Food

Sitting down to pig out after a nice bike ride, I found myself thinking about my childhood, my parents, and the eating habits of my family. More importantly, I became cognizant of the balancing act my parents performed behind every meal; an act that was invisible to their children: how to balance the household budget, fulfill their personal wants and desires, and still feed the growing brats kids.

As a single adult with no dependents, it is easy for me to severely cut back on food expenditure to make up for an unnecessary or emergency expense. A month of Ramen instant noodles, supplemented with the occasional egg and vegetables, isn't really POW rations; you won't die, and so long as you swallow your multi-vitamin pill daily, you won't get scurvy.

However, this is unrealistic, short-sighted, and unfair to subject other individuals--in particular, your children--to such measures. Growing children require nourishment, or else they might get stunted in their growth. No sane parent would want to live with the consequence or the guilt.

You know the feeling when the quality or quantity of your meals is based not on desire or personal whim, but your budget? When you finish the last mouthful of your meal, and you think, "Gee, I wish there was more," or "Gee, that was awful. It has been the same thing for the last 2 weeks"? Well, having never experienced that while living under my parents' roof made me appreciate all the hard work and ingenuity that went on in the kitchen, and the late-night budgeting meetings my parents had while the kids were all asleep.

In my parents' house, when we left the dinner table, it was only for one of the two following reasons:

1) We couldn't eat any more, so stuffed are we,

OR

2) Mom or Dad's experimental recipe turned out to be other than planned (in which case, we hit the zi cha at the local hawker center or call for pizza delivery).

#2 rarely happens as Mom and Dad are excellent cooks. Mom is an expert in Chinese and Malay dishes, and Dad rocks with steaks, ribs, roasts--anything with lots of meat and potatoes in it.

Our appetites were also enormous. 1.5 kg (3.3 lb) of steak will last only one dinner among 3 growing kids and Dad (Mom doesn't eat beef). 1 kg (2.2 lb) of Kang Kong (a crunchy vegetable that's delectable when fried with Sambal Belacan, a pungent, peppery shrimp paste) is insufficient as a side dish of vegetables for all 5 of us. Rice is bought 15 kg (33 lb) at a time and stored in a large, covered bucket. At the hospital, someone must have switch their real kids with the 3 little piggies or something...

The food budget must have been huge, but it wasn't. I don't know how Mom and Dad managed it. I do know that, to stretch the dollar, they often endured the traffic jams of the Causeway (bridge) over to Malaysia for groceries.

The large dinners were not to make up for a small allowance either. Our pocket money for lunch wasn't mean by any measure. In fact, it allowed us the luxury of having dessert in the tuck shop (canteen). Ever heard of a 9-year-old kid having 3 Lor Mai Kai (steamed glutinous rice with chicken) for lunch?

Now, I am not bragging that we have swan meat, bear's paw and abalone, washed down with bird's nest every night, but we never suffered from want of food or the lack of gastronomical variety in the house. It is a far cry from the food decisions I encounter on my own today:


Hmm, Shrimp Scampi. Two for $9.89

Ramen instant noodles. 24 for $2.40.

*Really wants Shrimp Scampi*
*Looks at the price*
*Takes Ramen instead*
*Grabs the Shrimp flavored Ramen and pretends it is Shrimp Scampi*


Growing up as a child in the household, I never had to do any of this . That's my point. And therein lies my admiration of my parents.

I think it is an incredible undertaking of responsibility for one to bring another sentient being into this world. A being that is essentially half you. A being that is your creation. And then to nurse him or her, feed him or her, and watch your child (hopefully) become something greater than you are--than you will ever be; growing, while you dwindle away with age.

To put aside all of one's personal wants and desires, or, at the very least, temper them; to put them on the back burner so as to nurture and nourish one's offspring, are the unsung achievements and unrecognized sacrifices of every responsible parent. Often, we forget that our parents have dreams and desires, fears and frustrations too. They were just like us: young people with passion, ambition, drive, etc. They are not just there to provide and provide. But that's what they did. That's what they chose to do.

To my parents, who managed this thrice-daily balancing act for decades--never complaining, ever generous--you have my greatest admiration, earnest gratitude and deepest respect.

I salute you!


-A son who never went hungry under your roof.