A Wok Trick, & The Prakti Charcoal Grill

Thanks to @BluePatchTeam for the photo

Yesterday I was at Rye Books in East Dulwich doing a cooking demonstration for my new book, Chinatown Kitchen. I taught a small gathering how to fold wontons and potsticker dumplings, before they got stuck in themselves to have a go too.

The chap in the flat cap is Alastair, owner of Rye Books. When we first met he gave me a Praki, that little red thing there, to experiment with, as that was what we were going to use to cook the dumplings at the demonstration. Alastair sells these in his shop - Prakti are a charcoal burner manufacturer from India, and the burners are designed to use less fuel and be more efficient. Originally aimed at home cooks and restaurants, they're also a brilliant camping stove - portable and easy to carry, but also easy to light and to control the heat from the charcoal. I'm terrible at lighting barbecues - there's usually a lot of flapping, often resorting to liquid lighter - and I was surprised to find I managed this one first time.

We've taken it on trips with us - we cooked sausages for sandwiches in a car park in the middle of the countryside. They don't give off much smoke either, so you can use them in smaller spaces...

...Like my balcony at home. I was worried the smoke would blow into other people's flats, but it's quite well contained. Placing a few sheets of foil or a ceramic tile underneath it stops the ground from scorching. Here are some masala mutton chops that tasted almost as good as Tayyabs; I bought them from the refridgerated Halal butchery counter in Asda on the Old Kent Road. I strongly recommend them - they are s.p.i.c.y.

One trick I did find was that wok cooking is pretty great on the Prakti. My electric hob is nowhere near hot enough for traditional wok cooking, but if you sit your wok on a charcoal grill, the charcoal heats up higher than a conventional hob, thus giving you some proper stir-fry ability. Also, the charcoal imparts a lovely flavour. I cooked egg fried rice, and the whole operation only took a few minutes longer than it would have done on the stove, for far superior results.

It had a great level of 'wok hei', literally translated as 'breath of the wok', that much-sought-after wok flavour you get from cooking at a super high heat.

There's a recipe for egg fried rice in Chinatown Kitchen - you can buy it here.

You can pick up a Prakti at Rye Books - they're £65 each.

Kimchi & Spam Fried Rice

I know, I know, Spam isn't the most glamorous of foods but it is one of the tastiest and I won't hear otherwise. Canned meat isn't always going to appeal, but cast aside any doubts of that pink rectangular mass sliding out of that can and do as follows. Because really it is delicious, as long as you treat it properly. 

So. Slice it, or cube it. Fry it with just the littlest bit of oil so that all the edges are bronzed and crisp. And then fry it for a little longer, just to make sure they really are crisp. Then, top freshly steamed rice with it. Squirt a little Sriracha over it. Or lay it upon instant noodles for a really filthy treat. You could wang it on a slice of bread, melt a little slappy cheese on top, squirt some ketchup and top it with more buttered bread for a treat that is strictly relegated to winter sport holidays, because by god you'll need to burn that off. My book, Chinatown Kitchen, includes other recipes using Spam, as well as a recipe for home-made kimchi. 

One of my favourite preparations is to cook it with fried rice in strong, punchy flavourings. Kimchi's garlicky pungency works well with the salty meat, flavouring the blandness of the rice, studded through with some guilt-balancing vegetables. You can use anything - sweetcorn, peas, carrots... I went for tenderstem broccoli and fine green beans. 

Kimchi & Spam Fried Rice 

Serves 2

200gr dry white rice, cooked and cooled overnight
1/2 a white onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
70gr kimchi, drained and chopped
1/2 a can of Spam, cubed
A handful of green beans, or broccoli, or whatever your choice - diced
4 eggs
1 tbsp fish sauce
3 spring onions, sliced diagonally, whites separated from greens
4 tbsp cooking oil
Chilli oil (optional, to serve)

Heat a wok to a high heat and when it's smoking, turn it down a touch and add 2 tbsp cooking oil. Beat two of the eggs together in a bowl, then add it to the wok. Stir a little, then when it has just set, remove and place on a plate. 

