Spicy Food in Muslim Asia

As the rain pours outside, I pack my bag. Frustrated, I contemplate to myself why I spent yet another night tossing and turning despite the fact that I was exhausted by the time I lied down to get some rest. Nights like these are becoming much too common for my liking. Was it because I was sleeping on a padded mat on the floor of my friend’s Singapore apartment? Not really as the air conditioning was on and the mat was pretty comfortable. Was it because I drank a lot the night before? No to that too. Who knows, but it will take some caffeine to get me going today. Enthusiasm will help also and I am excited to travel from Singapore to Malacca today before moving onto Kuala Lumpur tomorrow.

Jami and I are in a hurry and it is a mad rush in Singapore as we attempt to make it to the Golden Mile Complex to catch our bus. We arrive 5 minutes late at 10:35 AM and are fortunate that we are still able to board the bus. We got lucky as it doesn’t look like the bus was going to wait one more minute before taking off. The ride to Malacca is pleasant as there are huge green trees flanking the Malaysian highways. Along the way, we make a stop at a café and I order a Malay curry noodle dish. They say Malay curries are the best and I am not disappointed as my curry noodles with tofu, chili and egg is outstanding. The food in Singapore has been wonderful and from the looks of it and from what Jami has told me, Malaysia will surely not disappoint me in this regard.

We arrive in Malacca and it is apparent immediately to me that Malacca is not Singapore. The two hour bus ride has brought me into a completely different environment. The majority of the women I see are dressed in traditional Islamic dress although the faces of most of the women are fully visible and most of the restaurants and shops that I pass by seem to be operated by women. Malaysia is a Muslim country but it is a modern Muslim country that prides itself on the peaceful cohabitation of its Sunni Islamic majority and its significant Chinese and Indian non Muslim populations. While Malacca doesn’t feel poor, the standard of living is significantly different than that of clean, modern and wealthy Singapore. This much is obvious immediately. Malacca Town is the capital city of the Malaysian state of Malacca. The site where the city of Malacca stands today was the capital of the Malaccan Sultanate and was the center of the Malay world in the 15th and the 16th centuries after the Malays moved over from Sumatra, an island in Western Indonesia. While the Dutch, British and Portuguese all took turns passing through and attempting to colonize Malacca, Malacca’s creation of a language, count system and royal lineage has had an undeniable long term affect on the country. However, since the founding of Singapore in 1819, Malacca has been in slow decline as Singapore and Kuala Lumpur have grown. Today, it is a popular tourist spot in Malaysia and has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2008.

After settling into our hotel, we walk to the nearby city center to explore Malacca by foot. Jami has a friend in Malacca named Juyang that meets us and welcomes us to her town with warm smiles and laughter. As we walk around, Jami and Juyang converse mostly in Mandarin Chinese while I jump in and out of the conversation occasionally by way of translation with Jami. We are all thirsty so our first stop is for a drink and a snack at a nearby cafe. I immediately make an ass of myself when my bad habit of leaning back on my chair to the point where the legs of the chair are off the ground fails me. To start with, I am the only apparent Westerner here and definite the only one with white skin. This makes my folly all the more noticeable when the leg of my plastic chair gives out and I crash to the ground nearly knocking over a floor fan in the process. Jami and Juyang, in addition to a few other patrons, get a good laugh at my expense while I just want to regroup and get my butt back on the chair. After getting back seated properly, the beer I ordered couldn’t come fast enough. Although the beer can’t wash away my embarrassment, it is refreshing given the heat and humidity. In addition to some drinks, Jami also orders a dish of mee goreng. Mee goreng is a staple dish in Malaysian cuisine that is made with thin yellow noodles that are fried with garlic, onions, chilies, tomatoes and either pork, prawns, beef or chicken. Our dish is prepared with pork and the flavors mesh together perfectly to create something special. I can see how dishes like this can become addictive as I am not even that hungry but end up making sure every last noodle is accounted for. After finishing the mee goreng, Juyang suggests that we order a sweet drink called cendal. It is a stretch to call cendal a drink as it is more like a dessert consisting of thin, green worm like pandan flavored noodles that are topped with palm sugar, coconut milk, red beans and shaved ice. Pandan has a unique taste that is somewhat nutty. It is to Asian cooking what vanilla is to Western cooking. While the dish doesn’t look all that appetizing, it tastes pretty good although it is very sweet. Feeling full, as this snack has turned into a meal, Juyang explains that she needs to leave us to run some errands but will meet us for dinner later this evening.

