Around The World In 80 Dinners Part 5

From the Maxwell complex, we walk a few blocks south to Tanjong Pagar Plaza Market and Food Centre, on the fringes of Chinatown. On the way, along Tanjong Pagar Road, we stumble across Singapore's Bridal Row, where virtually every shop focuses on some aspect of wedding management: gowns, photography, etiquette requirements, invitations, even spas to relax and reward the wedding party. Bars and nightclubs with racy advertising in the windows const.i.tute the only other common cla.s.s of commerce on the street, leading us to ponder any possible connection between the two types of businesses. "Maybe," Bill says, "stressed-out brides need a couple of stout ones after visits to the etiquette planner."

The market portion of Tanjong Pagar takes up the whole of the large ground floor, crammed with stalls offering a stunning array of produce, including drag-onfruits that look like artichokes dipped in Chinese red lacquer and rose apples that resemble a cross between a pear and a chayote. The upstairs hawker center looks shabbier, enough so to intimidate the squeamish, particularly if they get a whiff of the pig organ soup simmering in the stand at the top of the stairs.

The soup draws crowds of fans, but our sights are set instead on ice kachang, kachang, another popular dish with greater appeal to us. The two places that tie for Makansutra's highest mark for the treat in the city, Annie's Peanut Ice Kachang and Huat Kee Ice Kachang, compete here as next-door neighbors. Our intention is to try both versions, but Cheryl demurs after we share one from Annie's. "This is good, but two's too many." The personable proprietor shaves ice finely to snow consistency in a machine designed for the purpose-Makansutra raves about the blade she uses for this-and then mounds it into a large volcano-shaped pile. She pours a rich fruit syrup over the stack and adds jellied fruit squiggles and cubes, corn kernels, and sweetened red adzuki beans, showering everything at the end with finely chopped peanuts. Weird but tasty. another popular dish with greater appeal to us. The two places that tie for Makansutra's highest mark for the treat in the city, Annie's Peanut Ice Kachang and Huat Kee Ice Kachang, compete here as next-door neighbors. Our intention is to try both versions, but Cheryl demurs after we share one from Annie's. "This is good, but two's too many." The personable proprietor shaves ice finely to snow consistency in a machine designed for the purpose-Makansutra raves about the blade she uses for this-and then mounds it into a large volcano-shaped pile. She pours a rich fruit syrup over the stack and adds jellied fruit squiggles and cubes, corn kernels, and sweetened red adzuki beans, showering everything at the end with finely chopped peanuts. Weird but tasty.

Rain starts pouring during our stay in Tanjong Pagar, so to avoid getting soaked on the trek to the subway station, we take a taxi to our next, across-town stop, the Old Airport Road Emporium and Cooked Food Centre. From the outside, the square, open-sided, three-story building looks like it could double as a parking garage. Food stands occupy the same s.p.a.ce a car would, packed together so tightly that they leave minimal room for walking and eating in the aisles.

Makansutra likes many of the one hundred or so vendors in this old-style structure, though business is slow late on a stormy Sunday afternoon. Our goal is to sample several dishes, starting with fried Hokkien mee, mee, a Singaporan comfort food that blends fried wheat noodles with seafood stock, prawns, squid rings, and strips of pork, often from the belly. Ng Hock Wah of the Nam Sing Hokkien Fried Mee took the 2005 Hawker Legend t.i.tle for this specialty, which he has cooked for more than forty years. He stays open daily at the Emporium, but closes occasionally on an ad hoc, unannounced basis-like today, unfortunately. a Singaporan comfort food that blends fried wheat noodles with seafood stock, prawns, squid rings, and strips of pork, often from the belly. Ng Hock Wah of the Nam Sing Hokkien Fried Mee took the 2005 Hawker Legend t.i.tle for this specialty, which he has cooked for more than forty years. He stays open daily at the Emporium, but closes occasionally on an ad hoc, unannounced basis-like today, unfortunately.

