Sitting around the dining table at my eldest uncle’s house
on New Year’s day, I started thinking about how much I love the food that is
served only for that day. There is the fried meatballs, deep fried pork in
batter, shortbread filled with caramelised pineapple and of course the chilli
to eat alongside the savouries. My favourite thing to do is split the fried
meatballs in half, fill the middle with chilli and put them back together again
to make a chilli meatball sandwich.
My cousin and mum started talking about the time my cousin
and her family lived in Indonesia and how the landlord used to sell stir fried vermicelli
with vegies served on 2 square pieces of banana leaves held together by a
toothpick. On top of the vermicelli would be chilli with peanuts and they all
went perfectly together. The aroma from the banana leaves combined with
vermicelli and peanut chilli still comes to mind today. It was a dish they also
sold at my primary school for 100 rupiah and it was delicious.
I find it interesting how some food can really touch parts
of our memory and most of the time, it is not about the flavours but about the
event in which you were either introduced to the food or an instance when you
had that particular food which will always come back to you. The simple chicken
congee reminds me of the time I was in primary school and it was recess. I
would go to the locked front gate and the congee vendor would be out there
amongst other vendors. His trolley full of freshly cooked congee with sliced
chicken, peanuts, finely sliced Chinese donuts, prawn crackers, soy sauce, fish
sauce and sambal. There was a hole on the gate where they would be place the
chain to lock it. The hole was big enough for me to slide my small, 7 year old
hand, to pass through 100 rupiah to the vendor. He would then pass me a bowl of
congee with the works over the fence. I would eat it, savouring every flavour,
feeling all the texture in my mouth. The crunch of the crackers and peanuts,
the chewiness of the Chinese donuts and chicken, the saltiness of the sauces,
the smooth, warm, soft rice combined with the heat of the sambal is what I
still taste today when I eat homemade congee. Although I would be eating it in
my dining room, I can still close my eyes and see myself sitting on the other
side of the main school gate, with my red and white school uniform, holding on to the bowl as the sun laughed at the irony of me eating such a hot dish in the
midst of all the heat. After my quick and inexpensive meal, I would call out to
the vendor and pass the bowl and spoon over the fence. I don’t remember his
face or what he looked like. But he is and will always be a part of my memory
whenever I eat congee.
The rambutan is no longer a strange fruit to Australia.
Although it is imported and not as cheap as the lychees or longans, it is known
to more people than before. I remember walking home from primary school, past
the market and one of the fruit vendors who knew my family called out to me. He
gave me a bunch of rambutans and told me to take it home and share it with my
brother. I told him that I did not have any money but he insisted I take the
bunch for free. I remember feeling so bad. Here he was selling fruit to support
his family. That bunch would have been worth something and he was giving it to
me for nothing. After his persistence, I received the bunch with appreciation
and took it home to share with my little brother. I will never forget that man’s
kindness. I don’t think I have ever bought fresh rambutan here. But every time
I see it, I am taken back to the busy marketplace. I am reminded of the
kindness shown to me. I am reminded that there are people who don’t have much
yet are still willing to give what they can to those in need.
Tofu and tempeh are so common now, you can find them in
supermarkets and although it is food enjoyed mostly by vegetarians or vegans,
to me they were the best snacks ever. I remember going on the bus with my
grandmother to visit relatives or to run an errand, there would be vendors in
the isles selling everything from cigarettes to homemade snacks alongside
buskers singing the latest tunes for pocket change. Grandmother would wait for
us to sit down then she would beckon one of the vendors to purchase a snack for
me. It was a small plastic bag containing bars of deep fried tofu. They came
with 3 pieces of fresh chillies. The bags would be tightly shut by folding it
and running it through a burning candle. I would open and take a bite of tofu
and a bite of chilli. My mouth would be burning but my heart was satisfied. Whenever
I had 50 rupiah left over from my daily allowance, I would walk past the tempeh
vendor and but a piece of tempeh. They sliced it very thin in a rectangular
shape and coated it with batter and deep fried it. It was crispy on the outside
and slightly meaty in the centre. With just enough salt, garlic and coriander in
the batter, it was a tasty protein snack that was cheap and easy to find. There
were times when I would be so hungry but I would always wrap it up in the brown
paper bag it came in and held onto it until I got home. I would serve it on a
plate with some steamed rice and sambal. I would sprinkle salt over the rice
and make the same for my little brother with the sambal. I would split the
tempeh in half so we had a piece each and it was such a simple but tasty meal.
That piece of tempeh would last me through two plates of rice. I would break a
small piece off, mix it with a little bit of rice and dip it into the sambal.
The flavours of the tempeh, combined with the warm salty rice and heat of the
sambal was unbeatable. I still have the same dish today. All the different
parts became whole in my memory.
More food memories to come…feel free to share some of your memories...