Jami and I continue exploring the city, walking in and out of many Asian artifact stores selling Malacca’s famous beaded sandals, artwork and jewelry. The shopkeepers and vendors are busy setting up their stalls for the popular night markets that take place on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. These night markets are especially popular with the hordes of Singaporean tourists that love to take weekend getaways to Malacca to shop and eat. We eventually end up at Cheng Hoon Teng Temple. This Taoist temple is the oldest functioning temple in Malaysia. Impressive and extremely colorful, the main hall is dedicated to the Goddess of mercy and is flanked by several smaller prayer quarters. I enjoy sitting down, crossing my legs and immersing myself in the environment. It is hard not to sit down and meditate when you are in such a tranquil environment. It is quiet with many worshippers sitting with their eyes closed, some making a slight humming sound and the scent of burning joss sticks is in the air around us. After a relaxing 15 minutes, I emerge from the temple to find Jami waiting for me. We continue to stroll through the town and it continues to grow on me with its attractive river and smiling people. My initial impression of Malacca is that it reminds me of charming Hoi An in Vietnam as it is small enough that you can get lost while wandering through its charming streets without straying too far from the city center. Eventually we make our way back to our hotel to take a cool, refreshing shower before dinner. Given the dishes I’ve tried already, I am very excited to sink my teeth into more Malaysian cuisine this evening.

Juyang arrives at our hotel to pick us up with her friend Xuan and her husband Edmund. Edmund is a Portuguese Malay while Juyang is Chinese. This is a mixed marriage on all accounts as Edmund is Catholic while Juyang is Buddhist. He has European roots while hers are purely Asian. They seem to be a loving and charming couple. As Edmund drives away from our hotel, Jami whispers to me that Juyang invited her husband to dinner partially because he speaks English well. Apparently, he uses English frequently in his profession as a livestock trader and she thought that he could keep me entertained. I smile when Jami tells me this; Juyang’s thoughtfulness is touching.

Fifteen minutes later, Edmund pulls off the side of the road and drives in the direction of what looks to be an oversized shack with 20-30 plastic tables sitting on a parcel of land under the open air. Upon seeing the restaurant, I start to get excited. As we get out of Edmund’s car, he mentions that this restaurant is known for its fresh seafood. Given Malacca’s close proximity to the Straits of Malacca, it is supposed to be cheap and inexpensive to get high quality fish and seafood here.

As we walk up to the restaurant and look for an open table, it is hard for me to contain my excitement. I just have this feeling, this buzz that this is going to be one of those unforgettable dining experiences you remember forever. Given the fact that we are 15 minutes outside of downtown Malacca, I am pretty sure that there are no tourists in this restaurant besides me and Jami. There is certainly no one that looks like me and none of the other patrons are dressed like anyone in our group in our casual, short and T-shirt and casual dress gear. In fact, everyone at the restaurant except for our party appears to be Muslim based on how they are dressed. As I survey the restaurant and notice the rising smoke that appears to be coming from behind the restaurant, I walk in the direction of the smoke and observe that the food is being cooked in pans on top of a number of grills behind the restaurant. The building in the middle, the restaurant, has washrooms, storage space and preparation kitchen space, but there are no inside tables. There are 20 to 30 open air tables surrounding the building. Needless to say, the restaurant is apparently closed when the showers come as there is no protection from the weather. Near what I would describe as the front of the restaurant, at least that is where we entered the restaurant from, there are large display tanks that are loaded with fresh fish and seafood. I ask Edmund how you are supposed to order and he explains that you approach the person working behind the display tanks, select what you want and tell the person working how you want each selection to be prepared. Everything is cooked to order. All of the women agree that Edmund should choose the dishes that we will share at our table. While I don’t object, I am way too curious to not tag along with Edmund and see how this whole process works.

