Singapore...with kids

Last January I had a most delightful week by myself in Singapore.  It's a hot and steamy place where eating is the national sport, and hence it suited me to a T.  I spent a glorious week stuffing myself with roti prata, fried noodles and kueh, with occasional interludes wandering around atmospheric neighbourhoods and guzzling lots of Tiger beer.

As things would have it, my husband had been working there this year for a few months, so my three kids and I decided to meet him on the tail end of the job and spend a couple of weeks there.  They say if you have no expectations, you'll never be disappointed, but I couldn't help but fantasise about my children's sparkly-eyed delight at the moustachioed roti man twirling each tissue-thin pastry sheet.  I imagined them exploring the wet markets and temples with wide-eyed wonder.  I daydreamed about them gobbling down bowls of spicy laksa and clamouring for extra blood cockles in their char kway teow.

Things did not work out that way.

The first few days, I dragged my sluggish troupe of tiny travellers from temple to teahouse.  Instead of "wow", I got "wah".  It was too hot.  Their feet hurt.  They wanted to go back to the hotel and watch Cartoon Network.  Glorious golden-domed mosques got barely a glance, but when they found the knock-off Pokemon cards for sale?  Call in the riot squad!

And they would not eat ANYTHING.  Confronted with a nice plate of beef hor fun, either they made like cranky clams and clamped their mouths shut, or they went into defensive centipede mode, curling up and promptly going to sleep.

And again.

And again.

Yes, I know.  I remember my husband gently trying to explain to a crying me years ago that it was unreasonable to expect a 2-year-old to eat home-made pad Thai, even if I had made the tamarind paste myself.  But when food, travel, culture and language are your biggest passions, and it turns out that your children's pinnacle of enjoyment in a foreign country is pressing the lift buttons - seriously depressing stuff.

Some major recalibration was required.  My kids are voracious consumers of Vietnamese food in Footscray and I assumed their love for pho and com tam dac biet would translate nicely into wonton mee and chicken rice.  For whatever reason, it didn't.

Golden Mile Food Centre was right near where we were staying.  There we found a Japanese stall, and the kids really enjoyed their teriyaki salmon, tangy coleslaw, white rice and miso...

...while I got a much-needed serve of greens with very good kway teow mee.

It was also here that I failed to purchase this deep-fried cheese sandwich, which I shall regret for the rest of my days.

Smoky satays from East Coast Lagoon Food Village got a tick...

...while the adults swooned over gooey, wobbly oyster omelette from Song Kee Fried Oyster.

Loved this white carrot cake from a stall a few doors down from Song Kee Fried Oyster.  Child #1 was inconsolable when she heard she had missed out on carrot cake due to protest sleeping.  I did not choose to enlighten her Singaporean carrot cake is neither cake as she would know it nor made of carrots, but rather a steamed cake of rice flour and radish that is then bound and fried with eggs.

Perhaps enticed by thoughts of mythical Singaporean carrot cakes, the spawn deigned to try ice kacang, and promptly fell in love.

Instead of historical walks, we went on waterslides, the cable car, and saw 4D movies...

...had our feet exfoliated by "doctor fish" in Chinatown...

...went to the Night Safari, and to the supertrees at Gardens by the Bay.  And you know what?  It may have been all been cheesy family fun, but it was genuinely really awesome.

And much as I wanted the kids to fall in love with Nyonya pineapple tarts, I just let them like what they liked (namely, giant boxes of donuts).  "It is what it is," say the Irish.  Why not just enjoy it?

And you know what?  Once I let go, magical things started to happen.  My eldest decided she wanted to try crab, so we ventured into Geylang, Singapore's red-light district, where JB Ah Meng's Crab House lies.  I'd been taken to this rough-and-ready, back-alley eatery by Bryan's gorgeous, generous parents when I'd first visited Singapore.  Eating in the grungy, "locals-only" laneway, gorging myself on incredible seafood and huge mugs of Tiger beer over ice - it was one of the best food experiences of my life.

I ventured back with trepidation.  Why return to an experience that was so perfect the first time around and risk ruining the memory?  But it was crazy, amazingly good.  Yes, two of the kids refused to eat anything, but the eldest devoured so much white-pepper crab.  What an amazing first crab experience.

Here's a crab shot...

...incredible, garlicky "la la" or clams...

...and scrambled eggs with tomato and black fungus.  I could eat this kind of food every day.

On the way home, we stopped at a durian stall...

