A Tale of Two Fish Steaks

This is I, Mrs Kong blogging. We usually address ourselves in the third person, but for this blog, it probably is more appropriate if I did not.

Phing, my cousin, and I have recently started reminiscing about our late maternal grandmother and her wonderful cooking. I am sure everyone does of their grandmother, but believe me our po po was an exceptionally good cook.

Long before Shanghai emerged out of its communism age and resumed its position in the seat of capitalism (thus inspiring "Shanghai Tang", "Shanghai Chic" and a"Shanghainese restaurant" in every major city in the world), our grandmother had been whipping out Shanghainese dishes in her kitchen which left everyone quiet at the dinner table whilst trying to get more of everything on offer.

There would be fried Shanghainese nian gao for breakfast, a special tou chiang with maggi noodles for a snack before dinner, little sio ma cheh egg rolls, and the fish in a black sauce for dinner and Shanghainese wor tiea - just to name a few examples. And these dishes tasted like no other. I have tried to relive this culinary experience in several Shanghainese restaurants, including in Shanghai, but regret to report mere disappointment.

If she had lived this generation, she would be (ever so graceful in her silk cheongsams, stockings and velvety Bally Court shoes), the epitome of Shanghai Chic. However, Shanghai Chic would still fail to bring us the wonderful food she cooked for her children and grandchildren.

Thus my attempt at cooking this dish, and my queries into what makes a Really Good Cook. Phing dictated the ingredients to me, without any definite measurements or any ingredient or how it should look. In fact, if one had to write it down, we will probably only manage 2 long sentences, with very little guidance on how it should turn out: We nevertheless understood each other - this is all about how our po po cooks - no instructions, no ingredients list, no measurements. Her cooking involves a symphony of movements, and actions, and then a final taste. The final taste brings it all together (though this would also mean that if you did not know what it should taste like, then if won't come together).

Not helpful I know. I tried to replicate her fish in black sauce dish and thought of her whilst cooking it. I thought of the times I eyed this fish on the lazy susan, to check if there would be any more after I finished the mouthful I was chewing on. I thought of the left overs served cold. I thought of the times she and I stood next to the fridge, and her feeding me cold pieces of this fish with her fingers, whilst giving me a smile which said "don't tell anyone" but actually asking "hor cheh va?" (was that delicious?).

black halibut steaks - not the right kind but Northampton is famous for shoes and not fish!

I thought about the fish, the sauce and how it would feed two really hungry people for dinner. I thought about how the fish meat would break away in our mouths to give away that very special taste I remember so well.

Then I realised how she came to be such a Really Good Cook and (probably) why she was never able to teach anyone her techniques even though we'd beg her: It is because her cooking comes from a special place within her which she probably didn't think much of herself.

It came from her heart - the expression of unconditional love and the desire to be loved in return.

Sure, knowing fantabulous cooking techniques and dishes would help produce good food; knowing special recipes would impress. However, the Really Good Food comes from this special place - which explains why Really Good Food is known to feed the soul.

the result

This was the last dish Phing "sneaked" out of her just before she passed away. Her passing has left a huge void in our lives, our hearts and our bellies. But this is the cycle of life, to make room for many more Really Good Cooks and young ones to enjoy such food.

p/s: this also explains why I am always hungry.