Add another tbsp oil to the wok, swirl around and when it is just below smoking, add the diced onion,  whites of the spring onion, kimchi, garlic and the vegetables. Stir fry until the kimchi is dry-ish. 

Meanwhile, fry two eggs in a non-stick pan with the remaining tbsp oil until the whites are set and the yolks are runny. Place to one side. 

Push the vegetables to one side and add the cubed Spam. Stir-fry gently every couple of minutes so that the edges crisp up, then mix the vegetables in. Turn the heat up to the highest, then crumble the rice into the wok and leave for a minute, then toss together and stir fry for a minute, breaking up any clumps. Drizzle the fish sauce over the rice, and continue to stir-fry for a minute. Add the scrambled egg back in, then stir fry for another minute to break the egg up within the rice. To serve, garnish with the greens of the spring onion, and drizzle with chilli oil. 

Vietnamese Salmon with Ginger Caramel

A few years ago, I discovered a Vietnamese recipe called 'Caramel Pork Belly' that was so ridiculously simple I became suspicious while making it. How could it be so good? Melt sugar, add water, melt together, add flavourings, boom. The most delicious, sweet and savoury pork cubes cooked until tender. The sauce, flavoured with fish sauce, sugar and black pepper isn't going to win you any health awards but this was a few years ago, when I was young and carefree. I ate it almost once a week. 

I discovered some such recipe in Vietnamese Market Cookbook, written by Anh Vu and Van Tran, except this had a lengthy set of ingredients and salmon is used instead of pork. My curiosity was peaked with the use of 'gia vi', a mixture of sugar, salt, pepper and garlic powder that I haven't come across before. Galangal and ginger break up the richness of the salmon, and the surprise addition of coconut milk mellows out the bold fish sauce and sugar flavours. The black pepper brings a warming spice to the sauce, and it was so moreish I ended up spooning the leftovers straight out of the claypot and into my mouth. 

I made some adaptations to the recipe; I didn't fancy the salmon's chances after simmering for 25 minutes, so that cooking time is much reduced. I also made the most of the skin, frying it until crisp, for a little textural contrast. 

Salmon with Ginger Caramel

Serves 2 (adapted from The Vietnamese Market)

2 salmon fillets, skin separated and reserved
25gr thinly sliced fresh ginger
100ml coconut milk
1 large red chilli, sliced into rings

Marinade: 
1/2 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1/2 tbsp gia vi (which is described as 2 parts sugar, 1 part salt, 1 part freshly ground black pepper, 1 part garlic powder)
1/2 tbsp freshly ground black pepper 
1 tbsp fish sauce
1 tbsp sugar
1 clove of garlic, grated (on the finest setting of your box grater, or microplane)
1 tbsp grated ginger 
1/2 tbsp grated galangal 
1 stalk of spring onion, chopped diagonally

2 tbsp sugar
175ml water

Mix together all the ingredients of the marinade. Chop the salmon into large chunks, and use your hands to coat with the marinade. Set aside for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the caramel. Set a claypot or a heavy saucepan on a medium heat. Add the sugar and melt gently, stirring so that all the grains are dissolved. Cook to an auburn colour, taking care not to burn it. Add the water - it will seize, but heat until the sugar dissolves into the water. Add the fresh ginger and set to one side to cool. 

Use a non-stick pan to make the salmon skin crisps. Place the skins flesh side down in a cold non-stick frying pan, and gradually bring it up to a high heat. Use a spatula to press the the skin down, then turn the heat to medium and turn over carefully. Keep frying, pressing, turning for 5 - 8 minutes until golden and crisp. Remove, sprinkle with a little salt and place on a wire rack. 

