Kaya made easy

Bottled homemade kaya jam for the special friend. 

My Dad used to proudly tell us the time he’d overheard my sister, then a primary school kid, yelling across the fence to our neighbour that her father was “the best cooker in the world”. He used to say it with such a glow in his voice, and half-chuckled because although grammatically incorrect, he knew what she’d meant and he cherished the compliment for it was never uttered again as her tastes got fussier and/or more discerning.

Ingredients for kaya jam

This isn’t to say that my Dad’s cooking was tragic, he did cook a few memorable dishes like the homemade ‘char kway teow’ which he never made again because his healthy sensibilities changed his whole perception of what we should be eating. Our foods took on a strict minimalist approach – steamed or lightly poached and without seasoning.

I think we were reared to be Buddhist monks without the saffron attire, shaven heads nor prayerful disposition

Any thing is possible with eggs and sugar

The other day, my 5-year old said those exact words between mouthfuls of freshly made kaya on crackers. Like my Dad, I chuckled under my breath and explained to him the difference between "a cook” and “a cooker” and pointed to the slow cooker that was quietly perched on my counter-top.

Stir it up.

I then realized that those words used weren’t entirely wrong. He’d said it whilst enjoying homemade kaya and that kaya was made in the slow cooker. I didn’t make it per se. In the traditional sense of making kaya, I would have had to slave over the stove, stirred the egg custard under watchful eyes, and curbed any bodily calls for rest or potty breaks. That was my previous method of cooking kaya.

Forget that! These days, I make the lazy ass version of kaya – my slow cooker does it for me. It is true. My slow cooker is the ‘best cooker’!

Place lid on and come back in an hour to check.

I’ve only had my slow cooker for a year, driven by necessity when our kitchen was being remodeled and knowing that our small town had little good food to offer. I bought a moderately priced (about US$30/) slow cooker with only 3 functions – low, high and warm. Other versions had timers which might have been nice to have but I assumed that I would only use the slow cooker for the duration of our kitchen remodeling.

I was wrong.

Lumpy, and a little crusting but don't you worry your pretty head over this. A simple sieve will do magic. 

I’ve cooked many pots of warm glossy kaya; made many tender stews, curries and soups and more so now that I’ve returned to work. My slow cooker would wait bubbling and triumphant as I walk through the doors at 6.10pm smelling dinner in the air; I would immediately know that little tummies would be promptly fed and my night would already be less daunting.

I told you it will glisten sweetly! 

So, if you want kaya in the style of Singapore’s famous Chin Mee Chin in Katong but without having to put up with the grumpy geriatric stalwarts, who ladle kaya with Nazi zeal, do yourself a favour and make your own. It is so easy you’ll have to kick yourself for not trying.

Can't get any more Singaporean than kaya on a Khong Guan cracker.

And by request, here is the recipe for lazy ass kaya (a.k.a ‘slow cooker kaya’) in under 2 hours. Your life is about to be changed – forever.

Lazy ass Kaya recipe in 2 hours

- 400ml thick coconut cream

(I used ‘Goya’ brand of coconut cream)

- 150ml fresh coconut cream

(I used 150 ml of canned coconut cream since I don’t have access to fresh coconut cream)

- 10 eggs, lightly beaten

- 450g regular fine sugar
(adjust if you don’t want it too sweet.)

- 10 pandan leaves washed and tied into a knot
(and if you don't have access to fresh leaves, I use the frozen ones all the time. I might consider pandan paste which is just a bottle of chemicals if my Asian grocery ever runs out of pandan leaves)


Yields about 900g of kaya or about 2 ½ jam jars of kaya.

Method
1. Mix coconut cream, sugar and eggs in a bowl.


2. Turn slow cooker on High and pour mixture in. Stir until all sugar is dissolved.
* It is important that the sugar is dissolved or you’ll have a burnt or brown layer at the bottom of the slow cooker. Some crusting does take place around the edges but that is easily rectified after being processed. 