Edmund and I walk up to the tanks and survey what is available. After a moment or two, Edmund points at a live fish in one of the tanks and says that we would like this fish prepared spicy with chilies. He then selects some crabs and tells the person working that we want these prepared with a sweet and sour sauce. As I observe this process, my eyes grow bigger and I stare in awe at the still alive crabs and fish that will be on our table in 15 or 20 minutes. We move onto the display case next to the tanks which is filled with ice and has an assortment of squid, prawns and octopus laid out atop the ice. Edmund points to the prawns and offers instructions, explaining that we want the prawns fried with mild chilies and butter. The last item he selects is a large squid with the instructions that it should be prepared with hot chilies. As Edmund says this, I wonder to myself “Aren’t all chilies hot?” We walk back to our table and sit down. I waste no time embarrassing myself for the second time today when the waiter asks for my drink order and I ask for a beer. The waiter’s response is a blank stare which turns into a smile and friendly laugh. He doesn’t even need to explain that they don’t serve alcohol as I immediately recognize my mistake. Despite all the signs around me, I haven’t pieced things together and don’t realize that this is a pretty strict Muslim establishment. Just as strict followers of Islam don’t eat pork, they also don’t drink alcohol. In lieu of a cold beer, I order a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Our drinks arrive shortly and we sit and chat while we wait for our meal to arrive. After a few minutes, my attention begins to wane and I begin to look around at my surroundings. We are sitting outside on the side of the road amongst 50 to 60 people enjoying a Saturday evening dinner with family and friends. Everyone except for our party of 5 is dressed in traditional Muslim clothing. There isn’t a tourist in site. I think to myself, “This is the essence of travelling. This is what makes the long trips and jet lag all worth it.”

The Muslim history of Malaysia is an interesting one. As defined by the constitution of Malaysia, all Malays must be Muslim, regardless of their ethnic heritage; otherwise, legally, they are not Malay. There are associated privileges with being a Malay Muslim with entitlements including affirmative action policies in university admissions and discounts on the purchases of vehicles and real estate. Islam in Malaysia is thus closely associated with the Malay people although not all Malays are Muslim as there are substantial numbers of Indian Muslims and some Chinese Malaysians have also converted to Islam. Interestingly, these non Malay Muslims do not receive the same privileges that the Malays receive due to their status unless they have a Malay parent in addition to some other requirements.

