A type of handmade noodle served with broth, ban mian is the quintessential item at almost every food court in Singapore. During my ten years there, I had my fair share of ban mian: from the bad ones at random hawker stores in unfamiliar neighborhoods to the good ones that I kept coming back for more. The bad ones were just…bad, the noodle uncooked and the broth bland, while the good ones were subtly sweet, its flavor coming alive when scooped together with the copious amount of salty crispy anchovy and shallot. No matter how they taste, all ban mians look the same on the first glance: noodle swimming in a cloudy broth; leafy greens, pale ground pork, strands of egg white, golden fried anchovies and shallots haphazardly strewing around in the bowl.
My longest streak of ban mian lasted five consecutive days. I was stuck in a rut at a dead-end job in an office in the middle of nowhere. Options for lunch were limited, but it was the only time I could get out for some fresh air. No matter how humid the weather was, I remained faithful to ban mian. I slurped the hot soup as sweat dripped down my back. I don’t even remember if it was that good, but still I thanked the chewy noodle, a patient companion that listened to all my internal struggles and soothed my self-doubt so I could finish the rest of the day.
A few years later, my relationship with ban mian turned to a more cheerful one. I found another job, moved to a new place and started dating again after a horrible break-up. I frequented the ban mian hawker stall near my apartment, but this time I wasn’t alone. My then-boyfriend, now-husband loved that stall too. His favorite was the mushroom noodle, which was not found in any other neighborhoods. He would hang out with me after work and eat that for dinner almost every night. We sat at the orange plastic table under the dusty ceiling fan to catch the occasional breeze and talked about our day over two bowls of noodle. This time, all the ban mian heard was my laughter, as he shared his collection of lame jokes, while complimenting the courteous uncle who sold the noodle, the meaty mushroom, the sweet broth and the harmonious flavor combination. And I concurred.
Mushroom Ban Mian-ish
Ingredients
Broth
- 15 g dried anchovies washed and pat dry
- 1 onion halved
- 2 sheets of kombu
- 2 tsp salt
- 1 tsp sesame oil
- 300 g mushroom of your choice thinly sliced
- 200 g leafy greens of your choice
Crispy anchovies
- 100 g dried anchovies washed and pat dry
- 2 tbsp oil
- 1 tsp garlic powder
One serving of ban mian
- Noodle of your choice try using fresh one with a bite, like ramen noodle
- 1 egg
- 2 stalks of green onion thinly sliced
- Fried shallot
Instructions
- In a stock pot, cook the anchovies, onion and kombu sheets in 2 liters of water on medium heat. Let simmer for about 1 hour before removing the kombu sheets and anchovies. Add in the salt and sesame oil.
- Toss the anchovies in the oil and garlic powder. Spread them out on a lined baking sheet and bake in a pre-heated oven at 350F for 20 minutes. Take the baking sheet out and give the anchovies another toss. Put it back in the oven for another 5 minutes. Once the anchovies cool down, store them in an airtight container. This keeps for a month in the fridge.
- Cook the noodle according to the package’sinstructions.
- Heat 2 ladles of broth in a small sauce pan with the mushroom. When the mixture gently boils, drop in the egg and spinach and continue to cook until the mushroom softens.
- Transfer one serving of noodle into a bowl and ladle the broth on top. Sprinkle with the crispy anchovies, shallot and spring onion.
Notes
- This will not be a replicate of the ban mian you taste in Singapore (hence the name ban mian-ish), but it’s the closest I could get to. Crispy anchovies and shallots could not be compromised because they make the dish what it is to me. I tried replacing them with canned anchovy fillets and breadcrumbs, which are widely available. It failed miserably.
- Smaller anchovies will crisp and brown more easily. The ones I have are bigger and often used in making stocks. Nevertheless, they still crisp in the oven. If fish eyes creep you out, remove the heads before using.