Add the cooled marinade to the salmon for 20 minutes (perhaps cook your rice at this point). Add it to your claypot or saucepan and place on a high heat. As soon as it starts bubbling, use two spoons to remove the salmon chunks and add the coconut milk. Add the chillis and simmer until reduced - around 10 minutes, then place the salmon chunks back in, turning very gently and frequently for about 10 minutes until cooked. Scatter with spring onion, place the lid on and leave to sit for 5 minutes. Taste if you need more fish sauce or sugar, and serve over white rice and steamed greens. Either break the salmon skin in half to garnish, or roughly bash into small pieces to scatter on top of each bowl.

Travelling in Indonesia and a Recipe for Soto Ayam (Chicken Soup)

I'm still coming down from the elation of a mammoth two week holiday to Indonesia with some of my favourite people. We started our trip, fresh off a 25 hour journey, by climbing Mount Rinjani in Lombok - the second highest volcano in Indonesia, and an unexpectedly, ridiculously tough climb. 

Our porters and guide did it in flip flops, shouldering an incredible amount of gear; tents, food, water, the lot. We had a proper cooked meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner - at basecamp, around 2,500m, we ate noodles in soup with tomatoes, green beans, potato and a deep fried, crisp hard-boiled egg, soaking up the resultant soup with freshly steamed rice as the sun set in front of us. We then got up at 3am to haul ourselves to the summit at 3726m, scrabbling on our hands and knees for several hours. Sandy rocks and stones slid underneath you, so that for every step you took, you slid down another two. It was mentally as well as physically challenging. I cried more than once. The euphoria when we reached the top was incredible; we clutched each other, gulping back relieved sobs, before we could take in the view. 

After a 6 hour downhill trudge, we stumbled onto Gili Trawangan, transported by horse and cart to the most wonderful villa we could have asked for and proceeded to thoroughly relax. Any kind of movement for the next 3 days produced gasps and whimpers. 

We carefully avoided the abundance of pizza and burgers, and opted instead for Indonesian food as much as we could find it, usually on quite a limited menu. Our staple diets became nasi goreng (fried rice, and considered Indonesia's national dish) or mee goreng (fried noodles). Made's Warung, on the northern tip of the island and virtually next door to our villa, served up the best iterations we had of these. Otherwise, the daily night market was our best bet, nestled amongst the bars on the main strip, flaring grills and eye-watering smoke mingling amongst the plastic tables and tables. 

Here, we flitted between stalls pointing at whatever we liked to be cooked to order. As there were 6 of us we managed to try a decent variety; freshly barbecued fish was butterflied and flipped on the grill frequently, brushed with a slick of spicy sambal. We picked various curries and vegetables to be piled onto a plate, while the vendor totted up the spend, which rarely came to more than £2 or £3. Sate sticks of calamari, beef, chicken and fish were smoky and meaty, plated with some rice, peanut sauce, and a choice of three sides. All the other Westerners were rejecting the sambal, and it was a fiesty number that made us sweat and reach for the tissues. But it was addictive. 

A chicken soup (Soto Ayam) was produced in seconds, a case of assembling and garnishing. The soup was rich and sweet, bobbing with crunchy cabbage and soft chicken. It was spicy but with a deep roasted flavour, rather than the brightness of fresh chilli. The stall holders were slightly bemused by our scattergun approach, and it was only when we promised them we'd return the crockery from where they came from did their brows unfurrow. Bintang, the local beer, was abundant. 

This kicked off a slight Soto Ayam obsession for me - chicken soup? Just chicken soup? But it was so much more than that. I ordered it again at a posh beachside restaurant, and something completely different turned up. The broth was clear but stained yellow, strong with lemongrass. Seemingly everyone has their own take on it. 

We moved on to Gili Air, to stay in basic beach shacks complete with swinging hammocks for a simpler life. Here, beach barbecues dominated; the best we had was at Chill Out Bar, where we were able to select our own fish for the grill. We feasted on a huge jackfish and giant prawns while our toes sank in the sand. Otherwise, it wasn't immediately easy to find cheaper, more casual food. Unlike Thai islands, the Gilis aren't brimming with street vendors, but scratch the surface a little and you'll uncover the warungs.

