From ‘nasi lemak’ first dates to messy durian buffets: Seven ways to say — and savour — ‘I love you’
COMMENTARY, Feb 14 — Today is a day for heart-shaped boxes and red roses. A day for impudent-looking cupids with their cherub cheeks, shiny bows and sharp, sharp arrows. A day for audaciously expensive roses, glossy chocolates and awkward proposals.
Today is the day when sweethearts ask each other, "Will you be my Valentine?”
It can be a beautiful day; certainly for restaurateurs and pâtissiers, for florists and chocolatiers. And so, in the spirit of romantic dining choices, here are seven ways to say — and savour — "I love you.”
#1. Nasi lemak first dates
Let us not assume this is an anniversary. Today might well be the first Valentine’s you’re celebrating with your crush and your candy-heart.
It might even be your very first date (not advisable, given the pressure and the expectations, but one doesn’t scoff at opportunities in this day and age.)
If you ask me, there’s no better meal for a first date than a dish of nasi lemak, complete with freshly fried ayam goreng and spicy-sweet sambal. I speak from experience, so you may trust me on this.
To be precise, however, it’s the first date with my beloved that I actually remembered what we ate. Our actual first date was a tad less local, at a cha chaan teng; we must have been too enamoured with each other to have bothered with our iced yin-yong or Hong Kong style macaroni with ham.
But no sensible soul would forget a good nasi lemak, especially when you have arrived bright and early before the crowds, so you could get the crunchiest ayam goreng hot from the fryer, the crispy bits of rempah batter almost as addictive as the smile on your date’s face.
This is a Malaysian romance, of course; there can be none better.
Love is like a box of... doughnuts?
#2. Love is like a box of... doughnuts?
It’s all about indulgence.
Or more specifically, it’s about teasing your spouse about their guilty cravings, simultaneously reminding them of the calorie count as well as how much they have been thinking of biting into one for weeks and months, regardless of their ever expanding waistline.
Love is like a box of... doughnuts?
The flavours tempt and titillate: Classic vanilla and crème brûlée. Tart raspberry and fragrant rose. Cinnamon sugar and lemon meringue. Tender young coconut and bacon with Cheddar.
You cave in and order a box. Your lover laughs, then helps you finish them. That’s true love.
A cart of ‘petit fours’ may make you indecisive but never fickle about your beloved.
#3. Practise patience with petit fours
You are at a French restaurant. One of those fine dining establishments with pressed tablecloths and gleaming silverware, the sort you save for anniversaries or hopeful proposals.
Course after course have come and gone — black truffle potato salad dusted with a shower of foie gras shavings, velvety chestnut cream garnished with smoked lard foam, roasted lamb in a stew of pale haricot beans and chipotle, and more — and now it’s almost time for the evening to end.
Before the coffee arrives (and with it, the heartbreaking bill for the night), there is one last surprise of sorts. The maître d’ pushes a magnificent cart, all shining copper and glass, over to your table.
Would we like some petit fours, he asks, some sweet morsels to finish with? With saucers upon saucers and tiers upon tiers of these dainty delectables, how could you refuse? It would be rude.
As the maître d’ runs through the selection of petit fours, each with its own medley of ingredients (a list longer than the waiting times at a good pisang goreng stall), you are nearly confounded by the ultimate challenge: which do you choose?
The éclair filled with pistachio custard and passion fruit purée, or the baby canelés, caramelised with reduced koikuchi shoyu (dark soy sauce)?
Such an array of options may confound the best of us. Fret not. Know that even it is perfectly fine to be indecisive about your pâtisserie for we know we are never fickle about our beloved.
Love teaches us patience, that every decision brings us back to the one whom we love the most. Well done, you. Well done, us.
‘For better or for worse’ means surviving a messy durian buffet, and returning for more.
#4. Messy durian buffets
It’s not always lavish seven-course dinners. Spending the rest of your life with someone means enjoying the common as much as the chichi.
What’s more tiresome than someone who complains about eating outdoors, grousing about the heat and the humidity? Your one true love is made from tougher stuff, I am sure, and will be the first to suggest getting your hands deliciously dirty.
Indeed, what’s more romantic than a date to a durian buffet? All you can eat, from buttery and bittersweet Musang King to creamy and almost shrimp-hued Udang Merah. Fingers sticky and odoriferous, signs of true passion.
"For better or for worse” means surviving a messy durian buffet, and returning for more.
#5. A rose by any other name
Valentine’s Day might call for a traditional treat, an exquisite and elegantly crafted dessert redolent of rose petals. A heart of smooth honey mousse and framed by a fairytale moat of raspberry coulis.
It’s everything you imagine Valentine’s Day to be.
Then you stab it with your fork, cracking the fondant shell into scarlet shards. Love is learning not to be overly precious and getting on with it.
A rose by any other name will taste just as sweet; so stop worrying about it.
From an exquisite dessert redolent of rose petals (left) to a simple almond pudding, studded with orange segments (right).
#6. The hunt for almond pudding
Then there are impromptu treasure hunts in the wee hours of morning. (Thank goodness for konbinis that are open 24/7!)
The objective is a simple tub of almond pudding, but every convenience store you’ve visited has run out. Finally, just when you are about to give up, you find a konbini that has it — the very last one, in fact.
This one isn’t plain almond pudding; beneath its milky-white surface are half-suspended segments of macerated orange. Perhaps a reward for your hunt, and when you share the pudding, you share the gentlest of kisses too.
#7. PB & J
Perhaps the best Valentine’s Day destinations are the grimy alleys, the dark pavements illuminated by neon lights and the glow from the motorcycles of food delivery riders coming and going.
Everyone else is ordering a Double Trucker, a smash burger with two beef patties and plenty of crispy bacon. But they are dining alone or with friends.
Lovebirds require a different pick from the menu.
A grilled PB&J (peanut butter and jam) for the both of you to share and savour. One cannot get enough of peanut butter (only the crunchy type would do) while the other is nostalgic for the cheap grape jam he had growing up, a standard packed lunch for school recess.
A grilled PB&J (peanut butter and jam) is meant to be shared and savoured.
Two different palates meet and mingle. Taste buds test one another and approve; a budding relationship, perhaps, and if we are blessed, the taste of the love of a lifetime.
Allow me to confess: I lied when I implied that this would be a guide to Valentine’s Day for foodies. The truth is, this is a love letter. One where the pages are stained with drops of fiery sambal, perfumed with the scent of rose petals or pungent durians.
Here, then, is my wish for you on this special day (and remember, every day you have together is a special one, no matter what folks who wish to sell you flowers, chocolates and candles might claim), that you enjoy a meal with your loved ones, be it simple or sumptuous, and that you may enjoy many more such joyful meals in all the years to come.
Happy Valentine’s Day, to each and every one of you.
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