On aptness

“Bell pepper,” a friend once lamented. “I see people push it to the side of their plate and I break out in dandruff.”

“Try the California Wonder,” I said.

“Eh, have you been listening? Local is expensive enough.”

True. Then you cook them, and before you know it they’re reduced to flaps of paper-thin skin, only good for choking on, the flesh is that insubstantial, it seems to melt away. What local has going for it is its stronger aroma. That is why I generally add atsal to a dish at the very last moment — you have to be cognizant of how much abuse it can take before it becomes a liability.

But sometimes local just won’t do. Certain dishes demand a certain kind of capsicum to stand up to its companion ingredients. The next time you have sweet-and-sour pork, consider how much poorer the dish would be absent the “meaty” crunch of sweet pepper. Not to mention a lot less colorful.

But surely there is so much more to sweet-and-sour pork than bell pepper, you wonder. And you’d be right. Lord knows it took me long enough to find a recipe for sauce that tasted like the kind served at dim sum joints. It was right under my nose, too, Rasa Malaysia being one of my go-to Asian food blogs.

What initially struck me about the recipe was that there was just enough sauce to coat the meat, which, when I thought about it, is how it’s done dim sum-style. Also, no carrot or bulb onion, although on this aspect I was less sure; it has been a long time since I last had sweet-and-sour at a Chinese restaurant.

As for the plum sauce — the “secret” ingredient — I have tried making the dish with and without it and am of the opinion that it makes no discernible difference to the taste. I have also tried doubling the sauce, but I strongly urge you to stick to the original amount first, then take it from there.