Still Feeling Peckish

Lettuce Egg Cups were the last thing I cooked for dad before he passed on. Of course he couldn’t eat the butterhead lettuce leaves but the eggs were soft and easy to swallow.

I think it was one day in the week before he passed that I was stricken in an aisle in NTUC FairPrice that I would not ever be able to cook for him or feed him again. Our lives have revolved around finding him tasty foods that he could manage to eat over the past few years. But the swallowing dysfunction meant that his original favorite onde-onde kueh had to be given up because the coating of shredded coconut would catch in his throat. Then it was ang ku kueh, a soft snack that had to be given up because it was too much to chew on, and finally steamed Malay cake until he could no longer swallow at all.

I’m thankful that despite dad’s long and chronic decline that he still loved his food and was able to eat even close to the end. He was never picky – in his early years in boarding school in Malaysia, he learned to eat fast if not you didn’t get second helpings or someone would help himself to what was on your plate. He used to train my son to be speedy in finishing his meal because the little boy loved to hold discourse at the table and eating was not at the top of his priorities at that time.

The past week of wake services and funeral were eye opening for me. People from my childhood – old church friends, neighbours, dad’s previous hospital workers turned up (including a 91 year old gentleman who said he babysat me when dad had to run to the wards to handle a crisis). One particular sharing touched me – a lady from the circle of friends from Muar shared how my late mother used to gather them to cook together and to make kuehs (dessert cakes) together. I’m astounded as I never remembered my mother as having an interest in cooking. I did inherit the Ellis Handy cookbook from her but I seriously only remember her cheese straws and fried noodles – in my growing up years we didn’t host gatherings or meals. My best food memories were actually of a great aunt in Penang who was the one who effortlessly whipped up Peranakan meals for us. Knowing that my mother had a knack for cooking and hosting was an aha moment for me – somehow the interest must have percolated into me; it was only in my 30s that I began serious cooking and baking.

Anyway it’s been a time of memories amidst the sadness. I’m filled with gratitude at how family has come together to manage the wake and funeral services – dad had touched too many people in his life and what I had envisaged as a cosy memorial in a funeral parlor gave way to larger events in church sanctuaries. I’m overwhelmed by the support of church staff who lovingly provided space, logistic and technical support. I told my friends that at one point I felt like I was organizing Princess Di’s funeral – I soon lapsed into paralysis of decision making, but so many people worked hard so that it was easier for us to make decisions and just let things happen. It was amazing.

So back to the lettuce egg cups. This is actually a recipe from one of my friend’s helpers who makes this each time we go to their home for dinner. It’s simple and tasty and disappears fast every time. I asked for the recipe and got the list of ingredients but hilariously like most local cooks, there were no measurements of ingredients or method in the recipe. So I guess-timated everything and it turned out reasonably well!

So here’s a simple recipe to remember my dad with. A man with simple tastes but a great heart. He will be missed.