Singapore ingredient substitutions

Fermented, sun-dried shrimp pressed into a dense block — the funk under every sambal, the backbone of a rempah. Toasted, it turns nutty and low; raw, it is pungent enough to clear a kitchen. There is no dish in the Malay-Peranakan canon that does not lean on it somewhere.

• GoodThai kapi (shrimp paste)

  The nearest cousin and easy to find. Softer, wetter, a touch sweeter than a Penang belacan — use a little more and toast it hard to drive off the extra moisture.

• PassableKorean/Filipino salted shrimp (saeu-jeot / bagoong alamang)

  Briny and shrimp-forward but barely fermented, so you get the salt without the deep funk. Drain, mash, and toast in a dry pan; accept that the bottom note will be missing.

• Last resortAnchovy paste

  It is fish, not shrimp, and it reads as anchovy the whole way through — wrong protein, wrong aroma. Only for a non-negotiable weeknight, and never in a dish where belacan is the star.

Order the real belacan →

Sap tapped from the coconut or nipah palm, boiled down and set into dark, smoky cylinders. It carries a caramel-butterscotch depth with a faint salinity that white and brown sugar simply do not have — the whole point of ondeh ondeh, sago pudding, and kaya.

• ExcellentThai/Indonesian palm sugar (gula jawa)

  The same product under another name. Colour and smokiness vary by brand, so taste and adjust; a darker block gets you closest to a good Melaka.

• GoodDark muscovado

  Real molasses depth and the right damp texture. Cleaner and sweeter than palm sugar, missing the faint coconut-sap savouriness, but honest in a pinch.

• PassableDark brown sugar

  Sweet and one-dimensional — you get colour but none of the smoke. Fine as a background sweetener, thin as the headline flavour of a dessert.

Order the real gula melaka →

Long blade-shaped screwpine leaves, bruised or blended for a grassy, vanilla-coconut aroma that scents rice, kaya, kueh, and chicken poached in a knotted bundle. Often called the vanilla of Southeast Asia, though it is greener and more savoury than that suggests.

• ExcellentFrozen whole pandan leaves

  The same leaf, just thawed. Aroma is nearly all there; look for them in the freezer at any Southeast Asian or larger Chinese grocer. Always better than the extract.

• PassablePandan extract / paste

  Concentrated and heavy-handed, usually dyed a fluorescent green. Good for colour and a rough aroma in a batter; use a fraction of what you think and expect it to read artificial.

• Last resortVanilla + a whisper of matcha

  Not pandan — a stand-in for the vanilla-grassy impression only, and only in a sweet. It will not fool anyone who has eaten the real thing; skip it in anything savoury.

Order the real pandan leaves →

Waxy, high-oil nuts pounded into a rempah to thicken and enrich it — they give a sambal or curry body and a subtle creaminess without adding a flavour of their own. Mildly toxic raw, so they always go into a cooked paste.

• GoodMacadamia nuts

  The classic swap — same fat content, same neutral richness, same thickening job. A touch sweeter, but in a spiced rempah nobody will find it. Use one-for-one.

• GoodRaw cashews

  Plenty of oil and body, slightly more flavour of their own. Soak them first so they pound smooth. A dependable stand-in when macadamias are dear.

• PassableBlanched almonds

  Lower in fat, so you get the bulk but less of the silky richness. The paste can turn a little grainy — fine in a rustic curry, less so in a fine Nyonya rempah.

Order the real candlenuts →

Glossy double-lobed leaves with a sharp, floral citrus perfume unlike any lime juice — sliced hair-thin into rendang and sambal, or torn whole into curries and laksa broth. The aroma is the whole reason they exist; nothing about them is about sourness.

• GoodFrozen or dried kaffir lime leaves

  The real leaf, faded. Frozen keeps most of the perfume; dried loses a good half of it, so use nearly double and add early. Still unmistakably the right note.

• PassableLime zest + a bay leaf

  Zest gives the citrus, bay gives the leafy backbone — together they gesture at it. Missing the specific floral top note entirely, but better than a bald broth.

• Last resortRegular lime zest alone

  Right family, wrong aroma — you get plain citrus with none of the perfume. Only when it is a minor garnish and its absence would be more obvious than its imitation.

Order the real kaffir lime leaves →

The defining herb of a laksa — a peppery, coriander-meets-mint green shredded over the bowl at the end. Sharp, a little soapy-citrus, and completely central to the dish that borrowed its Malay name (laksa leaf) from it.

• PassableCilantro + a little mint

  Covers the coriander side and part of the cool mint edge, but misses the pepper and the specific bite. A laksa built on this reads softer and rounder than it should.

• PassableThai basil

  Aromatic and assertive, so it holds up in a rich broth, but it pulls the bowl toward anise rather than the sharp green of kesum. A different accent, honestly used.

• Last resortCilantro alone

  Better than a naked broth and nothing more — none of the peppery heat that makes laksa taste like laksa. Treat it as a garnish, not a fix.

Order the real daun kesum →

Small shrimp salted and sun-dried to a concentrated, chewy savouriness — soaked and pounded into hae bee hiam, sambal, and countless stir-fries for a deep marine umami that fresh shrimp cannot give.

• GoodDried scallop (conpoy), shredded

  Also a dried-seafood umami bomb, sweeter and more delicate. It will not read as shrimp, but where you just need that dried-sea depth it performs beautifully. Costlier.

