Singapore Chili Crab

This time of year, Dungeness crab is for sale, but it's past its prime. The meat isn't as sweet as it is in December and January, so eating it plain is always a disappointment.

But my friend Emily had a terrific idea: bathe the crab in Singaporean chili sauce. A frequent traveler to Southeast Asia, she has enjoyed it many times and wanted to try the recipe with our local species.

I headed out to her beach house on a recent, glorious Sunday, accompanied by my dog, Mickey, to learn how to make it. We compiled a bunch of recipes from the Web and concocted one that sounded both do-able and delicious. It was both.

SINGAPORE CHILI CRAB

Adapted from various recipes by Emily Friedman and Mandy Erickson

Chili crab is considered to be the national dish of Singapore. It consists of crab pieces in the shell in a sweet-spicy, tomato-based sauce. There is no standard recipe; it's like beef stew or chicken noodle soup—everyone has his or her own version. I had it on a trip to Singapore in 2011, when I was trying to learn a bit about the country's health care system. My hosts took me to one of the classic chili crab restaurants, the name of which I didn't get.

For this recipe, we made some concessions to convenience. Most recipes suggest using raw (although dead) crab and letting it cook in the sauce. Mandy and I opted for cooked crab. We also chose not to make our own tomato ketchup or chili paste. Those of you who don't have access to some of the Asian ingredients can always substitute.

The amounts for many of the ingredients are somewhat approximate. —E.F.

2 cups water

10 tbsp. (about 3/4 cup) tomato ketchup

3 tsp. cornstarch

2 tbsp. regular, brown, or caster sugar

1-2 tbsp. vegetable oil (we used canola)

8 garlic cloves, minced

2 shallots, minced

6-8 red Thai chiles, finely chopped (These provide the heat for the sauce, so feel free to use fewer; I wouldn't use any more.  Two long red chiles can be substituted.)

1-2 tbsp. or more grated galangal (This is an Asian rhizome that is often used in place of ginger, to which it is vaguely related; regular ginger can be used. If you do use galangal, be aware that this stuff is hard as a rock and must be peeled with a sharp, sturdy knife. It does, however, have a delightful fragrance and taste.)

1 stalk lemon grass, peeled and finely chopped (This stuff is also very hard; peel the first few layers off before chopping and only use the bulb and maybe 2 inches above it.)

3 tbsp. oyster sauce

2 eggs, beaten

4-6 spring onions (scallions), sliced thinly

3-4 tbsp. fresh-squeezed lime juice (more if you like, which I do)

5 tbsp. fresh coriander (cilantro) leaves

2-3 tbsp. kecap manis (sweet soy sauce, available in Asian groceries; if you use regular soy sauce, you may want to increase the amount of sugar)

2 large cooked Dungeness crabs, cleaned and broken into pieces

Mix the water, ketchup, cornstarch, and sugar in a large bowl.  Stir with a fork or a whisk until well blended and cornstarch and sugar are dissolved.

Heat the oil in a wok or large, deep skillet. Sauté the chopped garlic and shallots until light brown (this takes only a few seconds). Add the chopped chiles and sauté until you can smell the spice, which won't take long at all. Add the ketchup mixture slowly while stirring. Add the oyster sauce and mix well. Let simmer over low heat for 15 minutes. While it is simmering, add the eggs and stir well so that they don't curdle. Add the lime juice, scallions, and about half the coriander (cilantro) leaves. Stir to mix well.

 

(At this point, the sauce is extremely spicy and a bit raw-tasting. So after 15 minutes or so, turn off the heat and let the sauce sit for 10-15 minutes to allow flavors to blend and soften.

Re-heat the sauce to a bare, gentle boil, stirring to keep it from burning. Add the crab pieces, making sure that they are in contact with sauce and partially covered by it. Reduce heat and warm the crab thoroughly, about 10 minutes.

You can serve the crab in a big serving bowl with the sauce poured over it; however, leaving it in the wok will keep the dish warm.

Serve several pieces of crab in individual bowls, with plenty of sauce, and sprinkle with the rest of the cilantro.

Serve with steamed jasmine rice.  On the side, we had stir-fried Asian long beans that were cooked with soy sauce, garlic, and minced shallots.

Sushi Central

There was no way two sushi lovers, while vacationing in Tokyo, weren't going to visit the locus of raw fish. While visiting friends and touring Japan, Alex and I made sure to visit the Tsukiji market, where fishermen auction off tuna and every other edible, or not so edible, fish that swims off the coast of Japan.

The market has become a draw for tourists, who must line up at 4 a.m. if they want to witness the auction. But we weren't interested in the selling of fish. We were looking to eat it. We found our way to the market one morning around 11, after all the fish had been sold, the floors hosed down, and the stalls closed up.

In one corner of the market stand a few hole-in-the-wall restaurants, which open early in the morning to serve sushi breakfasts and lunch. By virtue of their location, they serve the freshest fish in Tokyo. We waited outside one of the restaurants, in front of a sign that featured photographs of sushi selections labeled "A" through "G."

When space became available at the counter, we were handed a menu with the same photographs. We pointed to our choices and thus commenced the best meal of the trip: buttery salmon, silky tuna, metallic sea urchin, oily mackerel, smoky eel — all served at room temperature to bring out the most flavor. It was definitely worth getting lost on Tokyo's train system, and almost worth the 11-hour flight.

Impossibly Delicious

A favorite dinner of my adolescence was squid and leeks in red wine, a recipe my dad found in Simple French Food by Richard Olney. It strikes me as a feat of creative genius, realizing that those three ingredients would make a succulent stew. Who would ever think?

