The Herald - The Herald Magazine
Chinese Malaysian An authentic dining out experience... just beware the tourist menu
SAMESAME CHINESE MALAYSIAN
THE summer rain comes pouring down all across this waterlogged land, but I’m inside, with softshelled crab right in my pudgy hand. Ah, the soft-shelled crab. It’s August. It’s Glasgow. The family is in Italy. Frank Sinatra was on in the car earlier and his voice still sloshes moodily round my head while I sit alone in a little corner table at SameSame musing on the simple, unsung joy of solo dining.
Sure, when I came in I had to resist a waitress’s very firm attempt to propel me on to a lonely-boy leper table out there in some Godforsaken part of that foyer; then we had a bit of a fandango when I saw heaped platters going elsewhere and did enough mental menu arithmetic to dully realise that I must have ordered from the bloody tourist menu.
And so we all reverse ferret (kitchen, too, unfortunately), waitresses return, I chop, change and add even more dishes. Sigh, says everyone else. The last dish I order up by pointing at a passing dish and saying: one of them, please.
This brings the warning: “Are you sure? It has fish.” I will then perversely refuse all offers of rices, of noodles, of soft drinks, of knives and of forks and sink slowly into the chitter-chatter and family laughter coming from the two very large round tables filled with people I assume to be from the city’s Chinese community.
They are celebrating, if my ear-wigging skills are any good, today’s Higher results.
It can be joyful eating alone. True, communication has been a tad awkward so far – mainly because my language skills are not up to much – but also because it’s buzzy and boomy, sounds wash back and forth across this staggeringly plain-Jane dining room with hard walls and art so bad it’s actually good.
Also because I can’t make out what the staff are saying beneath those black masks that seem to stretch all the way up to eye level.
But the food? I haven’t had soft-shell crab this biscuity-crisp, this sweetly white, since the late lamented Asia Style closed its doors on this very spot many years ago.
Memories flood back of many a thrilling meal somewhere in here (the layout has changed) while minced, mulched and zingy garlic and chilli crumb slides, bounces, tumbles all over the shop and I greedily lift
Full-fat Malaysian with that great Chinese-Indian flavour mix, including soft-shelled crab, three roasts and more.
4/5
360g spaghetti
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 1 clove new season garlic, peeled and finely chopped
1 piece dried chilli, crushed (or
2-3 pinches chilli flakes)
100ml dry white wine
Bunch flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
Handful of chanterelles
Sea salt and black pepper
METHOD
Pick over the mushrooms carefully, using a pastry brush or damp paper towel to flip away any soil. Trim the bottom and cut any large ones into strips.
You don’t need to wash the mushrooms as they absorb water easily and will lose their flavour.
Put a large pot of water on to boil.
In a wide frying pan, warm the oil with the garlic and dried chilli. Saute to infuse the oil.
Add the mushrooms, tossing them in the oil and start to cook them over a brisk heat.
Salt the water to taste and add the spaghetti, pushing it down and stirring it to stop it sticking.
Now, raise the heat on the frying pan and add the white wine, tossing the mushrooms and allowing the steam of the alcohol to evaporate.
Sniff the fumes. When they stop catching the back of your throat the alcohol will have evaporated. This leaves the sweetness of the wine in the dish and takes away any acidic aftertaste that can spoil the flavour of the mushrooms.
Lower the heat, season with sea salt and black pepper.
As soon as the pasta is almost al dente, use tongs to lift it from the pot directly into the chanterelle.
The cooking water that clings to the pasta will add the necessary liquid and starch to finish the sauce.
Add plenty of chopped parsley. Toss everything together and cook for a final two minutes.