Evil on a plate
The delectable plate of hokkien mee
By Alexandra Wong
OCT 31 — I haven’t eaten a whole lot of Hokkien mee. In fact, it wasn’t too long ago that I realised Hokkien mee in KL and Hokkien mee in Penang are two very different animals.
Up north, you get a bowl of egg and rice noodles steeped in a fragrant briny stock made from both fresh shrimp and dried prawns. Wikipedia goes on to add, “it is garnished with prawns, fish cake, leafy greens, pork ribs, squid, crisp deep-fried shallots, spring onions and fresh lime served with sliced red chilli, light soy sauce and sambal.”
Order the same thing in Kuala Lumpur and you get “a dish of thick yellow noodles braised in thick dark soy sauce with pork, squid, fish cake and cabbage as the main ingredients and cubes of pork fat fried until crispy.”
Then the other day, while driving to my aunt’s place, I saw this sign out of the corner of my eye. Charcoal stove hokkien mee.
My culinary antenna twitched with anticipation. Advocates of traditional cooking know that certain words and techniques like “charcoal” are all code for Old School Cooking.
And you know what Old School is synonymous with Really Good Stuff.
Armed with fellow foodie Frank, we swung round Jalan Lazat at about 5pm one weekend. A wiry, tanned chap wordlessly took our order for one serving of Hokkien mee, a Kickapoo and an iced tea, before shuffling to the back of the stall.
Patrons enjoying their food at restaurant kim sui
No fine dining establishment, Restaurant Kim Sui is wedged in between a row of zink-roofed, frankly derelict open-air stalls opposite another row of shop houses (look out for Cosway). It looks so unprepossessing that unless you’re have a serious lust for Hokkien mee, you’re not likely to be aware of its existence even if you’re a resident.
A bunch of high-spirited customers at the next table are shooting the breeze, their boisterous conversation punctuated with bottles of beer and all. If there was a coconut tree swaying above us somewhere, the scene could have come right out of a seafood restaurant in Sitiawan.
We waited. And waited. And waited. And by the 22nd century or so (that’s what it felt like to me, I was starving duh) dinner was still not served!!
Just when I was about to storm up and ask in my politest voice what the blazes is going on, I spotted The Wordless One ladling a big scoop of liquid into the wok, and throwing an assortment of stuff in. I swallowed back my saliva and contented myself with eating the skin off my knuckles instead.
Nearly 15 minutes later, a veritable lifetime in frenetic Chinese cooking timescale, the lady boss, wearing a sheepish grin (she must have seen me craning my neck numerous times) delivered a steaming hot plate onto our rickety table.
My dad always says that with some food, you don’t even have to taste it. One look, maybe one sniff and you know it’s going to be superb.
Dark, wet and slippery, it was covered in that slimy thick sauce that gave the fat strips of noodles an unholy gleam in the fading daylight. Whoomps of “wok hei” wafted into our nostrils, whipping my olfactory glands to fever pitch.
We dug in.
At my tentative initial bite, the crispy squares of pork lard responded with a pronounced crunch before melting into a golden savoury nectar in my mouth. The prawns — some bigger than 50 sen coins — oozed with freshness, while the thin slices of pork were achingly tender.
Ever the geek, Frank — the kind of nighmarish student who peppers his teachers with “Why does this work?” questions — got up and planted himself next to the taciturn cook, who continued to cook unperturbed.
Upon returning to our table, he reported triumphantly, “You see that big metal bin next to the wok? They’re frying up fresh batches of kacang,” he said, invoking the euphemism used with much affection in Postcards from a Foreign Country (Author: Yin, Publisher: East West Publishing Pty Ltd), that collection of delectable short stories of Malaysia as we once knew it.
Pure evil indeed.
Hunger pangs somewhat sated, we continued observing Mr Wordless from afar. He stood like some mighty warrior as he tossed and turned the cast iron wok over the powerful charcoal stove, while juggling the ingredients like balls in the air. From his nimble moves, you’d think that the wok weighed no heavier than a roti canai. But we knew better.
A terrific Hokkien mee is determined by the cook’s ability to control the roaring fire, with the objective of infusing “wok hei” (literally spirit of the wok!) into the noodles, no mean feat considering how heavy the cast-iron utensil is. Cooking the humble Hokkien mee requires a rare combination of culinary instinct, physical strength and acrobatic dexterity.
The affable boss, quick to tell that we were new to the establishment, came over and engaged us in some banter. They only do a few dishes because they want to specialise, he explained. “Next time, come and try our other stuff.”
The unpretentious kim sui restaurant that offers glorious food
We ended up ordering his signature bittergourd soup, an impulse we did not regret.
It was just sliced bittergourd with prawns and slices of tender pork simmering in a clear consomme, but it reminded me of the quick-serve soups Mom used to make when I was younger. She’d just pop some vegetables and meat into the wok, and voila, food for the soul. This one was hearty and robust — I’m pretty sure Mum would approve.
The grand tally? RM15 for the generous plate of Hokkien mee, the bittergourd soup that was substantial enough to feed two, and two drinks.
Oh yeah. You can bet your last dollar we are coming back to try their “other stuff.”
Restoran Kim Sui, Jalan Lazat 1, Taman Gembira (off Jalan Klang Lama), 58200 Kuala Lumpur. Business Hours 4pm-11pm
Tags: hokkien mee
October 31st, 2009 at 5:15 pm
I live in Klang, a Hokkien town, yet I could not find a stall for a decent Hokkien Char. Any Klang folks know of any such hidden gems pls share with me. I have been out of Klang and Selangor for many years already, so out of touch with food in town.
Meanwhile KL being a cantonese city has the best Hokkien Char in the country. As a young boy I recall the delicious ( yes, wet, slimy, shiny, thick noodles ) stalls at Jalan Imbi, Tai Thong Jln Ceras, and Peel Road.
Recently the best I ate so far is the one at Jalan Alor. It is right next to the stall that sells Dried grilled pork and other dried stuff. I think it cost RM15 for a big plate for two. A bit expensive as it is located in a tourist area. The sotong and pork was in liberal quantities. Yes, it was slimy, wet, shiny and the fat noodles fired to the desired tenderness and taste. By the way, the chef and helpers were Myanmarese! I suspect the boss is the same as the next door Dried grilled Pork stall. Bad Hokkien Mee is when the noodles are under-fired where you feel a tinge of undercooked flavor.
Tried one at Tai Pan, USJ. Was okay but not as great as the one at Jln Alor. Was abit too dry, under fired and fewer ingredients. About RM6 a plate for one person’s serving.
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