Malaysian Chicken Satays with Javanese Peanut Sauce

Some days, I think I could live off satays. It’s not everyday I think this, and in fact most days I don’t think about satays at all, but on those days when I do (which coincidentally happen to be the days when I eat them too), I find myself so besotted by them that I think I could really, truly eat nothing else – okay, maybe aside from a little bit of ice cream now and then – and still be happy.

The thing is, they’re a near perfect food in every respect. Healthy? Check. Easy to make? Check. Easy on the wallet? Check. Sweet, salty, sour, spicy, crisp, tender and smoky? Check. Utterly addictive to the point of impairing rational thought? Check! Okay, so that last part’s a mixed blessing, but whether they’re Thai, Indonesian, Malaysian or Vietnamese, whether they’re made with beef, chicken, pork, fish or tofu, and whether they’re served with peanut sauce, sambal, nuoc cham, rice, salad, all or none of the above, I know few other foods that give quite as much pleasure in so small a package.

As with all foods I really, really love, I keep a mental record of the best I’ve ever eaten. Number one, the satay that set the standard for all to follow, I ate nine years ago on Bali. It was a humid evening in Ubud, and we were meandering around the outskirts of town, doing what we seemed to always be doing on Bali: looking for someplace to eat. It wasn’t dinner time yet, but that didn’t matter – because the food was so cheap, and portions so small, we found ourselves restaurant-hopping throughout the day, stopping in one place for a plate of nasi goreng and another for a peanut-topped salad and an avocado shake. I can’t remember how we stumbled upon this particular restaurant – maybe it was recommended by our dog-eared Lonely Planet or maybe we were lured in by a sign on the street – but upon entering we almost turned on our heels and walked out. It was on the fourth floor of an otherwise empty (and unfinished) concrete building, and consisted of a handful of tables scattered around an open terrace. No kitchen was visible and all the tables were empty, but we had climbed a lot of stairs to get there and the view over a steep jungly ravine was lovely, so we decided to chance it. Then our waitress appeared, an almond-eyed girl of about twelve, probably the daughter of the owners. She beamed as she handed us the menus, and asked shyly, in halting English: “Are you on your honeymoon?” We laughed, and sorry to disappoint her, we told her we were not. “Oh,” she said, looking crestfallen, and retreated to the invisible kitchen with our order of satays and beer.

The satays on their menu were expensive by Balinese standards – probably the equivalent of about $2.50. I took that as another bad sign; on Bali, I had learned, cheaper was usually better. But then they arrived, a pile of them mounded on a small metal plate, thin strips of beef threaded onto bamboo skewers like accordions stretched open, lacquered and crisp from the heat of a wood fire, their only accompaniment a small dish of chocolate-colored peanut sauce. And as I bit into the first one, I knew these were no ordinary satays: the beef was expertly cooked, moist and soft in the inner folds, crisp and smoky on the outside. The glaze on them was tangy and spicy and pungent, and the peanut sauce accompanying them was pitch-perfect: creamy, sweet but not overly so, and sour with the dusky bite of tamarind. Each bite brought wave upon wave of different flavors, each of them distinct but all of them in harmony. Clearly, back in that kitchen there was a satay genius at work. Needless to say, we ordered another plate.

I wish I could give you a recipe for those satays, but tragically I walked out of there that night without one (though if they ever invent time travel this is one of the first errors I’ll correct). I can, however, give you a consolation prize – the recipe for my number two satays, which I tasted for the first time a few weeks ago, in my very own kitchen. They come from one of the foremost authorities on Indo-Malay food in the US, James Oseland, editor-in-chief of Saveur Magazine and author of one of my favorite cookbooks, Cradle of Flavor. That’s where this recipe comes from, in fact, and I’m kicking myself for not having made it before now. I’ve made a couple of other things from the book which were phenomenal, and I’ve read it hungrily for all his insights into Indonesian, Malaysian and Singaporean cooking, but for some reason I ignored the satays. Perhaps I was afraid my bar was set too high?

