Popiah: passing down a classic Singapore snack
Print Edition
WITH popiah skin, the trick is to control the dough, says Michael Ker, a third-generation popiah maker in Singapore. He has a grapefruit-sized ball of the soft, sticky dough in his left hand, and he’s “flipping” it, bouncing it in his palm so that it wobbles and stretches but always stays stuck to his fingers.
In front of him is a round, flat, electric skillet — the kind you see crepe vendors using at street fairs — and when the skillet is nice and hot, Ker uses the flipping motion to smear a thin, perfectly round circle of dough onto the surface, then he bounces the dough, still in his hand, like a yo-yo, so that it hits the skillet in just a few places, filling in any holes and thin spots. After just a couple of seconds the circle has cooked through.
Across the table, a handful of Ker’s family members — cousins, aunts, and uncles — top the wrappers with lettuce, slices of hard-boiled egg, a sweet and savory mix of cooked carrot and jicama and boiled shrimp, then roll it all up together. “It’s like a Singaporean burrito,” he jokes.
Popiah was born in Fujian Province in China and spread across Asia as Fujianese merchants emigrated to places like Taiwan, Malaysia, Thailand, and, of course, Singapore. In each place, the wrap became a kind of fusion dish that incorporated flavors and ingredients popular in its new home. Some are served fresh, as traditional Singaporean popiah are, while other are made thin and deep-fried, like spring rolls — in Singapore, these are known as popiah goreng.
Ker’s family business, Kway Guan Huat Original Joo Chiat Popiah, was started in the 1930s when Ker’s grandfather, Quek Tren Wen, immigrated to Singapore.
The founder’s children still run their business out of the original location, a large storefront in the Joo Chiat neighborhood on Singapore’s east coast. Every morning, teams of relatives gather in the large kitchen in the back of the building to make the fermented, wheat-based dough for the skins and shred the vegetables for the fillings.
The shop is particularly busy around Tomb Sweeping Holiday, when people like to make popiah as an offering for their ancestors, and during Chinese New Year, when wrapping popiah symbolizes wrapping up wealth. “When you wrap a popiah and you put the fillings in, you must not be greedy,” explains Ker. “If you are greedy, and the skin tears, it’s not a good sign.”
Ker, 40, has been making popiah since his parents taught him to work with the dough when he was 10, and in the next few years he will begin to take over the business from his parents, aunts, and uncles.
“We are planning to pass the business to Michael,” says Vicky Quek, one of his aunts.
“We will continue to support them and lend a hand,” she says, reassuringly.
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