We ventured inland to Warung Muslim on the recommendation of our diving instructor. It's nothing but a basic structure, with a rickety wooden table and plastic chairs. Flies are abundant, and a more paranoid person would keep on walking but we persevered. Nasi campur, or 'mixed rice' came with the choice of either fish or chicken curry. The fish was sardines, cooked in a spiced tomato sauce and central to the plate is a scoop of rice, while vegetables, roasted peanuts, tempeh and ground toasted coconut line the sides. It was so good I went back the next day for the chicken version (pictured). It cost me £1.25 each time. 

One night, I gathered my friends and marched everyone down to a place I'd spied that day. On the main strip but without any snazzy lighting, staff to call you in, barbecues or fish out on display was another warung. After poking around the wares, we ordered nasi campur, this time with fried chicken, stir-fried snake gourd and stewed aubergines. I also discovered another of Indonesia's staple dishes - bakso mee, which is meatball noodle soup. The meatballs are made much like the Chinese fishballs - the meat (beef, I believe in this case) is pounded and worked until it becomes smooth and sticky, so that they're bouncy and springy when cooked. Simple and satisfying, the clear soup is unchallenging, though livened up with - yep - incendiary sambal. Otherwise, our beach huts, Gili Air Santay served delicious Indonesian and Thai food we were happy with eating most days. (On a side note, they were really lovely hosts.) 

We headed off to the Balinese mountains, to stay at Sarinbuana Eco Lodge for the last nights of our trip. A 3 hour car ride was completely worth it, as when we arrived the tranquility and beauty of it soothed our sweaty and travel-weary selves. Located at 700m at the foot of Mount Batukaru, the days were still hot while the nights were substantially cooler - it was a joy to sleep under a blanket. 

We stayed in the Treehouse, which was completely gorgeous - we had an open verandas to the jungle, as well as the bedroom. They're very supportive of the local community; staffed by locals, they also run various workshops like learning the Balinese flute, or wood carving, if you're into that kind of thing. As it's quite a remote location, I imagine if you'd stayed there for a length of time it would be appealing. In between watching the sunrise, doing a spot of yoga, reflexology massages and swimming in the natural water holes, we did a temple walk; our guide was incredibly helpful, and pointed out all the edible plants and fruits on the way. 

They grow all their vegetables on site, and as everything is prepared to order, we had to order breakfast, lunch and dinner during the mealtime before that. Balinese chicken curry was lightly spiced and fragrant, delicate and packed full of vegetables and potatoes. 

Ikan pepes was fish made into a paste, spiced and grilled in banana leaves. The accompanying sambal was made with lemongrass and green chillis - it was insanely delicious, and I'm glad I questioned them thoroughly for the list of ingredients to recreate at home (standby...). Breakfast was similarly refined and well presented - a fruit platter of pineapple, papaya, watermelon, banana and mango preceded some excellent pancakes, drizzled with palm sugar syrup. I thought I'd struggle as there were no savoury options, but I got by just fine. 

Soto Ayam was also on the menu, so it obviously had to be ordered. This was again different; still tinged yellow, but with beansprouts, some slivered kale, and tomatoes. Celery leaf gave it a herbal tone, and the soup was light and clear. The rice it was served with was total over-kill, but I am greedy so it was dipped in often too. 

On my return, it took just a week before I missed Soto Ayam, and I set out to make up my own. I enjoyed the lemongrass aspect of the ones I'd tried so that had to go in, though being SO packed the eco lodge's version was difficult to taste the soothing simplicity of the broth so I pared mine down a touch. I imagine during chillier months, a little more spice and perhaps coconut milk would be good variations.

