Barely a Foodie

I still find it hard to call myself a foodie.

My palate is not as refined as it should be. I’m still lacking in my food knowledge. I am an average cook. I can’t even dice as prettily as other people – my chopping style is rustic, for want of a nicer term.

But if there’s any reason why I would call myself a foodie… it’s this. Food is not simply about nourishment to me.

It’s not even just about taste or texture; food to me is a sensory experience which involves every part of my being. I love hearing the popping of coriander seeds being toasted in the wok. I love the smells of the kitchen. And most of all, I love the memories and emotions that food and its preparation evokes.

I love the smell of freshly beaten butter and sugar. It always reminds me of the days leading up to Hari Raya when mom would prepare her famous quaker oat cookies and cashew nut cookies. Those were good times, particularly when I was younger and hadn’t started fasting – lots of cookies for me to munch on because I was the only one who could! hehehe.

The mixture of tumeric, salt and chilli powder when used in the deep fryer reminds me of my grandmother. Every time there was a family gathering, there would be her deep fried chicken.  I remember how all us cousins used to race to the plate only to get our fingers burnt by the freshly fried fowl.

I love walking past Indian restaurants because the heady mix of spices reminds me so much of my dad’s cousins. They’re the traditional “cook-everything-from scratch” Indian women who still use those massive metal basin like pots to cook insanely, indecent amounts of food every Hari Raya. I don’t know them very well but the fragrant spices always made me feel safe and comforted in their presence.

Teacups and saucers hold a special place in my heart. I used to accompany my parents to their friends’ places a lot and often, I’d be served tea (with milk) in pretty tea sets. I always felt like such a grown up because I got to use such gorgeous china. The only problem is that the tea was always too hot for me. So my parents would always lift the teacup and pour the tea into the saucer for me. And I would drink tea straight from the saucer. I swear, even though it’s the most uncouth way of drinking tea… it’s also the BEST. Hahaha.

Speaking of tea. I love discovering new favourites – my current obsession is teh limau (tea with calamansi limes) which I first came across in Sabah about two years ago. It shouldn’t be surprising that I’d love teh limau seeing how I love iced lemon tea. But the calamansi lime, which its balance of sweet and sour, makes this drink even more delectable to me. I managed to buy some calamansi limes from the Asian shop today and even though the cup I made is nowhere near as yummy as the ones that I had in Sabah (both in the coffeeshops and restaurants)… I feel all warm and fuzzy drinking it still, remembering my adventures in Borneo.

Similarly, papaya salad will always remind me of Krabi. As will mango and sticky rice. I can still taste the juicy sweetness of the Thai mangos, a perfect counteractive flavour for the rich, sticky glutinous rice. What a perfect way to end a meal comprising the spicy, sour papaya salad. Oh and papaya salad will of course remind me of my dear bellydancing Nikki… I can’t remember the last person who raved so much about something I cooked!! Hahaha!

Well okay, maybe I can – Sharny and Palu raving about my Horlicks ice cream. Man, food is probably what binds our friendship. So many of our memories are linked to food. Cheesy toast reminds me of Sharny because that was my comfort food on Day 1 of post-breakup. I chuckle remembering us eating McDonalds in our fancy black dresses post-Sugar Blue show. I can’t eat Nutella without thinking of Sharny and Mira – like mother like daughter! God knows how many time we’ve corrupted each other with our different food finds – like Ritter Cornflakes.

I like watching Palu in the kitchen because it makes me feel like a kid watching my mom cook again. Oh god and speaking of cooking, Sharn and my many cooking disasters – how is it that we’re perfectly capable cooks in the kitchen EXCEPT when we’re in the same kitchen?? Hahahaha.
Oh and one of my favourite parts of my day while I was in Sabah? Sitting on the kitchen counter while Lan prepared our food. It reminded me of when I was younger and more carefree, watching mom cook – and how she was always trying to chase me off the counter so that she’d have more space to prepare our meals. There’s something really calming about sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling, while watching someone prep ingredients.

It’s also the best place to sit and wait for taste testing. And girls, sitting on the counter also usually makes you the perfect height to face your boyfriend. Whether they actually pick up on this or not, is another matter and completely controllable by you. Hahahaha.

When I can’t watch people cook from my perch, I like being in the kitchen. I love using my hands in the kitchen. There’s something therapeutic about mixing mince or dough with your hands. I love feeling the mix going through my fingers, I love kneading the dough so that it forms a nice, neat ball.
I’m a constant taster and sniffer in the kitchen. Especially when I’m cooking off the cuff. I cook with my heart and my gut. I rely on my tastebuds and my nose to tell me what’s lacking. Which is why I absolutely suck at telling people how to cook whatever it is I’ve prepared. I have to make a conscious effort to write everything I do down throughout the entire cooking process because sometimes I find myself adding extra bits and pieces here and there.

I swear, it’s an Asian woman thing – we grow up having our moms and aunts tell us to estimate, to add to taste, to add how much you like, that this nasty habit creeps into our being and into our cooking styles. It’s not really their fault because of years of experience – regardless of how many people they cook for, they can always get the taste spot on. Which is not so great for us fledgling makciks because we need the exact figures or at least rough proportions so that we can learn how to cook the dish in the first place!

Yet, somehow my memories of the food I want to recreate is enough to help me sometimes. For example, when I made sambal goreng pengantin, despite not having my mother in the kitchen to guide me (because honestly, she can be a real pain to cook with because of her constant meddling – another makcik trait!) I managed to make sambal goreng pengantin the way I remembered it. Although, my mom and I have different memories of how it should taste like and my sambal goreng pengantin doesn’t meet up to her standards.

It was kind of a sad process, doing it on my own because mum, Natt and I used to congregate in the kitchen preparing the different elements together. I was always assigned the “unfuckable” tasks – aka the tasks I simply couldn’t screw up… or the tasks where it didn’t really matter if I messed up. Like peeling garlic and prawns. I was so happy when one year, I was FINALLY allowed to cut up the delicate tofu.

I could go on and on with the food memories. But I think my point’s been made. I may not be the textbook example of a foodie… but I think I have the makings to be one.