“Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” they said. What they don’t add is that you might also think about it constantly, talk about it relentlessly, and plan your entire existence around your next meal.
I’ve been obsessed with food for as long as I can remember. Not in a casual “I enjoy brunch” way, but in a slightly unhinged, picture-perfect-memory-of-every-meal kind of way. My childhood memories are mostly food-based. We travelled a lot when I was young, because my mum is from Malaysia. And I remember it all. Ice-cold Milo – a malted chocolate drink that feels like pure nectar to both children and adults alike – that somehow tastes better there. I’m convinced there are two different recipes between the UK and here.
Then there was A&W. Before it ever made its way to the UK, it already had a firm grip on my personality. My first root beer felt like a spicy cola and a big secret I’d unravelled. I used to boast to school friends about it. And satay. Proper satay. Thinly wrapped skewers of perfectly marinated meat, not the big chunky ones you get here. They grilled just enough to get that slight char, then dunked into a rich peanut sauce that’s fragrant with lemongrass and a proper rempah. The oil splits just right, the aroma hits first, and suddenly you understand why people get emotional about food.
It’s those flavours that tether me to a place that can feel very far away, an edible connection to a place, essentially. I suppose that’s where food memories begin. And so many of mine were built in Malaysia. Every trip ends the same way: me, slightly feral, attempting to take half of the food market home in my suitcase. Cling-film-wrapped Tupperware of dried fish. Enough dried mango to supply me for the next four months. Fragile love-letter biscuits, protected with more care than my laptop. There’s a quiet smugness when I get home, having brought goods from the holiday. Being able to whip up a chantilly with orange blossom water from Turkey, spoon it over a soaked almond cake, and sit on the sofa with a cup of tea like I’ve just casually imported joy. But I think the real magic is in the fact that it’s a finite thing. The stash dwindles. And then one day it’s gone. That delicious reminder of Malaysia and the ingredients that evoke the privilege and joy of travel.
These are the things I always bring back from Malaysia.
John Biggs @johnbiggs.artwork