Well that was pretty short-sighted of me, since comparing the two is like apples to oranges; they’re different, but equally delicious. These satays, from Malaysia, are made with dark-meat chicken, left to bathe for a couple of hours in a fragrant paste of ginger, fennel, coriander and lemongrass. They come off the grill sweetly aromatic, implausibly moist, and imbued with the taste of live fire. The peanut sauce is a work of art too, rustic and pungent and just sweet enough, like a grown-up version of every other peanut sauce you’ve ever eaten. James says the sauce is optional, but as “gilding the lily” is not a phrase in my vocabulary I say it’s not, nor is a simple, sweet-tart salad of carrots, cucumber and shallots. Rice is good too, to give your tongue some relief. And if I can give you one last piece of advice, it’s to memorize this recipe as soon as you can, since once you taste it you’re going to want to make it again and again…and again. Maybe even even to the exclusion of everything else.

Malaysian Chicken Satays with Javanese Peanut Sauce

I know this looks like a looooong recipe, but don’t be afraid. I promise it’s not difficult, nor is really all that time-consuming once you get going. James is just thorough, and wants to make sure you understand the techniques involved, since they might be unfamiliar.

Another couple of tips: you’ll notice there are instructions for making a basting brush out of lemongrass. I’d say this is optional (i.e. a regular basting brush will also work), but do give it a try at least once since it’s not only fun but adds another layer of flavor. As far as the grilling is concerned, I always prefer charcoal – lump-wood if possible – for its wonderful flavor, though if gas is what you have it will certainly do just fine, as will a preheated broiler if you’re really in a pinch. 🙂

Source: adapted from Cradle of Flavor: Home Cooking from the Spice Islands of Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia by James Oseland
Yield: about 30 skewers

For the marinade:
1 tablespoon whole coriander seeds
1 tablespoon whole fennel seeds
2 stalks fresh lemongrass
5 small shallots, peeled and coarsely chopped
4 cloves garlic, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 piece fresh galangal, 1 inch (2.5cm) long, peeled and thinly sliced (optional)
1 piece fresh ginger, 1 inch (2.5cm) long, peeled and thinly sliced
1 tablespoon ground turmeric
4 tablespoons palm sugar, finely chopped, or dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons (30ml) peanut oil
1 1/2 teaspoons salt

For the satays:
3 1/4 lbs (1.5kg) bone-in chicken thighs, or 2 1/4 lbs (1kg) skinless, boneless thighs
About 30 sharp, thin, 10-inch (25cm) bamboo skewers, soaked in water for at least 30 minutes and drained
1 thick stalk fresh lemongrass
1/4 cup (60ml) peanut oil

For the peanut sauce:
1 1/2 cups (250g) unsalted skinned roasted peanuts
1 1/2 teaspoons dried shrimp paste (belacan)
1 small fresh hot red or green chile, stemmed and coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, coarsely chopped
3 to 4 tablespoons palm sugar, thinly sliced, or dark brown sugar
3/4 cup (180ml) unsweetened coconut milk
1-2 tablespoons palm, cider or rice vinegar
salt, to taste
3/4 cup (175ml) water

To make the marinade, place the coriander and fennel in a small food processor. Pulse until the spices are well ground and dusty. Cut off the top and bottom ends of each lemongrass stalk, which should leave you with pale, white-and-lilac pieces approximately 5 inches (13cm) in length. Discard the tough outer layers and slice the lemongrass pieces as thinly as possible. Add the sliced lemongrass, shallots, garlic, galangal (if using), ginger, turmeric, palm sugar, 2 tablespoons peanut oil and salt to the food processor. Pulse until you have a smooth paste. Make sure that the lemongrass is well pulverized—you don’t want lemongrass bits in the final dish. (If the paste does not puree properly and repeatedly creeps up the side of the food processor instead of grinding, add up to 2 tablespoons of water, 1 tablespoon at a time, periodically turning the processor off and, with a spoon, scraping the unground portions down toward the blade as you go.) Transfer the mixture into a bowl large enough to hold all of the chicken. Rinse out the processor.