Soto Ayam 

Serves 4

1 free-range, cornfed chicken, around 1.5kg
2 sticks of lemongrass, chopped roughly
4 kaffir lime leaves
1 carrot, chopped roughly
2 sticks of celery, leaves reserved and the stems chopped roughly
1 tbsp peppercorns
2 shallots, peeled and minced
6 cloves of garlic, peeled and chopped
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 inch piece of ginger, peeled and chopped finely
1 tsp ground coriander
200gr packet of rice vermicelli, soaked in hot water until soft
A large handful of beansprouts
2 tomatoes, quartered
3 sprout tops leaves, julienned and blanched (optional - kale or cabbage is also good)
2 hard-boiled eggs
A couple sprigs of coriander
1 tsp salt
Kecap manis and Sambal Asli (or another chilli sauce), to serve
1 tbsp cooking oil

Place the chicken in a large stockpot with the lemongrass, kaffir lime leaves, carrot and celery sticks. Cover with water and bring to the boil on the highest heat. Turn the heat down to low, so it is on a bare simmer, and skim the surface for scum. Place the lid on and cook for 40 minutes. 

Take the pot off the heat and leave to cool for half an hour. Take the chicken out and place on a plate.

Put the shallots, garlic and ginger in a pestle and mortar and pound with the tsp of salt until it turns into a paste. Add the turmeric and ground coriander and pound some more. Add the peppercorns and keep pounding until they're lightly crushed.

In a large saucepan, heat the cooking oil until shimmering on a medium heat. Add the paste and fry for 2 - 3 minutes, stirring continuously. Add all the chicken stock, strained through a sieve, and simmer for 20 minutes without the lid on.

While this is happening, assemble your bowls. Drain and divide the noodles equally. Take the chicken meat off the thighs and legs (discarding the skin) and break the meat up into bitesize chunks. The breast meat can be reserved for sandwiches or salads. Divide the beansprouts equally, and the tomatoes. Garnish with half a boiled egg, sprout tops, coriander and celery leaves. 

Heat the stock so that it is bubbling furiously for a moment and carefully ladle the stock into the bowls, through a sieve. Serve with traditional Indonesian condiments that we found on every table - kecap manis (which is soy sauce with a lot of sugar in it) and Sambal Asli, which bizarrely we couldn't find in any shops out there, but I found in Wing Tai in Peckham. Huh. Any chilli sauce will be good here. Serve immediately. 

Preserved Vegetable Omelette & Congee

One of my favourite breakfasts that I never have time to make is congee with preserved vegetable omelette. Congee gets a bad rep - oft compared to wallpaper paste, the whole point of it is to be a soft, bland foil against punchy flavours. It's an ideal meal for me, as no one bite is the same; instead, you can tailor each mouthful with your condiments.

The key to a successful congee breakfast is flavour and texture contrasts. A bit of crunch here and there is essential so that you don't feel like a geriatric gumming down your meal. The crunch of spring onions is perfect, and salted roasted peanuts or fried dough stick are ideal too. Then comes the condiments - short, sharp bursts to flavour each mouthful. This omelette encompasses both texture and flavour; a little creamy, a little crunchy, slightly crispy. Bits are ripped off with chopsticks, dipped in the congee and eaten with a sprinkling of spring onion. 

For alternating mouthfuls, I favour fermented white tofu in chilli oil. You can buy this at your local Chinese supermarket - greyish squares float in the chilli oil, not to be confused with red fermented tofu which is used for cooking with. This stuff packs some serious umami - I only needed half a square for my whole bowl. It's hard to describe the flavour - deeply savoury, quite spicy, a bit of fermenty-ness. (That's a word, ok?) 

You may have a favourite way of cooking congee - some prefer it creamy and thick, others thin and broth-like. I'm in between; semi-thick, but with the rice grains still intact. This is how I made mine.

Preserved Vegetable Omelette

Serves 2

1 heaped tbsp Tianjin preserved vegetable (or chai poh, preserved turnip)
4 eggs
2 tbsp milk
1 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine
1 fat clove of garlic, minced
A pinch of white pepper 
1 tbsp cooking oil

Rinse the preserved vegetable in plenty of water, 3 times. In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs together with the rice wine and the white pepper and milk.

