- 1 hefty pack of salt (400 grams)
- 1 litre of cooking oil
- 1.5 litres of EVOO
- 150ml of soya sauce (one medium sized bottle — slightly bigger than the Kikkoman self-serve bottle you’ll find at a restaurant table)
- Half a bag of sugar (idk, four cups?)
- 1 bag of lentils
- 3 packs of instant noodle
- 1 jar of peanut butter
- 2 packets of black pepper (idk… 200g?)
- 1kg of coffee beans
- 2 packs of noodles (dried and fresh)
- …And probably 5 dozen eggs
Those are some of the things I’ve observed myself consuming in the past two months throughout this second partial-lockdown.
My point in listing out these items is this: I am one urban person. I have no dependents in this household. My cooking style is typically Mediterranean influenced. There’s not much deep-frying involved. Plenty of olive oil and garlic. And, contrary to a typical Malaysian diet, not much rice.
But what about a family of six (or more if it’s an extended household) who might be used to eating rice twice a day? Or whose cooking style requires liberal use of oil in frying out the spiced pastes?
I also have access to a freezer, which allows me to prep and freeze poultry as well as loaves of ciabatta, frozen dumplings, back bacon and toaster waffles — for those lazy days. Of course, the other things not mentioned in the list are fresh vegetables and fruits, tinned food, biscuits and sweets.
At a glance, images of rowboat-fuls of food aid distributed to families in rural areas can look like “a lot” and “enough”. But just based on my personal consumption habits — and admittedly frugal whenever I was faced with the option of masking up and going through the sanitise-everything- routine to get a carton of eggs — I am realising that what may seem like “a lot” in social media updates from NGOs in pantry aid is actually just about enough to tie them over for that one month.
I don’t need to tell you the psychological effects a good meal can have on a person. Because I’m sure you, too, would’ve experienced it at some point. Homesick and cold on your first trip to a foreign country, you stumble upon a mom-and-pop eatery that welcomes you with familiar flavours of home. Or that celebratory serve of hot cup noodles at the summit to lift your spirits.
These types of meals don’t have to be fancy to provide a person with a renewed sense (and temporal) mental energy. Hearty and made with a sense of abundance; that feeling whereby you don’t have to ration every ingredient. That sense of security that doesn’t nag at your anxiety to save some “just in case”. It’s almost like being able to order from a menu without needing to check the price.
This is the sense of empowerment and nostalgia a good meal can provide. That feeling of abundance, security and nourishment that should be accessible to any at any given time.
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