MY GENES ARE MAPPED OUT ON MY KITCHEN TABLE

By ANDRE GOH

Food is a very strong way of bringing strangers together. Giving a child an apple brings a smile. Giving an older person a warm bowl of soup fosters contentment and happiness. And of course, the making of traditional recipes passed on from generation to generation is nostalgic and filled with tender memories of moments gone by.

My journey with food was slow and began late in life. As a child and teenager, I took food for granted. I knew what I liked, I knew what I didn’t like, and I knew that some things were repulsive to me. But then in my late teens, after I migrated away from Malaysia and moved to Canada, I slowly learned to value time spent in the kitchen and over a hot stove.

Growing up in Malaysia, I was lucky because I came from a hybrid family of mixed heritage.

My father came from a Straits-born Chinese family and my mother came from the stocks of the colonizers and the oppressed.

My mother’s family had a little of everything – European, Malay, Indian, and maybe some Chinese.

Based on that, the food that my mother learned from her mother was food that was a mix-match of everything. For example, our Christmases were celebrated with a traditional roasted turkey; a clear vegetarian Chinese soup; curry chicken (with potatoes and carrots); Arroz e Chouriço (a Goan sausage and rice dish); Pork Assado (slow cook, spicy and not a lot of liquid) or Sorpotel (which usually included bits and pieces that made me cringe); macaroni sautéed with spicy ground pork and baked with cheese; chicken and sausage pie; a hot and spicy fish curry; and vindaloo. All this would be topped with mum’s famous fruit cake and pineapple tarts (which she usually bought from my Auntie Carmen, who was the best cook I knew growing up). Sometimes mother made plain fried noodles for those who couldn’t stand the heat of the dishes.

My mother’s sisters, Aunties Carmen and Verna, were the cooks in the family. They could make everything, and they prepared every dish with the perfect amount of spice and flavour.

Whenever we visited these Aunties, I was in food heaven. And as I grew older and while they were alive, my favourite memory was of me sitting in the kitchen, talking to them and watching them chop, peel, clean and then cook.

And so when I began university in Toronto, and also began life as an independent, I had to learn how to cook. Very quickly, I found out that I was a really bad cook. I’d burn rice, I’d overcook vegetables, I didn’t know how or where to buy spices, and I couldn’t understand the simple notion of not putting everything in the pot at the same time.

In those early days of living in Toronto and in Canada, our cities were terribly segregated. I didn’t know anyone who was Indian or knew where to buy spices.

But university was different; there were peoples from everywhere and I met this Sikh girl who would change my life completely. She was born in British Columbia and did a Fine Arts degree, far away from her family. Partly because it was one of the best dance programs in the country at the time, but also, she wanted the freedom to be herself, and find her true self.

Sharon and I became fast friends and through our friendship, I learned how to cook, how to appreciate flavours, how to blend the fragrant and the pungent, how to enhance a dish with a mild leaf or two, and how to make a tough piece of meat become the juiciest, most tender, mouthwatering, and fall-off- the-bone piece of protein. She brought me to Little India, introduced me to Kensington Market (in those days it was a haven for many immigrant communities., the smells on the street and in the shops were instant attractions for me), and Sharon helped me see food as an extension of the self.

I remember the first time I made curry chicken for her, seeing how her eyes lit up, and that joy I felt... priceless. I realized from that moment on that I loved the feeling of joy I felt when I prepared something that was appreciated. And over the decades of cooking for others and myself, I have also learned to embrace all that is Indian in me. While my face does not convey the Indian-ness I feel inside, my food and my clothing do. Which is an interesting outcome for me. As someone of mixed heritage (Chinese, Indian, European, Malay), and someone who looks very East Asian, I identify mostly with being South Asian, or being Indian. All things Indian are in me. And the best way I share my heritage (or part of my heritage) is through food.

Today, good friends always ask me to prepare my curry chicken, my chili prawn pasta, my vindaloo, my pork and potato dry curry, my mutton Assado, and my spicy rice and bean. These things I will prepare with love and attention to detail because it is what I have learned from the early days of Sharon and over the decades of fine-tuning my taste and spice combinations.

I channel Auntie Carmen when I cook (and recall how she explained to me that the curry powder and spices must be sautéed over a very slow fire and for a period of time until you actually smell the combination of the spices and masala), and Auntie Verna in the final presentation of the dishes (before serving always add something – fried onions, chopped green parsley, melted butter, or if sweetness is necessary to contrast, then a little sugar).

And finally, I see my mother in the dishes I make and the joy she must have seen in the faces of others. Each woman helped me become the cook that I am today – from Sharon, I learned to shop for good ingredients, from Auntie Carmen, I have learned how to make a really good curry chicken and mutton Assado, from Auntie Verna I learned to make a mouth-watering vindaloo and devil curry (also known as curry Debal), and from my mother, I learned to make spicy macaroni with cheese and chicken and sausage pie.

The many women in my life have influenced and made me the person I am today. The many foods and cuisines that I yearn for have created a curious glut inside of me, and one that loves savouring dishes from the many cultures and cuisines our world offers. Better yet, the many cuisines that South Aisa offers.

To me, food is paradise, and a perfect roti is one that has been prepared by a skilled cook and fried perfectly to bring out the simple flavours and ingredients with a slightly burnt crust. Already I am transported to another world.