3. Occasionally stir and check mixture.
I checked it after the first hour and then one more time around the 1.5 hr mark.


4. When the custard thickens and becomes lumpy, turn heat off and take pandan leaves out.


5. Either with a sieve or hand processor, take out lumps.
I used my Bamix hand processor and whisked the lumps out until the jam glistened smooth.


6. Bottle jam or serve out on buttered toast. Be warned, it will not last.

Moments before the words "You are the best cooker" were uttered.

Bitten but not wounded

Autumn 2010: Sophia & Ritesh find fun in the mundane

I received a lovely letter the other day from a dear friend I’d known when I lived in Taiwan. I'd been thinking about her since and then it hit me that I’ve been forging fewer and fewer friendships over the last few years. There have been too many friends I've met and liked but then, fate would play a nasty trick and whisk them or me to faraway lands resulting in a premature ending to the friendship.

Summer 2010: Monique & Hannah play dress-up.

We would hug, promise emails, greeting cards, and the occasional call but in reality, our lives were far too busy to cope with friendships much less in far away places. We knew that from the second we broke our parting hug was when the friendship ties began withering.

Autumn 2008: Aidan with Tiger; best buddies in Japan.

2011 didn’t start off on a terrific note. A really good friend that I’d known from day 1 of my life in upstate NY was relocating to another state even if only a 5-hr drive away. Still, it meant the screeching halt to knowing she was only a phone call away, and a death to the many wonderful joint meals we’d shared with her and her family “R-S”. I’d always taken her for granted because she lived in the vicinity; she stayed while we uprooted twice to Taiwan and Japan, and every time we returned, it was as if we had never left. She was always there for me; the same open-hearted, out-spoken, vibrant personality that was refreshing particularly in “Pleasantville” upstate New York.

Summer 2009: Nevin & Sean, the odd sized pair in Kobe, Japan

I’m supposed to take heart if I heed a certain wise saying that “Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.” (Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1850)

Summer 2009: Saying goodbye to An Hong in Kobe Japan.

But after too many reluctant goodbyes to treasured friends, my heart is nearly as hardened as Miss Haversham’s and I’m convinced that Lord Tennyson hadn’t said as many goodbyes in his lifetime. Those poets probably took too many long meaningful walks in the English woods to ponder the frivolity of friendships.

Needless to say, I’ve become a little wary of new friendships. I should have a tattoo on my forehead that reads, “Don’t be my friend because I’d hate to lose you one day.”

Autumn 2010: Team Sean & Vasu

I’ve met a few interesting people since, particularly the one who stands out because her parenting methods are as unorthodox as they are amusing. I sniff a potential but I know the minute I claim her as a keeper, she’ll be relocated or we could be shipped to Timbuktu. Fate is just lurking in the shadows to pounce another doozy on me.

Summer 2010: Sophia & Winston having a play

Last night, we joined another family for a meal at our (only decent) grocery shop. Their 4 kids and ours watched “Shrek” on a projector screen leaving the adults to attempt the basic awkward steps of “getting-to-know-each-other” over cafeteria-styled meals. The kids hit off like a house on fire, mostly because 3 of them schooled with our 3 kids, and they seemed to have similar personalities. The couple was lovely even if a little reserved, but that was to be expected. A sneaking thought made me wonder if they would or could ever fill the void that the “R-S” family had left gaping.

Autumn 2008: Aisa & Monique trick-or-treating in Kobe, Japan

Then I caught myself; squashed that thought and simply enjoyed the moment we had with them.

I'm giving Lord Tennyson's words another chance.

Autumn 2010: Friends I'm missing.

A different cake

‘Gu Por’ was tiny; she peered behind the largest black round-framed glasses, and had a smile that glittered every time the gold in her teeth caught the light. She was my mother’s doting Aunt whom -- never mind that she spoke mostly Cantonese in a voice so hoarse and raspy you wondered if lozenges would ever bring relief to her parched throat -- Gu Por always had the tastiest Chinese New Year goodies at her home.

