left, my thoughts are about making a mouth-watering vegetarian frittata for lunch. But if I’m lost for ideas, I’ll turn to cook books that list recipes following a lengthy index by minor ingredients, like say bananas. Then I’ll draw inspiration to blend eastern and Mediterranean recipes before deep frying the rapidly ripening fruit.

Still, more often than not I’ll randomly browse the diverse recipe books in my possession till I find a new concoction I’ll like to try, but not to the tee. So if the untried pasta dish calls for a melody of mushrooms, and handfuls of fresh basil and rosemary, I’ll happily swap what’s needed with what’s left in the fridge: julienned shitake and bacon for the varied mushrooms. And koo chye and coriander leaves for the herbs; giving rise to a newly created symphony of flavours smoothly blended with the mixed powder of fragrant, jazzy spices I’d retained unchanged. 

Rules to Bending the Rules

Even Veronian rules couldn't bar Romeo from Juliet  

During all my years of compulsory education (eons ago), my primary motto was to frequently play hooky, the secondary to find occasions where I could bend the school rules. Back then I never believed in being a blind follower of institutional codes of conduct. The ones, and they were few and far between, I’d toe the line had better make better sense than common sense.  

And it’s the rule I apply when I study a recipe. So I fail to understand why the Jewish heritage of preparing piroshki needs me to first separately chop up the onions, salmon and mushrooms in butter. Nor for what comes after: separately pan fry these ingredients. Or even the next two steps that follow that: deglaze the pan with cream and mix what’s been deglazed from the pan up with the cooked ingredients. And have teaspoon-sized portions of this mixture wrapped in dough for baking in the oven.

Wouldn’t a smooth paste resulting from pureeing the raw onions, mushrooms and salmon together lend an evenly intertwined sensation to the palate? And wouldn’t you be able to maintain this smooth even texture by folding into the raw mince the double cream and melted butter? And wouldn’t enveloping fresh wanton skins over spoonfuls of the final mixture ensure the mince gets thoroughly cooked at the same quick time it would take the skins to crisp up when deep fried?   

And the only additional rule I’d have applied to breaking away from Jewish traditions is the realization that the Chinese heritage of preparing dim sums successfully ensures that I’d only have to cook all the fresh ingredients once, whether deep fried, pan fried or steamed.