Going Looney Over Mooncakes

This is the time of year when I really do go quite looney (not that I don’t display vestiges of such behavior from time to time during the rest of the year) over mooncakes. I love mooncakes; but I can also be quite finicky about which ones I’ll eat. They have to be worth the while, if you know what I mean – worth all that sugar, fat and calories!

What has been somewhat odd for me this year – during my annual ‘mooncake binge’ – is a seeming shift in the desires of my taste-buds; my palate seems to have gone all traditional on me.

For some reason, the mooncakes that I have enjoyed in previous years have failed to entice, much less excite, my taste-buds. As I was walking around the Takashimaya Mooncake Bazaar a couple of weeks ago, tasting all the “brands” that I had thought were safe, long-time “enjoyments” (I won’t use the word ‘favorites’ – that’s a little strong), I was surprised to find that they no longer appealed. Someone’s tastes have obviously changed: either me or the mooncakes (oh alright, that’s a lame stab at humor ; but humor me anyway – I’m a little high on mooncakes).

Goodwood Park’s and Begawan Solo’s wuren (mixed nuts) mooncakes feel very sweet on the palate; a lot sweeter than I remember them being previously. Most of the various lotus seed paste and red bean paste varieties from the various high-end hotels and bakeries seem rather run-of-the-mill somehow; not exciting enough for me to want to take them home with me. And this year, I am being left morose and bereft of any custard mooncakes. How can this be? A mooncake festival without any custard mooncakes to eat! But alas! It is true. My standard fall-back from East Ocean doesn’t taste the same this year, and I haven’t found a replacement - not in the offerings by Hong Kong’s Peninsula Hotel or one of the other Hong Kong bakeries that is showcasing at the bazaar.

However, it is not a completely mooncake-less festival, thank goodness. Instead, my taste-buds have found enjoyment from an unexpected quarter. Unexpected for me at least. What has emerged as some of my favorites for this year are a couple of the offerings from an old, long-established, very traditional bakery in Chinatown – Tai Chong Kok (or Da Zhong Guo in Mandarin; literally translated as “Big China”).

I don’t remember having tried their mooncakes before; in previous years I’ve tried those from some of the other “famous” Chinatown traditional bakeries, but not Tai Chong Kok. Several weeks ago, my mum came home with a couple of their mooncakes, and we both instantly liked their red bean paste (dou sha or tau sar) ones. This was before the Takashimaya Bazaar; and even after visiting each of the bazaar’s close to 40 mooncake stalls, we still like Tai Chong Kok’s red bean paste mooncake.

Tai Chong Kok is about as traditional as you’re going to get in Singapore, when it comes to old-fashioned Chinese bakeries. All forms of marketing glitz and razzmatazz are eschewed for tried-and-proven simplicity and practicality. No glossy, embossed designer paper bags here; you get to carry your mooncakes home in a simple brown paper bag – the type that harks back to the 60s and 70s: brown, with red and white string handles. The big (very big), bold red letterings printed onto the bag are the only nod to design and branding. Even then, they declare quite simply: “Tai Chong Kok Bakery, Mid-Autumn Mooncakes”. Simple, direct and to the point.

Inside the bag, the mooncakes are wrapped up the traditional way – no fancy wooden gift boxes in plush hues of plums and maroons; none of those flashy, elaborately illustrated metal gift boxes thank you very much. After you have chosen your mooncakes, they are stacked together, turned onto their sides, and rolled up and wrapped in white greaseproof paper. To give this plain outfit a dash of color, a piece of auspicious hong-bao red paper is then wrapped around the cylinder-shaped package and the ends secured with the humble and useful, but decidedly inelegant cellotape! Again, no flowery, descriptive marketing prose on this piece of red covering – “Mid-Autumn Mooncake” is all that it says.

