i miss my momma: steamed fish with ginger, chilli and shallots

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steamed fish with ginger, chilli and shallots

During dinner at Kai Mayfair last Friday night, somewhere between indulging in the perfectly cooked Chilean Sea Bass and me licking my plate (for reals), the question of ‘how does one cook fish at home?’ was posed. I’m surprised at how often this question pops up in conversation, I know a million people who refuse to cook fish at home. But it’s a completely odd question to me, because I’ve always cooked fish (I’ve even dabbled with fish curry), and I don’t find it particularly difficult.

So this question was specifically about steaming fish, and ok, my steamed fish is a bit of a fraud, it’s actually kind of baked, but if it tastes the same and looks the same, who cares how it got there, right? It’s called innovation, people.

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bling and tassels: Chinese fine dining does exist

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wasabi king prawns with sweet mango & basil seed; parcels of prosperity (mini deep-fried Chinese croissants with finely chopped prawns

My dad grew up in a kampung in Malaysia, one of fourteen (that’s right, you read right, fourteen) children. The family were farmers and fishermen, definitely not wealthy folk, so as you can imagine, meal time everyday was literally a battle for the last grains of rice, and if you’re lucky, like if you’ve been really good that day, you might be allowed to add some soy sauce, to give the rice a little flavour.

Growing up with these values, my dad became an incredibly thrifty man ~ not embarrassingly stingy (although sometimes just plain old embarrassing!) ~ but thrifty. He never spends frivolously (clearly not a hereditary trait, a la moi), he uses everything until it’s broken and then he uses it for five more years, and most importantly, my dad never ever splurges on food, especially Chinese food (because Chinese food is meant to be cheap and his idea of extravagant is a $20 per head – and that’s Aussie dollars – banquet). 

So when my friends and I dined at Kai Mayfair on Friday night, all I could think was oh my gawd my dad would keel over right there in his organic veggie patch if he knew I was spending a small fortune on Chinese food.

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the evolution of man: honey lemon glazed chicken drumsticks

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honey lemon glazed chicken drumsticks

I always pictured that back in the day of the caveman, men ~ rugged, muscly, grunty… dirty, hairy, smelly (hmm, time seems to have changed not very much at all) ~ would wield their giant (chicken drumstick) clubs and trudge off with fellow grunty cavemen to hide behind some thorny scrubs and stake out their prey. And here they would sit patiently, occasionally scratching their derrière (an acitivity which seems to have thrived over the millennia), waiting for the perfect prey. 

Eventually, they’ll hear a rustle of movement as a gaggle (gaggle? I don’t actually know the correct term for a group of women, except for god-fearing-stampeding-horde during the Christmas sales) of cavewomen return from their daily mudbath, cleansed and all up to date with the most current cave gossip. At the sight of the soft curvaceousness of this fairer gender, the cavemen leap from their hiding place, brandishing their (honey glazed chicken drumstick) clubs in the air and charge, clubbing their chosen prey over the head.

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beauties from a land down under: pavlova, lamington and me

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strawberry pavlova and chocolate lamington, from Toast Australia Festival

Ok, wishful thinking calling myself a beauty. While I am from the land down under and I did try to be beautiful and even though beauty is apparently only skin deep, my natural reaction to claw, kick and bi-atch fight anyone who stands between my food and I pretty much vetoes my right to all beauty, including that of the inner variety, which is normally hidden below layers of flubber.

So be it. Eating is so much more rewarding anyway.

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