If using bone-in chicken thighs, remove the skin from each thigh by holding the chicken firmly with one hand and, with the other, slashing and tearing the skin from the flesh with a sharp knife. Cut the meat away from the bone, keeping the meat as whole as possible. (If using skinless, boneless thighs skip the above steps.) Cut the chicken meat into pieces, each about 1 inch (2.5cm) wide and 1/4 to 1/3 inch (6-8mm) thick. Each piece should be about 2 to 3 inches (5-8cm) long. Add the sliced chicken to the bowl and combine it well with the marinade, making sure that every piece is coated. Allow the chicken to marinate at room temperature for 1 to 2 hours. Toss the chicken several times to make sure that the marinade is well dispersed.

Make the peanut sauce. Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add the peanuts, stirring every few seconds, until they’ve picked up light brown spots, 3 to 6 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and allow to cool completely.

Place the peanuts in the food processor and pulse until well ground, but be sure to stop short of making peanut butter. Leave the peanuts in the processor.

Place the shrimp paste in the center of a 5-inch (13cm) square of aluminum foil. Fold the edges over to form a small packet, then flatten the whole thing with your hand until it’s 1/4-inch (6mm) thick. Heat a gas burner to medium-low or an electric burner to medium-high. Using a pair of tongs, place the sealed packet directly on the burner, and toast until it begins to smoke and release a burning, shrimpy smell, about 1 1/2 minutes. Turn the packet over and repeat on the other side. Allow to cool.

Scrape the toasted shrimp paste, chile, garlic and palm sugar to the peanuts and process until you have a well-ground mixture (again, don’t overprocess – it should look like sand). Transfer the ground ingredients to your skillet and add the coconut milk. Bring everything to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Cook for 5-7 minutes, then add the vinegar, salt and water. The sauce should be the consistency of pea soup. If it’s too thick, add more water, a tablespoon at a time; if it’s too thin, let it continue to simmer a couple more minutes until it thickens. Adjust the salt, then transfer to a bowl to cool.

Prepare the lemongrass stalk to use as a basting brush. Cut off the stalk’s hard, brown bottom end and its bristly, greenish top; this should leave you with a piece approximately 8 inches (20cm) long. Discard the tough outer layers, then bruise the thick end of the stalk with a heavy, blunt object, such as the handle of a knife or the bottom of a cup, until it is bristly and “brush”-like. Place the bruised end of the lemongrass in a small bowl along with the peanut oil let sit for at least 10 minutes, so the flavor can permeate the oil. Reserve the oil for basting.

Thread the chicken strips onto the presoaked bamboo skewers, weaving the point of each skewer through the center of each piece of chicken every 1/4 inch (6mm) to make sure it holds tight and remains secure as it cooks. Use 1 to 4 pieces of chicken per skewer, depending on how long the pieces are, making sure that the chicken extends from the tip to the middle of the skewer. Leave plenty of room so you can grab the skewer from the bottom end—the chicken should not extend from one end to the other.

To cook the chicken on a grill, first prepare a medium-hot wood charcoal fire and oil the grill rack liberally. When the fire is hot, place each skewer on the grill, making sure that the chicken is directly over the heat. Lightly baste the chicken with the lemongrass oil, using the bruised lemongrass as your basting brush. Grill the chicken until it has cooked through and has begun to pick up a few crispy brown-black spots, about 3 to 7 minutes, depending on how hot the fire is. Baste each piece lightly with the lemongrass oil once again. Turn the skewers over. Baste them with the lemongrass oil and continue grilling until the other side is browned, another 3 to 6 minutes. Though you shouldn’t overcook the chicken—it will dry out quickly—it’s equally important that you not undercook it. Test a piece by touching it with your finger. The chicken should be firm, not squishy.

Transfer to a serving dish and let the skewers rest for about a minute, until they are cool enough to handle. Serve immediately, with the peanut sauce.

 

I seem to be the Northwest’s new homemade-dairy evangelist. First it was ricotta, and now I’m encouraging the good people of Seattle to make butter – cultured butter, no less. Watch out, next thing you know I’ll be telling you to adopt your own cow.

For the skinny on churning up a batch of the tastiest toast-topper around, open your copy of today’s Pacific Northwest Magazine, or just click here to read it on the Seattle Times website.

