Pascal Lamy is a French political consultant and businessman. He was the Director-General of the World Trade Organization until 1 September 2013. His appointment took effect on 1 September 2005 for a four-year term. Mr. Lamy holds degrees from the Paris based Ecole des Hautes Études Commerciales (HEC), from the Institut d’Etudes Politiques (IEP) and from the Ecole Nationale d’Administration (ENA). He began his career in the French civil service at the Inspection Générale des finances and at the Treasury. He then became an advisor to the Finance Minister Jacques Delors, and subsequently to Prime Minister Pierre Mauroy.
In Brussels from 1985 to 1994, Pascal Lamy was Chief of staff for the President of the European Commission, Jacques Delors, and his representative as Sherpa in the G7.
In November 1994, he joined the team in charge of rescuing Credit Lyonnais, and later became CEO of the bank until its privatisation in 1999. Between 1999 and 2004, Pascal Lamy was Commissioner for Trade at the European Commission under Romano Prodi. After his tenure in Brussels, Pascal Lamy spent a short sabbatical period as President of “Notre Europe”, a think tank working on European integration, as associate Professor at the l’Institut d’études politiques in Paris and as advisor to Poul Nyrup Rasmussen (President of the European Socialist Party).
EatingAsia: Gaeng Ki Lek: On the Trail of a Curry from Northern Thailand to Suburban KL (Part 2 of 2)
"Ki lek!" she announced triumphantly, before heading off to her kitchen table to prepare the leaves for inclusion in a spicy upcountry gaeng (curry).
I'm no botanist, and an English translation on the menu of the Bangkok restaurant mentioned in Part 1, of ki lek leaves as "caper leaves", threw me off-track for well over two years as I tried to identify their source. (The flower buds of the ki lek tree, below, do resemble caper berries.)
In the comments section of my previous post (Part 1) knowledgeable EatingAsia reader RST informs me (or reminds me? presumably I followed and probably even participated in the Chowhound Chicago Board discussion of ki lek to which he alludes, but that was a few years ago) that the leaves Wan brought home are from a cassia tree common to SE Asia. Some googling turned up this link to photos (click the photos icon on the upper left of the page) of Canafistula (cassia fistula), a hardwood tropical tree native to India, the Amazon, and Sri Lanka. Also known as the "golden shower" tree because of the cascades of yellow blossoms it produces after dropping its leaves, the tree's leaves and bark are said to lower cholesterol and aid digestion. Another few photos of Canafistula here suggest a possible match with ki lek (to health benefits listed prior Wan adds that ki lek reduces flatulence, relieves a sore throat, and "helps men when they need it"). I'm willing to call it mystery solved -- and so let's get on with dinner.
[Update: now, thanks to yet another comment by reader RST, mystery *really* solved. Leaves in question are from the "Kassod Tree" (Cassia siamea), a fast-growing 30-40' tree native to, among other places, India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and (probably) Thailand .. and naturalized in the American tropics. Photos of the tree and a good ones of the leaves and buds, which helped me to confirm identification, can be found here.]
Before being added to a curry fresh ki lek leaves must be washed well and boiled to tame their bitterness. Wan boiled leaves and ki lek buds together for 15 minutes. After draining and rinsing the leaves well, she boiled them again for another 15 minutes. At this point the ki lek leaves can be stored in the fridge for up to 2 days before using.
Those of you not living in Asia may be able to find fresh ki lek leaves at a well-stocked Thai grocery. If you live in Florida, where Canafistula is not uncommon, you might even be able to pick some yourself (younger, smaller leaves are tastier). Otherwise, look for bottled, pickled ki lek leaves. RST reports that in Chicago they are available at Thai Grocery at Broadway and Argyle; I also found them available to mail order (in the US) here. Prepared ki lek leaves should be rinsed well in warm water and patted dry before use.