Determined to try the mee in any case, we find another version nearby at a friendly mom-and-pop stall where the man cooks and the woman serves. He fries the spaghettilike noodles in a wok with the seafood, meat, lots of bean sprouts, and bits of scrambled egg, and puts everything together in a bowl of flavorful broth. The lady brings it out with a proud smile with lime juice and chile paste, and we devour it all down to the last lick of liquid. It's good enough to get addictive.

While we eat, Pop prepares his other forte, known variously as or luak, or luak, fried oyster egg, and oyster omelet. He spreads a circle of taro flour on a flat-bottomed wok, adds beaten eggs and a sprinkling of red chile, splashes in some oil, and then dexterously maneuvers this mixture to the side of the pan. With his other hand, he dips oysters into more of the same flour and fries them lightly on the opposite section of the skillet, scooping them up when just browned to scatter over the still-runny eggs. He's done in less time than it would take one of us to wash his wok. fried oyster egg, and oyster omelet. He spreads a circle of taro flour on a flat-bottomed wok, adds beaten eggs and a sprinkling of red chile, splashes in some oil, and then dexterously maneuvers this mixture to the side of the pan. With his other hand, he dips oysters into more of the same flour and fries them lightly on the opposite section of the skillet, scooping them up when just browned to scatter over the still-runny eggs. He's done in less time than it would take one of us to wash his wok.

Curry puffs, one of the few items that disappoint us in Singapore, come next on our list of things to sample. w.a.n.g w.a.n.g Crispy Curry Puff fixes a nice, b.u.t.tery and flaky pastry sh.e.l.l, but the curried potato-and-chicken filling lacks flavor to us. Blandness doesn't worry us at our next stall, Mattar Road Seafood Barbecue, another of Makansutra's top fifteen Legends and its number one choice in town for chile crab, a Singapore icon usually spelled the British way as "chilli crab." Ng Hung Leng and his wife close two days a week, a long business break here, to make the red chile sauce, a robust concoction with coconut milk, ginger, tomatoes, eggs, and stock.

When the Ngs see us striding toward their out-of-the-way booth, they know we're coming for crab, which they have stacked all around them in plastic laundry baskets and burlap flour bags. As soon as she seats us, Madame Ng carefully selects two of the live crustaceans for our approval-both 2.2 pounds plump and as feisty as boxers going to the ring-and then hands them to her husband for cooking. "Both want chilli crab?" she asks.

Cheryl says, "Make one of them a pepper crab," another local specialty loaded with freshly ground Tellicherry pepper.

"Want greens, too?"

"Sure," Bill answers, unsure until later that he's ordered stir-fried greens with garlic.

The supper costs much more than other hawker meals, and takes much longer to prepare and eat, but it's worth all of that and much more. "The pepper crab really zings you," Cheryl says, "but I like the chile version better because the sauce gives it greater complexity."

Bill agrees. "The sauce must be invisible, too, because I don't see a drop on your blouse, messy one, even though we've trashed the entire table and my stomach is screaming 'burst, burst, must die!' Let's go hail a cab on the street and get drenched with rain instead." The downpour ends, of course, as soon as we reach our hotel, a good excuse for wrapping up the evening with an obligatory Singapore Sling in the Albert Court's bar.

Early the next morning, we walk to the Tekka Centre in the Little India neighborhood near our hotel for breakfast snacks. "What's going on?" Cheryl asks, baffled by the festive decorations that have sprouted overnight on Serangoon Road, the area's main street. A huge sculpted peac.o.c.k spreads his feathers brightly over the entrance to a department store and giant images of lotus blossoms, parasols, and elephants drape from the lampposts. Neither of us has a clue about the meaning until we discover most of the food stands at Tekka shut down tightly, in honor, according to an apologetic sign, of the official beginning of the preparations for the local Deepawali celebration.

