The Perfect Curry Puff
Why do I love curry puffs? Why do I keep searching for the ideal curry puff?
My memory of eating curry puff goes as far back to the time when I was 9 years old. I was in primary three then, in a neighbourhood primary school called Kebun Baru Primary School. It was a new school where I was the pioneer batch to have begun classes since Primary 1. During that time, the school building wasn't even ready and we had to put up at another school's premise.
I remember soon after about a year or so, we moved into the new school building. It was fantastic because the new school compound was within short walking distance from our home. The only peeve was that getting to or away from my home to school required one to walk up/down a very long flight of steps, since our block of flats was situated on a pretty steep slope. I had counted 80 steps once. What comforted me was that I had the luxury of playing at a playground between my home and the school everyday with my neighbours before deciding enough is enough.
The story of curry puff started with a name, Wenxiang. Wenxiang was one of my classmates then. Among the parents' grapevine, we found out that Wenxiang's parents were divorced and he had lived with his grandmother. My memories of Wenxiang is vague. Perhaps due to his parents' divorce, I never felt he was close to anyone and appeared aloof, although he had never been a problem for anyone or stuck out in anyway.
What I remembered most was his grandmother. Me as a nine-year old boy remembered her as an ordinary-looking grandmother who was always in her samfu. She appeared to be really old with her wrinkles on her face and her sunken eyes. Her frame was wiry and her fingers boney which made her look very frail. She was in every way the opposite of my maternal grandmother. My granny was large-framed, knew how to entertain herself, loved to smoke cigarettes curled in pink porous paper, spoke in a loud boom-my voice and liked to boss people around. At least, that was my impression of her. On the other hand, I had wondered what Wenxiang's grandmother would do if he was to rebel against his grandmother. Her almost silver-white hair was permed in the style that was even less fashionable than my grandmother's and the style had appeared then to have been kept since the 1970s, while my grandmother had dyed and highlighted her hair every so often, complaining that her hair was turning white.
On which day I can't quite remember. What I did remember though was that one day Wenxiang's grandmother appeared outside our doorsteps. She was carrying a basket with her. My mother went to the door and understood from her that she had received no allowance from either of Wenxiang's parent. In order to support her grandson, the old lady had to find ways to earn her keep and making curry puffs was the only way she knew. We bought a few at thirty-cents each. Each puff was pressed into the bulgy shape made by a plastic mould, and came with ends that resembled a pleated skirt. My mother had one but I had never seen her use it. Instead I had on occasions used the mould to entertain myself, imagining it as a puppet which it resembles with its teeth and mouth-like appearance when closed. Sometimes I used it to clamp my younger brother's ears. Inside the puff was curry paste with potato, and a full quarter of a hard-boiled egg. The filling was moist and the egg filled almost half the body of the entire puff. My brothers and I loved how the pastry was crisp without falling apart. The skin was smooth with pockets of bursted air bubbles which made it resemble the moon that the astronauts had showed us, and what I read in encyclopedias.
Wenxiang's grandmother had to walk from block to block, level to level and door to door to pedal her curry puffs. Every time my younger brothers and I hear her calling out 'kalipok' from a distance, we would rush to find my mother's coin purse and find whatever coins we can get to buy all the curry puffs that we can afford. We loved the curry puff so much that each of us can easily wolf three down every time, much to my mother's amusement and dismay.
After graduating from primary school and leaving for secondary school, I was hardly at home and no longer had the chance to eat Wenxiang grandmother's curry puffs and soon had forgotten all about it. I also graduated to more sophisticated fare like croissant and puff pastries. As time progressed and Old Chang Kee became more popular, I was reminded of Wenxiang grandmother's curry puffs, and had supposed that the old lady must have passed on after all those years. If she didn't, the heavens must have truly blessed her.
I guess I will never find the ideal curry puff ever again, one that is filled with the calling of the curry puff by its corrupted name from a very frail-looking old lady, who went round house to house rain or shine so that her grandson could have an education and future without his parents. All these however wonderful curry puffs that I had been seeking shall never be perfect, at least not in my memory.