The measurements for this curry are inspecific, in part because Wan, eager to get the ki lek show on the road, proceeded to pound together the curry paste while I was out walking the dog. So I've had to pull together a recipe from her recollection of how much of each ingredient she used, in fairly vague amounts. No matter -- ki lek is a true homestyle Thai dish, prepared with slight variations, region to region and cook to cook. A Thai cook would say, if you like it garlicky, add more garlic, if you can't take the heat reduce the number of chilies (or/and remove their seeds) or use a milder variety of chili, and if you like your curries with a wee sour edge go ahead and throw in a couple kaffir lime leaves or stir in a bit of lime juice at the end, even though the recipe doesn't call for it. You can also, Wan says, substitute grilled pork, chunks of fish, chicken pieces (on the bone), or beef for the pork in this recipe, if that's your preference.
5 fresh red chilies (mild to incendiary, according to your taste), sliced crosswise about 1/2 inch thick
For the curry paste, pound together, using a heavy pestle and mortar, the garlic, krachai, kha, lemongrass, and dried chilies. Add the chilies and pound lightly just to bruise them, not to incorporate fully into the paste. (Alternatively grind the ingredients together in a powerful blender or a food processor, adding *just* enough water to get them blended. Then pound the fresh chilies with the handle of a heavy knife and chuck them into the paste.)
Bring the coconut milk to a boil, in a wok or heavy-duty fry pan, over medium heat. Lower heat to a gentle simmer. The milk should thicken and eventually (within 10 minutes) give up its oil (globules of fat will appear on the surface). At this point stir in the curry paste. Simmer gently and continue to stir. After about 4-5 minutes, until the paste ingredients are sufficiently heated and the mixture becomes aromatic. Continue to stir another couple of minutes and then add fish sauce, a tablespoon at a time, until the salt balance of the curry is to your liking. The curry should nap a spoon, but not too heavily -- add some water if necessary.
Add the pork and stir until it is cooked through. Add the ki lek leaves and buds and cook until they are heated through.
Cassia leaves lose almost all of their color/chlorophyll in the process of brining/bottling. You simply cannot get the same brilliant green you get from fresh leaves. I also suspect that brining toughens the already-quite-leathery ki lek leaves a bit too much. If I remember correctly, the fresh leaves also have a slightly mucilaginous quality-am I right?-and this is definitely also absent in the bottled form. On the other hand, with the brined ki lek, you do not have to bother with the tedious process of removing the bitterness.
I will post here when fresh ki lek leaves are available at Thai Grocery. Bottled (and possibly also frozen?) cassia leaves are almost certainly also available in Chicago at Thai Food Corp (Broadway, just north of Lawrence), Golden Pacific (Broadway at about 5300? N) and so on.
I think that the exact scientific name for Thai ki lek is Cassia siamea or Senna siamea (perhaps also Cassia javanica). Cassia/Senna fistula seems to be a completely different species altogether. In a University of Melbourne botanical website (www.plantnames.unimelb.edu.au/sorting/cassia.html + also see plantnames.unimelb.edu.au/sorting.senna.html), the listed Chinese names are different. Cassia siamea (kasod tree) is called t'ieh (iron) tao (knife) shu (tree) while Cassia fistula is la chang shu (sausage tree) or zhu (pig) chang (intestine/sausage) shu (tree) perhaps bec the pods hang like sausages being dried. Neither of these should be confused with Cinnamomum cassia (in the Laurel family) or so-called "ersatz cinnamon" although its bark (specially those sourced from northern Vietnam) is sometimes preferred to that of "true" cinnamon. For Cinnamomum cassia, see Gernot Katzer's webpage: (www.uni-graz.at/~katzer/engl/generic_frame.html?Cinn_cas.html). To add to the confusion, kwei p'i in Mandarin refers to cassia (cinnamon) bark but kwei (same word) hua refers to something else: osmanthus blossoms.
Thanks RST. Yes, I had some lingering doubts abt cassia fistula being a match; none of the photos I found on the web gave a clear enough image of the leaves to say a definitive "yay" or "nay". But -- thank you! -- cassia siamea, aka "Thailand Shower", aka Kassod Tree ... this is it! Will update the page accordingly.
Re: mucilaginous quality of fresh leaves ... a bit I suppose, but nothing along the lines of, say, okra or "slippery vegetable" (aka Malabar or Ceylon spinach). It wasn't a quality that jumped out at me as I was eating my gaeng ki lek.