One year, seemingly out of the blue, she brought over a metal tray of Chinese radish cake – thick, gray and slathered with crispy fried shallots and shrimp, it looked unappetizing. The pallid gray didn’t trigger the onslaught drooling but the fragrance of the shallots eventually wrested my attention. With the cake, she’d also packed pungent homemade chilli paste to be eaten alongside.

The radish cake was possibly one of the best I’ve had – a fact.

Like all homemade dishes, Gu Por wasn’t stingy with the chopped mushrooms and chinese sausages nestled in the radish cake. I wasn’t eating a slab of starch with a side of chilli paste; this homemade goodness was packed full of delicious stuffing with every bite. Unfortunately, since we weren’t very close to her (even if my mother was very fond of her) I never got to savour her Chinese radish cake again

Gu Por now sits in a little urn behind marbled tiles but I decided to resurrect the taste of her Chinese radish cake in her memory after a harried week at work. So, I threw on the proverbial apron and attempted to channel the Cantonese cooks from my heritage. I had 2 fresh daikon radishes, chinese dried mushrooms, dried shrimps and preserved sausages ready. From the healthful eating perspective, I wasn’t too sure about using the dried shrimps or sausages but I was curious about replicating, to the best of my ability, Gu Por’s unforgettable radish cake. I figured that the mineral-rich shredded daikon would cancel out the unhealthy elements in the dish; I also believe in the tooth fairy and in world peace.

5 hours later, I was finally done steaming all 4 small trays of radish cake. The process would have been less laborious if I’d owned a decent steaming pot and could put in multiple large trays at one go. But the pains that go with good food make the appreciation more lasting -- that's idealistic me muttering.

Steamed radish cake

Truth be said, my kids weren’t impressed and matter-of-factly said that they preferred the fluffy white ones served out at Dim Sum houses. I might have been overly generous with my ingredients rendering the radish cake a tad stiffer than restaurant-grade versions but taste-wise, I thought it was pretty darn yummy. I pan-fried it, and layered it with chilli and hoisin sauce; I stir-fried it with loads of garlic and with scrambled eggs in thick black sauce like my favourite hawker food. It brought a taste of Singapore to frigid cold upstate New York. But next time, I’ll remember to go easy on the fillings. Somewhere, I’ll bet Gu Por is looking down at me and nodding in agreement.

I'll make time to perfect this.

Christmas blessings

(L to R clockwise): homemade plum pudding with brandy sauce; a decent posed picture of the troop; 4 stockings over our fireplace; Sean with new head flashlight; Monique's love for puzzles; Iron boy in the making; our homemade X'mas spread with baked ham, lamb and various veges; Sophia's tinkerbell wand; and a rare family shot.

Joyeux Noel!

I trust that everyone had a lovely Christmas; we did. We squished ourselves in church on Christmas eve and sang the same carols I'd grown up yoldeling; it made me a little homesick.

But our far flung families were with us, in heart and mind, during this season. Thank you to one and all who've spoilt our family with gifts galore; the children were beyond excited. The kids were yet again on Saint Nick's 'good' list -- I guess he doesn't keep a close enough tab on them.

I must have been good too. Santa answered my wish for peace, joy and good health for my family. What more could I want?

5 to 9

I’ve been quiet, not for the lack of words but honestly, there aren’t enough hours in a day to work in blogging. I get back from work and the last thing I want to face is yet another computer. My eyes are too old to keep up with staring at a screen -- no matter how flat or big it is, they are all the same. The crow’s feet around my eyes are begging for a rest, “enough squinting!” they say. Hope will never erase them. Maybe one day, I’ll have it all figured out how to best juggle work, family and play but during this period of adjustment, I’m going to be lazy and do a timeline version of my average day for those who are curious.


4.50 am: My alarm beeps; first melodious and then it degenerates into obnoxious buzzing.