• PassableBonito flakes (katsuobushi)

  Delivers concentrated marine umami but a Japanese, smoky one, and it melts away instead of giving the signature chew. Works dissolved into a sauce, not as a textural element.

• Last resortExtra belacan or fish sauce

  You are chasing the savouriness alone and skipping the shrimp entirely — no texture, no toasty-sweet edge. Dose lightly or you tip the dish into flat saltiness.

Order the real dried shrimp →

The sour pulp of the tamarind pod, soaked and strained into assam water — the fruity, tangy acidity behind assam laksa, sambal, and countless curries. Rounder and more raisin-like than vinegar or lime, which is exactly why it matters.

• ExcellentTamarind concentrate / paste

  The same fruit, pre-strained. Brands vary wildly in strength and salt, so start with half what a recipe calls for and taste up. Genuinely no compromise on flavour.

• PassableLime juice + a pinch of brown sugar

  Gets you sour with a hint of the fruitiness, but lime is brighter and thinner than tamarind’s deep, jammy tang. Fine in a dressing, thin in a slow-cooked assam gravy.

• Last resortRice vinegar + sugar

  Acidity with no fruit character at all — flat and one-note. Only if there is nothing else in the house, and expect the dish to taste sharp rather than mellow.

Order the real tamarind →

A rhizome that looks like ginger and behaves nothing like it — piny, sharp, almost medicinal-citrus, and woody enough that it is pounded into rempah rather than eaten. It sets the cool, resinous backbone of a rendang or a laksa paste.

• GoodFrozen or dried galangal

  The real root. Frozen grates almost like fresh; dried slices need a long soak and give maybe two-thirds of the punch. Either beats reaching for ginger.

• PassableFresh ginger (in a pinch)

  Related but warmer and hotter, with none of galangal’s pine-citrus edge. It keeps the rempah from tasting empty, but a knowing palate will notice the swap immediately.

• PassableGinger + a strip of lime zest

  The zest nudges ginger toward galangal’s citrus note — a slightly closer fake than ginger alone, still missing the resinous depth. Honest daily-cooking compromise.

Order the real galangal →

The pink flower bud of the torch ginger, shredded raw into rojak and assam laksa for a floral, gingery, faintly sour crunch. It is a top-note garnish and an aroma — one of those ingredients a dish is genuinely built around, not a background player.

• GoodFrozen torch ginger bud

  The real bud, softened by freezing so it loses some crunch and a little perfume. Slice it while still part-frozen. The nearest thing to fresh by a wide margin.

• Last resortGinger + mint, finely shredded

  A crude gesture at the ginger-floral character with none of the specific perfume. In assam laksa its absence is felt; treat this as a garnish, not a substitute, and lower your expectations.

Order the real torch ginger bud →

Salted, fermented whole soybeans in a thick brine — the savoury, funky-salty base of Hokkien and Teochew stir-fries, steamed fish, and chicken. Chunkier and less sweet than a Chinese bean sauce, with whole beans you can see.

• GoodChinese yellow bean sauce / brown bean paste

  Same fermented-soybean family, often a little sweeter and smoother. Mash any whole beans and cut back on added sugar in the dish. A dependable, easy-to-find stand-in.

• PassableKorean doenjang

  Deeply fermented and umami-rich, but earthier and funkier than taucheo, and denser. Use less, thin with water, and know it pulls the dish slightly toward a Korean profile.

• PassableWhite miso + a little soy sauce

  Gives the salty-fermented-soy backbone but reads Japanese and sweet-mild, with no whole beans and none of the coarse texture. Works dissolved into a sauce, not as the visible element.

Order the real taucheo →

Indonesian sweet soy sauce, thickened with palm sugar to a molasses-like syrup — glossy, sweet, and malty. It lacquers satay, mee goreng, and nasi goreng with colour and a caramel edge that plain soy never delivers.

• ExcellentDark soy sauce + palm or brown sugar

  Simmer 4 parts dark soy with 2 parts palm sugar until syrupy. Near-indistinguishable from the bottle — genuinely no flavour lost, only a few minutes gained.

• GoodRegular soy sauce + molasses

  Molasses supplies the sweetness and body; the sauce is a shade sharper and less rounded than a real kecap manis. Reduce briefly to thicken. A solid everyday fix.

• PassableHoisin sauce, thinned

  Sweet and dark, but it carries five-spice and garlic that kecap manis does not — it changes the flavour, not just fills the slot. Only where those extra notes will not clash.

Order the real kecap manis →

Tiny dried anchovies, fried crisp as a nasi lemak garnish or simmered into a clean, savoury stock — the quiet umami under a great plate of nasi lemak and many a Malay soup. Sold whole; the gutted ones make cleaner stock.

• GoodJapanese niboshi (dried sardines)

  The same idea from another sea — small dried fish for stock. Stronger and a touch more bitter, so use fewer and pull them early. For stock, an honest match; less so fried as garnish.

• PassableDashi / bonito for the stock

  Delivers clean marine umami for a broth but a smoky, Japanese one, and gives you nothing for the crisp fried garnish. Covers half the job of ikan bilis, not both.

• Last resortFish sauce (for stock only)

  The savoury salt without the fish itself — flat and one-dimensional next to a real ikan bilis stock, and useless as a topping. Dose carefully so it does not just taste salty.

Order the real ikan bilis →