Mum’s Chio Hua – the golden Nyonya jelly our family treasures
Looking back on my childhood, the memories that stand out most vividly are often tied to our kitchen – a space where I first discovered my love for cooking. My mother shared so much with me in that lively corner of our home and those lessons remain close to my heart. Whether it was preparing fiery sambal babi or crafting the crunchy, glistening Nyonya jelly known as chio hua (cheok hwa), her guidance filled my childhood with joy and the ho-chiak-ness of good food.
Mum had a unique way of making Nyonya jelly, using crushed eggshells to skim the froth from the surface as the mixture simmered. She would stir the pot constantly, sweetening the jelly with rock sugar. A touch of yellow colouring was then added, giving the jelly its signature sun-kissed hue. Some believe that cooking it in a brass pot enhances the colour, though I remain sceptical of this claim. Finally, Mum would perfume the jelly with a dash of rose essence before carefully pouring the mixture into moulds to set and harden at room temperature. I was particularly fond of the moulds she used, especially the large aluminium ones shaped like crouching rabbits, which I found far more charming than the porcelain alternatives.
In Penang, commercially sold chio hua jelly is often crystal clear with only a very faint golden hue. Mum explained that caramelising the sugar before adding it to the jelly can achieve that colour naturally, without the need for added colouring. Cooking the jelly over a longer period also deepens the caramelised shade. I have always preferred Mum's version – her bright egg-yellow jelly is far more visually appealing than the pucat-looking (pale) commercial ones. Moreover, while store-bought jelly is typically flavoured with vanilla essence, Mum's choice of rose essence adds a delightful fragrance. When it comes to texture, Mum's version wins hands down, offering a deeply satisfying crunch that elevates every bite – a sound you can even hear as you chew.
I once shared some of my homemade chio hua jelly with a good friend. She found it too sweet and was quite taken aback by its "crazy" yellow colour. Was she afraid she might end up looking like a jaundiced patient after consuming a few slices? She passed it around to her family and friends, and, unsurprisingly, they all had the same reaction. Well, of course, it was sweet – the jelly was meant to be cut into thin, corrugated strips and the sweetness in each little sliver is perfectly balanced. After hours of stirring, I will admit I felt a bit deflated, but I have learned that individual preferences are subjective. Will I offer this friend my jelly again? Well, let us just say it is highly unlikely – even if she asks at gunpoint!
My father instilled an important lesson in me: always say "Thank you" and appreciate any gift you receive. If you are served something at a friend's home, even if it is "poison", you bite your tongue, say ho chiak, and finish it – because no one wants to slave over the stove only to have their efforts insulted!
Here is a little story. During my earlier visits to my in-laws, I was often served red bean tong sui. And, of course, I would say ho chiak and finish it, even though it was not exactly my favourite. Years later, my wife realised that I am not particularly fond of red bean soup and assumed I was being insincere. The truth is, it was never about the soup itself – it was about respecting the time and effort that went into cooking, and I always try to appreciate what is put in front of me.
On the flip side, my family absolutely loves the chio hua jelly Mum perfected. Every festive season, I will make a batch for them. My daughter, in particular, is absolutely obsessed with it – and I am proud to carry on this tradition and pass it on to her.
When making this jelly nowadays, I scoop two tablespoons of the liquid jelly into a saucer to test for doneness. Every batch of agar-agar strips is different, varying in brand, grade, and quality. I also check the sweetness, adding more sugar if needed, although I have reduced the sweetness over time as I have learned to live with less sugar in my life.
To achieve a firmer, more "crunchy" texture, Mum would also sun the jelly as well. This method of preparation allowed the jelly to be stored for a longer period. Of course, with eight children in the house, it would never last long enough to test its shelf life.
To prevent ants from feasting on the jelly while it was being sunned, Mum would place the moulds with water underneath them in large, round aluminium trays. Moderation was never a concept in our family home – huge trays were needed to accommodate all the jelly moulds!
Mum would make the jelly during the Chinese New Year season, distributing it along with her much-loved sugee cakes and tins of labour-intensive kuih kapit as gifts to relatives, friends and neighbours. Those days may be gone now, but with years of practice in the kitchen, I am grateful that I can now whip up something delicious with even the humblest of ingredients – all thanks to Mum.
To serve, slice the jelly thinly using a crinkle cutter knife. Above is a closer look at the golden rabbit jelly, which is simply too beautiful to cut into. But cut into it we must, to truly relish this golden delight. The jaw-jerking crunchiness will resound in between your ears with every bite as the sweet delight titillates your palate and rose fragrance envelopes the eating experience. If you have not tried this jelly, you must!
During the Chinese New Year season, chio hua jelly can be found in Penang, especially at places like the Pulau Tikus market. It is said that the jelly can last for months when stored in airtight containers, either in the meat safe or in the refrigerator.
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Written and photographed by Adrian Cheah
© All rights reserved
27 January 2018