Turn it off and wish the world would swallow my tiredness then spit me out fully clothed without my feet ever having to touch the stone cold bedroom floor.

4.55 am: Nothing. My wish never comes true. I’m still nestled under the thick doona, hearing the hubs gentle snores and feeling his occasional leg spasms from dreaming.

5.00 am: Resigned to dragging feet off to bathroom; I throw on the grey gym tee and yoga long pants too thin on a darn cold winter morning. I prepare for the gym on Mondays to Fridays, except on Tuesdays.

5.00-5.20 am: Check emails. Then, I get the kids’ lunches semi-ready/ put rice in the rice cooker on timer for dinner/ and -- depending on the leftovers we have or haven’t -- prepare dinner and leave it in the greatest invention ever -- the slow cooker. Seriously, without one, we might be eating crackers and cheese. Next, throw in the rest of the washing; then more kitchen tidying.

5.30 am : Hop into my freezing car, drive out of the garage in complete darkness and head downhill past startled deers, crossing skunks and squirrels.

5.40 am: Bounce into gym; spread the biggest smile for Ms Nancy at the front desk and have a small chit-chat; smile at fellow gym addicts pumping iron or climbing stationary hills. Place towel over stationary bike, and thank the two fit ladies already sweaty from working out -- the same ones who never fail to reserve my favourite bike and corner spot in the room.

to 6 am: Lazy workout on step-machine while watching 6 different channels on 6 flat-screen TVs at one time showing pretty much the same soundless rubbish.

6 to 6.45 am: Mad, sweaty cycling under the commanding voice of the instructor yelling, “Push yourself!” or “Come on fatso!” (kidding) while ignoring the groans in my legs and butts or the way my heart is loudly pounding. On Thursday, the same yells happen but we ditch the bikes for floor mats and put our stomach muscles to work.

6.50 am: Wave a cheerful goodbye to Ms Nancy. Hop back into the car and drive home in the semi-lit sky behind the train of cars heading -- like worker ants -- for work.

7 to 7.15 am: Shower.

7.20 to 7.45 am: The madness builds. Prepare breakfast for kids and myself; get lunches and snacks packed.

7.40am: Wake kids. Prepare for the usual crying from Sophia over wearing summer dresses in 26 degrees Fahrenheit or less (about minus 6 degrees Celsius). Sigh. I choose my battles and let her have the dress. These days, I haven’t the time nor energy to cajole nor reason with her.

8 to 8.30 am: “Stop talking Sean (or Monique)! Finish your breakfast now!” “Go brush your teeth!” “Did you comb your hair? It looks like a mop!” “Have you packed your bag?” “Did you pack your homework?” “Go brush your teeth!” “Why are you still here? Go brush your teeth!” “Did you hear what I just said? Go brush you teeth!”

8.40 am: Wash dishes; kiss kids goodbye; throw them out the door; drag Sophia upstairs to brush her teeth and mine; get dressed for work.

8.45 am: Yellow bus arrives; kids board bus. 3 gone; 1 to go.

8.50 am: Bundle Sophia into car; listen to her whimper about wanting to see “Mrs Carr and Mrs Foley” (sigh); drive to childcare. More hugs and kisses later; tear away from Sophia and head to work.

9.15 am to 5.30 pm: At work -- brains tested to the limits about the process of various scientific inventions. Brain fizzles; eyes protest; coffee is my new found friend.

5.45 pm: Rush to pick up Sophia; her brightest beam and wide open arms never grows old. I get my overdue Sophia-fix – it is addictive.

6 pm: The other 3 get picked up by the hubs (either from school or from ice-hockey), I arrive home and tread gingerly over bags, winter jackets, snow boots, mittens, files strewn at the entrance. Listen to competing voices eager to spill stories about their days. I have missed this.

6 to 7 pm: Get kids to complete homework. Cook; serve out dinner. Listen to kids endless nattering at the dinner table but my brain is in shutdown mode.

