Though we’re surrounded by multicultural, so-called fusion cuisines, the fact is that most of us tend to rely on the same few culinary traditions when going out to eat. Even the most seemingly exotic often lean rather heavily on food from familiar places: Japan, China, and France exert a powerful influence on much of what finds its way to our collective table.
Which is what makes the food at Chinatown’s Banana Leaf such a welcome change. After all, not only is Malaysia found in a relatively unknown corner of Asia (to most Americans, anyway, myself included), lending so many of its dishes an ineffable whiff of exoticism, but its location, accessible by sea from India, Indonesia, Vietnam, and Cambodia and not too far from China, means that its food has been touched by the traditions of those neighboring places, too.
This, in other words, is true fusion dining.
Roti canai, like nothing so much as a particularly nutty, oversized crepe, arrived gently folded over itself like some sort of doughy cloud. The accompanying dipping sauce, though, is what made it, a tongue-tingling, curry-scented, Indian-influenced broth the color of lentil soup and hiding, within its murky depths, tender little slivers of chicken and generous, hearty chunks of curry-rich potato.
Lobak—think Malaysian-style smorgasbord—was, essentially, an appetizer-course greatest hits compilation. And like the best mix tapes or through-the-years musical retrospectives, this was all about balance. Crispy fried sausage; deep-fried shrimp pieces, each gold-hued round of batter containing a different section of crustacean (my favorite, odd as it may sound, was the head, whose juices were released with a sigh as soon as I bit down); spongy tofu encased in (again) a perfectly fried carapace of batter; and thick, juicy slices of ginger whose spiciness found a heady sense of equilibrium with its sweeter notes. All of these, while excellent on their own, were lifted even higher when dipped in the chili- and hoisin-based sauces accompanying them.
House-special squid achieved even greater savoriness without deep frying. The design of the dish was ingenious: tender, pinky-finger-size slices of squid, which had curled in on themselves from the heat of the pan, proved to be perfect vessels for the sauce, a dried-shrimp-based beauty with the deep, glistening color and aroma of black bean sauce. As soon as the platter arrived at the table, trailing its sweet-salty perfume like a fog, I was reminded of those dried baby crab snacks you can find on the wire racks in front of nearly every market in the neighborhood; it possessed a similar fishy-sweet richness that verged on the intoxicating – the definition of umami. In fact, after a few bites, I needed the side bowl of coconut rice I’d ordered just to cut all that flavor.
Chow Kueh Teow, though, could have used a bit more force in the flavor department, especially in context of the fireworks provided by the other dishes on the menu. Here, stir-fried flat noodles were tossed with bean sprouts, egg, shrimp and squid, and given moistness and color by chili paste and soy sauce. Unfortunately, the seafood was barely present, and the chili paste hardly registered at all.
What did strike me about this menu is the fact that it does not shy away from the kind of items that might cause less open-minded guests to recoil. Duck web, pork intestines, chicken feet, fish head, and other delicacies come with the exhortation to “ask server for advice before your order!” This, of course, is far preferable to the too-common Chinatown practice of providing different menus to different guests, or simply being told by a waiter that you won’t like a certain dish. Indeed, I’ve lost count of the times that I’ve had to literally beg my waiter for a plate of frogs or chicken feet at other neighborhood restaurants—and I love those dishes!
But, perhaps, that level of understanding and openness is to be expected at a place like Banana Leaf. After all, a restaurant serving the cuisine of a country that’s been so strongly influenced by its neighbors would be trafficking in the hypocritical if it tried to prevent its guests from experiencing all that it has to offer.
Not everything, of course, is unfamiliar. But that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth experiencing. Pisang goreng was a magnificently fried banana whose crust concealed an almost liquid center, the honey-like sweetness of the melted fruit balanced out by the ground peanuts atop the scoop of vanilla ice cream.
But it was the ABC that proved to be the ultimate dessert. Built on a base of shredded ice and layered with red rose syrup, milk, plum seeds, red beans and corn, this was the sundae that didn’t fill you up despite its sweet-savory, tongue-sticking flavors.
In fact, you could make the argument that the Banana Leaf experience was embodied in that one bowl, the disparate elements co-mingling to create a sense of harmony and interest far greater than any of the individual components could have achieved alone. If that’s not what fusion food is all about, then I don’t know what is these days.
AroundPhilly Staff
