Recipe For Love

Growing up, my household was always filled with food.

Meal times were grand and extremely rowdy because the matrons of my extended family would come together and make a big deal of dinner.

Our families dominated three out of seven houses in a row: My granny, my aunts and uncles, and my family.

And so by late afternoon, the women would gather at my granny's kitchen, chopping, slicing, pounding. 

Dinners were always filled with heaps of food. And always an event that brought all of us together. 

Naturally, I grew up knowing the importance of food and how it bonds people.

Yet, I didn't learn to cook until absolutely necessary.

In university, I was sent overseas but my first year was all sheltered and pampered: I lived in a hostel known for, among other things, its good food.

I subsequently moved out of the hostel after my first year. 

Mealtimes were tough. 

On days when I didn't eat out, I would compile food -- potato chips pasta. Eating beans out of a can. Whatever I have in the fridge, I made do.

Fast forward to today, I'm like that too. Whatever I have in the fridge, I make do too, but in an extremely culinary fashion.

Over the years, I'd learned to cook -- and cook well.

I moved out at 30 and having my own place meant I needed to learn how to take care of myself.

So it started with simple tips like how to cook vegetables.

My hopeless mum -- who spent all her life climbing the corporate ladder -- had no future in the kitchen. So she imparted zero cooking skills.

I first learned how to stir-fry vegetables from my partner J's mum.

"All you need is oil and nothing else," she said. "You don't even need salt or sauce," she said, stirring the wokful of Chye Sim.

That was my first recipe, I kid you not.

I then began learning to stir-fry meat. From tips and tricks of marination and portioning to the art of using corn flour to thicken meat sauces.

The simple meals I cooked for myself made me feel so accomplished that I felt I could do more.

That's when I actively started collecting family recipes.

My aunt's food is the best.

Her signature dishes include braised mushroom and chicken feet (a recipe that requires you three days' work), sweet and sour pork, and a Cantonese staple known as Tau Gork Lap (which is simply a mix of diced ingredients like long beans, lap cheong, char siew, peanuts, deep fried beancurd and radish). 

From my god-ma, I learnt how to make ayam masak merah (red paste chicken) and bergadil (potato cutlet).

Of course, J's mum also imparted many of her recipes to me -- Indonesian sayur lodeh, rendang and Nonya chap Chye among those.

Today, I have an impressive collection of family recipes which I would dish out on special occasions. 

I was telling J that one day, when all our loved ones are no longer around, I hope to whip up these familiar meals so that we can keep those memories going strong.

This is my recipe for love.

What's yours, dear reader?

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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people 

New Year New Love?

“Can we get some more bread please,” Stanley asked for the fourth time. 

 

“Hungry much?” I said passing him my brioche before Stanley the hangry started eating the lazy waiter.

“Gosh, this place. They have the nerve to charge us sky high prices for French food and they can’t even give me decent service,” mumbled Stanley, who appeared to have woken up in 2025 and chosen violence. 

Carl the dense one, who avoids conflicts and confrontation at all costs, sipped his Chardonnay nervously. 

 

It was the first Friday night of 2025 and Stanley insists the boys started the year right, by spending as much time as time as we can before we die. 

 

Stanley had heard from one of his Out-in-Sg friends about Josephine, a cosy French restaurant along Amoy Street. 

 

The set up was nice. The ambience was as lively as can be. 

At one corner were around 12 rowdy guests all squeezed around a high, long table toasting one another with a variety of alcohol: Whiskey, wine, beer. There were a handful of young couples scattered around.

They all looked like they’re in their early 30s, youthful, dressed trendily and ordered like they were on a tight budget.

Our table was the opposite. We had ordered a feast — from escargot and grilled cheese and salads, to meats and seafood. Just that 20 minutes in, none of them arrived yet.

Not even our bread, which Stanley, by now, had resorted to the divine for help: “Oh give us this day our deli bread,” he clasped his hand and said to the ceiling.

Carl was getting bored by the minute and began flexing his python arms for a healthy dose of self-entertainment.

Eager to start the first night out of 2025 with the boys right, I asked: “What’s everyone’s new year resolution?”

New year resolutions are a sensitive yet vital topic.

Vital because, everyone loves a new beginning and setting goals to make themselves feel accomplished.

Sensitive because, in our group, those resolutions are more often than not, unmet.
 

Every year, Stanley sets out his new year with zest: Learn how to bake (he didn’t), learn to be more financially savvy (he didn’t), learn to dive (he didn’t).