So we hop on the subway back to Chinatown to track down some vendors who had been closed yesterday. In the Hong Lim Market and Food Centre, the group includes Outram Park Fried Kway Teow, which gets Makansutra's highest marks for char kway teow, char kway teow, a dish that becomes one of our personal favorites in Singapore. The stand's cook wok-fries a combination of fettuccine-size rice noodles and spaghettilike wheat noodles with bits of Chinese sausage and pork (including a generous portion of cracklings), c.o.c.kles, bean sprouts, other vegetables, and a thick soy sauce. Sitting across from Cheryl on a simple outdoors-style picnic table, Bill says, marveling, "What a fantastic blend of flavors and textures, the seafood with the pork, crunchy with silky." a dish that becomes one of our personal favorites in Singapore. The stand's cook wok-fries a combination of fettuccine-size rice noodles and spaghettilike wheat noodles with bits of Chinese sausage and pork (including a generous portion of cracklings), c.o.c.kles, bean sprouts, other vegetables, and a thick soy sauce. Sitting across from Cheryl on a simple outdoors-style picnic table, Bill says, marveling, "What a fantastic blend of flavors and textures, the seafood with the pork, crunchy with silky."

"You're right, a winner for sure. It speaks of a culinary sophistication way beyond the bounds of this humble setting."

One of the Makansutra Legends, Ah Kow Mushroom Minced Pork Mee, operates in a dark back corner of the same building. Cher Hang Peng stands behind the stove, where he's been for fifty years since the age of ten, preparing bak chor mee, bak chor mee, minced-meat noodles with black vinegar, dumplings, and vegetables. His wife sits at an unoccupied table when she's not taking orders, folding wonton wrappers around big b.a.l.l.s of finely chopped pork to make the dumplings. Both are a joy to watch, Mom folding and stuffing as Pop dunks wheat noodles and then minced meat and dumplings into a boiling broth to cook quickly. He puts the core ingredients together in bowls and adds, over the top, bean sprouts, crisp fried shallots, cilantro, Chinese black vinegar, and chile sauce. A cup of the steaming broth accompanies the main dish. For a grand tasting and the show, the tab comes to U.S. $3 total. minced-meat noodles with black vinegar, dumplings, and vegetables. His wife sits at an unoccupied table when she's not taking orders, folding wonton wrappers around big b.a.l.l.s of finely chopped pork to make the dumplings. Both are a joy to watch, Mom folding and stuffing as Pop dunks wheat noodles and then minced meat and dumplings into a boiling broth to cook quickly. He puts the core ingredients together in bowls and adds, over the top, bean sprouts, crisp fried shallots, cilantro, Chinese black vinegar, and chile sauce. A cup of the steaming broth accompanies the main dish. For a grand tasting and the show, the tab comes to U.S. $3 total.

Positively aglow from the day's two starter courses, we stroll several blocks to the large Chinatown Complex, which brings us down a couple of notches from our noodle high. To get to the second-floor food stalls, visitors have to dodge and weave their way through swarms of clothes saleswomen and shoppers on the street level. Once you locate the stairs, the steps lead up to a sprawling, drab quarter deserving immediate attention from the government's current renovation program for hawker centers. It takes a dedicated search to find the two stalls we're seeking, one renowned for sweet rice b.a.l.l.s called ah boling ah boling and the other just as famed for and the other just as famed for chai tow kueh, chai tow kueh, misleadingly labeled "carrot cake" in English. Both are supposed to be open according to our usually reliable information, but neither is. misleadingly labeled "carrot cake" in English. Both are supposed to be open according to our usually reliable information, but neither is.

Set on having the carrot cake, we dash across South Bridge Street to return to the Maxwell Centre, certain someone in the compound makes a reasonable version. A circuit around the stands leads us to "Auntie," where the namesake cook works on her savory specialty, which contains no carrots and tastes nothing like the American dessert. She coa.r.s.ely grates enormous daikon-style radishes, puts a mound of them into a flat-bottomed wok, cracks an egg over the top, and fries it lightly into a loose mixture. Both of us get black cakes, darkened by soy sauce and dried chile, but we take seats at a table already occupied by a local businessman eating the simpler white rendition.

He nods a welcome to us and watches us curiously, remarking after a few minutes in good English, "You must live in Singapore because you handle the chopsticks so well."

