WONTONS WITH CHILLI OIL

Every kitchen needs a few pantry staples. Back in Singapore, there used to be a panoply of jars and bottles lining the doors of my fridge – Japanese mayonnaise, pickled green chillies, miso paste just to name a few. In Melbourne, we try to keep the fridge situation minimal, especially since we live on a budget. But I found a new, reasonably affordable obsession – homemade chilli oil. Not just any chilli oil, but flavoured oil infused with the fragrant aroma and numbing heat of coarsely ground dried chillies and Sichuan peppercorns.

Staying in a country with changing seasons has changed me. With temperatures here steadily dipping as we creep into winter, I find that my tastes have changed. Those things I used to reject, because they felt too insulating or aggressively spiced for Singapore’s sweltering heat, I now appreciate and heartily embrace. Porridge that warms you like a thick duvet on a cold day. Large porcelain cauldrons of ma la that cause perspiration to bead on the back of your neck even in the chill of winter. While in Singapore, I crave for foods that are light, refreshing and slide easily down my throat, I now gravitate to ginger-infused desserts that generate heat that lingers in your belly, and sticky slow-cooked braises.

Wex and I recently had dinner at a little Chinese noodle joint near home. I always pass it on the way to the market, but always found its name (Chinger Biang Biang Noodle) too self-deprecating to take seriously. Across the white signboard are these large blown-up Chinese characters, so complex that one is forced to question if they have been made up.

I was surprised to find out that biang biang noodle was a thing and quite a famous thing at that. Traditionally, biang biang noodles are flat strips of wheat dough, not unlike ban mian in Singapore, but notedly thicker in width and with a chewy, more toothsome bite.

The making of biang biang noodles involves a bit of theatrics. The chef mixes a concoction of soy, Chinese vinegar and sesame oil in a bowl. The freshly boiled noodles sit on top, buried in a drift of ground chilli flakes, minced garlic, salt and sugar. Hot oil is gingerly ladled over the whole lot, causing the chilli flakes to splutter and spit angrily, releasing its aroma. This is essentially bao xiang -a key element of wok-cookery – releasing an explosive burst of volatile compounds the moment the aromatics hit the hot oil.

The oil and the vinegary base forms a vinaigrette of sorts, and when tossed, every strand is coated in a delicious melange that is at once aromatic, salty, sour, sweet and spicy. I thought about it all week after I left – not so much the noodles (though they were wonderful), but that brilliant tangle of flavours that hits every part of your palate. The one element that pushes the dish into the sublime is the chilli oil, which triggers the trigeminal nerve. This nerve is responsible for sensations that could completely alter perception of food – think of the cooling effect of mint, the shocking crackling sensation of popping candy, or in this case the numbing heat in Sichuan peppercorns.

I was happy to learn that making this chilli oil at home isn’t hard at all. All you do is grind up some chillies with Sichuan peppercorns, heat some oil in a wok until it smokes and ladling it very carefully over the chillies and peppercorns. Allow the luridly red oil to completely cool down and there you have it! Mixed with vinegar, salt, sugar, soy and sesame oil, it makes a mighty fine concoction that makes almost anything taste better. So far, I've had it drizzled over some quick-fried zucchini coins, with fried eggs. Heck, I've even dipped slices of ripe pear into it and it was delicious. But my favourite way to enjoy this condiment by far is with wontons, my current favourite recipe being the one from Tony Tan's latest cookbook 'Hong Kong City'.

Wontons with Chilli Oil  Adapted from 'Hong Kong City' by Tony Tan There are many ways to fold wontons - what I find the most beautiful is the auspicious ingot shape. You fold the wrapper, over the meat, in half to form a triangle, before nudging the base of where the meat lies to form an indent. Wet one of the two pointed ends with a little water before bringing them together to seal.

Serves 4 For the chilli oil 100g dried red chillies 10g Sichuan pepercorns 500ml oil

For the wontons 300g ground pork 2 tablespoon finely chopped ginger 1 tablespoons light soy sauce 1/2 teaspoon sugar 2 teaspoons Shaoxing rice wine 1 egg, beaten 3 tablespoons chicken stock 300g packet of square wonton wrappers

To serve 2 garlic cloves, peeled and grated 1 tablespoon minced ginger 2 tablespoons light soy 1 tablespoon sesame oil Pinch of sugar 90ml chilli oil 2 spring onions Begin by preparing the chilli oil. In a food processor or coffee grinder (or pestle and mortar if you are up for a workout), grind the chillies and peppercorns coarsely. Transfer to a large heatproof jar or bowl. In a wok, heat the oil until smoking before carefully ladling it over the chillies and peppercorns. The oil will spit furiously so it is a good idea to use a large jar or bowl. Allow to cool completely before straining and using. To prepare the filling, combine all the ingredients except the chicken stock and wrappers in a bowl. Stirring in one direction with a pair of chopsticks, gradually drizzle in the chicken stock. Fill the wrappers with a teaspoon of the meat mixture and fold as desired (see note). Bring a wok of water to the boil; once boiling, add the wontons in batches of ten and cook until they float and the meat feels firm when prodded. Drain and divide amongst serving bowls. For the sauce, stir together all the ingredients and drizzle over the wontons. Scatter over the spring onions and serve immediately.