The Cocoanut

Although this vegetable is very popular among Southeast Asians and the Chinese, I have difficulty buying it in Melbourne, and so far I’ve only been able to locate one stall in the whole of Queen Victoria Market that supplies it. It is sold in bunches, and preferably we buy those which are abundant in leaves rather than stems, because it is in the leaves that the luscious flavour is most concentrated, whereas the hollow stems I find are only good for supplying fibre.

Like most vegetable dishes, the tastiest ones are the easiest to prepare. For a plateful of classic kangkung belacan, all you need are a bunch or two of kangkung, shallots, garlic, ginger, red chillies, and the magic ingredient, belacan. Like many Malaysian dishes, the ingredients can be adjusted to taste, so a recipe really merely acts as a guide. Trust your instincts, and adjust according to your preferences.

Kangkung belacan (serves 2-3)

2 bunches kangkung, hard stems removed, washed and squeezed of excess water.
1 shallot, chopped (Most recipes either make do without or use a mere teaspoon, but I love shallots so I use the whole thing)
1 clove of garlic, chopped
an inch of ginger, chopped
2 red chillies, cut at a slant
belacan, about the size of a 2 cm square (dry-fried and pounded)

Saute the shallot, garlic and ginger in a wok until slightly golden.
Add the chillies and ground belacan, and smother the belacan over the aromatics until well-mixed.

Add the kangkung over high heat and mix thoroughly. Initially the wok will seem overwhelmed by the volume of kangkung, but like spinach, it will shrink dramatically once cooked. To speed up the cooking process, you can cover the wok for a few minutes until the kangkung has shrunk in size.

Season with salt to taste, and dish out onto a plate.

Note: If the kangkung is not squeezed of excess water, it will result in a blackish puddle in the cooked dish due to the belacan mixing with water. Of course, there is nothing wrong with this, but I prefer not to have my favourite vegetable meal drowning in black puddle , so I squeeze it thoroughly, just as you would with spinach.

We often assign gender to food as well; the petite cupcake- beautiful and dainty - is ascribed feminine virtues, while the massive, oily burger, perhaps reminiscent of a greasy, hairy man, is somehow appointed the male species rep.

The classification of gender to things which are otherwise asexual can, and do cause dilemma to the innocent bystander. Many times I have felt self-conscious when ordering salad, at the risk of being given dirty looks by female friends, as if there’s something unmanly about eating a bowl of raw vegetables. Do all men have to go through life chomping down on lasagna or a quarter pounder just to prove our masculinity?

The qualities we assign to food are not restricted to gender. Deep fried junk food, such as cheese sticks, Mars bars, and more recently deep-fried coke, are seen as trashy, while plain, simple dishes such as chicken soup are ascribed virtues of wholesomeness and purity.

In these times of disorder and chaos, it is useful to seek out the food that fuels rebellion. One worthy contender is the humble nasi goreng (fried rice), which was born, like many a rebel, out of accident rather than a carefully planned conception. This dish started out as an economical and ingenious way of making good use of leftover rice and its side dishes of meat and vegetables.

The other day we were left with a huge pile of rice, rendang (Malay dry chicken curry) and leftover stir-fried veggies. The situation presented a timely opportunity to indulge in a simple, yet festive feast of fried rice for the whole family. And so into a hot wok wafting with the irresistible aroma of sautéed shallots, ginger and garlic, we dump in the pile of rice, throw in the veggies and chicken, with the curry paste forming the base seasoning of the fried rice.

This no-rules, free-form and unstructured way of cooking appeals most to people who otherwise despise cooking, and those needing a break from the measure-or-perish school of cookery that is essential to cake-making and haute cuisine.

Like the equally unruly and chaotic omelette, it is quite difficult to screw up fried rice. Follow no rules, break with convention, and your efforts will reward you. Anarchy never tasted so delicious.