Sunday, December 13, 2009

.: Wanton story :.


A post dedicated to my dad.

Mum made me help her in the kitchen. I guess I was about 7. At that age I was too young to know how deadly a chopper can be. I practically sliced off my nail and made a run to sis asking for some tissue papers to wrap my injured finger. Sis suffered a panic attack when she saw the nail dangling with bits of skin attached to it. Mum, upon hearing the commotion developed her own rendition. Needless to say, the neighbors must had thought someone just died.

Apparently the experience wasn't traumatizing enough as I still hung around the kitchen. Mum  vigilantly kept the chopper and knives away from me, therefore my chances of ever becoming a chopper wielding samurai eventually went down the garbage chute. She did recruit me in other areas like peeling the skin off the prawns. It was certainly a task I despised the most.

Anyway, many years down the road aunt brought me to her kitchen. I actually set the pot on fire. It wasn't intentional, nor was I mimicking a demented, retarded profile. It just happened. The blazing fire almost reached the ceilings. Thankfully I had some logical sense to put out the fire using kitchen towels. Everyone was just glad a) I was safe and b) I didn't burn down the house.

Then there were the countless times when I tried my hand in cooking. No doubt I scored 80% and above in presentation, but when it came to the taste test some of the things weren't even fit to be dog food. Yet, dad never complain. Not even once. What dad did was, he bravely scooped up the garbage, flung it into his mouth, and chewed every single morsel. I knew some of the things tasted horrible, rancid, and totally out of this world in a negative sense, but dad always ended things with;

"It's good because you have tried your best at making it. However, I know you can become better, and this is truly not your best yet."

For many years have I cursed myself for making my dad eat my garbage. Each time I cursed myself, dad repeated his encouraging words. It just made me all the more adamant to determine I do not feed my dad any more garbage.


Subsequently things began to change. The food became edible. The most incredible part was mum and aunts began to request recipes and food from me. For this to happen, I owe the ladies in my family for teaching me the cooking sense.

And dad, I owe you for never giving up on me.
Dad :: My mum used to make this. How did you manage?
Me :: I got the recipe from someone, but I did some adjustments. I didn't know grandma used to make it.
Dad :: But it tastes exactly the same. :)
Me :: Years of making you eat garbage, I should have developed a sense of knowing a thing or two on what suits your tastebuds along with knowing what you really have a penchant for. I am your daughter. :)

Thanks dad. ^^
12.45am Malaysian Time

5 comments:

Elizabeth Mahlou said...

This reminded me so much of my childhood -- and adult -- cooking experiences. My dad was not as kind as yours, however. At one point, he declared that "this cake is not fit for the pigs." The sad thing? When we threw it into the pigpen, the pigs would not touch. Ultimately, it just biodegraded.

M.J. said...

masAllah how cuuute! what a great relationship you two have :)

Hajar said...

Elizabeth Mahlou :: That is so sad! I'm so sorry for you. I'm sure you're a much better cook now. :)

M.J. :: Mash'Allah. Indeed, we share quite a bond. :)

Jeanne-ming said...

Hajar,
What a beautiful tale about your Dad. What a wise beautiful man.

Hajar said...

Jeanne Ming ... he is ... he truly is ... :)