Let’s go back in time. More than three years ago, I landed my first job as a professional cook. It was not the first restaurant I worked at per se, but it was the first where I had the weighty responsibilities of a full-time cook and expectations of being a team player in a kitchen brigade.
I remember the bosses asking me during my interview what my dream restaurant was, and I replied, “Chez Panisse.” Chez Panisse was one of the few restaurants in the 1970s that had a clear emphasis on regional produce long before farm-to-table cooking became a fad.
Before stepping into the restaurant business, I would read about how the restaurant sourced such incredible produce that they could get away with doing very little with it. The reviews online were gleaming and people were raving about how they had the ‘duckiest’ piece of duck or the very best fruit for dessert at Chez Panisse.
Hearing my response, my bosses were convinced that I understood the direction for this restaurant. Their concept was a restaurant with a changing menu, focusing on whatever was currently in season in various parts of the world and treating them very simply and with respect.
For that reason, I got to work with exotic ingredients such as gooseneck barnacles, punnets of wild strawberries (fraises des bois), prickly pear and so on. The dishes on the menu reflected the bosses’ philosophy of restraint. The best beef there was would be flown in, seasoned and cooked, sliced up and served. On the plate was just beef and salt – nothing else to mar the flavour of this superior grade of beef.
At first, I was enamoured with the romance of letting the produce speak for itself and the almost Japanese sense of respect and restraint in treating food as simply as possible.
But eventually, I felt that it was at odds with what I believed food and cooking was. Part of the magic of cooking is taking humble ingredients and transforming it, whether it is through the slow alchemy of time or skill, to something truly sublime. And that’s where Asian food really succeeds, in my opinion.
In his Chef’s Table episode, Dan Barber speaks of how a lot of the great cuisines and dishes in the world are borne out of necessity. Our hawker foods, in particular, are all about taking really humble ingredients and cobbling up something delicious with them.
There is nothing fancy or glamorous about fish soup. The backbone of the broth is literally fish bones, a common waste product. If the people who make their own chicken stock are few and far between, people who bother making their own fish stock are a particularly rare breed.
Still, despite these unglamorous ingredients, Singapore’s hawkers manage to add their own ingenuity to this humble bowl of broth. They top the steaming bowl of vegetables, tomatoes and fish slices with a little crown of egg floss, egg that has been beaten and deep-fried. That, a drizzle of evaporated milk and a squirt of chilli sauce makes for a fine meal - to think it’s made from ingredients you wouldn’t bat a lid at.
Dishes like this truly cement for me what cooking is all about. It is the ability to make something out of nothing, to make soup out of a stone.
Sliced fish noodle soup
This dish alone is reason to visit your local market. You can usually get the fish bones for free or for close to nothing. Your fishmonger would also be happy to chop it into manageable pieces for you. I bought two huge fish frames from the fishmonger, each about a metre long for $1.50 each. I reserved the fish heads for curry and used the bones for this recipe. I also got the fishmonger to recommend a firm, white fish for the soup and it held up beautifully without flaking. Do speak to your local fishmonger as they know best!
Serves 4
For the broth:
1 tablespoon oil
2 sprigs spring onions
50g ginger, peeled and sliced
100g ikan bilis or dried anchovies
2 large fish carcasses, about 1kg in total, chopped
3L water
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon fish sauce
1 teaspoon sesame oil
To serve:
4 eggs, beaten, left overnight in the fridge for best yield
1kg boneless fish, with or without skin, sliced
4 tomatoes, sliced into thin wedges
Two large handfuls of leafy vegetables such as tang oh or kang kong (tender leaves only)
2 tablespoon Shaoxing wine
Evaporated milk (optional)
Deep-fried shallots
Sriracha or your favourite chilli sauce
To prepare the broth, heat a wok over high heat. Add the oil, spring onions, ginger and ikan bilis. Fry until fragrant before adding the fish carcasses. Cook the fish bones, stirring constantly, until they turn white. Add 4L water and salt, topping up with more water if necessary to cover the bones. Cover the wok with a lid and simmer over low heat for about 3 minutes or until the bones completely disintegrate and the broth is flavourful. Strain the stock, discarding the debris. Season the broth with fish sauce and sesame oil. This can be prepared up to two days in advance.
Pass the beaten eggs through a sieve and pour the sieved egg into a small pitcher. Heat oil in a wok to 180C, or until bubbles stream from a dry chopstick dipped into the oil. Meanwhile, prepare a plate lined with paper towels next to the wok. With a steady hand, pour the egg into the hot oil in a thin stream, until the whole surface of the oil is covered in egg. Immediately, with a fork, put the egg strands together, folding them over one another to encourage adhering. Once the egg floss reaches a blond golden colour, lift from the wok and place onto the paper towel to drain.
Heat the fish broth in the wok until it comes to a boil. Add the tomatoes and allow to cook for 2 minutes, then add the fish. Once the fish pieces turn opaque, add the vegetables. When the vegetables wilt, pour over the Shaoxing wine and milk if desired. Ladle into deep bowls and top with fried shallots and a crown of egg floss. Serve with Sriracha or your chilli sauce of choice.