Carl on the other hand, was a lot more successful: Get beefier (yes he did — any more iron he pumps and even scarves and shawls won’t fit him), aim to be more youthful (yes he did — the amount of money he’s spent on Botox jabs in Bangkok could easily buy him enough youth to last him for a year… the ones from Silom Soi 2), eat healthier (yes he did — he’s the most disciplined of us all, knowing what to put and what not to put in his mouth, unlike Stanley the sex bunny).

Me? I don’t believe in new year resolutions because I’m competitive in nature.

I don’t start what I know I can’t finish.

I mean, why set myself up for failure and force myself to master sign language in 4 months, or lose 3kg in two months, or read more books when I am already starved for time?

“This year, I aim to continue — if not, intensify — my youthful treatments,” Carl said with a beam and not a single frown line appeared.

I was in awe. Whatever you’re doing to your face, it’s working.

Carl beamed again and flexed both his python-size biceps in appreciation. 

I think I need to lose 3kg in two months, I said with a pout. “Been eating way too much. I need to go on one of those juice diets,” I said. 

“Unlike you, mister Botox,” Stanley said to Carl, “and you, mister detox… I aim to intox,” he said, then turning to a nearby waiter who was gazing at a plant while his colleagues were busy whisking plates of food around, “I need another cocktail — and more bread please.”

I know Stanley long enough to know something’s not quite right.

More than two decades of friendship allowed me to use my non-verbal communication skills to probe further. 

Stanley, himself an expert on using non-verbal skills to probe — and sometimes very oral skills to probe — caught my questioning look, sighed and said “ok, Adam, you caught me. I’ll tell you exactly what the issue is.” 

Carl the dense one, who was using his finger to trace his intricately hand-blown cocktail glass, looked up and immediately frowned, his puzzlement throwing up all sorts of unsaid questions (and yet, not throwing up any frown lines). 

Apparently, Stanley’s love life has again come to an end. 

Though one might argue that Stanley didn’t have a love life to begin with. 

You see, Stanley had recently been seeing a man. An attached man. 

It was all good while it lasted. I liked him. At least, from my previous engagements with him. 

But all good things come to an end. 

After our New Year’s Eve lunch party — which Stanley had hosted — Stanley and his beau had a long talk…. One that literally started in 2024 and ended in 2025. 

Long story short, P and Stanley ended their relationship at 4:13am, Jan 1, 2025. 

“You know what infuriates me the most?” Stanley said fighting back tears. 

Carl the dense one, who always has no answers, shakes his head. 

Just then, not only our bread but also our starters appeared. 

“Sorry for the wait guys,” the restaurant supervisor said rapidly, setting the items on our table then rushing off to appease other hungry diners. 

“P and I were just having an intimate, post-coital talk about our lives,” Stanley continued, staring angrily at his newly filled wine glass of Chardonnay. 

“Things were going fine — he made promises to me, we renewed our commitment of facing what’s to come together and all was rosy.” 

Carl nodded and patted his python sized biceps. 

“And all I asked was whether he would stop seeing other men. And then he went bersek, accusing me of being unreasonable and forcing him to be a mould of the kind of men I want him to be.”

Carl’s eyes widened with fury and his python sized biceps swelled with equal measure of betrayal. 

“Thing is,” Stanley said as the first drop of tears dripped, “I’m not angry that he wants to have me and still see other men. 

“It’s the fact that one minute, he’s making sweet promises to me and assuring me he loves me and the next minute, when things aren’t going his way, his first instinct is to break up with me. So readily!”

Carl, who avoids drama at all costs, nervously pushed to Stanley his brioche, hoping that the very gesture would comfort our hurting friend. 

“No!” Stanley said, determination returning to his eyes. 

Carl the dense one stopped pushing his brioche and slowly drew back the bread towards himself. 

“I’m not going to waste tears on him.”

Carl, relieved, began pushing the brioche back towards Stanley. 

“And no,” Stanley said, looking firmly at Carl, who froze, not knowing which direction his brioche ought to go. 

“I’m not going to start my 2025 like this.”

Carl nodded with gusto. 

“So, you’ll take the bread?”

 

 

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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

It's the start of yet another year.

And I just wanted to quickly post this entry to wish my blog readers a very healthy, happy, and prosperous new year.

In the coming year, I do hope to continue writing and posting every week, to keep you entertained.

Lots of love,

Adam