Kaukswe (pronounced 'cow-sway', at least by my tree) is one of the traditional foods of Myanmar. It's best described as a mild curry served with noodles, but that really doesn't do the dish justice. It's a convenient one-plate meal, which saves on the washing up, and it is eaten with a variety of accompaniments. The putting together of the perfect bowl of kaukswe is quite a ceremonial affair. My Nan lived in Burma (as it was called then) until she was in her middlin' years, when she and my grandfather decided to up sticks from the oppressive military regime and go raise their kids somewhere nice. She tells me of the markets in Rangoon, where people selling kaukswe, moh hin gha, or lethoke would wander around with yokes bearing all the various bits and pieces that customers would demand to be able to place in their bowl. I keep intending to visit to see it for myself. One day.
We had a massive party for my father's 40th birthday, and of course, no birthday party is complete without being cooked your favourite food. There was something in the region of 80 people, and Mum and Nan had spent most of the day cooking two large saucepans of kaukswe. Everything was laid out in the table, and my father showed everyone how they should go about putting their meal together by example. My Mum, Nan and I were still in the kitchen at this point, and suddenly we heard the sound of a large number of people choking, all at once.
My father hadn't told everyone that the dried chillies should be added to taste, and not to ape him with his gung-ho man-sized helping of it.
Anyway, the beauty of this dish is that you can, more or less, make it into what you want it to be. Much thanks to my Nan and her patient tutelage of a young girl learning cook for this one:
- 1 large chicken, boned and cut into serving pieces (~ 2cm3)
- 8 cloves garlic (experiment with this, I'm too used to cooking with my eyes rather than with scales and fingers)
- 3 onions
- 3" section of ginger, peeled and chopped finely
- 1 tsp dried shrimp paste (ngapi)
- 2 glugs of groundnut oil (or 2 tbs if you want to put a measure on these things)
- 1 glug sesame oil
- 1 - 2 tsp chilli powder
- 2 tsp salt
- 2 cans coconut milk
- 2 tbs chickpea flour (besan)
- 6-8 hardboiled eggs, cut into quarters
- plus a packet or two of thin egg or cellophane noodles to eat it with.
Stick the garlic, ginger, onion into a blender. This is the ultimate trio, and the basis of all Burmese dishes.
As an exercise in enjoying food rather than cooking food, place a small spoonful of this into some hot oil. The aroma that hits your olfactory epithelium should leave your taste buds begging for more; this is one of the smells of my childhood. I'm salivating just at the thought of it...
Okay, now add the dried shrimp paste into the mixture and blend that in as well. It probably doesn't smell so good now.
Warning: if you've managed to source proper, PROPER shrimp paste, wrap that stuff in a couple of plastic bags and seal in a jam jar for storage, otherwise everything in your cupboards will taste of shrimp. Try not to get any on your hands either; you'll be unpopular with loved ones, and over-popular with any cats within a mile radius.
Add a glug of groundnut oil into the mixture. In an appropriately-sized pan, heat the remaining groundnut and sesame oil (not smoking hot; hot enough to cook but not burn). Add the blended mixture to this and fry for about five minutes.
A quaint term that my Nan uses to describe this part is "until the fat returns". It's hard to describe, but watch the contents of your pan to see what she means.
Add the chicken to the pan and continue to fry, stirring continually to stop everything from sticking. When the chicken is sealed, add the chilli powder, salt and one can of coconut milk. Simmer this mixture until the chicken becomes tender (add a little hot water if it looks like it's starting to become too dry). While all this is going on, make the chickpea flour into a paste by adding some cold water.
When the chicken's tender, add the other can of coconut milk and bring the mixture to the boil, stirring as you do so to prevent it from curdling. Add the eggs and the chickpea flour paste; stir in and cook for another 5 minutes. There should be quite a lot of gravy; the contents of the pan should be similar in consistency to semi-thick soup.
This is the point where I realise that my frame of reference for food isn't the same as everyone elses. It shouldn't be runny, it shouldn't be glutinous, and that's the best I can do without standing over your shoulder.
Just before serving, boil up the noodles, drain, and place in a bowl. Put the pan of kaukswe next to it. Hand everyone a bowl. Everyone takes a serving of noodles, a couple of generous ladles-worth of kaukswe, and then they move on to the accompaniments.
Okay, this is the fun bit.
On the table with the noodles and kaukswe should be a large number of little bowls containing the following:
- finely sliced spring onions (both the green and white bits)
- chopped fresh coriander leaves
- finely sliced red onion
- roast chickpeas that have been crushed with a mortar and pestle (or just lump 'em in a blender)
- crisp-fried noodles that have been broken into small pieces
- thin slices of garlic that have been fried in oil until golden
- lemon wedges, to be squeezed over
- dried chillies that have been quickly fried for 3-4 seconds
- chilli powder
I'm not going to tell you amounts and proportions, that's for you to discover yourself. Apart from anything, each person achieves their own optimal kaukswe mix; what's good for me won't necessarily be good for you... as my father adequately demonstrated on his birthday.
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