Our meal begins with a basket of nasi lemak. Nasi Lemak is a base accompaniment to many of the entrees served in Malaysian cuisine. In Kuala Lumpur, it is called the national dish, a national heritage of Malaysia. Traditionally, nasi lemak comes wrapped in banana leaves and consists of rice with cucumber slices, small dried anchovies, roasted peanuts, hardboiled egg, and hot spicy sauce or sambal packed into a compact cake. There are 15-20 nasi lemak packages in the basket on our table and each rice cake is wrapped in newspaper. In addition, the server has brought a bamboo container of otak-otak. This dish is another common accompaniment to the main courses consisting of fish paste mixed with coconut milk, chili paste and garlic or shallots. It is then wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed. We can’t wait for the entrees so we taste both of these dishes before the entrees arrive. I’ve had nasi lemak numerous times in Singapore but this is the best rendition I’ve had. The steam makes the nasi lemak sticky so I need to pull chunks of rice off and pop them into my mouth. The combination of sweet coconut and spicy chili paste combat the strong fishy flavor in the otak-otak. While the combination is strange, it has a wonderfully complex flavor. Within minutes, long platters of food begin arriving on our table. First the chili squid arrives, followed by the prawns and the crabs. The last dish to arrive is the whole fish Edmund selected 20 minutes ago when it was still swimming in the tank. Now, it is snuggly tucked into a banana leaf on a platter in front of us. As I look at the feast before my eyes, I begin to form a plan of attack. There are no plates on the table and there are no napkins. The only thing other than the platters and bowls of food are some small bowls of sauces and forks and spoons. I am in unfamiliar territory and need to watch the actions of the others to see how they proceed. It appears that the newspaper that the nasi lemak is wrapped in is supposed to serve as our plate. Following the actions of the others, I unwrap a nasi lemak package and begin to put different piles on my “plate”. A few prawns, a crab, a scoop of fish and some squid. I eat the same way the women eat which is the same way I ate in Singapore. The fork goes in the left hand and the spoon goes in the right. The fork is used to push food onto the spoon which goes directly into my mouth. Bite after bite, my mouth explodes in ecstasy as the intense combination of flavors – chilies, fish paste, sweet and sour, hotter chilies, lime and some kind of onion sauce to be used with the fish – challenge my taste buds like never before. After a few spoonfuls of intense eating, I look around and notice that Edmund is the only person at our table not using utensils. He is eating with his hands. I then look around at some of the other tables and notice that most people seem to be eating with their hands. Edmund explains that it is common for Malay Muslims to eat with their hands. I waste no time in adjusting as I push my silverware to the side and begin to eat like the locals. Edmund notices my adjustment and smiles, indicating approval. The women laugh as they notice the sweat accumulating on my forehead and brow as I feverishly eat chunks of spicy prawns and squid. I look up and smile, order another orange juice and then go back to my meal. The flavors are addictive. I pull off bits of nasi lemak and mash small pieces of fish and squid together with the rice before putting them into my mouth. I pick up a crab and use my teeth to crack the shell before pulling out the sweet flavored meat that is influenced by the tasty sweet and sour sauce. With no signs of a napkin, I lick my fingers to clean them although even my fingers are tingling slightly from the hot chilies. Feeling like I need to wash my hands, I remember that I noticed a line of people earlier that appeared to be waiting in line to wash their hands in a sink next to the washrooms. As I head towards the sink, I think to myself, “This scene must be comical”. Here I am, the only Caucasian in the restaurant dressed in shorts and a T shirt in line behind a bunch of darker skinned Malaysians dressed in traditional Islamic dress, including men with Muslim prayer hats and women with headscarves.

As I wait to wash my hands, I contemplate this experience. Eating with my hands on the side of the road with the most basic tools – tanks, grills, pans – used by the chefs to produce tasty, complex seafood dishes that surpass what you would pay 5 times as much for at a restaurant in the Western world. The key ingredient is the quality of the fresh fish and seafood and the fresh vegetables, chilies and array of spices used to create such intricate flavors. Experiences like these are priceless.

After dinner, Edmund drives us back to central Malacca to Jonker Street to check out the night markets. This is a shoppers’ paradise and hordes of locals and tourists are out tonight. From stalls selling art to jewelry, crafts, clothing and of course food, you can pretty much find anything you need here. We are all stuffed from dinner but the food looks so tasty that I am tempted once or twice, but wisely decide to continue on and listen to my full stomach instead of my curious mind and taste buds. The atmosphere is festive with some music, a lot of people and energy that reverberates throughout this market which only occurs on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. After walking around for 30 minutes, we sit outside at a café and enjoy a drink with our hospitable hosts which are really nice people. I insist on buying a round of drinks after Edmund and Juyang so generously insisted on paying for the entire meal. As we enjoy a beer, Edmund and I have a nice conversation about the strong Portuguese culture in Malacca. We also talk about how Malaysia could serve as a good example to the rest of the world of how different ethnic groups can live together peacefully. Our drink caps a wonderful evening highlighted by great company and an intense, memorable and unforgettable dining experience.

Clam Pizza

On the corner of Wooster Street and Brown Street in New Haven, Connecticut, there is a small Italian enclave that feels like it is out of the old world. This is the kind of area where retired Italian Americans sit out in front of Italian cafes and pastry shops and talk about the world and what’s happening at Yale over coffee. On this intersection a block off of I 95 North, there are 6-8 different establishments and they are all Italian. There are small restaurants, pastry shops selling everything from Italian cookies and pastries to gelato and Italian ice, a deli making sandwiches with a variety of meats and cheeses and a couple of pizzerias. In particular, there is one pizzeria named Frank Pepe’s and it is because of Frank Pepe’s that I am in New Haven on this beautiful Friday morning in late May.

