Chili Crab at Lau Pa Sat

In my last post but one, I described how a certain rancid sea freak had robbed me not only of the contents of my stomach, but also of my taste for Asian food. At the time I was understandably worried - there I was in one of the best food cities in the world and all I could think about was western stodge. After putting up some resistance at first, I followed some sound advice and gave in to my criminal urges. Within a few days, I wolfed down a couple of hamburgers, a hot dog, a KFC zinger burger and a few portions of chips. When I came out the other side, my western fixations were mostly satiated, and I fell straight into the claws of a chili crab.

Chili crab is probably the most famous Singaporean dish. For decades it has had both pincers firmly locked on the city, putting the squeeze on tourists and locals alike with its winning formula of chunky crab meat and rich chili sauce. To even contemplate not having one would have been sacrilege. As such, during my final hours in town I headed down to the wonderful Lau Pa Sat hawker centre in the business district to get myself a great big slice of redemption pie.

My few days on the burger train had set me back a bit, so to make up for lost time I ordered a black pepper crab (another Singaporean institution) and made this a double date. The pair cost a very respectable 32 dollars (about 15 quid) and I even got to inspect the lovelies before they hit the pan. Although not the biggest, these guys were no shrinking violets. Each possessed a couple of mighty, meaty claws and when they finally arrived on my table, dismembered and burning hot on the plate, I knew this was not going to be an easy task.

Like a new jotter in school, it started off neatly enough. I poked and pinched and needled the meat out of the shell like it was precious gold bullion. After a while however, things started to deteriorate. My finger dips into the wash bowl became more infrequent, and (as Sarah had no trouble pointing out) the chili sauce had begun to migrate up my arms and across my face. I was cracking, slurping and biting like a man possessed.

Even making allowances for this notoriously messy dish, I was making an exhibition of myself - and didn't care. Sarah was wearing an expression of permanent disgust and even the guys that sold me the crab seemed a little horrified. But that didn't matter. The crab was as plump and full as a country maiden, yielding plenty of firm white flesh to go with the accompanying sauces. Of these the chili sauce really stood out - thick, gloopy and not so spicy as to overpower the crab's delicate sensibilities.

By the time I was finished all I had left was a pile of shells and a slap happy grin. Roll on final week!

Seoul Food

46,300 websites may have used the above semi-pun in some shape or form before me, but given the subject matter and my own penchant for corny tricks of the English language, I really couldn’t title this post anything else.

As you may have guessed, I just spent the weekend in Seoul, where despite eating two zinger burgers in one day, I also managed to get a taste of some of the street food.

Shortly after arriving we discovered our camera was missing – either left on the KTX or nabbed at Seoul Station – so forgive the shaky details and lack of accompanying photos!

First up, a midnight stroll in Insadong yielded a bowl of steaming shell dwellers from a busy pojangmacha. The shellfish in question were large, round and cone shaped (I’ve forgotten the name) requiring the use of a toothpick to pry out the body. Once liberated, the meat was chewy and earthy, reminding me immensely of mushrooms. Dipped in gochujang and washed down with an ice-cold beer, I could think of worse things to do on a balmy night in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world.

The next day on a trip to Dongdaemun market we stumbled across some bindaeduk. Bindaeduk has been on my “to-eat” list for a while now, so it was fortuitous to come across it and an opportunity not to be missed. Similar to pajeon, bindaeduk is a pancake made out of mung beans and despite the absence of potatoes the closest thing to hash browns I’ve come to in Korea yet. The one we tackled was thick and crispy on the outside, strewn with beansprouts and green onion and incredibly garlicky. Luckily, my buddy soy sauce was there to temper the flames making bindaeduk a good, hearty post-lunch pre-dinner snack.

Finally, I rinsed away the day with a handy cocktail in a bag in Hongdae. A little stall serves these in thick plastic bags with straws sticking out. I opted for a kahlua milk, and retired to a nearby park to drink it among a few hundred other people who had the same idea. Fantastic.