Growing up, I had many terms of endearment given to me. My second aunt, yee sam, would call me panjang, which is the Malay word for long because I was the tallest in my family.
I had very little hair as a young child so I was also called durian head.
And as someone who loves to eat pork, my family in Malaysia would call me bak bin, which means pork face in Hokkien.
Terms of endearment aside, this is who I am — a product of Peranakan parents.
Mum is from Melaka and Dad is from Penang. Ask any Malaysian and they will tell you that Melaka and Penang are arguably the foodie states of Malaysia.
With lineage like this, one might say that my love of Malaysian food is pre-ordained.
Malay melting pot
Malaysia's unique geographical position meant it attracted labourers from China and India.
While the colonisation by the Portuguese, Dutch and then British settlers meant that various cooking techniques and ingredients were introduced alongside the local Chinese, Malay and Indian cuisines.
On top of that, influences from Thailand and Indonesia created a unique melting pot of cuisines.
Take laksa as an example. North of the peninsula, laksa has a pronounced sour note, signifying the influence of their Thai neighbours. Further south, sweeter spices like cinnamon and star anise are added, as well as coconut milk — a nod to the Indonesian influence.
Smells and sounds of the kitchen
Most of my food memories stemmed from moments in the kitchen with Mum. I was, and still am, fascinated by how she would cook without a referring to a recipe. Her style is instinctive.
She loves making rempah — spice blends that form the basis of her many curries, sauces and stews..
As a child, while reciting the multiplication table (I was also a nerd, so insert another term of endearment here!), I would often hear the clanging of pestle on mortar.
She and my late great aunty, who I called ee poh, would chat about local village gossip as the aroma of rempah filled the house.
When I was in high school, I would often have friends over for a get-together and, like most ethnic mothers, she would over cater.
Popiah, one of the dishes she would make, is the Malaysian version of interactive food. There was nothing better than hovering over a random selection of ingredients with friends and deciding how to overfill your fresh spring roll.
My favourite "Mum dish"
Studying in Melbourne, I remember calling my mum on a weekly basis to ask for recipes for her soups, stews and pastes.
Her Nyonya chicken curry is my go-to when I want to cook something truly authentic from my mum's kitchen.
Perfecting it took years, especially when I had to extract the recipe from her memory. It was a source of comedic frustration, as she would never have any specific amounts of anything in her recipe.
Me: How much salt do I add to this, Mum?
Mum: Depends on how salty you want it to be.
Me: OK, what about the chicken? How many pieces?
Mum: Well, depends on how hungry your guests are.
When I visit Malaysia, without fail, mum will always ask me what I want her to cook.
Selecting my favourite "mum dish" is not dissimilar to a parent having to choose their favourite child.
But, if I have to, it would be her babi pongteh, which is (no surprise) a Nyonya pork stew with potatoes and mushrooms served with sambal belacan.
The mere thought of the heady mix of shallots, garlic and fermented soybeans, the melt-in-your-mouth pork belly pieces, the earthiness of the shiitake mushrooms and potatoes, to go with the spicy sambal belacan, is enough to make my mouth water every time.
Belonging and nostalgia
These familiar and familial dishes evoke a sense of belonging and nostalgia. Not that I need an excuse to cook or to eat but, for me, food is the perfect way to connect with and celebrate different cultures.
And while Australia is now my home, my Malaysian heritage has shown me how food can traverse cultural and linguistic barriers.
My food, like so many dishes cooked by migrants, comes with a story.
It helps us connect and can raise awareness of our unique heritage.
Today, the food I enjoy to cook and eat has expanded well beyond Malaysian flavours, but I still derive much joy when I connect with my roots.
And yes, Mum still affectionately calls me bak bin.
Alvin Quah remains on a mission to make Malaysian food as beloved as Chinese or Thai. Alvin competed in MasterChef Australia twice and, on both occasions, finished sixth. While missing out on first place, Alvin believes it's important as a migrant to be able to share your heritage and stories.
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