












It's semi-organized, I know. The bottles on one side, cans in the middle, breakfast items together etc.. but IT"S TOO DAMN SMALL! Which is why some non-food items share space with food. :(
My essentials: extra virgin olive oil for salads, and sauteeing, peanut oil for frying, an herb/spice rack with paprika, cayenne pepper, chili powder, oregano, basil and rosemary. All my other herbs (cinammon, whole peppercorns, thyme, tarragon, garlic powder, ground coriander, cumin and many more) are in the cabinet.
A sneak peek into my tiny kitchen reveals how obssesive-compulsive I am, eh?
Breakfast, which was included in our stay, made the whole trip worthwhile for hubby. It was the usual hotel buffet breakfast, with copious amounts of tea, coffee, juice, iced coffee, milk being offered by the servers left and right. The buffet tables were groaning with the weight of their offerings. One side of a table was laden with fresh fruits: pineapple, watermelon, yellow watermelon, honeydew melon, rockmelon, papaya, oranges and the curious-looking snakeskin fruit or snakefruit (called Salak by the natives).
An unopened salak with its reddish-brown, slightly prickly skin; two roundish occupants inside; it is crunchy and sour and mapakla (leaves an unpleasant coating in the tongue, usually attributed to unripe fruit) all at the same time
The other side was chock-full of small cereal boxes with choices like nut bran, muesli, plain old cornflakes, and rice pops. Beside it were three pitchers of dairy: soy, skim and full cream milk. Adorning the rest of the table were bowls of oatmeal, whipped cream, cottage cheese and cream cheese, prunes, canned peaches and paoched pear.
Other choices included: bacon; pork and chicken sausage; an omelet, egg, waffle and pancake station; dimsum; fried rice and steamed rice; stir-fried noodles; noodle soup; a carvery serving either roast chicken, roast beef, ham or rosemary porkloin, depending on the day; a bread corner with foccacia, at least five kinds of rolls, pizza, banana bread, danish, croissant, toast; a cheese board; salad station; Miso soup, Korean soup and traditional Balinese breakfast corner; smoked salmon, prosciutto (which I couldn't get enough of), ham and smoked fish. Whew!
Needless to say, breakfast was overwhelming! And with bacon and rice to start his day and fuel him up, hubby started to wax poetic about Bali.
I didn't care much for all the trappings of a Western breakfast so I amused myself by making my own sandwich (toast, ham, 3 kinds of mustard, salad greens, cheese) one time, plating some prosciutto and melon another time and pretending I was in Italy, trying out miso soup and a fiery hot noodle soup along with strawberry pancakes and oatmeal with pear.
One time for lunch we went to the famous Bebek Bengil restaurant in Ubud, but sadly I thought their crispy duck marinated in secret spices and flavorings tasted and looked like a malnourished, bony Max's fried spring chicken (and I don't like Max's that much, so you can get how disappointed I was). The barbequed pork ribs were tough, the portion tiny and the sauce tasted of ketchup, way too much ketchup and way too little of everything else that's suposed to make it smoky and sweet!The place was nice though, with a ricefield out back, a lot of ponds and fountains and Indonesian dieties watching while you ate.
At Uno Italian restaurant in the sprawling commercial complex called Bali Collection in Nusa Dua, we enjoyed bolognese, carbonara and piccata milanese. I didn't care too much for the veal batter, but the tomato-garlic sauce accompanying the buttered noodles I immediately took a liking to. Not too garlicky nor sour, the hint of sweetness and herbs teased the palate. Portions were plentiful, the price was right, and I got a kick out of taking this picture of my refreshing mango shake against the bright blue tablecloths.
Obvioulsy little boy was more than satisfied with his carbonara and I had to finish this large serving of piccata milanese.