Here’s an innocuous bit of trivia: the width of this red piece of paper is made to exactly fit the height of four regular-sized mooncakes stacked together. As you can see from the very top picture, because I purchased only three mooncakes this time round (on a third visit to the shop to replenish our fast disappearing mooncake stock), the red paper juts out a little on either end.

Their red bean paste mooncakes have been a pleasant discovery for us.

These mooncakes - made entirely by hand - have a distinctly rustic look to them. They do not have the clinical exactness and perfection of the hotel- or modern bakery-made ones. The ‘bas-relief’ design on the tops of the mooncakes is sometimes a little indistinct and faded in parts, but it all adds to the appeal. There’s a rather charming, rakish air to them; almost a certain confident nonchalance - as if declaring that it is the substance and not the appearance that matters.

Indeed, it is in the taste department that they show their strength. The red bean paste is very clearly home-made. I can actually taste the red beans in the paste – it sounds obvious, but this is not always the case with a lot of red bean paste products, where oftentimes, there are barely any pure notes of red bean flavors under all the sugar and additives.

This filling has a fuller body and a more robust bite and mouth-feel; it is less sweet and less silken due to the smaller amounts of oil and ‘smoothening agents’ used to cook the paste. I like the taste and feel of this red bean paste a lot - such a contrast to the ubiquitous slickly smooth offerings on the market.

I don’t know if you can see this clearly from the photo, but there is actually a tinge of red in the red bean paste. Again, this may sound obvious, but is yet another not very common occurrence. A lot of Chinese-style (as opposed to Japanese-style) red bean pastes are actually black (or very close to it) in color – due to the large amounts of the additive “pang sar” (sorry, I’ve no idea what this is called in English), which is used to add bulk and silky smoothness to the red bean paste. At least here the pang sar is kept to a minimum, and I can actually see the red beans in the red bean paste!

I also enjoy the somewhat different texture of the crust. It has a firmer, more robust bite to it that I find very appealing. It’s less oily too.

It actually feels like I’m eating a “real” mooncake when I bite into this red bean paste version – the crust is nicely thin, aromatic with a crusty firmness; the red bean paste tastes and looks like red bean paste; and there is a rather generous sprinkling (which is not necessarily as common an occurrence as might be thought) of melon seeds to finish off the textural and flavor contrasts.

There’s one final bonus too – the price. Whereas most plain “red bean paste–melon seeds” mooncakes sell for around S$7 (US$4) per piece, these go for a mere S$3.70 each. How’s that for a deal? However, here’s a caveat : the same mooncake at the Tai Chong Kok stall at the Takashimaya Bazaar is selling for around S$5+! A whopping 35% price differential! At first we thought that they had simply increased the prices across the board as the Mid-Autumn Festival drew closer, but when we went back to their Chinatown outlet after visiting the Takashimaya Bazaar, we found the price at the bakery was still S$3.70.

Tai Chong Kok sells only the traditional red lotus seed paste mooncake - as the lady in the shop declared to us: they don’t believe in the modern marketing gimmick of white lotus seed pastes. For them, traditional is the best and only way to go. [Oh, in case you are wondering: yes, this traditional lotus seed paste is brown in color, but the poetic and symbolism-loving Chinese call it “hong lian yong” or red lotus seed paste, simply because “red” sounds more elegant and auspicious than “brown”.]

Again, the lotus seed paste is very clearly home-made; the use of genuine ingredients to cook the paste is evident. The sweetness, like in the red bean paste, is also well balanced, and the small sprinkling of pine nuts adds an aromatic touch. The only let down for us is that the paste (at least in the mooncake batch that we bought) has a rather unappealing over-cooked taste to it – what my mum calls overly “lao huo” (literal translation: “old fire” – that is, the paste has been cooked for too long). We find this masks the purity of the natural lotus seed flavors and aromas. We haven’t made any repeat purchase, so I can’t verify whether this is true for all their lotus seed paste mooncakes or just that particular batch.

