Grandmother's homecooked food.

Today(Sunday) I woke up at 8.00am as usual; becoming my usual routine lately no matter how late I sleep the day before.

Well, evening I went for basketball. Though, "went for basketball" isn't really the correct phrase to use, since I merely observed. Wen Way was there too. At any rate, that wasn't the highlight of my day.

At about 6:45pm, my father came to pick me up. We went to my grandmother's place. She had prepared a truly luxurious meal for us.

Well, the first foodstuff that was served was the main meal, nasi lemak. It was hand-made-home-prepared nasi lemak. It was THE bona fide nasi lemak of nyonya origin. I can't begin to describe just how delicious it was. It was soft... yet chewy. It had a sweet smelling pandan fragrance. Even the steam that wafted from it screamed delicious. I sank my spoon into the rice, lifted it up and put it into my already watering mouth. I closed my eyes as I savoured the taste, texture and aroma. I chewed ever so slowly and my body tingled as I swallowed it. I had to exercise great willpower to prevent myself from taking another mouthful just yet, as more dishes were being served within moments.

Then, there were the customary anchovies. I mean, which nasi lemak is complete without them? They were crispy and crunchy, fried to a beautiful golden brown. Even as the plate was being laid down on the table, I could hear the crispy layer scraping each other and the sound of the sizzling oil, creating a most pleasing melody to all present at the table. I picked one up slowly, placed it between my incisors and bit down carefully. Half of it landed on my tongue, and immediately I could taste the slightly salty flavour of the fish as well as it's satisfying crunch as I chewed it more.

The next thing on the menu was the fried Water Convolvulus. In local language, the kangkung. It doesn't seem as impressive when called kangkung, does it? However, the taste is still the same, and so goes the saying "that which we call a rose would be just as sweet by any other name", or "that which we call a kangkung would be just as tasty by any other name", considering the situation. At any rate, they were simply delicious. They were crunchy, as they should be, and I don't know how or what my grandmother did to make them different from others, but they were very flavourful. Not to mention that they were not only extremely fresh, but they were right out of the frying pan to boot. These kangkung were the cream of the crop, the best I've eaten so far, that's for sure.

I caught a whiff of the next dish even before it came out of the kitchen. I shook with excitement from just the thought of it: my grandmother's famous specialty sambal. It could make me scream for water, yet I just can't help myself from pouring more on my rice or even eat it on it's own. It is that delicious. As an added bonus, there were king prawns added into it that time, not that I fancy those crustaceans very much. Of course, there were a lot of onions in the sambal, cooked to perfection: soft, yet still able to provide a bite. The sambal itself was the thing I loved most. It was unimaginably spicy, as always, slightly sweet and also a little salty. It had a beautiful red coloured surface owing to the oil on it. A perfect match for any meal. Having sambal as one of Malaysia's primary side dishes is one of the reasons why I love this country so much.

I heard the next dish being fried in the wok as I impatiently twiddled my thumbs while waiting. The scent of it only made me more hungry, as my patience slowly edged to its limit. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it was taken out of the kitchen. A plate full of fried chicken, cooked a la nyonya with all its spices. I felt like I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms from all the waiting. My hands were shivering and sweating, my eyes eyed the plate of chicken like how a predator would when waiting for its prey. I licked my lips as the dish was finally placed on the table. The chicken was still sizzling hot, so hot in fact that a small area above it became distorted. It was dark brown, with bits of garlic scattered on top of it. I took a piece of chicken and put it on my place. The moment my fork pierced the crispy skin, its juice oozed out. I couldn't wait any longer, and brought it to my mouth to be relished in all its glory.

I arranged the various food on my plate. It was a work of fine art; the rice in the middle, a large helping of the sambal to its left, some kangkung on top of it, just beside that were the anchovies and on the right was a piece of fried chicken. I was on cloud nine just thinking about how lucky I was to be able to eat food like these on a regular basis. I ate whatever was on my plate and then took seconds and more top-ups after that until every single dish was licked clean off their plates. I was not surprised that I could eat so much, since no matter how full I felt, once I poured another spoonful of sambal on my plate, everything seemed to go down just fine. Let's not count how many glasses of water I drank that night, too.


Behind the scenes:

Well, I guess I exaggerated a little bit, but I suddenly felt like doing that. It was a very nice dinner, though, and that's the truth.