Foodfirst/Robyn was one of the key figures in the great flowering of connoisseurship of Thai cuisine on the old Chowhound Chicago Board during the heroic days. With her pioneering translations of the Spoon Thai and Yum Thai "secret" menus, she was instrumental in cracking the code of "true" Thai eating. All Chicago is forever in her debt for opening up this road to a hitherto mysterious brave new world. She was always available to answer detailed questions both technical and conceptual (the long discussions on the "essence" of Thai cuisine are legendary). Although we conducted this correspondence entirely through emails and although it took her till earlier this year (2005) to make it to visit us in Chicago, she was truly an integral part of the great Chicago food avant-garde of 2002/2003, an avant-garde that totally and definitively transformed the discourse of food in this city.
4.) Was at Thai Food Corp. and found another brand of brined ki lek. Bought the cutest thing: a traditonal terra-cotta khanom kroc maker complete with a beautifully formed brazier and individual mini clay lids. Not that I would ever make khanom kroc at home-but now I can put my nose up next time I visit a foodie kitchen and sniff-"yeah sure you might make a Pacojet in your home kitchen, but do you have a khanom kroc maker?" ;0)
RST -- way too many pple involved in the development of that Thai food scene in Chicago (namely you all, who live there!) to place so much of it at my feet. I was in the right place at the right time (Bangkok) ... unfortunately much of the knowledge I gained in that year, including the language, has taken flight from my brain in the intervening 3 years!
3) you're undoubtedly right. No local friend or acquaintance to date has put a name to these leaves. I haven't yet resorted to accosting total strangers on the street. If there's a Malay prep I would bet it's sth along the lines of fried with coconut and dried prawns, as is done with merengeh.
Had gaeng ki lek at Thai Grocery again today. In the small produce section, I saw (in addition to regular items such as bai champloo, different varieties of Ocimum, curry leaves and so on) small packs of beautiful fresh yellow sanoh flowers. These are also Sesbania, related to the dok khae flowers (Sesbania grandiflora, Filipino = katuray flowers) I once wrote about at length on CH. Cambodians steam these flowers shortly and eat them with kapi. Thais make gaeng som with these flowers. Also saw krachet (water mimosa) and malah tips (shoots/tips of bitter melon) which can be simply stirfired with a few dried shrimps or a bit of meat. I asked the owner of Thai Grocery if one could also use the ki lek flowers in the same way for gaeng som and he said no-that only ki lek buds are eaten. He also mentioned that pakood (fiddlehead ferns-see Robyn's previous post on this) is a standard addition to gaeng naw mae.
I've been looking for tropical plants that I could cook with. I'm into trying new things in the kitchen and I think that sounds like fun. Does anyone have any really good recipes?
How do I grow kilek successfully? I had failed attempts by trans-planting the stem. Also individual naked branches don't seem to be able to grow by itself. Does it need plenty of water, or alkaline soil?
On our last trip to Taiwan I discovered doujiang (soy milk). Wait -- that's not exactly accurate. I always knew about doujiang, of course. It's always been there -- as the lactose intolerant's best friend, or the dieter's substitute for milk in a latte, or something boxed that vegans drink.
But two years ago in Taiwan, which by the way -- I'm going to go out on a limb here -- is an equal to Japan in the ethereal-soy-bean-products-making department, I found that soy milk -- real fresh soy milk made in small batches by caring, careful soy milk makers -- is one of the world's most delicious, most refreshing and at the same time most healthy feeling beverages.
It's also one of the world's best breakfasts, especially when consumed with a just-fried, lightly salty you tiao (savory cruller). I reaffirmed soy milk's wonderfulness in Chengdu, and then again a couple of weeks ago in Taipei. After we arrived in Kaohsiung, in southern Taiwan, I pushed my soy bean obsession a bit further and began substituting it for cream in my coffee.
Then I found xian doujiang, which absolutely blew me away; it easily takes doujiang's greatness up several dozen notches. "Xian" means salty. And it's also used to indicate savoriness as opposed to sweetness, as when you ask a guobing vendor what's inside her oven-baked flatbreads and she answers "You xiande, you tiande." (There's savory ones and sweet ones.)
