Secret Soup! (2)

Continuing from Secret Soup! …

So on my persuasion and for Penang’s pride, Mum served Bruce a bowl of what he termed as the Berlin ‘secret soup’. Instead of celery Mum had used the traditional kiin chai. Now, a bit of linguistic pedantry here – the word kiin has to be pronounced without the teeth touching each other, but with the tongue flicking up to touch the roof of the mouth next to the upper denture in a positive manner.

Kiin chai is Chinese parsley, a confused veggie lost somewhere between the better known uan sooi (Chinese coriander) and celery. It has a stronger scent and more fibrous body than coriander, and looks like coriander on steroids.

Mum also laced the dish with garlic sautéed in oil. Bruce’s first mouthful sent him varoom to FTL (faster-than-light) speed. Before too long, he was waxing eloquent over Mum’s offering, acknowledging it’s the best Berlin chicken soup he has ever taken, a standard of culinary delight that Penangites would term as ‘Heaven-sent-come’, or ‘a gift from Heaven’.

While I wouldn't go as far as to accord Mum’s soup that 'Heavenly' status I was satisfied I had convinced Bruce of the superiority of Penang’s soup. I couldn’t help rubbing it: “Bruce me laddie, Penang, Penang, not Berlin. Remember I told you it originated from here?”

That shameless glut asked Mum for a second, which was then followed by a third bowl. It was Auschwitz all over again. He even imitated my example by sprinkling his soup with tau yew (soya sauce). An astonished Mum remarked: “Wah, chi-leh Ar-Moh ay cheah loh!” *

* wow, this Westerner sure can eat!

When Bruce asked me to translate Mum’s comments, I did so, but judiciously omitting the Ar-Moh* part. But I was glad Mum didn’t add in the ‘kui’ word.

* 'red-hair' = Westerner

Porridge, congee, gruel, broth – they’re basically the same, cereal cooked as a soupy concoction, maybe with some meat, fish or veggie added in. The last two, gruel and broth, suggest a thinner or lighter fare, while the former two would be associated with more substantial bodies.

Porridge is of course a breakfast cereal of Scottish origin, while congee is more related to a Chinese meal, though strangely the latter is of Tamil origin. Mind you, porridge also carries a naughty meaning, where the phrase ‘stirring the porridge’ implies taking one’s turn late in a group bonking session.

For some reason, perhaps because of the British influence (and hopefully not because of the group sex), English educated Penangites have preferred the word porridge more than congee. It’s a choice not unlike that for moi and chok. But then, one can understand the preference for the Chinese words because the former is Penang Hokkien whilst the other is Cantonese.

While my Penang mind sees moi as rice porridge with the grains of rice intact and separated, and submerged in clear soup like micro submarines remaining quietly still at the sea bottom when sub-hunters prowl above, it visualises chok as a sticky mixture of white grain-less rice paste not unlike the glue that political party faithful used to stick up their campaign posters.

I am of course not knocking the latter as it’s certainly great with pei-tan (century old eggs), or grilled chicken (or non-halal) intestines, as in chee cheong chok. I introduced Bruce to the latter, but strangely for a Scot he seemed put off by offal, such as heart, liver, kidneys, intestines, brains, giblets and tripe, all yummy stuff. He’s obviously one of those Scots who hadn’t eaten haggis.

But back to the issue, when it’s Penang style chicken porridge, it’s kay moi and never kay chok, thank you!

The terminology of kay moi also carries a cryptic (Da Vinci-ish) social code for Penangites. When they spot their relatives, neighbours or friends all dressed up as if for Sunday church, they would casually ask: “cheah kay moi ar bah moi?” (are you going to partake of chicken or pork porridge?). Though the word bah just means meat, common usage in Penang makes it pork rather than beef or lamb.

Going for chicken porridge means attending a wedding, while taking pork porridge implies attending a funeral. Certainly chicken porridge was originally (traditionally) served as a breakfast meal at Penang weddings. I am not sure whether this is still being practised. But I am not so confident on the reason for pork porridge being equated to funerals, other than to guess along the same lines for kay moi – that it was served at funerals.

In Penang, when a Chinese passed away, friends and relatives would maintain a 24-hour watch during the deceased’s lying-in-state until the burial. The bereaved family in turn has to look after these attendants, feeding them and ensuring they have light refreshments and cigarettes. Pots of coffee and tea and jars of water would be kept full, while midnight or early morning snacks such as pork porridge would be served. I guess that’s where the association of pork porridge with funerals started.

Well, that’s the Penang culinary version of 4 weddings and a funeral.

I don’t have much success at cooking kay moi the way Mum has been doing because I couldn’t come up with the moi, but instead usually ending up with chok. When I don’t put enough water it becomes steam rice, but when I add on extra water, it turns out as a milky paste-like concoction, basically chok. Somehow Mum produces the perfect state of white micro submarines lying at the bottom of the crockery lagoon.

One notable characteristic about Penang chicken porridge served at wedding breakfast – it’s provided in a rather comel (cute dainty) China (fine porcelain) bowl complete with a China spoon, maybe even placed on a comel China saucer, the types that Straits nyonya* use. So someone with a hearty appetite like my friend Bruce would require at least a dozen bowls or more if such dainty crockery was used – no, we didn’t serve Bruce with the comel-size bowl – he might swallow that as well.

* Chinese Malaysians born/living in Penang and Malacca who have adopted Malay culture – eg. wearing sarong kebaya, cooking Malay dishes and delicacies, using a combination of Malay and Hokkien languages, etc

But eventually I developed my KTemoc-style. Basically I cheat. I would cook the rice first, just as normal steam rice. Then I allow it to cool off. Meanwhile I’d heat up a different pot of chicken stock, toss in de-boned chicken thigh fillets, fish out the cooked chook meat to dice it into cubes, chuck them back into the stock, flavour to taste, and then allow the soup to cool. I loosen the cooled rice into loose grains and add the lot into the cooled soup.

The cooling is important because if one part is still hot, somehow the rice would keep absorbing the soup, and consequently either dries up the mixture, making the whole combination into steam rice again, or disintegrates into a chok-like paste, either of which would really piss me off.

When ready to eat, I zap the content in a microwave for a minute or so, add in chopped kiin chai or even uan sooi, and a tablespoonful of sautéed garlic plus the oil, then sprinkled a bit of pepper and tau yew, and Bob’s your uncle. And before the rice grains start to absorb the soup, it's already submerged in my tummy. One can even add slivers of chicken liver or giblets into the soup if one likes them.

Best of all, it’s also halal*-able with sembelih chicken (properly slaughtered i.a.w Islamic rites), hence a truly Malaysian dish.

* kosher

There you are – the soup is not a Germanic secret as outrageously and falsely claimed, but a Penang nyonya treasure, as it has always been for hundreds of years.

Related:
(1) Scary Soups!
(2) Does an Asian eat Asian food at home?
(3) The not-so-humble Basil