.jpg)
Cracking the case on chilli crab
By Alicia Teng
A dish synonymous with Singapore, chilli crab has cemented its place here and abroad. A deep-dive into its surrounding waters finds that under the surface, things may not be as calm as they seem.
On the second floor of Home of Seafood the day after New Year’s, a family of 10 gathers around the table. Dishes crowd the lazy susan. Four huge platters of crab, from salted egg to chilli, rise as the centrepiece. It is the matriarch's birthday. Her wheelchair is parked at the head of the table, surrounded by her boisterous family. Only her husband is silent as he focuses on deshelling crab claws, laying the prize on her plate. Discarded sauce-stained shells pile on the white table cloth.
Chilli crab is synonymous with celebration.
Families cracking into crabs at Home of Seafood. Weekly Sunday dinners for the past ten years at Roland Restaurant — helmed by the same family that founded the dish. Early morning wet market trips days during the Chinese New Year for fresh crabs, for a family feast at home. Tourists taking first bites in the sweltering heat, framed by the waterside skyline.
At Roland Restaurant — owned by the family of chilli crab’s originator Mdm Cher Yam Tian — a party of ten usually orders two or more platters of chilli crab, accompanied by a variety of other dishes.
Food and consumer sciences lecturer Dr. Johannah Soo, 45, recounts the one time her family spotted a Caucasian lady dining on a whole chilli crab by herself at a local seafood restaurant, accompanied by a pint of beer.
“It’s so hard to associate chilli crab with solo dining, because it’s a dish that people eat together.” That was weird, she says. Jarring.
“There’s actually nothing taboo about what she’s doing — it’s her lifestyle choice. But we don’t eat chilli crab alone. It’s not shiok.”
With its status as a national icon, chilli crab seems like it will be around forever.
Food blogger Dr Leslie Tay, 51, believes in striving to preserve local dishes — but questions if chilli crab is one of those at threat. Chilli crab might get more expensive, he says, but people will still eat it. Just like how the demand for durian remains, in spite of rising prices.
“Do we need to preserve chilli crab? Is it really in danger?”
But the waters are not as calm as they seem.
Mud crab supply is on the decline — with China’s growing appetite for crab causing a drain on global stocks. A 2019 market survey reported that many governments have restricted harvests, to give crabs time to complete their breeding cycle.
“It is getting harder to find large mud crabs,” says TradeOcean International’s manager Louis Tan, 32, adding that the average weight of crabs has been decreasing over time.
“Fishermen have been catching crabs of all sizes, and fewer and fewer reach the usual size of sexual maturity.”
A lack of new blood to replace the generation of older chefs also puts the future of the dish — and the local zi char scene — into question. Malaysian cooks have been quietly helming seafood kitchens here for decades, but manpower quotas have started to suffocate these restaurants.
The waters surrounding chilli crab look dark. The island of safety it resides on is slowly shrinking.
Cracking the shell
Rewind back to the beginning — the 1950s. The first version of chilli crab was created in the kitchen of Madam Cher Yam Tian, who cooked the flower crabs her husband caught in a simple mixture of chilli and tomato sauce.
Soon, they were hawking their dish from a pushcart in Bedok Beach, before moving to a palm tree-shaded shack along the Upper East Coast stretch. Palm Beach Seafood was born. An older generation has fond memories of seaside tables on a beach littered with shells.
The chilli crab of the 50s and early 60s was often accompanied by fresh jiam tao lo ti, or French loaf — golden-brown, crusty and still warm from the bakery.
During that era, chilli crab looked very different from the dish we know today.
Chef Hooi Kok Wah is credited for transforming the humble dish, when he opened Dragon Phoenix Restaurant in 1963. The 81-year-old chef was one of the “Four Heavenly Kings” who trained under Hong Kong master chef Luo Chen of Cathay Restaurant.
.png)
“In the 1960s, the Chinese were not used to spicy food, so Chef Hooi created a sweeter version, which shot to popularity after its debut,” says Mr David Yip, 60, a restaurateur and food consultant. “Right now, whatever we are eating is born from his version.”
From the original recipe of three ingredients — wild-caught flower crab, Del Monte ketchup and chilli sauce — food curator Tony Tee, 61, credits Mr Hooi with elevating the flavours of the dish. “Eventually over time, sambal and vinegar were added to balance the dish out.”
Aside from adding more complexity to the sauce, Hooi added two other integral elements of the modern day chilli crab - the presentation and xiang wei (aroma). “Today there are many versions of chilli crab, with everyone doing their own sambal.”
On the switch from roti to mantou as an accompaniment to chilli crab, neither Palm Beach Seafood nor Madam Cher’s family had a hand in it.
Rather, the influence of Chef Hooi Kok Wah’s Cantonese-style culinary training might provide that connection — with the appearance of mantou in the 1960s coinciding with chilli crab’s evolution at Dragon Phoenix Restaurant.
The late 1960s saw the replacement of french loaves by mantou. These bite-sized steamed buns, typically fried until golden brown, are served as an accompaniment for the spicy-sweet sauce.
Thus, the modern day chilli crab was born.