"No," Bill answers, "but we use them at home in the United States with some frequency. Do you eat regularly at the Maxwell Centre?"

"Just occasionally when I'm in the neighborhood. What brings you here? You must be the only Westerners in the building."

"We're on a hawker pilgrimage," Cheryl says, "sampling as many dishes as we can at a variety of centers. These simple cakes are delicious, as flavorful as any hawker specialty we've eaten."

Smiling broadly, he tells us, "You're getting a real Singapore experience. I eat hawker food every day and think it's the best thing about the city. I couldn't live anywhere else for that reason alone."

A little full now, still before noon, we decide to get some exercise walking around the historic colonial zone of the city. If Bill had only packed hiking boots for the occasion, the tall, turbaned-and-robed doorman at the fabled Raffles Hotel might have let him enter the lobby. Both of us are wearing open-toed sandals, like most people on the tropical streets, which the establishment's inspector general deems okay for a lady but not a gentleman. Cheryl goes in for a look while Bill hangs around the portico, trying to annoy the burly fellow, who he hopes is sweating profusely under his officious garb and bulky black shoes.

This bit of fun stirs our appet.i.tes again, so we take the subway to the main Malay sector of town, a predominantly Muslim area, for a visit to the Haig Road Food Centre. Several generations of the same family have operated Warong Sudi Mampir since the 1940s, settling in this location about thirty years ago. The current chef-owner and Makansutra Legend, Gunawan Baajoan, seems a little overwhelmed at present with take-out orders, telling us, "You'll have to wait about forty minutes before I can get to you."

He probably expects us to leave, obviously oblivious to our reputation for obstinate persistence. Instead, we find seats, get drinks from another stall, and track his progress, noticing that he cooks on small logs rather than charcoal, a sterling sign. He catches on to our frame of mind pretty quickly and comes over to tell us he can fit in a small order, just what we want. Within minutes he brings us ten skewers, equally divided between beef and chicken, both types succulently marinated in coconut milk and spices and then grilled perfectly. Cheryl p.r.o.nounces the proprietor's chunky peanut sauce "the best I've ever had," and guesses he made it by hand with a mortar and pestle, crushing peanuts with finely minced ginger, shallots, and chile, and for the salty tang, adding pounded dried shrimp rather than fish sauce.

Concluding the evening with crab bee hoon at Sin Huat Eating House, we go the next morning to the suburbs in search of the Bedok New Town and Food Centre. The Makansutra map of the area really lets us down, suggesting our breakfast stop is much closer to the subway station than it actually is. After hoofing it for a steamy mile or so through a well-manicured industrial zone, Bill finally checks at the security gate of an auto parts factory to make sure we're going in the right direction. The guard comes out to the sidewalk and points down the street at a cl.u.s.ter of high-rise towers, saying, "Maybe a ten-minute walk." Onward we trudge in air that clings to us like a wool blanket in a sauna.

A big, bustling patio market sits in the center of the residential complex. At one end, hawkers offer prepared food to eat here or take away. In the other half of the s.p.a.ce, a variety of vendors butcher meat to order, sell live fish and seafood, display fresh produce, peddle brooms and plastic pails, and parade clothes of all kinds and sizes.

If we've felt like maverick cattle in other centers-Westerners gone astray from our herd-the sensation strikes us here with the force of a branding iron. Everyone else on the plaza lives in elevator distance of where they're standing or sitting. Near to nothing of interest to other Singapore residents or visitors either, the Bedok New Town market exists for a self-contained community, all of whom seem to be eyeing us intently. No one is the least unfriendly-quite the opposite in some cases-but they clearly regard us as novelties.

Our reason for venturing this far from the heart of the city is to taste another version of char kway teow, this time from the wok of Makansutra Legend Ng Chang Siang of Hill Street Fried Kway Teow. Mom and Pop Ng are just setting up as we arrive, so Cheryl proposes getting an appetizer at another stand. One aisle over, the Yong Hua You Tiao stall fries long bread fritters called you char kueh. you char kueh. They look like small Mexican churros, and taste similar, but the dough contains leavening in this case. A dozen of them wash down smoothly with squeezed-to-order melon and pineapple juices from Heng Heng Fresh Fruit Juice. They look like small Mexican churros, and taste similar, but the dough contains leavening in this case. A dozen of them wash down smoothly with squeezed-to-order melon and pineapple juices from Heng Heng Fresh Fruit Juice.

