Recipe | Hainanese chicken rice

My mother allowed me to ride my bicycle to visit Po Po (my maternal grandmother) on most Sundays after I turned 10 years old. It took a little less than an hour to get there, and I remember the feeling of riding through a bustling city, the cool feeling of preteen independence.

My mom sent along gifts of clothing and food for her mother. I popped them into the basket on my bike. Off I went with the wind, up and down the side of busy traffic jams and sliding down pedestrian bridges, eating street snacks, checking out cassette vendors, stopping at knick-knack shops for stationary, and sneakily visiting my favourite comic bookstore.

The journeys to and from my grandmother’s home weren’t the only part I loved and relished as I look back. I also absolutely adored watching her cook. Her cooking process started quite early in the morning. As I arrived, she’d take me to the fresh market to buy ingredients.

“Vegetables, how do you know that they are fresh?” I asked her once. She said, “you just know, they smile at you.” The chickens she bought were fresh, alive and kicking. She would look at them through straw cages and begin to bargain with the seller. Soon they’d reach a deal and she’d be handed the chicken, tied with a straw string made into a handle for easy carrying. I often guiltily peeped at the chicken but couldn’t look it in the eye. Po Po would bring home her market haul and start the prep. 

I acted quite bravely each time Po Po slaughtered the chicken, silently apologising to the chicken. Little old me loves to eat a drumstick but couldn’t quite deal with witnessing the sacrificial process the chicken had to go through. A carnivore’s dilemma.

Po Po rubs salt on the inside and outside, thick slices of ginger inside the cavity as well, then uses her bare hands to drop the chicken in a pot of calm, hot, salted water (bring to boil then lower heat to simmer, no bubbles) for 20 seconds. She picks it out of the water and drops it in again for another 20 seconds, repeated a few times. She said that was to preserve the chicken skin. Lastly the chicken was steeped in hot water for the next 40 minutes until cooked through.

Po Po’s poached chicken always had crispy skin; it was akin to eating al dente but chewy rice noodles. The texture was spectacular. Along with a ginger, spring onion, and peanut oil mix as a dip. Cantonese poached chicken looks bland and deceptively simple to prepare, but it’s out-of-this-world delicious. 

Chefs like the late Anthony Bourdain and Dave Chang have hyped a similar dish for years: Hainanese chicken rice. I’ve noticed that it has popped into the menu of some of our very own local high-end eateries too. Similar in preparation, it differs slightly in the availability of the variety of chicken and aromatics, depending on location. A Western palate may not understand a dish that way; you’re tasting the chicken’s natural flavour and texture. Succulent skin, white tender meat, dripped in spicy, aromatic, and sometimes citrusy, sauce. However, another big difference is that Hainanese comes with rice, cooked with chicken fat and broth. The rice part is not starch for starch’s sake, but an integral part of the experience. 

I did a little investigating on why the dishes are so similar; as it turns out, the Hainanese chicken originated from Wen Chang, a village on the southern Chinese island of Hainan, known for its coconut production and fishing. These chickens are fed coconut and banyan seeds, and are characterised by their animated small heads, neck and feet. They were bred for this dish for over 400 years and were taken to Canton, where the dish evolved into the Cantonese poached chicken, then along with early Chinese migrants to the Malaysian peninsula and across the pacific to North America and the rest of the world.

There is a version of Hainanese chicken in every Southeast Asian country. It has even become of a national dish of Singapore, a city-state with all the world’s delicacies at its fingertips, yet this humble dish that has cost about $4 for the past 20 years remains a firm favourite.  

Celebrated food writer and critic Cai Lan, a Chinese Singaporean, once said that there is no such thing as Hainanese chicken in Hainan. In Hainan, people only know of Wen Chang chicken. Hainan chicken is a term coined by homesick immigrants of Southeast Asia. And so, the story goes on.

There are plenty recipes on the internet for this one. I particularly love David Chang’s take, “Boiled chicken in two ways”. I agree with him, the boiled chicken is a lot more versatile than the roast chicken. You can get the chicken, the broth for a noodle soup, and shred any meat off the bone for a salad or a sandwich.

RECIPE

Ingredients:

1. Whole chicken. Because there are different breeds, I’d choose a slightly fatty one, about 1.5kg (Tip: cut off the fat on the rear to use later for rice)
2. 6 thick slices of ginger (3mm thick)
3. Coarse salt
4. 300g spring onion, chopped
5. 5cm wedge of ginger, chopped
6. Peanut oil
7. Garlic
8. Juice of 1.2 limes
9. 1½ cups of rice (serves 2)

Method:

1. In a large pot, fill water to above half way, bring to boil, then reduce heat to low
2. Rub salt on chicken, a handful on the outside and half a handful on the inside, then place 3 thick slices of ginger into cavity
3. When the water is simmering — no bubbles — add the other 3 slices of ginger, take the chicken, dip it into the hot water for 30 seconds, lift out, dip again for 30 seconds and lift out. Repeat 8 times. This is to contract the skin to preserve it during cooking.
4. Then place the chicken into the water, making sure the skin on its back is slightly above water. Steep for about 40 minutes. It’s important not to overcook it.
5. Use a stick or fork to poke through the chicken; if it runs clear then remove it from the pot and let it cool on a wooden board. If you’re fancy, you can pop it into an ice bath for a minute or two; it’ll cool down the skin immediately and elevates its texture tenfold. If you’re a well versed in Asian cold cuts, then show off your knife skills and cut the chicken into symmetrical pieces. But I love my rustic, hand-pulled version much more because it’s boneless that way.
6. Once chicken semi cooked, if you’re a well versed in Asian cold cuts, then do show off your knife skills and cut chicken into symmetry pieces. But I love my rustic hand pulled version much better, because it’s boneless that way
7. To make rice, in a deepish pan or wok, add chicken fat saved from earlier into pan, render it for a little bit of time till you see oil, then add rice, and gently stir it before adding about 2 cups of broth made from cooking the chicken, bring to boil and reduce to lowest heat, stir occasionally as if you’d make a risotto, till rice is cooked through.
8. Mix and grind spring onion and ginger in a pestle and mortar, 1 tsp of salt; then in a small sauce pan, fry chopped garlic in peanut oil for a minute, then pour hot garlic oil over mix, squeeze lime juice and serve with chicken or pour over the chicken pieces. So, so delicious. Bon appétit!