Cher Kee Chiang, 74, has been cooking porridge for the last 38 years. He was the second-generation owner of a Cantonese chok joint originally started by his wife’s uncle in 1968 – at the corner of Eng Watt St and Tiong Poh Road in Tiong Bahru where Ah Chiang’s HQ joint is located – but it was a “no-name” operation back then.

The hawker sold the business in 2005 and it was renamed Ah Chiang's Porridge, but Kee Chiang stayed on as a cook at the Tiong Bahru HQ (the other outlets in Toa Payoh, JEM and Hillion mall are franchises).

Now, he has struck out on his own with longtime customer-turned-biz partner Bernard Tan, 49, who’s been eating at Ah Chiang’s flagship outlet at nearby Tiong Poh Road for the last fifteen years. Very nearby, in fact – Old Shifu Charcoal Porridge opened on May 28 less than three minutes’ walk away, according to Google Maps.
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Correction: This article has been updated to reflect that the prices at Ah Chiang’s Porridge flagship Tiong Bahru outlet are cheaper than those at Old Shifu Charcoal Porridge. We apologise for the oversight.

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Naturally, we had to ask – what happened? “The biggest problem was communication,” the elderly hawker explains in Mandarin. He’d slowly grown dissatisfied over the years since selling off his business for a “six-figure sum” (“between $250k and $500k,” shares Bernard).

The preparation of certain ingredients, in particular the franchised JEM outlet, was outsourced, says Kee Chiang. “There was no way to maintain the same standards [as before],” he adds. “It felt like they thought I was too old-fashioned in my ideas.” Chin Koon Bin, the director of Ah Chiang Pte Ltd, however, tells us that all ingredients are still prepped in-house at the flagship Tiong Bahru outlet.

Kee Chiang is adamant though, that the parting was an amicable one. “You can’t really say if someone’s right or wrong here. When you’re young, everything’s smoother and easier. Once you’re old, friction builds up,” he shares.

In 2019, discussions between Kee Chiang and Bernard began, though they only picked up two years later once Bernard sold off his previous F&B venture, Sapporo Ramen Miharu.

“We started looking around intensively for a space this year,” shares Bernard, who declined to be photographed. “Nobody [in Tiong Bahru Market] wanted to give up their space. We were almost going to open in Tiong Bahru Plaza before [the current location] became available.”

The 50-seat eatery was previously occupied by another Cantonese congee joint. It’s clean, modern and comfy enough — there’s air-conditioning and cushioned chairs, unlike Ah Chiang’s humble kopitiam outlet nearby — though they haven’t yet gotten the chance to renovate yet. “We’re appealing to some of his old customers for pictures if they’ve got any - it’d be nice to have those on the walls,” Bernard says.

The eatery’s location, however, is more notable for its marked proximity to Ah Chiang’s one street away. Despite that, and the fact that Old Shifu's menu is similar to Ah Chiang's, Bernard insists: “We aren’t looking to become rivals”.

Kee Chiang explains, “We wanted somewhere in Tiong Bahru as that’s where I’ve been cooking for so many years. I want to be nearby so all my old customers can find me.”

It’s too early to consider potential expansion, shares Bernard, as they’re only two weeks old. “I’m cautious. The important thing for now is to take care of our customers and workers.”

The mission of Old Shifu Charcoal Porridge, says Kee Chiang, is to preserve gu zao wei (Mandarin for “traditional flavours”). That includes old-school techniques, like using charcoal as a heat source when cooking. “When I started cooking, there was only wood or charcoal – no such thing as gas or electric,” he says.

The porridge stove (there’s only one for now – they’re having difficulty procuring more, says Bernard) is manned by the 74-year-old hawker himself. He’s spry for his age – alternating between fanning the fire and stirring said porridge vigorously. His two chefs help out where they can, prepping ingredients or cooking side dishes.

Despite the fanning, there isn’t much smoke or errant sparks to speak of. “We had trouble finding the right charcoal,” Bernard says. “Though when we finally got the right one, there was an immediate difference in taste.”

Retirement isn’t really on the cards until he’s passed on his skills, says the senior hawker. “What I’ve got from him is that he doesn’t want just an employee,” Bernard adds. “He belongs to that breed of older generation folk who don’t see retirement as an age thing. If they can move their hands and legs, they’ll be back in the kitchen.”

True enough, the porridge shifu heads to the market every morning - ferried by Bernard - to get ingredients himself. He stays, and cooks, for the entire duration of the shop’s operating hours daily. “We’ve tried to offload some of the more manual [chores] to the other chefs,” Bernard says.

These other chefs in question are his current two apprentices – Wilson Yau, 45, and Fan Tian Hui, 46, who’ve worked previously with Bernard and Kee Chiang respectively. “There’s this saying – you can give someone the exact recipe and ingredients, and what comes out is completely different [from an experienced hawker],” says Bernard with a laugh.