Our last dinner on the island was a romantic one. Some friends suggested we go to Ku de ta, a swanky, beachfront restaurant run by Australians that turns into a cool bar after dinner. Our son decided to cooperate by sleeping on the way there and not waking up until we were done! Miracle of miracles! He slept soundly despite the "club" atmosphere, screams of children running around the garden, and the funky music. We started off with a crackling pork belly appetizer. The pork belly was simply lechon kawali sitting prettily atop a bed of inspiringly delicious julienned mango, cucumber and shredded king crab salad. Hubby had winter rissotto with liberal quantities of lobster and roasted chesnuts. I tried the roast baby chicken stuffed with spiced pumpkin and pine nuts, lording it over a deep plate filled with richly-flavored French lentils with a dash of cream, with some baby bokchoy coyly peeking from underneath the chicken. Both mains got a nod of approval from us, because they were inventive but didn't stray too far from mainstream cuisine, thereby satisfying hubby's craving for familiar tastes and my love of flavor interplay.
Dessert was taken back at the resort with the breeze ruffling our hair. With every bite of the iced tiramisu (mascarpone and espresso ice cream on a liqueur-soaked sponge bed), we said our goodbyes to Bali, with its palm and coconut trees, clear night skies studded with stars, small towns with friendly people, artisans, well-preserved temples and heritage sites, and their famous coffee (we are not drinkers ourselves, but a friend swears by Toraja Kalosi). The beaches are nothing compared to Boracay, but the resorts are something else.
We ordered the Peking Duck , a whole bird with glistening crisp brown skin blanketing a thin layer of fat and juicy, tender meat. Peking Duck is usually served with paper-thin round pancakes, sliced cucumbers and scallions, and plum or hoisin sauce. Most people are familiar with the way this is eaten -- place a pancake on your plate, choose some skin, or meat, or both from the expertly sliced pieces on a serving plate and place them in the middle or near the edge of the wrapper. Add a sliver or two of of scallion and cucumber, spread a teaspoonful of hoisin or plum sauce on the wrapper or drizzle it over the duck, wrap the whole thing like you would a tiny burrito and bite into the fattening, heavenly goodness of roast duck made slightly sweet by the sauce and tempered by the freshness of the vegetables.
The waiter, after presenting the duck to your table but before wielding his sharp knife to create perfect slivers, will give you a choice between separating the skin from the meat, or slicing them together. I knew hubby would ignore the healthier meat and go for the skin if he had a choice so we opted for the latter. Some restaurants in Manila prepare the duck three ways (the skin and topmost layer of meat with pancake, the meat separated from the bones minced with vegetables and served in lettuce cups, and the bones as a rich, clear soup). Here in Hong Kong most will do it two ways, invariably with pancake, and a choice of minced with lettuce cups or stir-fried with a special sauce. Whenever hubby and I eat this together, we don't order it a second or third way. We ask for the remainder to be chopped and we take it home. I shred the meat and saute it with minced onions, carrots, fresh Chinese black mushrooms and water chestnut. Lettuce leaves are washed and dried and serve as pretty vessels for the crunchy mixture. More hoisin sauce is drizzled on top. The bones I boil and the resulting broth I freeze, after skimming all the fat out. I haven't used my duck stock yet, but will write about whatever I invent when it happens. In Peking Garden the minced duck meat is stir-fried with pine nuts, which gave it an interesting texture and flavor.
Another Chinese specialty which needs to be ordered a day before is the Beggar' Chicken. Since childhood I have heard about this dish, so named because a beggar in China invented it.
There are two versions of the story I know. The first is during the war, a beggar stole a chicken from someone's backyard. Hearing soldiers approaching and fearing for his life lest he get caught, he covered the chicken in mud. The next day the mud had hardened but he still cooked it over a hot flame. The result? Fork-tender, juicy, fragrant, steaming chicken with all the flavors encapsulated in that hard shell. The second story is the official one. A beggar, for lack of cooking utensils, a stove and ingredients, decided to wrap his chicken in lotus leaves, cover the bird with mud, and cook it over a hot flame. A passing emperor and his entourage caught a whiff of the wonderful aroma of cooking chicken and when they tasted it, they declared it worthy of the Imperial Court. Appearance notwithstanding, Beggar's chicken is now a prized delicacy served in the best Chinese restaurants the world over. It doesn't come cheap, despite the name, and in fact some quarters prefer to call it the exact opposite -- something like Divine or Imperial Chicken (I read about this but can't find the corresponding article again).
