Q&A: Elizabeth Haigh

“THE BEST THING ABOUT THE FOOD FROM SINGAPORE IS THAT IT’S A COMBINATION OF MANY DIFFERENT CULTURES”

Interview: Ellie Costigan / Portrait: Steele Haigh

Elizabeth Haigh established herself as a chef to watch back in 2011, when she competed on MasterChef aged just 24. As its inaugural head chef, she helped east London restaurant Pidgin win a Michelin star, before setting out on her own with a mission to bring her heritage Singaporean cuisine to the masses. “There are not enough Singaporean-Malaysian restaurants,” she says. “Everyone can name a Chinese restaurant, an Indian restaurant, a Vietnamese restaurant in London. How many Singaporean restaurants can people name? Not enough. Representation matters.” Mei Mei is her answer to that shortage: a Singaporean ‘kopitiam’ in Borough Market Kitchen.

What’s your strongest early memory of food?

As far back as I can remember, we would eat round the dinner table together as a family. We would be eating so quickly and hastily that we wouldn’t be having a conversation, but it was just the nicest thing – being with my family, having this tradition every night. We would usually eat quite late, because my mum worked late, but she would always prepare fresh food. It’s something I’m trying to continue with Riley, my son. There’s a lot of distractions now – TV, YouTube – so I really push the importance of having that time together.

You say that there’s no such thing as ‘typical’ Singaporean cuisine. What defines it for you personally?

It’s like trying to define what London food is: you can’t. The best thing about the food from Singapore – and London – is that it’s a combination of many different cultures. Everyone brings their own influences and knowledge. What I love about being in Singapore and the cuisine there is that there’s an undeniable respect for everyone’s background.

Something that’s definitely common, though, is chilli – we’re not talking blow-your-socks-off chilli, but heat. There are a lot of aromatic ingredients such as lemongrass and galangal – that’s very common in all the food right across the country. Galangal is called blue ginger back home. It’s as aromatic as lemongrass but with slightly more fragrant notes. It’s distinctive to our cooking. As is pandan, a leafy green with a unique flavour profile – savoury and sweet at the same time. It’s a key ingredient in the Hainanese chicken rice. There’s also never enough garlic in a Singaporean’s eyes.

When did you discover your passion for cooking?

My mum never let me cook at home. I studied architecture at university, so it was 18-hour days studying, working from home mostly. Before that, if I was feeling a bit down my mum would always say: “Let me make you that herbal soup that makes you feel better.” I found I was really lacking that instant comfort and the luxury of someone cooking for me. I tried to recreate some of the dishes, but I just didn’t have the knowledge and didn’t have access to the ingredients, even though I was in London. I’d go into Chinese supermarkets and think, what is all this?! I don’t know what any of these things are. I would pester her on the phone: “Mum, how do I make that crispy roast pork?” She’d say: “You just prick the skin, put it in the oven and cook it.” I’d be like, there’s probably a bit more to that?!

For her, it’s second nature, so to ask her to quantify things was so hard. There’s a Malaysian phrase, ‘agak agak’, which means ‘your ancestors will tell you when it’s enough’, so basically measuring from the heart. Jamie Oliver westernised it with a swish of this, a slosh of that – it’s the same with our cooking. It’s about going with your gut. That’s what my mum was trying to teach me.

How accurately do the dishes at Mei Mei reflect your mother’s recipes?

We don’t try to recreate them, but we treat the recipes with respect. It’s not going to be authentic, because we use chickens from here in the UK, not ‘kampung’ chickens, which means village chickens. We don’t use the same lemongrass and chilli – the chillies over there are vastly different from the Dutch chillies we have here. Even the lemongrass and galangal – everything is a lot fresher there, because obviously these things have to travel to get to the UK. We try to adapt it so that it works in Britain, while being respectful of tradition. I think we have achieved it, because we do get a lot of people telling us our food reminds them of home. We had a customer here last night for dinner who said: “That barbecue makes me feel like I’m back in the hawker.” That’s exactly what we wanted.

How did you go from training to be an architect to becoming a chef?

I did four years of my architecture course before I realised I wasn’t entirely happy. I was spending all my time in the kitchen cooking and watching MasterChef, and I just felt more satisfied doing that than I did studying or working in the studio. My friend dared me to apply for MasterChef and I got on. I did well in it – or well enough, I didn’t win it – and I enjoyed being around people who were likeminded about food. People of all ages, all with that similar passion. I’d never considered a career in cooking until then, because I was pushed into the university route. I wish I’d had the guts to follow my true passion.

I’m more of an artist, so the design and creative process of architecture really fascinated me and I think that translated easily to being a chef. There’s also a lot of time management, money management, people management – you need to understand people, listen to customers and clients, so becoming a chef wasn’t too hard a transition. The hardest thing was giving up evenings and weekends, birthdays, holidays, weddings. Everything. Your social life, basically. But in exchange I I’ve gained all this invaluable knowledge and skill. It was important to me to start my own business so I could pass on that knowledge.

Did you always want to open your own restaurant?

When I left Pidgin, I wanted to open a restaurant. I had many failed attempts – it’s a lot harder than you might think. But we’ve always wanted a restaurant and I had a very distinct vision of what it should be. I wanted to have an open plan kitchen, so you could see all the chefs cooking, working away. It’s a very visual thing. It feels like you’re in a hawker – or kopitiam, as I say.

Tell us more about the kopitiam concept. What’s the cultural significance?

Kopitiams and hawkers are literally all over Singapore and they run day and night. ‘Kopi’ is coffee, ‘tiam’ is shop. Kopitiam; coffee shop. They are integral to the culture of Singapore. In every community, in every area, you will have a kopitiam. I will go down in the morning in my vest and slippers, have my teh tarik, order my kaya toast – both of which we serve at Mei Mei – and sit there. No one will interrupt you. The aunties and uncles will be chatting happily. One thing to know about Singaporeans is, we are loud. Very loud. 

In Singapore, you will go out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, tea, elevenses – rarely will people eat in or cook at home, unless you have an au pair or a grandmother who cooks, because it’s so affordable to eat out. You start off in a kopitiam and then you might go to a hawker, which is a little collection of stands, each of which specialises in one dish. Maybe in one hawker there will be an uncle that does the best coffee. Next door to him there’ll be the best fish ball noodles. Next door to him will be a spot that does the best barbecue stingray and satays – a giant open charcoal barbecue with racks of food. They will be masters of those recipes because all they focus on is doing that one dish. They’ll put in 10,000 hours to master it.

What would you say is Mei Mei’s hero dish?

We specialise in Hainanese chicken rice – that’s our hero dish and it’s one of Singapore’s national dishes. It’s also the one dish I can eat at any time of the day and not be sick of. We’ve been here nearly two years and I’m still eating it every day. It’s very nourishing: chicken poached lightly, served cold but you have a hot soup with it, so it works well in winter and summer, then you have the spicy chilli to wake you up. Rice is the most important bit. It’s cooked in the chicken broth and fat with ginger and garlic. We like to think we’ve put our 10,000 hours into that dish. Definitely 10,000 chickens!