Returning to Hill Street right before the opening hour, we find the Ngs eating some of the same fritters. They offer us tastes, but Cheryl declines on our behalf, explaining we just had a batch. The couple acts like they've never seen foreigners, at least at their stand, and they take obvious pride in presenting us with our plates of noodles. Their rendition of the dish is wonderful, on a par with yesterday's version except for fewer bits of sausage and crunchy pork cracklings. On our way out, Bill offers our thanks. "Magnificent. Really rich and flavorful. You are very talented."

Rather than retracing our hike back to the subway, we hail a taxi on the street to take us to Little India for lunch at Banana Leaf Apollo. The restaurant enjoys a reputation for one of Singapore's best fish-head curries, another of the city's many food favorites. Immigrants from south India created the dish as a way of promoting their curry to Chinese settlers, who they knew to be fond of fish-head preparations. Understanding from our advance research that the staff serves meals on banana leaves instead of tableware, we expect a basic street-front joint, but discover instead an upscale establishment, replete with welcome air-conditioning, our first experience of that in a Singapore eatery. Even so, both of us get cooling yogurt-and-fruit la.s.sis to drink, ordering to the background tune of "The Sound of Music" as interpreted in an Indian instrumental style.

The waiter lays out our leaves, cut in large rectangular sections, in front of us, covering much of the tabletop. He spoons rice in the center of each and to the side, dollops of two vegetable relishes, a chopped summer squash with turmeric, tomatoes, and curry leaves, and another headier mixture of cabbage, curry leaves, and black mustard seeds. He brings the main course shortly, a colossal snapper head floating in an herb-and-spice-filled south Indian curry with the sheen of coconut oil. Hollowing out the huge, tasty cheeks and other portions of meat between the bones, we dig in, using the rice, pappadums, and onion kulcha bread to soak up the magical sauce, which builds in heat like a symphony in the back of our throats. Aficionados say to leave the fish eyes until the end, but by then, luckily, neither of us can eat anything more.

After spending much of the afternoon confined to our hotel room by heavy rain, we go for dinner to another regular restaurant, Blue Ginger. It serves Nonya or Peranakan cooking, a local tradition developed when early southern Chinese traders in these waters married Malay women. The men (known as Babas) brought soy sauce, garlic, and onions to the pot, and the ladies (Nonyas) contributed coconut milk, tamarind, and lime leaves. Indian and Thai seasonings, including chiles, entered the blend over time, and centuries later the result is a cuisine distinctive of Singapore.

Unfortunately, Blue Ginger doesn't earn much distinction itself tonight. Founded by the niece of famous Peranakan cookbook author Leong Yee Soo, it succeeds sometimes but falls flat frequently. The only outstanding item is the constantly replenished pickles on every table-cuc.u.mbers, cabbage, and carrots in a light vinegar and citrus dressing, meant to accompany the savory courses. They redeem our otak otak otak otak appetizer, mild white fish pounded with galangal, candlenuts, turmeric, kaffir lime leaf, chile, and shrimp paste, then wrapped in a banana leaf to grill. Bland and spongy alone, it needs the pickles for balance. Nothing can save our main dishes, a beef rendang without any of the character of its potent seasonings, and a muddy, clunky version of the Nonya cla.s.sic, appetizer, mild white fish pounded with galangal, candlenuts, turmeric, kaffir lime leaf, chile, and shrimp paste, then wrapped in a banana leaf to grill. Bland and spongy alone, it needs the pickles for balance. Nothing can save our main dishes, a beef rendang without any of the character of its potent seasonings, and a muddy, clunky version of the Nonya cla.s.sic, ayam buah keluak, ayam buah keluak, chicken chunks cooked with the nutlike fruit of the Indonesian kepayang tree. Needing dessert to clear our palates, we decide on two shaved-ice options, each topped with a fruit puree. The soursop cream is yummy, but its cousin made with durian-infamous for its odor-starts whispering ammonia more and more loudly after the first few bites. "The Nonya dishes should be much better than this," Cheryl says. "The kitchen is the problem, at least tonight." Both of us regret booking our only Peranakan meal here. chicken chunks cooked with the nutlike fruit of the Indonesian kepayang tree. Needing dessert to clear our palates, we decide on two shaved-ice options, each topped with a fruit puree. The soursop cream is yummy, but its cousin made with durian-infamous for its odor-starts whispering ammonia more and more loudly after the first few bites. "The Nonya dishes should be much better than this," Cheryl says. "The kitchen is the problem, at least tonight." Both of us regret booking our only Peranakan meal here.

