Cheryl Marie Cordeiro

A bulging can of surströmming can strike lust in some Swedes and dread in others. The can of surströmming bulges with the fermentation process and some lovers of this dish would prefer to have it a year after its expiry date. This particular bulging beauty expired in December 2006.

Mention the word ‘surströmming’ or fermented herring to a Swede, and you’ll get an array of reactions that range of disgust to salivate rapture. There is hardly any neutrality when it comes to surströmming; one is either ardent or appalled.

In olden days this traditional northern Swedish dish was a poor man’s meal. It possibly came to be when the lack of salt while trying to preserve it led to its fermentation, with its resulting bouquet. Then eventually as with the bubbles in Champagne, the defect product turned into a desired specialty.

In my years in Sweden thus far, surströmming was the one dish that grew to be a legend with me; I’ve often heard of it but never encountered it. It was always suggested, “You should try surströmming”, but never executed because nobody wanted the stink of the fermented herring in their house.

Surströmming come canned from a variety of producers, and can be bought off the shelves in the supermarkets in Sweden. Kallax, the blue can shown above did not fare too well in the consumer reviews this year, as reported by Göteborgs Posten. As can be seen from the flat – not bulging – lid, it was probably just not fermented long enough *tsk tsk*.

Apparently worse than the smell of baking belachan (a variety of Malay shrimp paste), opening a can of surströmming would stink up the entire household and half the street you’re living on. The pungent smell has a reputation of ruining everything from the taste of butter on the table to curtains in bedrooms. Continue reading “Surströmming, a traditional Northern Swedish dish” →

Kueh wajek (also, kuih wajik) is a sweet morsel of Malay origin, eaten at anytime of the day as a dessert.

Kueh or kuih is the term given to various bite sized food items in the Malay archipelago. Growing up in the region, I had tremendous opportunity to savour the various kinds of kueh-mueh or cakes.

Kueh wajek has always been one of my favourite desserts when growing up. Though a home-cooked dessert, Singapore, since its early immigrant days has had a burgeoning food culture, which allowed this cake to be easily found at the Malay stalls in most any Singapore hawker-center.

A paradigm shift in the Singapore home culinary scene also began thereabouts during the 1980s where city life picked up speed and fewer people of all races, found time to eat home. So even back then, I remember buying kueh wajek at hawker-center stalls, biting into it convinced that I would never need to learn how to make this in my lifetime. Besides which, the only person whom I knew, who knew how to make this had in true Peranakan tradition, taken both recipe and method with her to the grave.

Living in Scandinavia however, meant a different home culinary experience. Dining out is fairly costly on a day to day basis and people here enjoy eating at home. Of course, there are also no Malay stalls in sight that sells kueh wajek.

Luckily, my mother had grown up making this very dessert with my great grandmother, so with her help, we’ve brought back into our households, the Nonya way of making kueh wajek, which in true IT age and tradition, I’d like to share with you.

This specific recipe is a variation of the one found at Kuali.com, which is in original Malay style. The Nonya twist is that only coconut milk is used, for a richer taste to the glutinous rice and that the glutinous rice mixture is fried in a pan rather than steamed. The frying renders an overall different texture to the kueh wajek, with the grains of the glutinous rice still intact. Steaming the mixture would encourage the grains of rice to melt into each other, producing a different consistency to the kueh (or cake). Depending on preference, either way will render a deliciously sinful treat for that afternoon tea! Continue reading “Kueh Wajek with a Nonya twist” →

A piece of absolutely delightful Tiramisu’, served at a restaurant in Venice.

Mistaking this dessert to be Japanese in origin due to its name (it somehow reminded me of miso), I had the privilege of tasting my first Tiramisu’ in the 1990s in Singapore. I was not particularly swept off my feet by this dessert at that time and it was only a few years later that I learned it was Italian. Later still, I learned when I had it ordered at a restaurant in Venice, Italy, that this heavenly morsel originated from Venice in its modern form, during the 1970s.

For those passionate about Italian food, Anna Maria Volpi, chef and author of several cookbooks, has a website on Italian cooking. She has also researched the history of Tiramisu’ and gives a detailed history of the dessert where she traced its origins to Zabaglione custard.

Zabaglione. Picture from Simply Recipes by Elise.

According to Alan Davidson (1999), Zabaglione was not originally a custard but a “caudle”, a sauce used as a custard to fill pies or tarts. It was invented in 16th Century in Florence, in the Medici court and was originally a drink reminiscent of today’s eggnog. Made with wine / ale, thickened with egg yolks, Zabaglione explains why Tiramisu’ is sometimes still served as a parfait, in cups or glasses rather than in slices. Mascarpone cheese, which is of a decadently thick, creamy consistency, was only used as a much later addition to Tiramisu’, so that it could now be served sliced if you wished.

From Alan Davidson, here’s what you’ll need to make Zabaglione:

8 large egg yolks and 1 cup confectioners’ (powdered) sugar placed in a double boiler. Whisk till foamy and then add 1/2 cup of dry Marsala (or Sherry). Beat the mixture for a minute or two so that it thickens in consistency but not so much that it solidifies or ‘scrambles’.

Ever since the Tiramisu’ in Venice, I’ve come to love this Italian dessert, and enjoy the great variation in its recipe. For me, Tiramisu’, despite its alluring sugar-caffeine combination, isn’t so much a pick-me-up as it is an experience of the palette, where one is whisked away to a time of the Medicis in Florence and Giacomo Casanova in Venice. One tastes in this dessert, the ingenuity of Florentine cuisine and the romance of Venice. If there were a dessert for a candlelit dinner for two, a quiet moment to be shared, then Tiramisu’ embodies the very sentiment and charm unique to Venice’s waterwayed rhythm.

References

• Davidson, A., 1999. The Oxford Companion to Food. Oxford University Press.