Winner of the Design-A-Tee contest (picture from Channel News Asia)
An illustration of 71 dishes and drinks depicting Singapore’s iconic food culture wins MediaCorp’s “Design-A-Tee” contest. The comments following the Facebook announcement—as with many users comments on various online platforms—are brutal but insightful. While some Singaporeans give the thumbs up for the design, there are complaints that generally fall into three categories:
photo by Kristina D.C. Hoeppner via Flickr
As more Singaporeans receive higher education and prefer comfortable working conditions, foreign labors play significant role in producing material objects such as buildings. Things get complicated, however, when they also become an important source of labor for the production of cultural objects, such as food.
Because foreign laborers have not participated in Singapore’s social life, they do not possess the same taste for food as Singaporeans. Common complaints about cooks from China are that their versions of local delicacies such as char kway teow and chap chye peng are too salty. This is common in commercial kitchens helmed by immigrants. Think about Japanese and Korean cuisine prepared by Latinos in the United States.
Patrick looking for bananas to harvest
Patrick Tse had been told that the goreng pisang stall was famous in Johor, so he popped by to get a few. He then dumped them at the back of his car and drove back to Singapore, but he got caught in a traffic jam and only made it home two hours later. When he finally took one out and sunk his teeth into it, the banana was, to his surprise, still crispy.
Goreng Pisang, or Pisang Goreng as it is known in Malaysia and Indonesia, is a deep-fried battered banana eaten as a snack. Before the 80s, it was mainly sold at the Malay hawker stalls. The original recipe simply constituted of rice flour, salt, water, and “kapo” – a type of white powder used to oxidise the batter. The final crust is crunchy like a cracker but turns soggy almost immediately in a humid weather.
Over the years, more Chinese hawkers joined the rank of goreng pisang sellers, the most famous being Lim Kim Yong, who used to have a stall at Orchard Road’s Gluttons Square. He and the other newcomers offered lighter, crispier goreng pisangs that shatter like glass when you bite into them. The improvised version became very popular, but short-lived. Today, customers demand for higher standards. “A good goreng pisang must meet three requirements. It must be crispy, it must not be oily, and most importantly, it must be crispy even after it turns cold,” said Patrick.
In the final days of Tanjong Pagar Railway
“Bhai makes one of the best teas.” Salem S.O. took a sip of his tea and put his cup back onto the table. The rest of the men around the table nodded in unison and picked up their drinks too. It was a humid Tuesday afternoon and the lunch hour crowd had just left. From 11a.m. on, all of the 50 or so tables at M.Hasan Railway Station Canteen were filled with workers from the nearby port and offices. As the lunch hour ended, the crowd had dispersed, leaving behind their plates of leftover curries and noodle soup and customers like Salem and his uncles.They are the people who neither live nor work nearby, but will travel here as often as once a week, ordering multiple rounds of teas and lingering to admire their surroundings. In the evenings and during weekends, they even come with their families — all three generations in tow — as part of their weekly or monthly gatherings.
All the food in this canteen is Halal: no pork, and all other animals except fish are slaughtered according to Islamic law, which explains why most of the customers are Muslims. But the food is only part of the reason why Salem and the others alike keep coming back here. Except for the one or two outstanding dishes, the Malay and Indian cuisines served here, according to them, are common and ordinary in taste. What keeps them attracted to this canteen is that it looks, smells and sounds like the past. The aged stonewalls and exposed water pipes; the train engines’ deafening boom; and the pungent smell of belacan that wafts freely in the air and then clings to people’s clothes — all of them attract the connoisseurs of the old and the forgotten.
Delish, even when it’s cold
When I told my godma that I wanted to learn how to make poached chicken, she bought the ingredients right away and showed me that very night. Cooking is that easy to her. No need for planning or practising. My godma, also my mother’s sister, is one of the most casual cook I’ve seen. She stirs and scoops with one hand on her waist and often leaves the stove to mingle with her guests. But somehow the food always turns out perfect.
To make poached chicken, she first filled a pot ¾ full with tap water and heat it up over the stove. She then put some garlic and ginger into a plastic bag and placed it on the table. “Just smash them with a cup. Don’t need special equipment,” she said casually, but I could sense her mockery of the people who purchase fancy equipments for every step of their cooking. She took a mug from the shelf and hammered the plastic bag until the garlic and ginger ripped opened. “That’s all!” she exclaimed.