At Peking Garden they let the special guest at the table wield the golden hammer and have his picture taken for posterity (and as a souvenir, which is a neat marketing gimmick for tourists). They paste the picture onto a cardboard stand with the Beggar's Chicken legend printed at the back.
They also give you a small red box with a miniature replica of the golden hammer. The guest lowers the hammer with all his might in order to crack the hard clay shell. The waiter then takes over and removes the cracked pieces and reveals the lotus-wrapped gem inside:
As each layer of fragrant leaf unfolds the scent of mysterious ingredients waft through the air, tantalizing the patrons seated beside us, who look on with barely concealed curiosity. After the last layer is opened up; very much like huge petals blossoming in the spring, except these petals are leaf green instead of a lovely shade of red or sunny yellow or periwinkle blue; the light brown chicken is exposed to the glaring lights, stares of wonder and whispered comments of nearly everyone surounding our table. The chicken is quite small, considering how bulky the mud encasing it was. The waiter gently prods it with a fork and knife to reveal the stuffing, the soft flesh yielding without resistance and the aroma still lingering.The stuffing is made up of thickly sliced black mushrooms, mustard greens, sometimes pork or other native Chinese ingredients. Five-spice powder and star anise lend this dish its Oriental, somewhat herb-y and medicinal scent. It has an acquired taste, and despite the pomp and pageantry accompanying an order, some people just plain don't like the way it tastes. I've tried this twice, in the same restaurant but with different people, and I can honestly say only a handful of us adventurous eaters chewed, bit, chomped and sucked our way through to the bones.
This is my chopstick with bits of Beggar's chicken hanging on for dear life before they are devoured by hungry me.
Another dish that sparked interest at our table was the deep-fried conpoy (dried scallops extensively used in Chinese cooking) with bamboo shoots and glazed walnuts. It was listed under vegetables. I spied several tables with this dish and didn't want to be left out. It came and it conquered. It was delicious. The flavors intermingled and complemented each other perfectly, from the sweetness and crunch of the walnuts to the firm bite and hint of sourness from the bamboo shoots.
Of course dining at any Chinese restaurant means ordering the requisite seafood. That night we had scallops with broccoli and steamed fish. The scallops were very fresh and cooked just right, the flesh still retaining a bit of firmness to it. The broccoli, as evidenced by the picture, was excellent, a crown of deep, dark green florets enclircling the pristine whiteness of the scallops, which twinkled a bit in the light. Chinese restaurants almost always cook broccoli the right way, it always beckons with the lushness of its hue and is never ever mushy.
The steamed fish wasn't the usual whole live lapu-lapu steamed with ginger and scallions with a light soya sauce taht goes great with a fluffy bowl of rice. At Peking Garden they serve thin slivers of codfish in a sauce similar to that of whole fish, but made interesting with curls of chili and chopped black olives as garnish.
Other items we tried were the shrimp paste on deep-fried toast, double-boiled pork soup, and three kinds of dessert: coconut milk custard, purple rice with warm coconut milk (similar to guinatan), and apple and banana fritters (they coat the fruits in batter and fry it with sugar, similar to making the ubiquitous roadside bestsellers: banana-q and maruya, then they plunk these fritters down in a bowl of ice-cold soda water to "harden" the coating and give the fritters a caramelized feel).
It was a wonderful night of stories, laughter and authentic Chinese cuisine. There ar a few good reasons why Peking Garden has been around for so long and is patronized by locals and tourists alike. They are consistent, innovative, and for the elegant surroundings and food, the prices are acceptable. There are many small hole-in-the-walls and family-run restaurants in HK serving up the best dimsum, congee, fishball, wonton noodles and I'll write about them next time. In the meantime, if you find yourself in the heart of Central, try the lavishly decorated Peking Garden at Alexandra House.