Sure, Frank Pepe’s is a so called “institution”. It is full of locals and tourists passing through New Haven that have included a stop for a pizza on their agenda after visiting Yale University, which is less than a mile from the corner of Wooster and Brown. However, it is not one of those tourist traps that you visit and feel let down after the experience. In fact, my fear of overhyping a place only to have it fail to meet my high expectations is exactly why I am weary of places like this. Frank Pepe’s is far from that. In fact, it is where I had the best pizza of my life.

It was Memorial Day weekend and my wife and I were driving from Ridgefield, New Jersey right outside of New York to Newport, Rhode Island with her family over the long weekend. Given all of the charming towns to visit on the East Coast, I thought that we could break up the three and a half hour drive to Newport and check out a town in between. To give full disclosure, I vaguely knew where New Haven was and Frank Pepe’s had been on my radar for over 2 years ever since I read about their famous white clam pizza in the excellent food chronicle written by Jeffrey Steingarten, The Man Who Ate Everything. As we planned our trip months ago, I pulled up Newport, Rhode Island on Google Maps and charted out the route from New Jersey. As I followed the line from Ridgefield to Newport, my eyes zeroed in on New Haven which appeared to be almost halfway between Ridgefield and Newport. It seemed that we would have to pass by it if we didn’t pass through it. After doing a bit of research on New Haven, I came to find out that in addition to Frank Pepe’s, New Haven is also home to a famous University that 5 U.S. Presidents and numerous big name actors have graduated from. New Haven is the home to Yale University. After telling my wife that we could visit Yale and Frank Pepe’s on the way to Newport, a stop here was an easy sell to her Mom and Brother.

Departing at nearly 10 AM from New Jersey, we drove for nearly 90 minutes before pulling off of I-95 and making our way into central New Haven. Using our handy Tom-Tom GPS, we made a couple of turns and pulled right in front of Frank Pepe’s. This was almost too easy and there wasn’t even a line to fight through to get inside which I fully expected. We did have one problem though that was somewhat significant. None of us were hungry. We had a 9 AM Korean breakfast of seaweed soup, vegetables and dumplings and at 11:30 AM, we just weren’t ready for lunch yet. Since we did have another reason for visiting New Haven, we decided to walk around celebrated Yale University for an hour or 2 before getting a pie for lunch. As we began our walk through New Haven Green and approached the entrance to Yale, I still had Frank Pepe’s on my mind as I crossed my fingers hoping that we wouldn’t encounter a line extending down the street that would force us to abandon our plans.

New Haven is a pleasant enough town with some nice parks and the area around Yale has many historic buildings that I am sure have been included or imitated in several films and TV shows. This area simply has too much history for that not to be the case. You can feel the collegiate atmosphere walking through these hallowed grounds. While it doesn’t appear that school is in session, there are numerous students working to greet graduates that are in town for alumni reunion weekend. We stopped at the Visitor Center to get a map and I took a walk around to learn a bit more about Yale. While I knew that this was a famous Ivy League University, I didn’t know that 5 U.S. Presidents attended Yale. In addition to George H. and W. Bush, Bill Clinton, William Howard Taft and Gerald Ford all attended Yale at some point during their educational odyssey. Although the University should probably apologize for the fact that Dick Cheney is also a graduate, this aberration is more than made up by the number of successful actors, writers, architects and artists that are graduates of this prestigious University. In addition to the writer Tom Wolfe, Meryl Streep, Edward Norton, Sigourney Weaver, Jodie Foster, Paul Newman and Angela Bassett are amongst some of the most successful Yale graduates to go onto epic careers on the big screen. The list of notable Yale graduates is too long to list but is extremely impressive.

