My father was born in Penang, Malaysia, and his family later moved to Kuala Lumpur. Until I moved overseas, I used to visit Malaysia once a year with my family and food was always a major feature of these trips.
My Grandmother, my Popo, is an amazing cook. Her version of Asam Laksa (the sour, fish-based noodle soup) is famous amongst our friends, while her fried chicken and congee (thick with shredded chicken, fried onions and anchovies, roasted peanuts and white pepper) take ostensibly simple dishes and turn them into works of art.
When we’re not eating at Popo’s house, we’re out and about trying hawker stores for the best of Malaysian street food. It’s cheap, plentiful and incredibly tasty. We have our favourite eating places, and visit them each time, smiling when we see the same old familiar hawkers we saw the year before. Many of them specialise in only one dish and that is all they make, day after day and year after year. They’re the ultimate food specialists. You have to admire that dedication to quality and consistency.
Since we’ve had kids I’ve only been to Malaysia once, when my daughter had just started eating solids. We’re going again in a few weeks and I can’t wait to introduce my kids to Malaysia food. My daughter is now almost 5 years old, old enough to remember this trip, and my 18 month old son, robust enough for a week of eating all types of strange and wonderful food.