On our last morning, we return to the Tekka Centre in Little India. The stalls closed on Monday are now open again, including two that Makansutra recommends highly. Rong Ji Cooked Food serves us chwee kueh chwee kueh, savory steamed cakes with a gelatinous, chewy texture, like glutinous rice. Okay, but not nearly as tasty as the treats at Yan Seng Cooked Food, where the booth's only words in English are "black carrot cake." Each of us orders one of the advertised dish, a loosely formed patty of grated white radish, mushrooms, and garlicky Chinese chives bound with egg and dyed with a sweet, dark soy that leaves an appealing mola.s.seslike undertone.

While we're eating the goodies, a young Chinese businesswoman approaches us to ask, "How do you like the cakes?"

"Wonderfully delicious," Cheryl says enthusiastically, and the lady pulls up a chair at our table to join us.

She points to the stooped, elderly woman, barely more than four and a half feet tall, who cooked our food and is now making two kinds of dumplings at the table next to us. "She is one of the rare masters left who do everything by hand. Her fans come here from all over the city. I want you to try her dumplings," she insists, going over to talk to the cook in Chinese and pay for a couple of both types.

Each contains a vegetable filling, sealed in one instance with a rice-flour wrapper tinted a traditional pink and, in the other case, with sesame-seed-coated yam paste. Handing us containers of soy sauce and chile paste, the businesswoman says, "Dip the dumplings in these."

"Lovely," Bill acknowledges after a dunk and a bite.

When the older woman sees us using the paste, she smiles and says "Chile," apparently one of the few words she knows in English. Still grinning, she pa.s.ses us a small piece of banana leaf holding a bright red dessert dumpling, plump with a sweet bean puree.

"My, oh my," Cheryl says. "How can a morning get more beautiful?"

The young woman excuses herself at this point-"Got to rush to work"-leaving us feebly unable to communicate the grat.i.tude we feel toward both ladies.

With spontaneous experiences like this, Singapore startles us more than any other place on our trip. The people, the food, and the cultures of the city overwhelm our preconceptions about the inst.i.tutional negatives. By our departure, we regret our reluctance to come and the shortness of our four-night stay. Talking about this on our way out of the Tekka Centre, we stop for one more fresh-juice fix. "Maybe we should go savory for a change, with tomato or avocado perhaps," Bill says, but both of us fall back in the end on syrupy nectars: mango for Bill, and pa.s.sion fruit for Cheryl.

"It's a sweet finish," Cheryl says, "for an exceptionally sweet time."

THE NITTY-GRITTY.

[image] ALBERT C COURT H HOTEL www.albertcourt.com.sg 180 Albert Street 65-6339-3939 fax 65-6339-3253 "Courtyard" Executive and Family rooms in the low-rise wing are larger and more stylish than the quarters in the tower that rises above the lobby. Check the Web site for special promotional rates.