Actually I didn't find the salty soy milk. Dave did, when he was wandering around Kaohsiung one morning early in our stay as I was back at the hotel getting ready for a day of interviews. "I just had the most amazing breakfast!" he said as he burst into our room right before I left.
I forgave Dave the next day when he took me to Guo Mao Lai Lai [g-woah maow lie-lie] Doujiang, a corner shop in downtown Kaohsiung. And not just because of the doujiang, but also because in Guo Mao Lai Lai's open kitchen they craft what are without doubt among the best steamed dumplings I've ever eaten. Anywhere (I've spent some time in China, people), ever. These steamed dumplings boast wrappers both light and substantial, toothsome and fluffy, of the perfect thickness, and with so much wheat flavor. They're dumpling wrappers to die for.
But let's get back to that xian doujiang. It's simply fresh soy milk with a coagulant -- vinegar, I believe -- added to induce curdling. It's served hot, and ladled over your choice of condiments, which atGuo Mao Lai Lai include chopped pickled vegetable, teeny tiny translucent dried shrimp (southern Taiwan produces some lovely dried shrimp), browned shallots and chopped scallion.
If you get to the front of Guo Mao Lai Lai's doujiang queue, which moves frighteningly fast, and blurt out "Everything!!" -- because you don't think you can vocalize your choices quickly enough to keep the customers in line behind you from grumbling -- the doujiang server squirts some sesame oil into the bottom of a deep bowl, follows with the condiments one after the other, sluices on the doujiang from a nice height, and then tops it all with a pretty circle of lajiao you (red chili oil).
The doujiang gets appetizingly foamy -- though spooned up I suppose it looks something like baby food, as the soy milk curdles all around the condiments.
Don't judge a book as they say, because the shrimp and pickle and caramel-y shallot and crunchy scallions wrestle with the blandly bean-flavored doujiang in a way that is best described as, well, revelatory.
And what about those dumplings? Guo Mao Lai Lai does baked stuff too, and jian bing (griddled dough rolled around eggs), but I couldn't get past those steamed and steam-fried pale mounds of deliciousness.
They'are palm-sized, heavy in your hand, and filled with pork and cabbage or just pork or stuffed with garlicky Chinese chives and eaten, if you like, with a dip (or sauce) of more Chinese chives and chopped dried chilies soaked in soy sauce.
Guo Mao Lai Lai isn't especially new. Seven years ago this man, whose brother owns another xian doujiang and dumplings shop on the outskirts of Kaohsiung, opened it with his wife and family. It was obviously a good decision. The shop is crazy busy --- with only three picnic tables on the pavement out front seats can be hard to come by before 830 or 9am. They also sell doujiang bing (iced doujiang) and mijiang (rice milk).
Guo Mao Lai Lai, at the corner of Liuhe 2nd and Zichiang Roads, Kaohsiung Taiwan. Mornings, closed on Sunday.
Tags: baozi, Chinese breakfast, Chinese chives, eating in Kaohsiung, jiaozi, salty soy milk, southern Taiwan, steamed dumplings, Taiwanese breakfast, Taiwanese food, xian doujiang
Now trying to figure out how to reach Taiwan. The range of food available in the orient is just so amazing...they really trausure their tummies
Robyn, I hate you, and I mean that in the sweetest, most loving way imaginable. Or maybe I'm just hungry.
Salty soy milk is absolutely wonderful and a classic Taiwanese breakfast dish. I'm glad you like it!
I discovered your blog 2 days ago, and haven't been able to stop reading everything day and night. At first just to reminisce about all the Indonesian food I'm missing since I haven't been back home in over 10 years...Oh how I miss the food and I appreciate the fact that you went off the beaten path to Old Town Jakarta instead of just the usual tourist trap shopping malls...I always crave the noodles and all the Chinese Indonesian food in Glodok.
Thank you for your recent post, I've been eating Taiwanese breakfast for about 8 years now, but never dared to try the Salty Soy Milk...but I will now...
Haha, I had to laugh about this post because my wife who is from Taiwan never even knew about xian doujiang until I told her about it and I grew up in the States. She's always had it as cold and sweet.
