Red Beanie

You were long night talks

And carefree car rides

That crashed

and fragmented

Into my mind

Scattering

Incoherent pieces

Sharp and stinging

Against my throat

And so I spit

At the thought of you

And spit

Some more

Until you're layered

A baroque memory

That shines and glistens

Under my tears

Father's day

Was like any day

Of zero hoo-ha

And simple comfort foods

Of me attempting

His favourite Suji cake

Mixing up the batter

To only realise

A two-hour wait

Needed before baking

Waiting for maturity

With impatience

And having wrinkly raisins

Remind me

To impede the wait

Watching the batter

Rise and baked

Warmth and love

We shared for years

Grew and held together

By cake

To have Dad sampling

The finished product

Pairing it with coffee

- And only with coffee -

For it is too sweet

But would still

Continue eating

Another decadent slice

- Red Beanie

I patted mint sprigs

Into chocolate crumble soil

Fertilised them

With smooth velvety

Mascarpone cheese

And watered them down

With rich shots

Of espresso

Supported the dark flavours

With fresh churro sticks

Which basked in hot oil

To a spiced chewy crisp

And planted

Their flavour profiles

From salted caramel dips

To warm cinnamon sugar

That dotted my lips

Cultivating photos

With glass, forks and plates

For everlasting memories

And longer friend dates

- Red Beanie

Ice cream showgirl

In waffle cone embellishment

Dancing in my eyes

With a ruby chocolate cane

Reeling me in

With a rapsberry ribbon

And lavishing me

With dark chocolate hearts

Waffle cone crumbling

Along with my willpower

While I strip you

With teasing bites

As mouth kisses on cream

Trailing wafer crumbs

To your love

That feeds me

- Red Beanie

Ruby red lipstick

Jarring as the words

'Eat Me'

Marked on

The little cake

Alice once ate

Bold enough

To warrant a taste

Growing

Enhancing

That appetite of yours

Till teeth ripped

Into flesh

Nails digging in

And the lace slip

Discarded on top

Of our clothes

Like whipped cream

Bon appétit

Snug soft belly rolls

Hugging onto muscle

Like golden brown bread

Wrapped around

A grilled lean sausage

An anxious mother

Unwilling to let go

Of the comfort

In their role

As protection

Against possible deaths

From stomach rumbling

Muscles aching

Or body shaking

In the cold

Ringing up the brain

Not unlike moustached lords

Calling to their servants

For a bite of cake

Expensive steak

And the finest hot chocolate

To wash everything down

Down and back

To make more rolls

My upbringing was

A typical fusion

Of Asian values

On colonial roads

My roots found nestled

In sweet mung bean filling

And soft red mochi skin

Encased with the want

Of being white

As the soft-peaked meringue

Wrapping around the rice cake

After reading English novel

After English novel

Only digging into

My origins and history

After dousing myself

In liquor and flaming sin

Fire burning down

My ethnocentric mask

And lighting up my passion

In my ancestral culture

Tradition was

Learning rice cake recipes

But without measurements

The cooking only guided

By my grandmother's

Intuitive weathered hands

Watching her knead

Oil, water, sugar, flour

Snow white glutinous rice

Dough dyed with mashed potatoes

Butterfly pea petals

Or emerald screwpine

Wooden moulds giving shape

To our efforts

For longevity and prosperity

Hoping the same technique

Would be passed down

If not by word of mouth

At least by gaze

A safer distance

From being nagged

Yet tradition became

Gathering at the same house

Only to bring along

A takeaway box

Lined with readymade

Jewel-coloured rice cakes

Presented royally

On banana leaves

While my grandmother

Rolled her wheelchair over

To the dining table

And joined us

For the treat

Here you strolled in

With your freckled

Nut brown tan

Sweat sheen on skin

Under sunlight

In heat

Ripping off the wrapper

You pulled out your straw

Inviting me

Innocently

For a sip

To have a taste

Of milk

And chewy

Black balls

Only to be

Drinking faster

Sucking harder

For that sudden

Burst of flavour

...

No

I can't have you

Every other day

Perhaps

The next night

Just one more night

- Red Beanie

Food became a religion

When science

Became scriptures

And articles

Pinpointed cafés

Worthy of pilgrimage

When celebrity diets

Were held as

The next communion

Towards the holy goal

Of weight loss and health

When food pyramids

Were broken down

Into several schools

Of food for thought

When sugary treats

Became sinful whispers

From the devil

That will lead us

Astray

From the straight path

Regardless of how

You break your bread

Or drink your wine

(Or not drink wine

Haraam)

As you hold a morsel

To your lips

And you savour

And chew

And swallow the bits

Take note of how

It affects all four

Of nutrition

Movement

Mindset

And sleep

Just as how

The angel Jibril

Commanded the prophet

To read

So should we

In the neverending quest

To relish and digest

Nourishing ourselves

With truth

After lifting the lid

Of the white cake box

With a pink carnation

And lovely gold lettering

Taped on top

I picked up the plastic knife

And cut small pieces

For the mothers

Who were watching k-drama

Intently

And on high definition

I tasted light pandan sponge

And sweet coconut

Under fresh cream

Laced with lovely

Mango purée

Local traditional flavours

Baked with a modern twist

Illuminating the golden years

Of kampung houses

Rice cakes on banana leaves

Harvest from coconut trees

Hard labour toiled

In home kitchens

By mothers and wives

And celebrating our love

And their sacrifices

For our growth

By giving them back

With bites of cake

And a relaxing weekend

In front of the telly

Happy Mother's Day

My grandmother turned up

The knobs on the stove

Black wok sitting snugly

On the trivet

While the flames

Tickled its underbelley

My parents are afraid

Of undercooked meat

How the drippping blood

And the cold pink rawness

Attract and carry

Potential diseases

Fear guided her aging hands

To cook the meat thoroughly

Sizzle and drizzle

Until a dull brown

And a leathery bite

Tough love, they called it

When they made me finish it

Until my jaws went sore

From the exercise

For wasting food is a sin

I was then given raw meat

The next meal

A portion saved

Just for me

And was told

To not be picky

And to count my blessings

That I'm not starving

Like African children

But I learnt to not be afraid

Of the flames

Tamed them

To a low and slow warmth

Tenderly rubbed the meat

With spice and care

And cooked it

Gently

I flip through cookbooks

And see you in stark colours

Crisp, clear texts

Depicting your quirks

And our past moments

Captured in Polaroid

When I held you

To my lips

Eyes dilate

Mouth salivates

As I scan

Your every

Morsel, crumb, curve

Cream at the corner

Of my mouth

Sugar flowers to appease

My grumbling appetite

The light and heat capturing you

In a deceivingly golden halo

Years have gathered

Dust on the cover

Yet your taste

Still imprinted

On my palate

Until

Ding!

"Honey, the steaks are done!"

Soft

Wet

Sweet

Syrup dripping

Thumb running over

Two slicked fingers

Before they grab hold

Onto fragile mold

A firm piece

That breaks away

Smooth

Gliding

Down over

Rough tongue

Burnt sugar

Lapped up

S l o w l y

[Censored]

...Perhaps

A spoon may help

In eating

This pudding

I combed through in heels

The streets of Georgetown

Tinkled bells upon my arrival

And ran a finger

Along spines

Of menu

After menu

Left lipstick marks

Behind each cup

And cleaned each plate

Of crumbs and trailing cream

But no matter how many

I stopped by

My palate yearned beyond fads

Until you brought me

Humbled

To china cups of milk coffee

Served alongside warm toast

With the butter knife scraping

Coconut jam spreading

Boiled eggs steaming

Simple

Irreplacable joys