z
A
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If I were to write
I'd account about my Life
and Friends
Z In Skinny
I am half of this blog and out of the country.
Having life out of my course with friends and the other Z ,
and accounting bits and pieces that I would seldomly oversee in this blog .
Eyes for sense of style, colours and proportion to the slightest inch.
Personally fond of detailing.
Zafiruddin Abd Rahman
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A good pair of JEANS will take you far
...with a good pair of SHOES
Sunday 14 February 2010
I was once...A bad cook
I was once...A bad cook.
If people who are close to my family and especially to my mother, they would totally by now picking up their jaw from the floor. Come on people, seriously close you mouth. It's not nice. Simply because all of us know how such an amazing cook she is, everything in her hands will turn into a sumptuous dish. It's just like magic. And I'm not bias here just because I'm her son. She doesn't just nourish us with all the food, but slowly teach us to develop a complex ability to distinguish good tastes in a simple plate. I heard this story quite a long time ago and I couldn't believe it myself either. But during the last phone call I just wanted to refresh the story in my head.
She grew up in a typical Malay family, totally unsure about herself whom one day will become an expert in cooking. From her, she said it was typical that the daughters usually help the mother in the kitchen. The day always started early for them as she said back then it wasn't anything like today with all the spices are ready for you to just mix them, they had to make everything from scratch. Like they had to crush the chilis until their hands would turn red and hot, and had to prepare the chicken right after it was slaughtered.
Back then she was far from an expert. One fine evening, my grandmother asked my mother to add a pinch of salt into a pot of mung bean porridge (bubur kacang hijau) to enhance the flavour of the coconut milk. And my mother, being naive and inexperience just added the salt and had a taste. There was still not enough she thought. She then added more and more and thought she's done a great job. By dessert time, my grandfather just simply commented "ni bubur ka? Ingat gulai tadi' (this is porridge? I thought it's curry). By all means, that porridge was meant for dessert and it should be sweet, but my mother just made it too salty just like curry. Right after the comment boy she cried so bad, thinking she was terrible in cooking when my grandfather just meant for a joke. (Although it was salty).
My mother went into a boarding school in 1972 for 6 years until 1977 and therefore she missed quite a considerable amount of time of learning in the kitchen with her mother. But she always helped whenever there were school holidays. But she said she picked up basic skills, and remembered a few recipes by simply watching my grandmother cooked.
With just well-above basic skills in the kitchen she then married my father in 22 April 1980. And this time, she never looked back into her just then satisfactory cooking skills. It wasn't cheap as a newly married couple to live in a big city, and eating in was the cheapest way in adjustment to their modest salaries at that time. But that moment of her life was proven to be the highest peak of her evolving into a brilliant artist in her own little kitchen. She taught herself recipes after recipes, she asked my grandmother about the basic traditional recipes, she read food labels for their ingredients and she's done all sorts of things to tirelessly put them together and produce a fine dining experience in our own world.
However, she couldn't escape from having to experience lowest point in her cooking. Like there was this one day, she felt like making 'karipap' (curry puff). She's done with the fillings which she herself thought it was delicious, she then wanted to make the dough. Although she vaguely remembered how to make it, she just went for it. She recalled that my grandmother used to pour in warm oil into the flour and mix them. She channelled all her energy into making the dough (it's hard work I tell you) without realising she actually needed to mix in butter and water together to make the dough soft. When the dough (with just oil and flour) was done, she made the karipap. When my father was back from work, she fried and served them proudly. Unfortunately, they couldn't even make the first bite, as they're all so hard. My father as the most non-judgemental husband on earth just commented 'keras ni tak boleh makan, takpalah' (it's hard, we couldn't eat them, it's ok) attempted to praise my mother for her effort. Again, my mother broke into tears, simply annoyed after so much work she had done although my father just didn't mind. She's just annoyed. Then all of the karipap went straight to the bin. But that didn't stop her there. She asked my grandmother again, she learned, made them over and over again and up till this point, all I can just say; she makes the best karipap in the world.
This story may be just a fraction of her wonderful life, but I learnt a lot. She gave us the sense of perseverance, to not just give up. She went through ups and downs, her bins used to be filled with food that didn't turn out well, but she never ever give up. And if we make a little effort just to ask people who know better, just to add on to what we have, the end-product would be nothing but great. She always says just learn, maybe natural talent plays a tiny bit, but when you learn and work hard, you'll soon be there. From her story, there's nothing else I could say but to just agree. She also just loves to cook. I think when you love something you will just go on doing them. Do what you love, love what you do!
From her hard-work it's obvious that she had gained success in our own standard. From someone who used to make salty dessert, she could now simply and humbly cater hundreds of people without even a slightest complaint from the people she served. And I am still learning from the best, hoping to slowly master her recipes and imitate her creation of fantastic gastronomic experience that is beyond imagination.
To me, although this is probably just a household success story but it means a whole world to us a a family. As with her, we don't just eat, she taught us all about quality and about tastes. She will not cook certain food if there are missing ingredients. In that sense I learnt that although perfection is not always possible but I should attempt to at least to be close to. And to her, there's no such thing as food to just eat, it's more than that.
Therefore she could tell us all now to no ashamed,
"I was once...A bad cook, but look what's on your table now."
Love you mama.
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Zaril Razak
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Who knew Aunty was a bad cook once!
I would have thought that she's a natural since only a very good cook would make a terrific kuih seri muka in the morning just for fun!
Guess it just shows , you've got to do what you love and love what you do! WERQ!