‘Blawmanger. Tak the two del rys, the thridde pert of almoundes;
wash clene the rys in leuk water & turne & seth hem til thay breke &
lat it kele, and tak the melk & do it to the rys & boyle hem togedere. &
do therto white gres & braun of hennes ground smale, and stere it wel,
and salte it & dresch it in disches. & frye almoundes in fresch gres til
they be browne, & set hem in the dissches, and strawe thereon sugre &
serue it forth.’ (CI. III. 28.)
It wasn’t a very successful experiment: the texture was too soft (the layers cannot be peeled off easily) and the sweetness a tad lacking. But the whole point of this experiment was to make a Singapore flag, an attempt which I did eventually pull off.
Although the term ‘chilli con carne’ is Spanish, meaning ‘chilli with meat’, it actually originated from the US State of Texas – a dish born out of an effort to get the Mexican Americans to appreciate the taste of chilli both as an ingredient and as a main. This dish eventually rose to the altar to become the state’s official dish. Today, it is still popularly consumed as a dip and as an ingredient to make other deliciously spicy dishes.
My first version of this dish was the vegetarian Spanish Chilli Bean Dip, comprised mainly of mashed kidney beans and chillies and served mainly as a dip. This version here presents the rightful mixture for a chilli and meat stew – that of the Mexican American version – comprising a lesser proportion of kidney beans and a higher proportion of meat as well as spices.
It was by chance that I was able to join in a tour to the southern islands of Singapore, organised in conjunction with the latest exhibition held at the National Museum of Singapore – ‘Balik Pulau: Stories from Singapore Islands’. That was about a month ago, on one hot and sunny day. The journey took us from the Marina South Pier to St. John’s Island, followed by the Lazarus Island and then finally to the Kusu Island.
These offshore islands are like time capsules – they bring us back in time to revisit Singapore during the early 20th century – a period of time when her piers and harbours were already busy with incoming and outgoing sampans, bumboats, lighters, as well as huge steamships that docked nearby. Although the epitome of these islands is long gone, it is not difficult to imagine the liveliness and the hustle and bustle of exchanges and activities that must have gone on at these islands back then since most of their landscapes have remained unchanged till this day. Well, most of them, except for the few which have seen recent developments, such as the newly reclaimed parts of the Lazarus Island.
Whenever somebody mentions ‘pandan kaya cake’, the brand name Bengawan Solo would come to mind immediately, almost as if one is a synonym of the other. These uniquely green and especially fragrant pandan kaya cakes are not cheap at all; one sells for at least S$25/kg. And I can understand why this is so, looking at the long list of ingredients required and steps involved to make just one cake come alive.
