RARE PICKINGS
Similarly, as families are cooking less at home, simple dishes run the same risk of extinction. One of Candlenut’s Lee’s earliest memories of such a dish is the ikan chuan chuan, a whole snapper deep-fried and then stewed with ginger and preserved soy bean paste or tau cheo. “Mum would cook it at home and we always enjoyed this simple dish with a lot of rice; we would also fight over the fish eye,” he recalls fondly. “It’s a very simple and, in a sense, ‘boring’ dish.” But these dishes are still relevant, even in Singapore’s already diverse food scene, as they feature “tastes and flavours that represent, and give insight into the Peranakan culture, which is unique to this region and Singapore”. “We chefs need to embrace the principles and the essence of Peranakan cuisine,” Lee adds. “In our present time, we have so much more knowledge, ingredients and techniques available to us; to constantly weave them into this traditional cuisine will keep it relevant, and people will start to enjoy and give traditional cuisines a chance.” But it is hard to whip up an authentic version of a dish if there is a limited supply of key ingredients. It may not be a common problem in a country that imports a majority of its produce, but one might be surprised to learn that Singapore once had a vibrant array of locally grown fruits and herbs. In her research for the Treasures of the Nyonya Garden dinner at the National Kitchen last month, Violet Oon realised that many of these “lost dishes” were the result of “lost or forgotten trees, shrubs and plants from our Singapore gardens”. “These were part of the gardens of Singapore families—malay, Peranakan and Eurasian—living in the old areas of Katong, Joo Chiat and Bedok, and the moneyed enclaves of Bukit Timah, for example,” Oon explains. Examples included pandan bushes, the kencor spice root, blimbing plant, and even nangka and chiku trees. “What inspired me to go back to the past for the future was the introduction of the buah binjai (Binjai Park was once home to a plantation of binjai trees) to my kitchen by Wee Eng Hwa, daughter of late president Wee Kim Wee. She has written an amazing Peranakan cookbook called Cooking for the President that took her 20 years,” she shares, pointing out how many of the fruits and vegetables featured in the book are almost impossible to find in their raw form in markets and supermarkets. “Luckily for me, Eng Hwa likes to send some of these harvests from her garden and friends’ gardens to my restaurant, so that I can cook and share with our diners; her aim is to share ‘treasures’ of our cuisines with as many people as possible.” The buah binjai, she explains, is critically endangered in the wild of Singapore, with fewer than 50 mature trees (at last count in 2008). The brown fruit reveals a white flesh with a hint of mango and pineapple flavour, but binjai trees only fruit once every three to five years—usually around the middle of the year. “The fruit, though, freezes very well and it is usually made into a sambal with dark soya sauce, sliced chillies and a bit of sugar,” Oon adds. “It is eaten raw and often served with fried fish or mixed into the rice.” Suffice it to say, the solution to ensuring the future of these dishes is far from straightforward. But the rewards are delectably clear.