Travel with Your Nose and Tongue

“I must have my ___ on this trip!” Fill in the blank with the travel accessory that you just canÃ?¯Ã?¿Ã?½t seem to live without. Was it a camera, a cell phone, or your safety blanket? No matter what you filled in, I am almost certain you didnÃ?¯Ã?¿Ã?½t put your nose or tongue. Did you not think that they would bring you tons of pleasure on your trip? That can’t be it. I bet you still vividly remember that trip to the south of France when you bathed in the intoxicating smell of an endless field of lavender. You also undoubtedly remember that sunny summer afternoon when you took that first lick of the creamiest gelato on the cobblestone street of Rome. So could it be, my dear reader, you have been taking what are arguably the most pleasure-enhancing and loyal travel companions for granted? If I may be so bold as to give you some advice, perhaps you would be very pleasantly surprised at how vibrant your travel memories could become if you paid some special attention to those sensory pleasures brought forth by your nose and tongue. What to give it a try now? Then come with me as I revisit my trip to Singapore.

Stop 1 – Open Air Hawker Center and Hainanese Chicken Rice

Walking out of Singapore’s spotless airport, elegantly decorated with vibrant purple orchids, I immediately plunged into a cloud of clammy tropical air as thick as homemade tomato soup. Luckily, a taxi driver was waiting for me right at the curb, holding the door to his air-conditioned sanctuary. “To the nearest hawker center!” I declared, taking pride in my knowledge that such food Mecca would be open at this early morning hour. Settled into the slightly sticky leather seat, I congratulated myself on my foresight of a well-prepared list of things and places to worship my tummy. To distract my stomach that had been impatiently waiting since the last bite of pizza at JFK airport, I counted the pencil-straight palm trees lining endlessly down the sides of the high way.

Fifteen minutes later, I emerged again into the dense air in front of what looks like an open air market filled with the noise of a hundred food vendors (or hawkers as the locals call them,) operating at full capacity. A bit taken aback by the crowd, either formed into in long lines or packed around the various round tables, I stood at the curb to collect myself. It didn’t take long for the smell of unfamiliar spices to assault my nose. Then the realization settled in, I was at the holy ground of foodies!

Rushed into the crowd, my eyes feasted upon the hanging meats, steaming buns, dripping seafood fries, and countless other goodies that I could not even recognize. After circling wide-eyed for about ten minutes, my attention became fixated on a small stall that I could no longer see through the mob of people that stood in front on it. Being a discriminating foodie who didn’t take pride in following public opinions, I generally skipped such popular spots. However, the unique blend of buttery, creamy, yet unbelievably fruity smell coming from this stall took hold of me. Unable to see what’s been dished out, I politely tapped on the shoulder of the last patiently waiting customer in front of the stall. “What are they selling here?” I asked. “Hainanese chicken of course,” the man replied without giving me a single glance. Chicken? The exotic creamy smell coming from the stall did not at all evoked the image of the saran-wrapped white meat-producing creature in my local grocer’s poultry section. Curious to find out if this Hainanese chicken was indeed the same breed as the Tyson variety back home, I lined up behind the man.

The waiting was torturous as my stimulated digestive juices slowly ate away my stomach lining. But the closer I got to the stall, the harder it was for me to leave as I began to see the source of the delicious smell. In one corner of the tight stall, ordinary looking plump chicken gleaming with the sheen of brine were placed whole into a huge bamboo steamer dripping wet from continuous hot steam. Fifteen minutes later the same chicken emerged from the steamer a bit thinner (more on that later), and almost translucent from been barely heated through. Three feet away, a skinny woman wielding a huge Chinese meat cleaver half her size, skillfully chopped a cooled chicken to bite size pieces on what appeared to be a tree trunk. Surprisingly unlike roasted chicken freshly out of my oven, no liquid fat leaked out of the chopped chicken. On closer inspection, no visible solid fat were seen clinging to the skin or meat either. Quite amazing considering the plumpness of the raw chicken that went into the steamer.

Being a sort of fast food, the chicken was simply arranged on a bed of freshly sliced cucumbers and drizzled with sweet soy sauce. Upon surrendering a mere $3 Singapore dollars (less than $2 US dollars,) I was handed a plate of this enticing delicacy on a tray along with little saucers of raw chopped garlic soaked in fresh chili sauce. Before I could turn and walk away, the skinny woman’s little helper impatiently stopped me with her greasy hand and put a bowl of something on my tray. I immediately identified the aroma arising from the bowl as that buttery, creamy, and at the same time fruity blend that had stopped me dead in my track earlier. What’s puzzling is that the bowl appeared to simply contain a well-form mound of oily rice. There was now only one way to find out the mystery of the rice.

I quickly walked to the nearest table and sat down, careful not to spill the bright red chili sauce. Picking up a piece of the chicken with its translucent skin, the tender meat gave like tofu under the pressure of my chopsticks. The first taste on the tongue was the pleasant salty sweetness of the well-blended homemade soy sauce. The juicy chicken yielded to the pressure of my teeth without a fight. I was lost for a moment in the pleasure of the perfect saltiness imparted to the succulent chicken by the brine. Who knew a plain piece of chicken breast dressed only with salt could actually have flavor? The softness of the chicken was superbly complemented by the crunchiness of the cucumber. I could eat a whole chicken and not feel greased out like I usually do after a single piece of the KFC variety.

Turning my attention to the bowl of rice, which merely appeared oily earlier, I now noticed that each short grain seemed to be saturated with some fatty liquid. Very uncharacteristic of Asian rice that tends to stick together, the glistening rice grains in this bowl were able to bounce individually when dropped on the tray. No longer able to hold back, I put some in my mouth. They tasted exactly like they smelled, buttery, creamy, yet incredibly fruity. Only, now I was able to distinguish that the fruitiness came from the prized milk of the local coconuts. I could also tell that the butteriness was not due to the use of butter. It did not have the familiar dairy quality, but actually tasted likeâÂ?¦ chicken! That’s it, chicken! A theory was taking shape in my head as my tummy rejoiced in the satisfaction of a fantastic meal.

When I finished every grain of the rice, picked every chicken bone clean, I returned to the stall to verify my theory. Ignoring the suspicious looks from the little helper, I stood on the side of the stall long enough until I caught a glimpse of the skinny woman putting rice and some coconut milk into the water pot under the chicken steamer. How brilliant! Just as I thought, the vendor lady was using hot steam from cooking rice as the energy for steaming the chicken. At the same time, the fats and juices melting off the chicken were dripping into the rice pot and flavoring the coconut rice into what is truly chicken rice. What an ingenious set-up!

I had been told later by a friend who was Hainanese that this method of steaming chicken was perfected by the early Hainanese immigrants in search of an easy and efficient way to cook street food. This superb dish had since been coined Hainanese chicken and became a dish that defined this region of the world in both history and taste. Kudos to the Hainanese for leaving us such a scrumptious legacy.