8.30 pm: Clean up dishes. The hubs get the kids ready for bed.

8.45 pm: “Mummy! Can you come upstairs to give us a hug and kiss?” the same holler every single night.

8.45 pm: Kiss the little-lies goodnight; kiss all four of Sophia’s favourite bedtime toys goodnight; listen to her cry “I want my Mummy” when I leave her room. Sigh. She’s only started doing this since my return to work. There has been a lot of crying from her.

9.00 pm: Quiet in the house. Time with the hubs, or of late, I’ve been crashing and heading to bed by 10 pm. Gone are my night owl days.

Set my alarm on repeat for the next day.

Changing Lanes

A new day beckons

Transitioning from a working life to motherhood was one of the biggest changes that turned my life on its head. On one hand, I was glad to be rid of seemingly mundane meetings where people talked way too much; the plastic smiles at enforced company socials; the deadlines that hung over my shoulder that went away only to be replaced by new deadlines; and the politics rife amongst career climbers. All that was replaced by endless nappy changes; the constant waking at various hours at night tending to a hungry baby; having a schedule that was largely determined by the needs of a tiny person who didn’t regard the sanctity of a restful night, and the constant feeling that there was more to life than sitting with other mothers and listening to their stories about how wonderful their little Bobby and Joni were. My former life started to look more enticing -- where the hours were defined and a life less hectic.

Since life is what we make of it, I shifted my priorities and as it turned out, I rationalized that mothering wasn’t that overwhelming after all. Once the sleep deprived nights vanished, the world seemed less daunting; and the appreciative gestures like the ear-to-ear smiles, bear hugs and misshapen drawings buoyed my world. Those were my domestic bonuses and I was entirely OK with that. But now that 3 of my kids are at school and Sophia attends pre-kindy twice a week, my head noodles are itching for a challenge.

Come Thursday, I will close ranks with many other Moms who have chosen to return to the politics of the corporate world while leaving their kids in the hands of other childcare providers. Instead of rejoicing, however, I feel apprehensive, anxious, and sad. Granted that I’m not unique as thousands of Mothers before me must have similarly felt their hearts mangle days before returning to work, and thousands after me will also feel the same guilt kissing their little-lies ‘goodbye’ before sprinting off to their jobs only returning to pick them up when the sleepy sun is over-shadowed by the darkening sky; but deep down, I have a nagging feeling that I might be short-changing my kids, particularly the younger two.

Many will assure me that my kids will adjust and that they will be just fine, if not better off as a result of not having Mom at their beck-and-call. There will be studies proving cases of how back-to-work Moms will positively impact their kids’ well-being. We are models to both our daughters and sons that women can also wear the pants in the family and help bring in the bacon; we aren’t just lounge-pants-food-stained-clothes-wearing women with panda eye-bags and silvery stretch-marks. We are women who can juggle a career, kids, home life and every odd ball thrown at us in various directions. We suck it up; we don’t cry about it; we believe that the world continues to hum regardless and even if our guilt gets the better of us, there is always the lavish birthday/ Christmas presents to make-up for it all, right? There is no place for a wimpy working Mother; the system doesn’t allow for it.

And that’s why it is so hard for me to feel wholeheartedly excited about my return to work even when this opportunity awaits to jumpstart my flattened career, mushy brains and ailing pocket. I’ve dreamt of this day but now that it has presented itself, my feet are stone cold numb. I’m a wimp. My worries are many but they are all derivatives of one thing -- that I’m denying my kids my time in vain pursuit of needing to do something for myself even if for just 3 months. And worse, will 9 years of letting my brains turn soggy rear its ugly head?

Fear is destructive and worrying isn’t helpful so I retreat to what I know best and that is evoking the help of a higher order at a time like this. I sure could use the prayers of many, and maybe several miracles for good measure.