 

Okay, okay, so nothing will stump you guys. I don’t know why I try. 🙂 I was, of course, on Prince Edward Island, best known for being the smallest Canadian province and the home of Lucy Maud Montgomery, who published the enduringly popular Anne of Green Gables in 1908. In fact, Anne is a huge draw here – on some parts of the island it’s impossible to take two steps without bumping into some Anne-themed establishment or memorabilia, or a Japanese tour group looking for the same. Nevertheless, as fascinating as Anne is, for the last few years the island has been pushing hard to break out of its literary pigeonhole and establish a new identity – a culinary one.

A couple of weeks ago I may have chuckled a little at that notion – what kind of culinary identity can an island of English, Scottish and Irish (okay, and a few French…) immigrants cultivate? Well, the island had more than a few surprises in store for me. In fact, I was flabbergasted – PEI is a gastronomic powerhouse, a province of passionate food-lovers, chefs and growers who have been celebrating their local bounty for far longer than has been en vogue elsewhere. As my wonderful guide, Pam, explained, “we’ve always been a poor island with most people making a living from fishing and farming. As a result we never really lost our farm-to-table tradition – we just didn’t know it was something unusual until the rest of the world started trying to re-establish theirs.”

From high-end to cheap-and-cheerful, I didn’t have a bad meal in seven days. Here are ten things I don’t think anyone who visits this verdant, friendly and oh-so-delicious island should miss.

1. Eat a Traditional Lobster Supper
For a taste of island life, there’s nothing more fun or more authentic than a traditional lobster supper. Three places on PEI offer them nightly throughout the summer months, and each has their own local following. We went to the one in New Glasgow, which takes place in a raucous and bustling 500-seat hall. The way it works is this: at the door, you decide on the size of lobster you want (1-lb, 2-lb, 3-lb or 4(!)-lb), pay the corresponding price, get a ticket and sit down. Then you’re served with not only the lobster you ordered, but all-you-can-eat seafood chowder, freshly steamed mussels, coleslaw and potato salad, bread and rolls, ice cream and 5 varieties of pie for dessert. The food is not exactly high-brow, but does that matter when you’re up to your elbows in lobster juice? You can see a picture of my lobster at the top – I ordered a 1.5 pounder, but the waitress remarked when she brought it that it seemed closer to 2 lbs. In any case, it was an odd sensation to look down at a half-eaten lobster and think, “gee, I don’t know if I can fit in any more lobster.” Luckily I managed to, though it meant I had to restrict myself to only one kind of pie for dessert. I know, sacrifices, sacrifices.
www.peilobstersuppers.com

2. Go Lobster Fishing
One of the more interesting initiatives to take root on PEI recently is to offer visitors the chance to experience traditional island activities. There are a number of outfits offering everything from oyster ‘tonging’ to clam digging to moonshine-making (!). Then there’s the lobster fishing experience, which is kind of in a class by itself because it’s not only fun, it’s really hard work. We went out with Perry Gotell, a 3rd generation lobster fisherman who has only recently started letting visitors come along for the ride. It’s no free ride, though – you have to be ready to go at 4am and be prepared to spend a good ten hours on the water, hauling up traps and plucking out live lobsters as they retaliate by doing everything in their power to snap off your fingers (they are vicious little buggers!). If it sounds like an adventure, it is; then, of course, there’s the achingly fresh lobster you get to eat, cooked in a pan of seawater on the deck of the boat, which goes an even longer way towards making up for all the nearly-pinched-off fingers.
www.tranquilitycoveadventures.com
www.experiencepei.ca

Aren’t these old clapboard lighthouses beautiful? They’re everywhere, many of them still in use.