We have also tried their wu ren (mixed nut) mooncake. And it’s not bad; I won’t say I love it (that special place remains firmly occupied by my mum’s home-made version), but it certainly has a few things going for it, which I haven’t necessarily found in other commercial offerings.

For one, it is pretty chock-full of nuts, and not simply filled out with a large proportion of candied winter melon. It is thus not tooth-achingly sweet.

I have a personal, kind of quirky and utterly unscientific “clue-marker” which I use to help me guess whether a wu ren mooncake is suitably filled with a large quantity of nuts. If it is, it is not uncommon to see small little cracks in the crust of the mooncake (as seen in the picture above) – a result of the pastry being baked around a hard core of nuts instead of around a comparatively softer, candied-winter-melon-filled filling. Just another piece of inane mooncake trivia.

Tai Chong Kok’s version is also not overly starchy. Cooked (dry fried) glutinous rice flour is used as a binder in the nut fillings of all wu ren mooncakes. However, some versions contain a lot more starch than others – after all, the glutinous rice flour can act not only as a binder but as a filler too, and is often used to add bulk. The more flour you use, the less of the expensive nuts you have to put into the filling mixture, and the more profits you make.

What is interesting for me is the dark color of the filling. I don’t think I’ve seen it before; most fillings are neutral-colored. I think this is the result of the use of molasses – maybe?

The filling is made up of generous amounts of sesame, melon and other seeds. But it also has one of my pet peeves when it comes to wu ren nut mixtures – it has “Western” almonds in it! Both my mum and I find this particularly jarring – the hard texture of the almonds (especially if unblanched and untoasted before being added to the filling) is at odds with the more tenderly crunchy melon seeds; they just don’t pair well together. Each bite becomes almost entirely filled with the flavor, aroma and texture of the almonds, drowning out the more delicate taste constitutions of the other nuts and seeds. Unfortunately, nowadays, almonds are a common feature in almost all store-bought wu ren mooncakes. They are big, and thus fill up space easily, and as such are comparatively cheaper to use compared to the other more traditional wu ren nuts.

It is probably too much to hope that a commercial wu ren mooncake will actually have Chinese almonds (lan ren in Mandarin; nam yan in Cantonese) in it ; they are not a cost effective addition where the bottom line is concerned. But they are precisely what make my mum’s home-made version so especially aromatic and delicious. While I may no longer seek that illusive Chinese-almond-filled wu ren, I do sometimes still wish that I can find a commercial wu ren mooncake that is as devoid of Western almonds as it is of Chinese almonds.

Happily for me, this year, we found a wu ren-like (it is not strictly wu ren, but the bakery is selling it as such; and if it’s for me to say at all, I think this is probably a lot more “wu ren” in character than many of the other equally named “wu ren” variants) mooncake that we enjoy quite a lot. We like it enough to have made a repeat purchase.

It is yet another offering from another old-fashioned traditional bakery (see what I mean about my taste-buds’ fixation with all things traditional this year?). This time from Yang Hua Cake House (the name is a little deceiving; in the past, bakeries selling traditional Chinese pastries would quite happily call themselves “cake houses”). This is a bakery I haven’t heard of prior to the Takashimaya Bazaar, and it’s one I’m glad I have found. [I showcased one of their Master Chefs at work in yesterday’s post.]

It’s a cute little thing; standing at under half the height of a regular mooncake, it has an interesting appeal – a mix of the demeanor of a traditional Chinese pastry (and all the heart-strings-pulling attraction that has) and the appearance of a regular mooncake (with all the intendant joy and celebration that entails). I actually much prefer mooncakes of this size, if truth be told; I find them rather attractive.

This “wu ren” mooncake seems to take its inspiration from a combination of both the Hainanese- and Teochew-style lao po bing (“wife’s biscuit” – a very popular traditional Chinese pastry made up of a tender, flaky pastry crust surrounding a candied winter melon filling). There is a fair bit of the sweet melon in the filling, but not excessively so. In fact, I would say that it is not nearly as sweet as many of the other wu ren mooncakes I have tasted.