...and while only one out of three kids tried the "king of fruit", we ended up three for three when it came to mangosteens!  I predict lots of these in lunchboxes for the rest of the year.

(The durian verdict?  It's bizarre.  If you don't know, this giant spiky fruit has a distinct aroma that is somewhere between cooking gas and overripe fruit.  Other people report it smelling like rotten cheese or smelly feet.  It's so intense that in many Asian countries, it's banned from subways or planes.  Some of the eating around it seems almost mythical - one fellow durian-eater that night mused misty-eyed that "no two durians taste alike" - almost like they have souls!

The taste is very floral, like overripe papaya or mango, but it's the texture that's the oddest thing - like pate or cream cheese.  We got a tip which was to keep a segment of the spiky shell, fill that with water and then use that to rinse your mouth out so you don't have durian breath.  Such a fantastic experience, although we did stink out the whole hotel room with our leftovers and had to leave the do-not-disturb sign on all day while we blasted the AC to try to clear the scene of the crime!)

Part of letting go was also hiring a babysitter for quite a few evenings so we could go do what we wanted (namely, eat copious amounts of things, with optional ending up at the Thai disco).  A highlight was the White Rabbit, inside an old church in the lush Dempsey Hill area, and which has got to be one of the most romantic eateries anywhere on the planet.  I conveniently submerged my ethics under a few raspberry martinis and we had a pre-firing squad-style dinner of oysters, Maine lobster, foie gras, and a how is this thing not a cornflake yet-amount of days-grain fed steak.  Such an incredible evening - we even got to see a marriage proposal!

But perhaps in the same style of subverted expectations, one of the most delicious things we ate wasn't even Singaporean.  Right near where we were staying was the Golden Mile Complex, also known as "Thai Town".  This is a somewhat down-at-heel shopping centre crammed with Thai discos, karaoke joints, restaurants and travel agents, complete with cockfighting on the teev.

It was here that we found a mookata spot, which is a Thai hybrid between steamboat and Korean-style BBQ.

You're given a heaping platter of vegies and meats - marinated pork, liver, chicken, calamari, fish balls, crab sticks and mini hot dogs - and the surrounding "moat" is topped up first of all with a very weak chicken stock.  A burner is turned on underneath and as you sizzle marinated pork, chicken and more, all the juices run down off the domed, ridged cooktop into the stock.

In the bubbling brew you might poach an egg, cook some of the noodles, or swizzle some mushrooms and greens.  It condenses down more and more until finally, stuffed fit to bursting, you scoop out the now viscous, rich brown liquid, which tastes like distilled daydreams.

And how did this meal go down?  The kids ate all the mini hot dogs.  I ate all the prawns, and my husband ate all the liver.

Everyone was happy.

Good morning Singapore! Breakfast in the Lion City

Image credit: Jonathan Harford

People I used to know when I lived in London actually ate this.  They actually did!  It's a full English fry up in a can, including "chopped egg nuggets".

NO.  JUST NO.

Thankfully, breakfast in Singapore is vastly more interesting, different and delicious.  The quintessential Singaporean breakfast is kaya toast - thick-cut toast spread with chartreuse coconut jam and obscenely large pats of butter, served with dangerously wobbly soft-boiled eggs.  Sprinkle some white pepper and squirt on some dark soy for a sweet/savoury breakfast treat.  Actually, these just-cooked eggs, boiled in metal mugs by stern-faced workers, are suspiciously like the fancy 65-degree poached eggs sweeping Melbourne's trendoid brunch scene.

Just across from my hotel in Chinatown was Tong Ah Eating House, an open-air kopitiam or coffee shop that has been run by the same family for four generations.  Kopitiams were established in the early 1900s to provide cheap sustenance to a growing working class.  Because the cooks could only afford cheap coffee beans, they perked them up by frying them with butter, lard and sugar.

The resulting kopi is strained through a long "sock" to create a sweet, powerful brew that is utterly delicious.  On the bottom is a layer of sweetened condensed milk that billows up as you stir with your plastic Chinese soup spoon.  And if you want to be a real ah chek (old uncle), tip the kopi into your saucer and slurp away.  A "set" with coffee, eggs and toast costs around AUD $2.65.

Another much-loved Singapore breakfast is roti prata.  Arriving in the Lion City via south India, the roti begin as small balls of dough before being twirled and twisted into impossibly thin sheets of pastry.  A few quick folds later, they're thrown on the hotplate to become crispy roti bread.

