Apparently, as Chinese folklore or legend would have it in Jiangsu, China, a beggar stole a chicken in the heat of summer, caked it in mud and cooked it over a small ground fire he lit. The fragrance emanated drew the attention of a restaurateur nearby who offered him a job in the kitchen. Even the Emperor Chongzhen (Ming Dynasty), passing by on his regular ride around town, was seduced by the aroma and flavour. So, is it called Beggar’s or Emperor’s Chicken. Who cares.

I personally call this the Frustrating Chicken. In the years of researching our food guide to Malaysia, we’ve had practically all our food testers raving after chowing down on this Beggar’s Chicken (I support the creator of the dish) in Johor Bahru. Except me, because each time I made my way there, which is just a 15 minute drive after the Causeway, it was either that I simply could not find this place during my first few forays in, a “sorry, you have no booking” or a “ we close already, come back tomorrow”, situation- frustrating.

The restaurant’s dining area, which doubles up as
porch and patio for the Ng family that runs it

So this time, I used a good navigator (a good friend from Johor). The one that will suggest alternative routes as they it sense a traffic snarl ahead and tell you why, then suggest alternative routes or even a coffee break first. I finally made my way to this very popular, among foodies in the know, beggar’s chicken haunt. I thought I got the wrong place the first time I went- it is a non-descript bungalow not far from the coast, just barely well maintained with about four parking lots and a huge awning in front of its door, by the garden that has a pile of mud at the corner. “That’s the restaurant’s dining hall under the awning, with a view of the garden and the mud pile is used to wrap the leaf encased chicken.”, declared Png, our food patrol officer from Malaysia. I asked members of the Ng family owners, who’s been at it there since 1982, if I could see how the mud wrapped chickens were made.

Buried under that pile of hot coals, was my lunch

I was led to what reminded me of a Hindu firewalking set up, a large bed of glowing amber coals in the back kitchen. There were little clumps of mud and hidden inside, was the chicken that had rested in that heat for 8 hours. The scene was like a National Geographic moment. They took it off the fire, placed it on a wheelbarrow, steered it to a table beside the dining area and gingerly cracked it apart, being ever careful not to desecrate the fowl. The other ball of mud revealed our other order, the mud baked pig trotters and the third, the lotus leaf oyster glutinous rice. Oh my, I was like a photography expedition virgin all over again- excited over the leaf, steam, the mud, silhouettes, texture, shaft of light and even the wheelbarrow. It was unceremoniously plonked on our table, and the four year old grandkid of the family was curious about our curiosity. We felt like beggars eating after a three day hunger strike.

The smooth, juicy and smokey char-baked chicken
was a delight with the oyster glutinous rice

The cream coloured fowl was moist and the wild herbal yam and wolfberries used did not hide the natural aroma of the chicken and the lotus leaf. We tucked in with our chopsticks and it softly crumbled to reveal the juicy, slivery flesh and smooth savory skin. But I much preferred the trotters- it was char-baked till the skin was soft and collagenous and the fats and meat was juicy and soft- all fragrantly sitting in a little pool of light herbal soy concoction. The lotus leaf oyster glutinous rice was one of the best I’ve had- just like a very well made one here, except the smokiness of the fire permeated through and the little bits of dried oysters gave it that edge in flavour. The final dish- something you will have trouble finding in Singapore (because it is so tedious to make) made my day. A whole mackerel was carefully skinned, beboned and de-fleshed, leaving just the head, tail and skin slit down the bottom. They turned the meat into fish paste, painstakingly stuffed it back in the fish and skin to make it look whole again, and deep fried it. It was joy, especially when dipped into the sharp and tangy chilli sauce. The final bill, under $60, worth every cent.

So, the moral of the story- don’t attempt a Beggar’s Beef here today, they will arrest you for arson, and go in a group of at least four, or the portions will overwhelm you, like it did us.