So, when it came time to harvest my barrel of leeks, naturally I cooked them with squid and red wine. The dish, which simmers for hours, is a meltingly soft stew topped with buttery croutons. The baguette that didn’t become croutons will mop up the broth; the leftover red wine makes for perfect pairing.

The trick is to keep the dish at a bare simmer: you want to preserve enough liquid so the croutons have something to soak up, but cook it at a high enough temperature that the squid and leeks will soften to the butter stage. I’ve had trouble with this, despite the fact that I have two stoves to work with. One day I’ll hit upon the correct stove, the right setting, and the perfect pot; then squid and leeks will be a breeze.

Squid and Leeks in Red Wine

2 pounds squid, cleaned and sliced into rings

2 pounds leeks, the white and pale green parts cut into 2-inch lengths

1/4 cup olive oil

salt

2 tablespoons flour

1/8 teaspoon cayenne

1/2 teaspoon thyme

1/2 teaspoon marjoram

1 bay leaf

8 garlic cloves, cut into thin slices

2 cups red wine

1 cup water

croutons fried in butter until crisp

chopped parsley

In a heavy, low-sided earthenware or copper pot, simmer the leeks with salt until they are lightly browned. Turn them carefully to avoid breaking them. Set aside.

In the same pan, sauté the squid at a higher temperature until their liquid is nearly evaporated. Add flour and sauté for a minute, then add herbs, cayenne, and garlic. While stirring, slowly pour in the wine, then the water. Let come to a boil, and gently add the leeks back to the pot. Simmer, covered, for 2 hours.

Cover the surface of the stew with croutons, sprinkle on the parsley, and serve in the pot.

Fishy Standards

As I was wandering around Monterey’s Cannery Row this past weekend, I thought I’d pick up the most recent Seafood Watch pocket guide from the Monterey Bay Aquarium. 

This little number, which outlines the best and worst seafood to eat (sustainability-wise, not taste-wise) is bound to catch you doing something wrong. Just when you thought wild-caught salmon was ecologically correct, you learn that’s true only if it was caught north of Cape Falcon, Oregon. And tuna is great choice, as long as it was fished off the coast of British Columbia with a pole.

When you’re at the market or in a restaurant, how are you to know if the mahi mahi is local, or if the salmon was truly caught wild in Alaska? You don’t, even if you ask and receive an answer: plenty of farmed salmon is being sold as wild, as The New York Times discovered. 

The good news is that Dungeness crab, squid, sardines, sand dabs, tilapia, and rainbow trout—seafood that’s relatively cheap and available in the Bay Area—are all good choices. Plus, with these guys, you know what you’re getting. 

Fresh from the Sea

I’d been stranded at home with an illness and holiday preparations, and the day after Christmas I was desperate to get out of the house, go somewhere that at least felt far away.

So my husband, son, and I headed to Half Moon Bay, where we had lunch and took a walk along the beach in the rain. At Princeton Harbor, a few fishermen were selling live Dungeness crabs off their boats, and we debated whether to buy a few for dinner. Though that would mean boiling and cleaning them ourselves, we figured we were at the crab source, so we might as well take advantage of it.

We picked a boat with a pelican perched on the bow and a sea dog complete with white beard. The crabs were crawling around the bottom of a tank with seawater running through it. Buying off the boat takes a while because the fisherman has to reach into the tank and grab a crab by the butt without getting pinched by its friends. We bought two crabs at $5 a pound, which is close to what local stores are selling them for already cooked, but the sea dog threw in an extra crab because it had lost its pincers.

They flailed around, poking holes in a trash bag as we headed back home over the hill. Then it was time for Alex, 13, to learn how to prepare the local crab: Bring one stockpot of water to boil, add crab, cook until red. Let cool, then dismantle. Crack and pick out the meat at the table.  

The crab was so sweet and fresh, so much better than precooked crab, we realized we’d walked off that pier with a great deal. We ate it simply dipped in butter or mayonnaise that first night. Because it was so fresh, we still enjoyed it the next day, as crab sandwiches for lunch, then crab cocktail with dinner.

We resolved to head to the coast as often as possible during crab season.

It's Lutefisk Season

Fish Jell-O. It’s the best way to describe lutefisk, the butt of many jokes, symbol of Scandinavian identity, and implement of childhood torture.

We Ericksons were dutifully downing it at the Sons of Norway Bjornson Hall in Oakland, which hosted its annual lutefisk and meatball fundraiser Saturday. Younger members of the family had their first taste and declared it “interesting.”

Eating lutefisk is a ritual that connects us Scandinavian Americans to the homeland (Swedes and Norwegians eat it less than their New World cousins). We like to serve it up during the holidays, mostly as a joke. Some cruel parents have been known to require their children to eat lutefisk before they are allowed to open gifts on Christmas Eve.

When it’s swimming in melted butter or cream sauce, lutefisk is usually palatable. I’ve had it fishy, when it’s truly disgusting, and merely tasteless, when it’s OK but I’d still rather be eating meatballs. There are people, however, who claim to enjoy its taste. Some even asked for seconds at Bjornson Hall.

It’s not clear how or why lutefisk got its start, but the Scandinavian countries have long produced and exported dried fish, so perhaps cooks were looking for ways to add variety to their monotonous winter diet.

Preparing lutefisk is a weeks-long process. Unsalted dried fish sits in a water bath for several days; then soaks in lye, which softens it; then spends several more days in water to rid it of the caustic lye. It’s boiled before eating. Properly prepared, lutefisk is off-white, translucent and gelatinous. It should wiggle as you carry your plate to the table.