The longtime hawker is a little more optimistic: “They have the heart to learn. If they don’t have the heart, they’ll never learn – even if you take out a cane and hit them.” It’d be far worse, he says, to lose these skills to time altogether. “Nowadays, what do parents say when their kids come to the kitchen? ‘Don’t disturb, go outside and study’,” he adds.

There are more than 20 permutations of congee available at Old Shifu Charcoal Porridge. However, prices here are steeper than those at Ah Chiang's Porridge Tiong Bahru HQ outlet. Old Shifu's porridge starts from $5 a bowl, while you can get a bowl at Ah Chiang's Tiong Bahru branch from $4.

“Our porridge is very light – just water and rice,” says Kee Chiang. Though there are some seasonings in the porridge, there’s no base of rich bone broth or stock. Water, and premium Golden Phoenix rice, are stirred over a roaring charcoal flame. That’s it.

The result is a chok that’s velvety-rich with a smooth mouthfeel – a little less thick and starchy than we’ve had elsewhere, but enjoyably so. The grains retain some bite, though it’s nothing like the firm grains of Teochew porridge. Flavour-wise, it’s rather mild with not much of a discernible aroma from the charcoal.

“Young people don’t really like such a light taste, though it’s something that older people like us will enjoy,” shares Chiang.

We didn’t find it too much of a problem, especially since you’re supposed to adjust the porridge to your palate with the usual fixings like deep-fried shallots, white pepper and a house blend of two soya sauces.

The mixed pork congee is the best-selling item here, says Bernard. It’s easy to understand why – unlike their competition down the road, their mixed pork option includes offal like pig’s liver and small intestine as well as minced and sliced pork that Ah Chiang’s also has.

The offal is meaty without being gamey. The chewy small intestine is well-cleaned and fresh-tasting — unlike the small intestine we had at the Toa Payoh Central branch of Ah Chiang’s a week prior to this shoot.

However, we find the liver to be a little too underdone when left to cook from the residual heat of the charcoal-fired porridge. It’s pink and tender – but that was after a long trip home, doggy bags of congee in tow. In the meantime, the blood that’s leaked out left the chok a little discoloured, which might put off some diners.

The handmade pork balls are tasty enough – there’s a secret ingredient that lends the rough orbs a little savoury oomph. They’re more tender than springy, evoking home-cooked comfort rather than textural titillation.

This isn’t the usual soy-sauce-and-ginger-rich braised frog that gets mixed into plain porridge. Instead, the frog is boiled directly into the porridge. The protein on its own doesn’t have a strong smell or flavour, so it’s nothing overwhelming – the springy texture is usually what needs the most getting used to. Opt for this only if you’re a fan, as there’s nothing else to distract you from pure, unadulterated frog.

As for you tiao ($2), the deep-fried dough sticks are supplied raw then fried in-house. They’re crunchy without losing its pleasant fluffiness. Our only gripe is that you don’t really have an option of paying a little more to add a few more pieces to your bowl of congee – it’s two dollars extra for an entire bowlful.

The mild-flavoured congee serves as a fine vehicle for more delicate toppings as well, including xi dao yu (wolf herring). The fish we got (we were given a mix of slices and belly chunks just to try both) is immaculately cooked, devoid of any odours and goes down easily. Being cut from the area around the belly, some saury chunks are interspersed with a good bit of fat (don’t worry, it’s Omega-3) – scrumptious. Just be careful though – they haven’t removed the bones.

This is pretty much identical to what you’d get at Ah Chiang’s – but why fix what’s not broken? It’s classic Cantonese bak chit gai (white cut chicken) through-and-through. Silky poached chook, sliced thin, is covered in an herbaceous and savoury ginger-scallion sauce. The characteristic spice of ginger – minced with scallions, before being lightly fried – is completely absent, leaving only a yummy, moreish fragrance. Just note that it’s served cold.

Like other porridge joints across the island, they aren’t serving Song fish yu sheng (Chinese-style raw fish) after the spate of Group B Streptococcus infections from consuming that particular raw fish back in 2015. “It’s a pity. We used to sell a lot of it [back in Ah Chiang]. We always made sure it was clean and fresh,” says Kee Chiang. Still, the alternative salmon yu sheng we had – tossed in an aromatic dressing of olive oil, julienned ginger, chilli and white pepper – tastes just as good as anywhere else. Salmon is also a tad more familiar to the younger crowd.

That said, they aren’t selling this for delivery or takeaway for now due to food safety reasons. You should also take this photographed portion with a pinch of salt – they had to get some salmon just for our shoot, so expect something a little more reasonable for your six bucks.

Old Shifu Charcoal Porridge gives master Kee Chiang a new playground to do what he loves – with complete control over the kitchen once again. While the smooth, light-tasting congee is similar enough to the bowls at his former eatery Ah Chiang’s, he pays more attention to detail here as he’s the one shopping and cooking — like squeaky clean, fresh-tasting offal. If you need something more robust to go with the subtly-flavoured porridge, order a side of ginger chicken as well.

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Photos: Alvin Teo