My memory of eating curry puff goes as far back to the time when I was 9 years old. I was in primary three then, in a neighbourhood primary school called Kebun Baru Primary School. It was a new school where I was the pioneer batch to have begun classes since Primary 1. During that time, the school building wasn't even ready and we had to put up at another school's premise.
I remember soon after about a year or so, we moved into the new school building. It was fantastic because the new school compound was within short walking distance from our home. The only peeve was that getting to or away from my home to school required one to walk up/down a very long flight of steps, since our block of flats was situated on a pretty steep slope. I had counted 80 steps once. What comforted me was that I had the luxury of playing at a playground between my home and the school everyday with my neighbours before deciding enough is enough.
The story of curry puff started with a name, Wenxiang. Wenxiang was one of my classmates then. Among the parents' grapevine, we found out that Wenxiang's parents were divorced and he had lived with his grandmother. My memories of Wenxiang is vague. Perhaps due to his parents' divorce, I never felt he was close to anyone and appeared aloof, although he had never been a problem for anyone or stuck out in anyway.
What I remembered most was his grandmother. Me as a nine-year old boy remembered her as an ordinary-looking grandmother who was always in her samfu. She appeared to be really old with her wrinkles on her face and her sunken eyes. Her frame was wiry and her fingers boney which made her look very frail. She was in every way the opposite of my maternal grandmother. My granny was large-framed, knew how to entertain herself, loved to smoke cigarettes curled in pink porous paper, spoke in a loud boom-my voice and liked to boss people around. At least, that was my impression of her. On the other hand, I had wondered what Wenxiang's grandmother would do if he was to rebel against his grandmother. Her almost silver-white hair was permed in the style that was even less fashionable than my grandmother's and the style had appeared then to have been kept since the 1970s, while my grandmother had dyed and highlighted her hair every so often, complaining that her hair was turning white.
On which day I can't quite remember. What I did remember though was that one day Wenxiang's grandmother appeared outside our doorsteps. She was carrying a basket with her. My mother went to the door and understood from her that she had received no allowance from either of Wenxiang's parent. In order to support her grandson, the old lady had to find ways to earn her keep and making curry puffs was the only way she knew. We bought a few at thirty-cents each. Each puff was pressed into the bulgy shape made by a plastic mould, and came with ends that resembled a pleated skirt. My mother had one but I had never seen her use it. Instead I had on occasions used the mould to entertain myself, imagining it as a puppet which it resembles with its teeth and mouth-like appearance when closed. Sometimes I used it to clamp my younger brother's ears. Inside the puff was curry paste with potato, and a full quarter of a hard-boiled egg. The filling was moist and the egg filled almost half the body of the entire puff. My brothers and I loved how the pastry was crisp without falling apart. The skin was smooth with pockets of bursted air bubbles which made it resemble the moon that the astronauts had showed us, and what I read in encyclopedias.
Wenxiang's grandmother had to walk from block to block, level to level and door to door to pedal her curry puffs. Every time my younger brothers and I hear her calling out 'kalipok' from a distance, we would rush to find my mother's coin purse and find whatever coins we can get to buy all the curry puffs that we can afford. We loved the curry puff so much that each of us can easily wolf three down every time, much to my mother's amusement and dismay.
After graduating from primary school and leaving for secondary school, I was hardly at home and no longer had the chance to eat Wenxiang grandmother's curry puffs and soon had forgotten all about it. I also graduated to more sophisticated fare like croissant and puff pastries. As time progressed and Old Chang Kee became more popular, I was reminded of Wenxiang grandmother's curry puffs, and had supposed that the old lady must have passed on after all those years. If she didn't, the heavens must have truly blessed her.
I guess I will never find the ideal curry puff ever again, one that is filled with the calling of the curry puff by its corrupted name from a very frail-looking old lady, who went round house to house rain or shine so that her grandson could have an education and future without his parents. All these however wonderful curry puffs that I had been seeking shall never be perfect, at least not in my memory.
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