Guo Mao doesnt mean anything in Mandarin. 'gwoah maow lie' pronounced in Taiwanese dialect means 'will visit again'.
You'll find these in writing in Taiwan and almost incomprehensible if you dont know the dialect - the best example is when you see Xia Mi (shrimp/dried shrimp) - it actually means 'What'(Sher Me in Mandarin)
In the 永和 neighborhood of Taipei, there are a few shops selling these breakfast staples 24 hrs a day. Kinda like 24 hr IHOP (but with much better food ...), they sometimes get quite busy late in the night or very early morning, with a mix of post partying young people, folks who get up very early for early shifts of certain jobs, or just people hungry for 燒餅，油條，包子，豆漿 etc at weird hours.
I loved reading this post. Fascinating. And those griddle-fried dumplings look amazing. I think I had an epiphany here, too.
Oh, how I envy you.... :) I love doujiang but of the sweet variety since I've never tried the savoury one before nor heard of it.... I will try to locate some in Asia in a couple of weeks....
incidentally, I was in Sicily a couple of months back and went to a farm where they produce ricotta which rather reminded me of doujiang actually in that the texture was silky and smooth only salty instead of sweet. you can read it on my blog under 'say Cheeeeeeese'
The name ‘Guo Mao Lai Lai’ is in two parts –‘Guo Mao’ is the name of an area in Zuoying the Veteran village. ‘Lai Lai Dou Jiang’ is similar to a ‘brand’ name of doujiang, same as ‘Yong He Dou Jiang’. You will find both these names in different parts of Taiwan. For example, there is ‘Yong He Dou Jiang’ in Hsinchu and more than one ‘Lai Lai Dou Jiang’ in Kaohsiung – though both names originated from Taipei neighborhood and most likely unrelated to each other of the same name in terms of business connection. Lai Lai’s also possibly has a reference to Veteran culture, ie it was first created by Veterans or their family in their village around Taipei. Yonghe the name and the original store in Yonghe was created by a Taiwanese local.
If Dave has another photo , you may find ‘Guo Mao’ separated from ‘Lai Lai Doujiang’, and that would be the explanation. Also, that dark green dip (sauce) accompanied the baozi/dumpling – it could be Chinese Chive as you said if it’s got that distinctive taste, otherwise it is the green dark end part of scallions – the white and fresher green end are used for the stuffing/with meat, the rest go into home made sauces.
kinda reminds me of what's in new england clam chowder or any chowder, usually salt and milk is involved.
*sigh* this post makes me green with envy as I don't know if I'll ever get to go there myself to eat it... Can you get a recipe for me so I can make it myself?
I've heard Soy milk can make wonders in some recipes due to its unique flavoring. It's hard to find it in the US, though.
I read abt this savoury soy milk breakfast topped by spicy chilli oil a long time ago but never saw such gorgeous photos. That froth, that oil, those pickles...it's not worth trying to replicate this at home, is it, without the fresh, homemade soy milk that is just - i am with you here - so wholesome, so delicious, so UNLIKE anything that comes from the supermarket it's not even worth describing.
And those humongous buns! And those pan-fried ones. the doughy crunchy bottoms. The dark green pickles!! (yup, you can see where the obsession lies). ARGGGHHH!!
Hi Robyn, love your posts about Taiwan and especially the ones about Southern Taiwanese food. Thanks for this.
I LOVE doujiang, baozi and youtiao in Taiwan! Love your posts and really fabulous pictures! These pictures reminded me of my childhood. Makes me want to fly over to Taiwan right now, it's just 2 hours away from Shanghai. Thank you for posting you guys are awesome ^.^~
Stephanie, nice blog you have there. Whereabouts in the French concession are you? We lived there '96-'98. I had a dream of opening a little 4 or 5-table restaurant taking advantage of local ingredients to serve the sort of food on your site. Thanks for stopping by!
Thanks for this post - I have lived in Taiwan for a while and love those breakfast shops, but I'd always just assumed 'xian doujiang' was salted doujiang and never ordered it. Tried it tonight after reading this post and it was just as good as you say! I'll be having it again...
Great to hear we've inspired you to find something new to love in Taiwan, Broadbean! Thanks for reading.