Understanding alkaline noodles, a taste that time almost forgot

In the steam-shrouded hawker stalls of Singapore, the neon-lit eateries of Hong Kong, and the bustling street vendors of Malaysia, a phantom flavour haunts our tastebuds. No, it is not supernatural, but rather, enigmatic. We’re talking about the untranslatable alkaline note, a flavour so divisive, it has spawned both devotees and detractors across Southeast Asia. If you’ve ever slurped wanton mee in Hong Kong or devoured a plate of Hokkien mee in Singapore and detected a whisper of something almost indefinable, you’ve encountered the phantom.

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Wanton noodles, a Cantonese noodle dish popular in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia

Molecular magic

Chemistry is in session as the spotlight shines on a particular alkaline substance in noodle making. Fromjian shui in Chinese to kansui in Japanese, this lye water solution alludes to varied names, but it is typically a mixture of sodium and potassium carbonates. When added to wheat flour dough, the alkaline agents reconstruct the gluten networks to result in noodles that are springier and bouncier, or as some Chinese chefs will endearingly describe the mouthfeel as “QQ”.

The molecular magic doesn’t end there, as the pale dough turns into bright yellow without the use of artificial colouring, and imparts that divisive flavour that is at once subtle and assertive.

Traditional noodle making in Fujian province is still practised today in China

Uncovering the roots

Like many culinary innovations, the alkaline noodles boast a lineage stretching back millennia. Early Chinese noodle artisans discovered that water from certain mineral-rich lakes produced exceptional results. When these lakes eventually dried up, the alkaline residue left behind became a treasured ingredient. Other regions, particularly Gansu province in China, turned to plant ash derived from burned vegetation, commonly known as peng hui, to achieve similar effects with hand-pulled lamian.

With the great Chinese migration, this ancient technique moved southwards, embedding itself in the food cultures of Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia, evolving into distinct regional expressions.

Think Hong Kong’s defiantly thin yet elastic wanton noodles; Singapore and Malaysia’s ubiquitous yellow noodles, the backbone of countless hawker classics, from the ultra-savoury Singapore Hokkien mee to the dark, caramelised KL Hokkien char mee. The general use of plant ash was also observed in Taiwan until 1989, when commercially produced alkaline salts were invented for greater consistency.

A pull of wanton mee featured in a classic Hong Kong noodle soup

The great divide

So why are the textural benefits of alkalinity universally celebrated, but the flavour itself remains divisive? We dive deeper into the delicious paradox. In Hong Kong, the alkaline note is more implicitly accepted of the wanton noodles, where texture is prized above all. The same with ramen in Japan, where alkaline is widely accepted as fundamental to the noodle’s identity. While most manufacturers substitute chicken eggs to save cost, the best ones are still made traditionally with duck eggs, combining salt and kansui directly without added water for that inimitable texture.

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Singapore’s ubiquitous plate of ultra-savoury Hokkien mee is a hawker classic

Conversely, in Singapore and Malaysia, the alkaline flavour is often labelled as “kee”, derived from the Hokkien dialect in Southeast Asia, and is often met with furrowed brows. Most recipes explicitly instruct cooks to blanch the noodles to reduce the alkaline characteristic. Some modern manufacturers, like homegrown LG Foods, even offer low-alkaline versions of yellow noodles to appease sensitive palates.

Yet without alkalinity, these noodles are without their iconic texture, and would quickly submit to a soggy mess in their respective broths and sauces. It is this very agent that creates a flavour controversy that also promises superior structural integrity to our favourite dishes.

Malaysia’s dark and caramelised KL Hokkien char mee uses a thicker alkaline noodle typically called dai lok mee

Perhaps the alkaline note suffers most from is linguistic limitation. While we have a range of vocabulary for sweetness, bitterness, umami, and even al dente pasta, the English language offers us primarily negative descriptors such as soapy, bitter, or pungent when describing alkalinity. But experienced noodle masters and connoisseurs understand that when properly balanced, this note becomes not a flaw but a mark of quality, one that subtly elevates and differentiates between one-dimensional noodles and a storied one with character and depth.

Experienced noodle masters and connoisseurs understand that when properly balanced, the alkaline note becomes not a flaw but a mark of quality

The good, the bad, and the ugly

So, is the alkaline taste in noodles good or bad? Ultimately, while the textural benefits conferred by alkaline treatment remain central to the appeal and identity of iconic noodles in Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia, the associated taste is viewed with more ambivalence; desired by traditionalists yet perceived to be a flaw by contemporary tastebuds. Taking sides with the former, this writer still looks out for this acquired but essential flavour that, despite its divisive reception, weaves both chemistry and history to reflect authenticity.

The next time you wolf down a steaming bowl of wanton mee in Hong Kong or a ravishing plate of Hokkien mee in Singapore, pay close attention to that whisper of something unusual beneath the punchy seasonings and rich sauces. You’re now tasting the phantom note, one that time almost forgot.

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