A Piece of Cake

Dundee Cake. The name remains stuck in my head although it has been decades since I had eaten it or seen it at any of the supermarkets in town. Dundee Cake! Sweet, fruity—and to a kampong kid who was familiar with only steamed or boiled local kuehs—delicious slices of heaven.

I found the recipe online and baked a small cake recently. It’s amazing how a fruit cake can dredge up long-forgotten childhood memories.

I was about nine when circumstances forced me to live with my paternal aunt’s family for a number of years. My uncle bought the family’s groceries by ordering items from this store in Jesselton—as KK was then known. Whether he sent his order by phone or he sent a list to the store, I have no idea. But every month the groceries would be delivered by the store to the house and we kids would help to arrange the items on the kitchen shelves and cabinets. There’d be tins of Golden Churn butter, tinned beef, sardines, a huge rectangular-shaped tin of cooking oil, a few jars of fruit jam and bottles of sauces. And sometimes there were even strange and never-before-seen items.

I’d never know whether the store delivered the wrong items or added ‘free items’ on purpose or if my uncle wanted to be adventurous and experiment with unfamiliar food. At one time among the stuff delivered were two packets of long, yellow tubes which were like fat, extra-long, drinking straws.

Google Image

 We kids kept turning the packets in our hands and asking each other: “What are these? How do you cook them?” The word “Macaroni” written boldly on the packets didn’t mean anything to us. Winnie, the oldest and wisest cousin, cooked the pasta eventually (for ‘wrong’ items were never sent back) and I thought the cooked macaroni looked, smelt and tasted suspiciously like rubber tubes!

Courtesy of Cousin Winnie

The “Dundee Cake” was one of those unfamiliar items the store delivered. It came in a sealed tin that had to be opened by peeling a strip of the tin with a ‘key’ all around its upper circumference to separate lid from the ‘body’. You smelt the lovely aroma even before you saw the cake. Once the round cake was taken out of the tin and deposited carefully onto a plate it was admired by many pairs of eyes. When the cake had been cut and everyone received a slice, I tried to make mine last as long as possible. It was the best thing I had eaten then and I told myself when I grew up I would have a slice of fruit cake every day.

So here I am, several decades older, making my very own Dundee Cake! And I’m wise enough to know I should not eat it every day.

Dusun Snacks

The snacks my siblings and I had in the days of yore were a far cry from what today’s kids enjoy. Even something like ice-cream—unless it was the orange squash-flavoured- hard-lump-of-ice variety—was beyond our means. Now that doesn’t mean I felt poor or deprived. In fact, I was only aware of my ‘poverty’ when I went to school which was in the big town of Jesselton and two hours away by Land Rover.

From Google Images

In the kampong, everyone seemed to be equal. Same old, rickety, bamboo houses with palm-leaf roofs; same patched-up old clothes; same bare feet with soles thickened through miles of walking bare-foot; similar number of pigs, piglets and chickens and the must-have one or two buffaloes. Maybe part of the reason why we kampong flocks got on exceedingly well together was because there was no envy among us. There was nothing to be envious about—unless you talked about some neighbour who had a bountiful harvest of paddy while your paddy became food for the birds… which was quite possible if you didn’t put up scarecrows or you habitually woke up after the flocks had eaten their breakfast. If laziness had been the cause of your misfortune, you might as well swallow your complaints because you’d get no sympathy from your neighbours!

 

 Growing up I learned that, unlike the Bajau in the kampongs around Kota Belud, the Dusun in my village didn’t make fancy cakes or snacks. Fruit trees were abundant and we ate the ripe fruits—nangko, timadang, punti, pulutan,—without turning them into fritters like other people did. Edible roots—yam, tapioca, sweet potato—were simply boiled or toasted over some burning embers.

From Google Images

Most of our snacks, however, had rice as the main ingredient. I remember we made ‘lompuka’—steamed cakes wrapped in leaves—using grated tapioca or pounded pulut rice (topilit to us) that had been soaked overnight. There wasn’t anything simpler than making these cakes. A fistful of pounded rice, or grated tapioca, was carefully wrapped in a square of banana leaf before each flattened, palm-size cake was arranged in layers one on top of the other in a big pot. After pouring a little water into the pot, it was put over the fire to boil for several minutes. Many people served lompuka during weddings.

 

 In the old days, when the rice grains were still young, it was common practice for people to pluck a stalk of paddy while walking through the fields and removing the husk of each grain before popping it into the mouth—much like eating sunflower seeds. When chewed, the young rice grains burst and filled one’s mouth with a sweet, milky juice which to us tasted heavenly! Coming home from wherever our errands had taken us, we’d have a few of these rice stalks with uneaten grains and they had to be fed to the chickens (instead of left lying around or thrown away) so we'd avoid offending the rice spirit.

From Google Images

Another popular snack was natah—or was it matah?  The young, still-green rice grains were gathered, and ‘stir-fried’ in a dry wok which, incidentally, we call poriuk. Many of the grains would pop, just like pop-corn. Then this ‘fried’ paddy would be pounded to get rid of the husks. The chaff was removed by placing the pounded rice in a nurod and by throwing it up into the air repeatedly and catching the grains as they fell, the light husks were blown away and heavier grains remained in the nurod. Heating the grains in the poriuk made the natah smell very fragrant. This was one snack and we enjoyed by the handful.