3. Explore Victoria-by-the-sea
Victoria is a lovely seaside village just west of Charlottetown, comprised of a sleepy harbor and a few blocks of cheerfully-painted clapboard homes. There’s not a heck of a lot to do here – that is, except eat. I highly recommend lunch, for example, at the Landmark Cafe, a quirky, cozy little place with a globe-trotting menu (owner Eugene Sauve and his family spend the off-season traveling all around the world, presumably getting inspiration for the café’s daily offerings). For dessert, step across the street to Island Chocolates, a 100-year old Victorian house turned into a teahouse and chocolate studio. Brother-and-sister Eric and Emma (he’s 32, she’s 28) have been running the place since their father died two years ago, and make everything the shop sells, from luscious cakes to delicate European-style filled chocolates. And while you’re here, ask to see Eric’s photo album from Ecuador, where he spends the off-seasons working with a cacao cooperative, helping to train indigenous communities to produce their own high-end chocolate.
www.victoriabythesea.ca/dine.html

The ubiquitous lobster roll offers a slightly less-messy way of getting your daily lobster fix.

4. Drink some Moonshine
Lobster, oysters and moonshine are the PEI trinity, I was told. Apparently everyone used to have someone in the family that made illegal spirits (thanks to the fact that PEI had prohibition longer than anywhere else in Canada), and many probably still do. Nevertheless, just because it’s moonshine doesn’t mean it has to be illegal, as the two guys who founded the Myriad View Distillery realized one day; as long as the taxes are paid and basic safeguards are instituted (so no one goes blind, you know), moonshine should be just as legal as any other kind of distillate. Not only were they right, they hit upon a brilliant business model: people are fascinated by the subject of moonshine, and tourists and islanders alike flock here to taste (and buy) Myriad View’s take on the local firewater. On the tamer end is their standard ‘Strait Shine’, which at 50% alcohol is enough to give your cheeks a ruddy glow; the hard-core, however, go for the ‘Strait Lightning’, which at 75% alcohol pretty much numbs everything from your lips to your stomach on contact. It was this stuff, according to owner Ken Mill, that one day prompted a happy customer to pay him the ultimate compliment by email: “Awesome product!! After being given a bottle of your PEI moonshine by a business associate of mine, I have to say it is good enough to be sold in a mason jar out of the trunk of a car in Eastern Tennessee. Keep up the good work!”
www.straitshine.com

5. Go Swimming
In my neck of the woods, swimming in the sea is considered an extreme sport. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but it’s true that the waters around Puget Sound never really warm up, and only the hardiest of folk brave them for recreational purposes. Not so on PEI; the waters here are well-protected from the cold North Atlantic currents, and in many bays around the island they warm up to bathtub temperature by early August. Color me jealous! And naturally, many people basically spend their entire summers at the beach, and with so many beaches around, you can probably have one all to yourself. In other words, don’t forget your swimsuit.

6. Eat Mussels at Flex Mussels
Everyone who visits Charlottetown must have one meal at Flex Mussels. It’s an unwritten rule, apparently. Of course they serve things besides mussels, like for instance a pretty mean lobster roll, but let’s face it, the reason to come here is for the 23 flavors of mussels. If you’re feeling unadventurous you can go with the classic (white wine and garlic), but why would you when you can get Bombay (curry, cinnamon, star anise and cream), Spartan (kalamata olive, tomato, oregano and lemon), Maine (white chowder, bacon and lobster), South Pacific (kaffir lime, ginger, lemongrass and wine) or Mexican (chipotle, cilantro and lime)?
www.flexmussels.com

The 14-km-long Confederation Bridge links PEI with New Brunswick, on the mainland. Before it was built in 1997, the island could only be accessed by ferry.

Fried clams and chips, yum yum!

7. Browse Charlottetown Farmer’s Market
If you want to get a feel for the tightly-knit island community, and see how seriously they take their local produce, come spend a Saturday morning at the the capital city’s farmer’s market. Locals start trickling in at about 8:30, stopping to have breakfast and catch up with neighbors in the attached café (the market is housed in a large purpose-built building, which gives it a very European covered-market feel), before perusing the stands overflowing with just-picked island vegetables and fruits. Of course there are also local cheeses, bread, jams, honey, and crafts to be found, as well as food stands cooking up everything from samosas to doughnuts to island-roasted espresso. A word of advice, though: get here early unless you like battling very large crowds!