For these I am Thankful

Our feast from (L-R): roasted dumpling squash with maple syrup; roasted tri-colour capsicums and sweet onions with garlic rosemary breadcrumbs; mashed new potatoes with scallions; herbed bread stuffing; green bean casserole with mushrooms; roasted herbed chicken; cranberry and orange relish; roasted thyme and olive oil carrots and gravy.

Thanksgiving was on Thursday and since the hubs and I are only one step away from being sworn citizens, I felt obliged to celebrate it because the kids have come to expect a turkey on the table. Never mind that the history of this day that Americans recognize as a cheesy Kumbaya-singing integration between native Indians and the pilgrim settlers is actually a myth rigorously enforced at elementary schools, but like Christmas day, we’ve turned it into a day of observance where family and friends gather to spend quality time over a festive spread; and those horrid historical details are best swept under the burgeoning carpet of delusions.


Washed scarlet cranberries

But being nearly American means ‘hi-five-ing’ my new found enthusiasm and leaving my cynicism at the door. And in true American spirit, I dug deep into my soul and tried to list a few things for which I’m grateful for -- the way my kids had to at school this week. My list is rough around the edges but I’m certain 10 years later, I’ll hone it to an art. For now, it reads something like this:


1. I’m thankful that my turned-vegan hubs means that I’m spared from cooking a turkey heavier than Sophia. Anything that looks like an animal crouched on my plate makes me nervous. Will it rise up on its hind legs and attack me? Will it serve me up with gravy and mashed potatoes?


Quartered navel oranges ready to be chopped

2. In any case, I think the turkey really is the uglier and drier-tasting cousin of the chickens and if it weren’t for Thanksgiving, no one would really bother going through that much effort cooking one. So, I’m thankful that my mind was still sound enough to choose the tastier bird for the feasting.

Three cheers for Chicken!


Cranberry and orange relish, tart and tasty -- Sean's favourite

3. I’m thankful for my hardworking oven, for which without it, our Thanksgiving food might have sparked great misery and ‘un-thankful’ feelings across the table.

4. I’m thankful that someone created a recipe that made green beans tons more exciting and even when I’d tweaked it to turn it vegan-friendly, it was still kick-ass delicious!

Sweet carrots ready for roasting with olive oil and thyme -- Monique's favourite

5. I’m thankful for Google for without it, I wouldn’t have zoned in so quickly on recipes that looked and sounded good. Bet the native Indians are kicking themselves for not discovering Google first, instead, they discovered White settlers with big guns who robbed them of their land.

Roasted sweet dumpling squash with drizzled olive oil and maple syrup -- 2 thumbs up from the hubs

6. I'm grateful for living in this land of the plenty and never having to see starving people walking the streets. Never mind if the truly unfortunate are really the hugely obese surviving on food stamps and on cheap, sugary and processed food. The government is going to do something for these people, right?? Sarah Palin for Walmart central America 2012!

Roasted tri-colour capsicums and sweet onions with garlic and rosemary crust

7. I'm also thankful that no one actually reads this blog or my politically incorrect words will come to bite me on my fat arse one day.


Berries and apple in lemon juice for double-crust pie

8. And I'm thankful for those who still read my blog and enjoy it without trying to find the hidden meaning in my words or probe me to explain what I meant in #5- #6 and/or if I have a problem with white people and/or people with big arses. For the record, Sarah Palin does not have a big arse; she is Barbie, darn it! Respect her intelligence!



Apple & berry pie with custard base. The best flaky crust ever -- thanks to Alan Carter! Google him, he will not disappoint.

9. I'm counting my blessings that all this leftover means no-cooking for a few meals. Bet every Mom is rejoicing at this one!

10. Bless the farmers whose sweat and hardwork grew these produce possible for our enjoyment. We are, forever, grateful.

Lastly, I'm thankful to have my family and the other only known Singaporean in the area recently relocated from New Jersey --Uncle Sim -- as the kids call him, to share this feast with. 

Burp.