Drain the preserved veg and cook on a high heat without the oil so that the moisture evaporates. Add the oil, turn the heat down to medium and add the garlic, cooking until fragrant. Turn the heat up and add the eggs immediately - they should bubble and fluff upon hitting the wok. Cook for a couple of minutes, then flip into half and turn over, cooking until slightly crisp on the outside and set within. 

To make the congee: 

90gr jasmine rice (basmati also works) 
850ml water 

Rinse the rice a couple of times, swirling the grains with your hands and discarding the water. Place rice in a large saucepan with water, and bring to the boil. Turn down to a medium heat and simmer until the water turns starchy and the rice is swollen and cooked, roughly around 15 mins. For a smoother, creamier congee, cook for a little longer on a lower heat and stir it often so that the rice grains break down. 

Serve with bowls of condiments - fermented tofu, chopped spring onions, chopped coriander, chilli oil, chopped up chillis in fish sauce, pickled vegetables, roasted peanuts, chopped century egg, fish balls... the list is pretty endless. 

Malaysian Deli

One of the more vivid memories I have of my time in Malaysia in 2011 was a lunch prepared by my friend's aunty. In preparation for our 23 hour train from Penang to Bangkok, curried prawns in their shells were packed into plastic tubs along with rice, a boiled egg and some vegetables. Hot at 7am when we set off, it preyed on my mind that the rice was cooling, sitting in the Malaysian warmth for a few hours before it would be eaten. Some would call that dangerous - see bacillus cereus - but no one else seemed fussed. I threw caution to the wind and, some hours later, wolfed down my incredibly delicious lunch. No doom befell me.

I bring this rather gnarly story up as the food at Malaysia Deli, a new place in Crofton Park, reminded me much of the lunchbox Aunty packed up for me in its composition. For only a fiver, you get a box of rice with a meat or fish, some vegetables and whichever sauce you choose. I uhm'd and aah'd over each one, asking the nice lady behind the counter which was which while she patiently explained the choices. I finally settled on salmon with sambal sauce; when asked if I wanted it heated up, I elected not to. Hot rice was layered into the box, two crisp salmon pieces next and that fiery sauce. On the cycle home, the hot rice heated up everything else in there, making my lunch perfectly warmed and ready to eat. 

It doesn't look like much (I went over a few speed bumps...) but it was lovely - tender salmon, crunchy beans and perfectly cooked rice. But HOLY MOTHER that sambal. I wish they'd sell it as a jarred sauce. Sweet and spicy, I started off feeling a tingle of heat; by the end of my lunch I was sucking air through my teeth while my housemate laughed at me. Worth it, and I'd do it again. Though I might try the percik next time - described as a mild, sweet, tangy coconut sauce. 

Cute and colourful inside, they sell ingredients as well as meals. They have a few tables and open 12pm - 8pm Tuesday - Saturday, 12pm - 6pm on Sundays; I'm looking forward to revisiting, especially for the nasi ulam, a dish I haven't come across before. 

Malaysian Deli

338 Brockley Road, London SE4 2BT

Roast Cockerel Stuffed with Chinese Glutinous Rice

A worried text came through from my housemate. 'Your chicken's arrived, feet and all. I gave it a poke, and, er... I think there's something inside it.' I laughed knowingly; the giblets are all inside a bag inside the chicken, of course! I carried on drinking my drink and dancing my dance without a worry in my mind. 5 hours later I stumbled back to South East London, bleary-eyed and my stomach churning. I hauled the big bird out of the fridge and visibly withered away. My dear housemate wasn't lying. Not only did it have enormous, dinosaur-like claws, THE HEAD WAS STILL ATTACHED. Wrapped up in a plastic bag, like some sort of morbid veil. There was no visible hole, which meant... oh god. The insides were still in.

I flapped (sorry) around the kitchen screeching, giggling and hyperventilating simultaneously. It was as heavy as a 4 month-old baby. I thought of my task ahead and a little retch began to take hold at the base of my throat. I was panicking. I'm squeamish, alright?

At that moment, my other housemate strode through the door, tanned and Adonis-like, the vision of manliness, and he took charge. 'Find me a YouTube video and we'll sort this.' I hid behind a door.  


