I have a (bad) habit of bringing the camera to the kitchen and the dining table. It’s hard when these are two things I love: food and photography.
Lunch: Cold soba with tsuyu dipping sauce; pan fried fish marinated in light soy, bird’s eye chilies, lemon juice and some sugar; stir-fried lady’s finger/okra/bendi with chilies (yes, I love chilies) and pickled cucumber and carrots with sesame seeds.
Japanese and airline food amuse me because they are usually packed in neat little containers. Little packages of goodies (or not). So I try to make some of my meals as neat as possible before eating (as above), but it never lasts (as below).
(That’s my sister, above, eating and reading the papers.)
When I was much younger, I loved digging the garden. I found cockle shells buried and thought our house must’ve been built over an ancient sea bed or a riverside settlement. My dream to become an archeologist (I was a serious kid at 9) was crushed when I saw my grandma tossing fresh blood cockle shells into the garden. She said it’s good for the soil. Gross.
Then later today, my brother came to me with sticky fingers, insisted that I photograph him cooking. He was eating blood cockles. From an old peanut butter jar. Double gross. But this is his first attempt at making fried keuy teow. I complied.