 

We could also change the taste and texture of the natah by putting the fragrant rice into a young coconut so it absorbed the sweetness of the coconut juice and turned into moist, fat grains.

Then there was sweet tapai. In the good old days, I made sweet tapai with the same sasad (yeast) we used for the beer tapai. These days I buy my yeast from a vegetable vendor at the Donggongon Tamu. He says he’s from Kota Belud but the yeast is from Tawau. The tapai made with this yeast is very sweet and I’ve wondered what the pellets contain.

 

The yeast costs RM2,00 at the Donggongon Tamu

Anyway, this is how I make my sweet tapai. No secret recipe. Verone? I hope you’re reading this.

I use left-over rice so it doesn’t go to waste and I don’t have to throw it away and risk offending Bambarayon, the rice spirit.

 

One pellet of yeast and one big plate of cold rice

 

For a plateful of rice I use one pellet of yeast. You can have double this amount of rice and let it ferment longer… like two days.

Spread yeast evenly.

Because I’m lazy (don’t tell my mama!) and like to take short-cuts, I use a plastic strainer to rub the yeast and let the ‘dust’ fall onto the rice.

You should stir the rice to spread the yeast evenly.

 

Any container with a tight lid is fine.

Put in a container, close lid tightly and let it sit for one or two days. After it has fermented you can put it in the fridge so you can enjoy cold, sweet tapai!

 Murid-murid, ada soalan?? 

No questions? Good. I’ve one for you. Assuming that your parents, (or grandparents *ouch!* ) are around my age, what were their favourite snacks when they were children?

Here’s to (holding up a mug of tapai) wriggling butods, toasted crickets and succulent frogs’ legs!

Service with a smile?

Life is short but there is always time for courtesy.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Do you often encounter rude and obnoxious people at the coffee shops, the hospital, the stalls at the kaki lima? Is rudeness now a ‘living’ skill? Something one needs to pick up, like a tool, to use to attack or to fend off an attacker?

I know I don’t get poor services just because of my age because other people much younger than me are complaining, too. They grouch about the bold behaviour they’ve encountered with sales assistants, medical officers, the brassy young girls who work for the towkay in the coffee shops. If this kind of conduct is directed at even beautiful, young people, what chances have decrepit oldies like me to escape the same treatment?  Or be subjected to worse?

Just this morning I was at the gerai fronting this coffee shop. As I was the only customer, I took my time choosing from the array of rainbow-hued local cakes piled up on the long table. There were kueh wrapped in banana leaves, bamboo leaves and tiny plastic wrappers. There were fried cakes, steamed cakes, grilled cakes and baked ones. The cakes were sliced, cubed, sitting atop little bits of banana leaves and even cut to look like onion rings!

It took a few minutes to decide what to buy.

The young thing manning the stall must have run out of patience waiting for this old woman (me) to make her choice. So when I finally asked her if the kochung (dumplings) contained groundnut fillings, she said yes and started throwing a few into a plastic bag.

“Hold on,” I said, “I’m looking for those with soya beans!” With an audible sigh, she emptied the bag and said they had run out of those. I quickly bought three pieces of something, paid her and managed a small smile which she returned with an impatient flick of her head so her hair fell behind her shoulders instead of on her cakes.

Someone told me that young people are rude to old people. And old people are rude to other old people.

I remember reading about this beautiful, young actor who disguised herself as an old lady for a study… to see how strangers would treat her. The result showed that people reacted very differently when she was an ‘old lady’ vis-à-vis the young person she really was.

People are drawn to youth and beauty. They shun old people as though age, wrinkles and liver spots are contagious. This overly concern with beauty and youth is not confined to the western world only.

In Asia, old people used to be revered and looked up to. Grandparents were sought out for their opinions which were valued and respected. Not anymore.

Maybe the rudeness and impatience we encounter today has something to do with stress and the pace of living. People are always in a hurry and even if you can afford the luxury of time, they will not let you dictate how they should behave. So if even the young folks are complaining about hostile, impatient people, imagine what the oldest generation has to endure.

My natural reaction when faced with hostility had often been ‘an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth’. But in my own little way, I now want to help reduce the number of toothless and sightless people groping around. So I listen to the guy who said: If someone is too tired to give you a smile, leave one of your own, because no one needs a smile as much as those who have none to give.

So bring a bagful of smiles whenever you leave your house. You'd never know who would be desperate for a smile. Cheers!

Note: All photos sourced from Google Images.

Cakes

My friends not only planned the book launch, they also brought the cakes!

Meg brought chocolate cakes to fulfill a pledge she and Toni had made. I was so touched when she said she brought the cakes in memory of Toni (who had passed away several days before the launch.) Toni had insisted that she'd make and bring some cakes although I told her it'd be too troublesome.

I know she was at the book launch in spirit. She had been so supportive.

The other Tina and daughter, Cynthia, made one hundred little cupcakes with a footprint-shaped icing atop each one. They were pale blue and pink and green and were the cutest! Unfortunately, I didn't notice the footprint on my cake until I had gobbled it up. I was so hungry -- after the interview and book signing -- that I didn't take time to appreciate the decorations on the cupcakes.

It was also unfortunate that I didn't have time to chat with the guests except when I was signing their books. The interview with the press had taken so many precious minutes and by the time I joined the guests for refreshment, most of those who hadn't bought a book had gone.

Maybe it is a good idea to have the interview after the event is over. For the next launch.

On the whole, it was a good launch and the press did help to spread the 'news'.