[image] MAKANSUTRA www.makansutra.com

[image] SIN H HUAT E EATING H HOUSE (a.k.a., Sin Huat Seafood Restaurant) 659-661 Geylang Road at the corner of Lorong 35 dinner only (no reservations)

[image] TIAN T TIAN H HAINANESE C CHICKEN R RICE Maxwell Food Centre at the corner of Maxwell and South Bridge, Stall 10 (no reservations)

[image] LIM K KEE B BANANA F FRITTERS Maxwell Food Centre at the corner of Maxwell and South Bridge, Stall 61 (no reservations)

[image] ANNIE'S P PEANUT I ICE K KACHANG Tanjong Pagar Plaza Market and Food Centre on Block 6, Tanjong Pagar Road, Stall 02-36 (no reservations)

[image] MATTAR R ROAD S SEAFOOD B BARBECUE Old Airport Road Emporium and Cooked Food Centre on Block 51, Old Airport Road, Stall 01-131G (no reservations)

[image] OUTRAM P PARK F FRIED K KWAY T TEOW Hong Lim Market and Food Centre on Block 531A, Upper Cross Street, Stall 02-18 (no reservations)

[image] AH K KOW M MUSHROOM M MINCED P PORK M MEE Hong Lim Market and Food Centre on Block 531A, Upper Cross Street, Stall 02-43 (no reservations)

[image] WARONG S SUDI M MAMPIR Haig Road Food Centre on Block 14, Haig Road, Stall 01-19 (no reservations)

[image] HILL S STREET F FRIED K KWAY T TEOW Bedok New Town and Food Centre on Block 16, Bedok South Road, Stall 01-187 (no reservations)

[image] BANANA L LEAF A APOLLO 54-56 Race Course Road 65-6293-8682.

lunch and dinner

[image] BLUE G GINGER 97 Tanjong Pagar Road 65-6222-3928 lunch and dinner

[image] YAN S SENG C COOKED F FOOD Tekka Market Food Centre on Block 665, Buffalo Road, Stall 01-389 (no reservations)

Fried Black "Carrot" Cake Chai Tow Kueh SERVES 4, 4, IN FOUR IN FOUR 6-TO 8- 6-TO 8-INCH CAKES.

cup kecap manis kecap manis (sweet, dark Indonesian soy sauce) (sweet, dark Indonesian soy sauce) cup soy sauce2 tablespoons toasted or dark sesame oil1 or more very large mild radishes, such as daikon, equaling 2 pounds, peeled2 plump garlic cloves, mincedPeanut oil or vegetable oilSeveral pinches coa.r.s.e-ground dried hot red chile or dribbles of chile oil6 large eggs, lightly beatenThin-sliced scallions Make the black sauce by stirring together the kecap manis, soy sauce, and sesame oil in a small bowl. Reserve.

Grate the radish on the large holes of a box grater or using a food processor with a grating disk. Place the radish on a clean dish towel or several layers of paper towels and pat moisture from the radish. Mix in the garlic.

Heat a light film of oil in a flat-bottomed wok, a well-seasoned cast-iron or other heavy skillet of at least 10 inches, or on a nonstick griddle over medium-high heat. As soon as the oil ripples, make the cakes one at a time in quick succession like a short-order fry cook. Scoop up one-quarter of the radish mixture and mound it in the center of the wok. Cook for about 2 minutes, patting it down into a loosely formed inch-thick cake, then turn the mixture over and cook another couple of minutes, patting it back down again with a broad spatula. Scoop and turn another time or two if necessary to lightly color (but not brown) nearly all the radish.

Sprinkle with chile to taste, then cover evenly with about one-quarter of the kecap manis mixture. Cook about a minute so the sauce can caramelize in a few spots, then turn over again, using the spatula to once more nudge it back into a loose cake form.

Spoon one-quarter of the eggs over the cake. The eggs will begin to set immediately, so use the spatula to nudge all the mixture back into cake form again. Turn over and continue cooking until the egg mixture has set. The cake will look a bit like a dark mini-frittata. Slide out onto a plate. Wipe out the hot wok carefully and repeat with oil and ingredients until all four cakes are complete. Top each "carrot" cake with a sprinkle of scallions and serve right away, offering more chile or soy sauce on the side if you wish.

THAILAND.