8. Slurp an Ice Cream at Cows Creamery
Cow’s Ice Cream is a PEI institution, and their multiple locations are thronging all summer long. Not only is their ice cream top-notch (and full of crunchy, crispy, nutty, gooey bits and pieces), their hilariously-named flavors will leave you chuckling with every bite: wowie cowie, gooey mooey, calfe latte, and Moo York cheesecake were some of my favorites.
www.cows.ca

9. Dine at Lot 30
If I had to put my finger on the best food of the entire trip, I’d say without hesitation it was dinner at Lot 30, a new restaurant in Charlottetown owned by a (handsome, tattooed, and did I say handsome?) young chef named Gordon Bailey (above left). This surprises me, actually, since the food here falls into a category I’m generally not that crazy about, namely high-end cuisine. So many times flavor seems to almost be an afterthought at this level, playing second fiddle to innovation and presentation; not so with Gordon Bailey’s food – he belongs to a rare breed of chef that can skillfully balance all three. Looking back over my notes, I’m reminded again of how utterly delicious everything was (all the “yum!!!”s scribbled in the margins certainly help): the seared foie gras paired with a perfectly caramelized scallop and nugget of deeply savory braised beef (which our waiter recommended by telling us that it was the dish that prompted him to beg for a job at the restaurant), the butter-poached lobster tail with the two most perfectly roasted fingerling potatoes I’ve ever eaten, the meltingly tender apple-glazed pork belly, the molten oka (a Quebecois cheese) paired with curry-scented hazelnut crumble… When he came out to chat after the meal it was all I could do to not jump out of my seat and plant a kiss on his cheek in thanks (see above re:handsome), though it was probably a good thing I didn’t since his wife (who manages the dining room) was standing nearby. Then again, with food like that coming out of the kitchen every night, I probably wouldn’t have been the first…
www.lot30restaurant.ca

10. Have a Piece of Seaweed Pie
In all honesty, this is more a gimmick than something you really must try. We heard a rumor about this delicious seaweed pie being served at a cafe in the tiny town of Miminegash (what a name, huh?), on the far western side of the island, a two-hour drive from Charlottetown. Imagining it would be some sort of savory quiche or spanakopita-type thing, we set off to have lunch there one afternoon, arriving famished at the very homely Seaweed Pie Café (which is, it seems, just about the only business in this tiny hamlet). To our shock, the seaweed pie was listed under desserts. Seaweed and sugar? Hmmm… Well, after eating some perfectly passable chowder for lunch, we gamely ordered a slice of the famous pie – only to have something resembling a chiffon cake covered in whipped cream and berry sauce brought out! It turns out that the seaweed collected locally is rich in carrageenan, a clear, tasteless substance which is extracted by boiling, and which is used as a thickening agent in all kinds of food and cosmetic products. The cafe uses it to thicken the whipped cream in their “seaweed pie”, which really doesn’t contain either seaweed or pie, but is still pretty tasty, if you like light, billowy desserts. It’s a very clever marketing trick, however; as we were leaving an entire tour bus pulled up and several dozen people spilled out intent on eating the café’s namesake pie. I imagine they wouldn’t have been so eager to make the trip out to middle-of-nowhere Miminegash if the local specialty was called “chiffon torte topped with carrageenan-thickened cream”.

And a bonus 11th: if you can, make a trip here for their biggest food festival of the year, Fall Flavors. For ten days in early autumn, the entire island is turned into a food extravaganza, with workshops, classes, demonstrations, dinners, contests and ‘experiences’ all centering around food. Just about all the island’s chefs and producers get involved, and visitors can pick and choose ‘a la carte’ what kinds of activities they’d like to participate in. I can’t imagine anything more fun – you can be sure that next time I head to PEI, it’ll be for this. For all the info, see www.fallflavours.ca.

Anyone recognize this guy? Canadians? He’s a charming fellow named Michael Smith, cookbook author, television personality and champion of PEI gastronomy. We shared a lovely dinner with him and his wife Rachel at the Inn at Bay Fortune, where he headed the kitchen for many years (and was launched to fame and, ahem, fortune). He’s now deeply involved in all kinds of food initiatives around the island, including many (no doubt wildly entertaining) events at the Fall Flavors festival. p.s. That’s the talented photographer Martin Thompson (who I was traveling with) taking his picture.