Of Grandpa Chin, Devil Curry and Jam Tarts

I remember the periuk belanga, made from an orangey-clay substance, this squat little pot with a slim neck and widening out later; simmering with beef rendang, devil chicken curry. I remember the ladle that we used - it was made with a coconut shell tied with bamboo string to a wooden handle.

I remember Grandpa cooking devil curry again and again and again cos' Rachel, my cousin, told him that she loved it.

I remember "placing" our orders for fish and chips (RM4), chicken chop (also RM4), char koay teow (no tauge, no chilli for Rachel, everything in for Debbie).

I remember telling grandma I wanted dry instant noodles for dinner.

I remember mum saying that grandpa was a way better cook than grandma. I remember him making those stuffed sotong rings - he's mince pork and stuff it into sliced squid rings, and steam them. Mum was so awed by this presentation, she still talks of it sometimes (think I was about eight years old then).

I remember, months before Christmas, Grandpa would be drying out the sugee flour, the cake flour, the almonds, for making the sugee cake. This cake had (still has, actually) the reputation of being not only expensive (10 egg yolks, 2 lbs butter), but it was our Eurasion tradition to bake and distribute this.

I remember helping to roll out pineapple jam tarts, taking turns with my cousins to beat egg whites till stiff, complaining all the way about how those darn clear liquid only had a few miserable bubbles in it (Egg yolks for the sugee cake, egg whites for the chiffon cake). Of course, we were tiny little things then.

I remember making all kinds of shapes with the tart dough - curry puff-like, rolls, etc. But none had as good a pastry-to-jam ratio of taste than the ones we cut out with the tart-cutter, then using a pastry roller, cut half-cm thick filligreed strips to make a criss-cross on the top of the jam. Burning fingers and tongues as we fought to taste our work fresh out of the oven.

Ah, the oven. It was actually an ovenette - a round electrical gizmo with a cover (much like a giant soup pot - but electrically powered) but one couldn't control the temperature, and the glass top would crack if anyone splashed even the tiniest bit of water on it.

And everything was done by hand. Stirring the pineapple jam for hours, standing by the stove. Scrubbing down the pot later.

Hand-beating 10 egg whites till stiff.

In the pestle and mortar, grinding down shallots and chillies for sambal tumis (did I tell you that my mum's family makes the BEST, and I mean the BEST, sambal tumis in the entire universe - I have yet to try one as good. Thank goodness all the maids have learnt to do this so this tradition lives on still).


Which reminds me - Grandma, I would like to inherit those cooking stuff - the mixing bowl, belanga, pestle and mortar.