Satay

“Satay is universal food,” says Florence Tan as she bastes another mush-dripping rack of meaty skewers, passing them off for immediate grill-treatment with a flick of the wrist and trademark beatific smile. “Doesn’t matter where you’re from, everyone loves satay!”

It’s true, at least to an extent. When I was mini-ninja, satay was the only food from the Straits which I’d deign to eat. Sizzling fat-spattered chunks of beef, lamb, chicken (none of this stuff) tossed about in the fire, impaled on waterlogged bamboo, bundled up with cucumber chunks and rice blocks and hyperchunky peanut sauce . But the most enjoyable bit was sabre duels using the bamboo skewers. There weren’t any other ninjas to play with, so I would take two skewers and engage in mortal combat with myself, twisting and parrying until the hand of my surrogate antagonist capitulated in swooning mock-agony or I got bored or hungry. Sometimes I wished for a real opponent, but I wasn’t sad. Nowadays I have more opponents than I can count and it isn’t as fun as my younger self might’ve thought.

According to Florence Tan, satay draws its name from sa tae, meaning “three pieces” in Chinese dialect. Good satay is marinated overnight, so that the teeming infusion of spices and powders and zests can thoroughly sink in. The heat should not be too hot. The skewer should never protrude through the final piece of meat because if it does the person eating might stab themself (although that happens once you get to the second piece anyway, Florence! Haven’t you ever done the awkward side-gnawing thing? Or is it just the savage shinobi once again?)

I don’t find satay as attractive as once I did. Maybe because my palate’s expanded and the sheer volume of sensory permutations out there makes meat-on-a-stick seem…well, rather pedestrian. Maybe because satay in Australia is rare, and good satay anywhere is hard to find. But what I come away with – apart from a box of ingredients which I will end up donating to my minions – is memories, of how fun it was to be a ninja when it didn’t involve slaying people and paperwork. There is nothing universal about sitting in a beaten-down restaurant playing at kendo with meat-encrusted sticks. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

SCORECARD (scores out of 10 unless otherwise stated)

Taste: 7

Culinary Convenience: 0.28

Presentation: Nostalgic

The Ninja attended Florence Tan’s workshop as part of Malaysia Fest courtesy of Ogilvy PR.

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