'Shit, I don't know if I can do this.' 

'HARGH! Huuurrrgghhh.' Squelch-squelch-hack-splinter-squelch.

'Oooh look it's working'.

And like that, my housemate has become my new hero. Even if I did jump and scream from his careful positioning of the claws.

It was all a misunderstanding really. The lovely people at The Ginger Pig asked me to come up with a recipe for the new chickens they'll be selling. Bred in Lincolnshire / Leicestershire and hand plucked, they are offering either pullets (hens) or larger cockerels. I'd been asked whether I wanted the feet on mine, and thinking they'd be small delicate ones - you know, like the kind you have at dim sum - I said yes. Never again.

I wanted something special for this cockerel. Something to be a centre piece, to have everyone ooh'ing and ahhing over it, and something different from your usual. I decided to stuff it. Glutinous rice studded with sweet, porky Chinese sausage would soak up the fat from the bird well. Flavoured with shiitake mushrooms, made plump by the cock's juices (stop it) and finished off with a little dried mandarin peel for a tart dimension, this is quite a traditional Chinese dish. The skin is marinated in aromatics and basted well and often for a deep chrome colour. A little rice, some chicken and greenery made a different kind of Sunday roast, but a gorgeous one nonetheless. This beast feeds 6; at £8.50 / kg you can buy them here. You don't have to get yours with guts and claws.

And how does a cockerel taste? They take a lot of cooking, especially when stuffed. This one was in the oven for 4 hours, but when it came out the meat was tender and gamey, a hint of farmyard about it. The skin was tougher than a chicken's but by no means too tough; the flavour of the meat stood up to that ballsy filling well. It's not a quick recipe, but with a bit of planning ahead it should be relatively straight-forward. Don't be afraid of the blackened, gunky bits - these are quite delicious or you can scrape it off a little to reveal the gorgeous mahogany colour beneath.   

Cockerel Stuffed with Glutinous Rice 

Feeds 6 as a cockerel, 4 if a chicken 

To do the night before:  

 350gr glutinous rice, washed well and soaked in water overnight 

Mix together:  

 4 tbsp oyster sauce 

2 tbsp dark soy 

4 tbsp light soy 

6 cloves of garlic, mushed in a pestle and mortar 

1 inch of ginger, minced  

2 tbsp dark brown sugar  

1 tsp level of five spice  

Mix this all together and cover your bird in it. Leave for a few hours, or preferably overnight. Don't throw leftover marinade away.  

Preheat the oven to 160 degrees C.   

For the filling:  3 lap cheong, sliced thinly (Chinese sausage, you can buy it at the Chinese supermarket) 

6 shiitake mushrooms, rehydrated in hot water. Reserve the soaking juices.   

2 inches of ginger, minced  

4 cloves of garlic, minced  

1 dried mandarin peel (you can buy this in Asian supermarkets), soaked in hot water  

3 tbsp Shaoxing rice wine, or sherry  

1 tsp dark soy sauce  

3 tbsp light soy sauce  

6 stalks of spring onion, chopped roughly.   

1 tbsp cooking oil  

Fry the garlic and ginger gently with the lap cheong. Remove the stems from the mushrooms and cut into bite-sized pieces. Add to the pot. Add the mandarin peel, chopped roughly. Add the soy sauces, rice wine / sherry and the rice and toss to coat the rice. Take off the heat and add the spring onions.  Stuff the rice back into the cavity of the bird - do not overstuff as the rice expands.  

Roast - my 2.5kg cockerel took around 4 hours as I cooked in on a lower temperature. For the beginning, I added the mushroom juices into the pan and then covered with foil and cooked it for 2 hours, then removed the foil, basted with any remaining marinade and roasted it a little higher for the rest of the time, again basting every half hour or so. Leave to rest in a warm place (like the oven, switched off with the door ajar) for half an hour.  

Carve so that everyone gets some rice, and serve with some greens, like spinach stir-fried with garlic.