Now, when we order chilli crab, we expect hulking mud crabs — often weighing over a kilogramme — artfully arranged on a wide platter, draped in the signature egg-streamed sauce. Mantou, fresh from the deep-fryer and still too hot to touch, are a fixture. The surrounding paraphernalia of crab claw crackers and lemon-infused bowls of water for post-meal rinsing dot the tablecloth.
“We can safely say that chilli crab is an invention of Singapore,” says Mr Tee.
“In the beginning, nobody wanted to eat crabs. They’re dirty, small, hard to catch. But now, they are seen as a delicacy. Crabs can go for a crazy price now. And yet, it started as a very humble dish, by a couple along the seaside.”
“Chilli crab’s taste profile is a blend of savoury, sweet, and spicy — quite a reflection of Singapore’s multi-cultural background,” says food blogger Daniel Ang, the founder of DanielFoodDiary.
Food consultant David Yip agrees that the dish reflects Singapore, noting that the cooking style is Chinese, while its influences are from all over Southeast Asia — from its rempah-style base of spices to the inclusion of sambal.
“To me, it tastes iconic.”
Shelling Out Abroad
While the evolution of the dish has been organic, its progression from homegrown street fare to international star was not entirely so.
The Republic’s 2004 tourism campaign, Uniquely Singapore, primed the push to establish chilli crab as a national icon. This campaign promoted the dish alongside other local staples such as chicken rice and roti prata. Tourists ate it up.
The campaign helped to bolster tourism numbers after the SARS outbreak.
Uniquely Singapore, along with subsequent tourism movements such as Your Singapore and Passion Made Possible, launched chilli crab further into the international spotlight. Increased interest beyond Singapore followed, with Korea, Japan, and particularly China setting their sights on the dish.
“The PRCs in Singapore brought the concept of chilli crab over to China, and now they have developed their own style,” Mr Tee adds.
This served as a catalyst for large players in the scene, such as Jumbo Seafood, to expand abroad. In 2013, Jumbo Seafood’s first overseas branch opened in Shanghai.
Food consultant David Yip explains that for the Chinese, crab eating culture remains “as common as their day-to-day meal” — particularly in Southern China cities that face rivers and the sea.
This has translated to a huge demand that far outstripped domestic supply.
China imported US$783 million worth of crabs in 2018, with the numbers set to rise, reported global seafood news publication Undercurrent News.
Food consultant Benson Tong, 44, speculates that Singaporean restaurants taking chilli crab to China — such as Paradise Group, Jumbo Seafood and No Signboard Seafood — could have also stimulated China’s increasing demand for mud crabs.
“The people in China start to like it. And that’s when local restaurants start to copy,” Mr Tong says. “There are so many seafood restaurants in China. If every restaurant starts buying 100kg more... That's it.”
Do we need to preserve chilli crab? Is it really in danger?
Back when food consultant David Yip was cooking at Shiok, he would occasionally serve chilli crab as a menu special. Crab in Hong Kong is notoriously expensive.
With raw crab already much more costly compared to what he would be able to get back home, he struggled to price his dish. After making calculations, he settled on S$200 — a figure he considered exorbitant.
His manager said it was too cheap.
“So here in Singapore, a plate of chilli crab is about $100 right? Well in Hong Kong, the minimum is $400 to $500,” says Mr Yip.
Beyond Asia, throngs of foreign journalists have documented the dish over the years. Rave reviews reached the West — its spot on Anthony Bourdain’s 13 Places to Eat Before You Die says all.
The growing community of Singaporeans abroad has also fed international demand. Eateries serving Singaporean food have sprung up around the world, from Rasa Sayang in London to Laut Singapura in New York.
“Food transcends cultures,” says Ellen Chew, the 52-year-old owner of Singapulah and Rasa Sayang in London. Chilli crab was introduced at Rasa Sayang six years ago, cooked by a team of Malaysian and European chefs.
An estuary back home
It is at the tail end of lunch service at Home of Seafood. Owner Mr Mohammad Borhan, 40, sits at a corner table as his staff clear tables and settle bills.
“It’s not just food, it’s an experience.” He recalls the laughter shared by diners over
zi char and crab feasts as Chinese guests watch their Malay friends struggle to navigate their meal with chopsticks.
Mr Borhan views his Joo Chiat restaurant as a cultural estuary. “It’s not just about eating halal Chinese seafood. It’s about eating and enjoying the culture of it.”
However, Home of Seafood has not been immune to the rise in crab prices that has come as a result of supply side fluctuations, he says.
“The problem now is that China is buying at even higher prices.” Since Chinese buyers stock up on crabs for festive seasons such as the Lunar New Year, it resulted in a drop in crabs supplied to Singapore, he adds.
“All the seafood restaurants are scrambling to get crabs.”
To keep the prices of his crab affordable and consistent for his regulars — $68 per kilogramme, compared to Jumbo Seafood’s average of $100 per kilogramme — Mr Borhan has been absorbing costs where he can.
The crab is “a service” to his customers, he says. His gaze sweeps across his restaurant — an estuary under threat.