As we meandered about the quads and among Yale’s buildings, I felt a sense of nostalgia from my university days. There is something you can feel in the air as the classic architecture, blooming spring trees and green quads are inspiring. You could spend an afternoon here just lying on the grass with a book soaking it all in. As we made our way back in the direction of Wooster Street with our stomachs beginning to growl, we stopped by Atticus bookstore and café. I enjoyed perusing the shelves and felt compelled to buy a book from my ever growing ‘must read’ list. I hope it brings me back to this place when I read through it.

Continuing on up Chapel Street, we hung a right on Olive Street before taking a left on Wooster. As we approached our destination, I saw exactly what I feared – a line. As we walked closer, I was relieved to see that the line wasn’t terribly long. The waitress told us it was a 20 minute wait which we definitely had time for. As we stood in the hot sun under a sign featuring a caricature of Frank Pepe dressed in an apron and chef hat with a pizza in hand where they have been serving pizzas since 1945 (it actually opened in 1925 but moved here in 1945), I grew anxious. The line moved quickly though and in no time we were walking inside and being seated. I felt like I was walking through a pizza museum as I looked behind the pickup counter at the massive white brick oven that is so large that the cooks need 20 foot pizza spatula’s to place the pizzas in and pull them out of the oven. To the left of the oven, there are 3 people working in unison putting the pies together. One is rolling out dough onto large rectangular aluminum pans that are then handed to the others who layer the dough with the ingredients. Some pizzas just get a layer of tomato sauce, slices of fresh mozzarella and basil leaves. Others get olive oil, clams and garlic while others get loaded with cheese, peppers, sausage and bacon. There is an outdated bar in the front room that is adjacent to the white linoleum pickup counter with a few beers on tap and a sign hanging above the bar that boasts ‘Tomato Pies Made to Order’. This isn’t just any sign though as it must be 50 years old. It is the kind of sign that you need to press plastic letters into plastic ridges in order to spell out the ingredients that are available.

The place is unquestionably old school with many booths, a few tables and old pictures adorning all the walls in the front room and the back room which contains most of the seating. The pictures on the walls are of Frank Pepe, his family and presumably employees from long ago pictured in aprons preparing, cooking or serving pizza pies to their customers. The décor is all green and white with a green ceiling that looks to be original. The place isn’t run down at all as it has been kept up to date but likely with the same colors and style since 1945. This doesn’t look like the kind of place that wants or needs to change much.

Every pizza I see on the tables around us looks fantastic. After sitting down, we don’t waste any time ordering. I have obviously already thought this through and have little trouble swaying the table towards my suggestion to stick with the basics. We order a medium White Clam pizza, a medium Margherita pizza, water and some soft drinks. We sit and wait anxiously until our drinks come before taking turns using the washroom and further surveying the joint. It has only been 15 minute but I see our waitress come around the corner and I am pretty sure she is headed for our table with 2 pans in her hands. She places both of them on our table covering pretty much the entire surface of the table. Any thought of cutting the pizza up with a fork like I typically do is out the window as there is barely enough room to put a plate in front of each of us. The medium pizzas are large and I wonder how we will finish them. I start with a piece of white clam pizza which is pure bliss. The taste of large chunks of clams with nothing else but fresh garlic and olive oil is heavenly. The crust is firm, thin, a light brown color on the outside and can’t be much more than 1/8th of an inch thick. Not weighed down by cheese and sauce, there is a crunch in every bite and the ends of the crusts are especially crispy. After polishing off one piece, I go for a slice of the margherita which only has 3 simple ingredients. A thin layer of tomato sauce, slices of high quality mozzarella and basil leaves. Surprisingly, the crust holds up well to the tomato sauce and cheese as it is almost as crispy as the clam pizza. The flavors are perfect. There isn’t a lot of talking as we take apart both pies piece by piece. I am the ring leader although I try and make sure everyone is getting their fair share. There is hardly a hint of grease in the crust which is extraordinary.

Finished, we look at the carnage in front of us as there is nothing left except 2 large aluminum pans covered with four plates that are empty except for a few end crusts. This is a lunch well done and that is an understatement. Thanks Frank Pepe! I’ll be back. I don’t know when but I can promise you that I will be back.