It is nuttier than a lao po bing filling - obviously; there is quite a generous amount of melon and sesame seeds and other nuts in the filling paste. And… it has no Western almonds! Allelujah! What a find! This in itself makes it a lot more like a “real” wu ren for me.

And what really raises the nut mixture up a notch is the nice sprinkling of finely diced Jin Hua ham; the aromas and flavors from the ham makes the filling a winner for me.

I like this mooncake quite a lot. Everything seems in fine balance – a crust that is well-made, evenly thin, smooth and soft; a filling that is a balanced mix of nuts, seeds, candied winter melon and ham. The flavors work together ; nothing out-competes everything else – it’s harmonious, it’s tasty, it works. The textures blend well together too; complementing and contrasting each other at the same time – crunchy, aromatic nuts and seeds; soft, slightly sticky candied winter melon; robust, meaty and richly flavorful ham.

What’s there not to like?

Another Mid-Autumn offering from Yang Hua that I like is their version of the walnut moon-tart. As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, this pastry is actually available year round. While it is known as a walnut moon-tart during the Lantern Festival, it is known simply as a walnut pastry tart the rest of the year. Personally, I have to admit to the quirky habit of eating it only when it is called a moon-tart and not when it is called a pastry-tart. Go figure!

I think the pastry crust is absolutely crucial – it makes or breaks the walnut tart. I’ve tasted versions where the pastry is any combination of the following: too thick, too dense, overly buttery, too soft and crumbly, too hard and dry, or overly moist that it sticks to the back of your teeth in one goopy lump.

This one is very nicely done I think. The crust is melt-in-the-mouth tender, with the right balance of flaky crispiness and soft, crumbly tenderness. It is nicely buttery without being overpowering. When eaten fresh out of the oven (as we had them the other day), these are gorgeous!

The fillings matter less in this tart – as long as they are average or above (as these are), it works fine. The crust is the key. Of course, that doesn’t stop me thinking that the tart will be even better if there are some chopped walnuts mixed into the lotus seed paste filling, instead of having just the three small pieces pressed into the surface of the crust. But that’s just me being impossibly demanding.

I think these are wonderful afternoon tea treats. With a cup of fragrant Chinese tea in one hand, a freshly baked walnut moon-tart in the other, and a stolen quiet, peaceful moment away from the bustle of the city, life feels good!

[Update 22/09/04: I went back to the bazaar today to pick up some more mooncakes, and was a little surprised (not to mention somewhat disoriented, as I rushed to pick up some mooncakes before dashing off to dinner) to discover that in the 13 days since my last visit, things seem to have been changed around a fair bit... there seems to be a couple of new stalls that I didn't see on the previous visit, and a couple of those that I did see the last time seem to have moved places!

Anyway, I suddenly realized today that the wu ren mooncake and the walnut moon-tarts that I have been raving about, and attributing to Yang Hua Cake House are in fact... NOT from Yang Hua Cake House! Though I could have sworn the last time I bought the mooncakes, I got them from Yang Hua (and my mum too is still quite certain that we got them from Yang Hua the last time). But today, lo and behold, they are at the booth set up by Amethyst instead. Or, at least the ones I got from Amethyst today look exactly like the ones I bought 2 weeks ago; I'm just hoping they will taste the same. Unfortunately, I won't know until the Festival itself when we serve up the mooncakes after the Reunion dinner.

My apologies for the unintentional misinformation... if you are looking to pick up some of these wu ren mooncakes, they're at the Amethyst booth. The Teochew style traditional flaky mooncakes are still at Yang Hua.]

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This is not the end of my mooncake eating adventures for the year. There are more mooncakes still to share, but I think we’ve all had enough of a sugar high for one day. So, more to come on another day.

Copyright © 2004 Renee Kho. All Rights Reserved.
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