You know how I said anything with a skull floating in it has to be good?  Well, I reckon anything served next to a freeway on-ramp has to be good.  In spite of less then scenic location, people flock to this roti stall for this winning breakfast - crispy roti dunked in lip-smacking mutton curry.

Skulls.  Freeway on-ramps.  Another clue to good food is if you see a granny queueing to buy it.

And indeed, this chee cheong fun or filled rice noodle roll at Chinatown Complex hawker centre was worth waiting for.  Filled with minced pork and mushrooms and topped with smoky dark sauce, these tender, floppy noodle rolls were miles away from the claggy prawn-filled versions often seen at yum cha.

I'm telling you, if you're one of those people who doesn't eat breakfast, you'll seriously miss out in Singapore.  If you can only manage a small bite, make it steamed rice cakes from Jian Bo Shui Kueh at Tiong Bahru Market.

Upon ordering, silky steamed rice cakes are popped from silver moulds with lightning speed before being showered in a moist, crumbly topping of fried preserved radish and friends.  The topping is so umami, almost Marmite-like in flavour, and married with the warm, cloud-like rice cakes underneath, these breakfast kueh are simply divine.

But the pièce de résistance at Tiong Bahru was congee with raw fish.  Between spoonfuls of delicate, soothing rice porridge, spiked with shredded chicken and cuttlefish pieces, we nibbled on exquisite Chinese-style sashimi, dressed with sesame and julienned ginger.

...and here's where to get your ticket to Cloud 9.

Travels in Malaysia

Let's fast forward a little.  After four days exploring Singapore's hawker centres and back-alley cafes, I dragged my bag to the MRT and set off for Johor Bahru, Malaysia.  This coastal city is just over the causeway from Singapore and is where my friend Mrs Hand has taken up residence.

Why Mrs Hand, you say?  When I asked her if I could include her in photos, "No way man!" came the reply in her thick Aussie accent.  "Come on, what about if your hand's in the way?" I pressed.  "Fine, whatever," she smiled.  So Mrs Hand it is.

She knew I was on an eating pilgrimage, so first stop, a nasi campur stall in a local wet market.  You load up your plate with rice from the rice cooker and then just start piling on the goods.  Chilli beef jerky, fried tempeh, emerald green water spinach and more.  The beef rendang was out of control good.  I stopped at the sea snail shells though!

 

There are loads of roadside stalls selling everything from kueh (steamed cakes) to fresh fruit.  This is Mrs Hand's regular stop for after-school snacks - freshly made fruit and vegie fritters.  I loved the cassava sticks and two types of fried banana, pisang rajah (small and sweet) and pisang besar (like plantain slices).

That night it was time for the best roasted quail, marinated in sweet soy and chilli and roasted over flames (fanned by, well, a fan!)

Alongside were delicate chicken satay served with wickedly good, rich satay sauce, full of many layers of flavour including lemongrass, chilli and just a little peanut.  Hmm - my go-to satay sauce of coconut milk, sweet chilli sauce and Kraft peanut butter isn't seeming all that appetising now!

Breakfast was at a Mamak eatery, which serves food from the Tamil Muslim community of Malaysia, including roti, dosa, curries and more.

Tissue-thin, light and puffy roti bread dipped in classic South Indian dal.  Two roti with dal cost the equivalent of 55 Australian cents.  YES - 55 cents.  That's it...  I'm moving to Malaysia.

Medical specimen or freshly squeezed OJ to go?

With the promise of home cooking, we bundled into the car for an epic journey up the coast to Mrs Hand's auntie's house, where a goat had been killed that morning for the aqiqah, a celebration of a new baby's birth.

Anything with a skull floating in it has to be good.  Believe me, this curry was insanely delicious.  The bones gave it such turbo-charged, deep meaty flavour (by which I don't mean gamey), and all the stringy bits had melted down to create a rich, silky gravy, loaded with cinnamon and cardamom pods.

More beautiful Malay home cooking - thin, mild coconut curry loaded with carrot, tofu and jackfruit, perfect for pouring over homemade sticky rice cakes...plus achar, a simple but addictive cucumber and long red chilli pickle, and more crack-tastic satay sauce.  One of the family's kids apparently eats bowl after bowl of this peanut sauce and little else.  I can relate.

Now, I could tell you the story of how Mrs Hand crashed us into a police roadblock, or how we got attacked by monkeys and had to drive off in a panic in our bathers through the conservative Malay countryside.  But I'll leave you with the South China Sea, warm as bathwater, where I floated weightlessly on my back for the longest time, buffeted by gentle swells, and stared at the blue sky above.