There is a certain rustic charm in home made dishes. I made my first attempt in cooking some chives pancake for my dad today. Gao Choy Piang, that's what he'll call it in his English accented Cantonese tone. They are really simple pancakes whisked out of water, wheat flour, egg, chopped chives, salt and pepper; dropped into the pan for a light searing. Olive oil for his good health, I reminded myself. As the mixture cooks itself with the bubbling oil, I recalled how he would buy these pancakes from his favourite brunch place and ride home with them in a plastic bag hanging on the handle of his scooter. It must be the sweet aftertaste of chives that he loves, I keep saying. He loved them so much that he would never stop buying them even though I think the seller is ripping him off terribly - RM1.50 for a pancake with some egg in it. He would buy three. If not for his diabetes, I'm sure he would take the whole platter. So chives in a pancake to delight my daddy. At 70, you would want to enjoy food without the hassle of getting them from outside.
Thinking about how he believed in the medicinal values of chives and how much he enjoyed them, I realised that this would be one of the things that would be part of my memory of who he is. Funny it is how food would become relished as a story of our lives, intrinsically and solidly weaved. Yes, home cooked food builds self-awareness, well, at least for me. Special Porridge, a deadly tasty concoction of eveything edible found in the kitchen added into boiling rice was Daddy's specialty dish when mom's away. Amused by the changing ingredients in this powerful stew, I never grew out of it. No surprise, porridge was the first thing I learnt to cook well. I am tickled by the fact that sweet foods do not attract such a nostalgia, despite that I'm a die hard sweet tooth. Perhaps we identify with food chiefly because we identify with the person involved. Like Daddy - chives, fatty pork, gravy, special porridge. Hmm, how shall I say it? Simple dishes are like garnishes, adding flavours to my soul. And this flavour may take eternity to age.
Thinking about how he believed in the medicinal values of chives and how much he enjoyed them, I realised that this would be one of the things that would be part of my memory of who he is. Funny it is how food would become relished as a story of our lives, intrinsically and solidly weaved. Yes, home cooked food builds self-awareness, well, at least for me. Special Porridge, a deadly tasty concoction of eveything edible found in the kitchen added into boiling rice was Daddy's specialty dish when mom's away. Amused by the changing ingredients in this powerful stew, I never grew out of it. No surprise, porridge was the first thing I learnt to cook well. I am tickled by the fact that sweet foods do not attract such a nostalgia, despite that I'm a die hard sweet tooth. Perhaps we identify with food chiefly because we identify with the person involved. Like Daddy - chives, fatty pork, gravy, special porridge. Hmm, how shall I say it? Simple dishes are like garnishes, adding flavours to my soul. And this flavour may take eternity to age.