Time-tested tradition
The sight of the men labouring over the stove soon sends my thoughts drifting back to past Chinese New Year preparations at my maternal grandmother’s home in Pekan Cina, one of the oldest parts of Alor Star, established upon the arrival of the first group of Chinese immigrants in the Kedah capital more than two centuries ago.
Back then, the distinct aroma of love letters being moulded in their irons over charcoal braziers was the surest sign that Chinese New Year was just around the corner.
Since most families do this in their backyard kitchens which face each other across the narrow alley, it was a pre-festival party of sorts for us children growing up in the area.
Over the years, my friends and I learnt not to position ourselves too close to get in the way of the ladies but, at the same time, tried our utmost to remain within reasonable distance to reach out at a moment’s notice for defective biscuits when they were handed out.
With so many braziers going on at the same time, there was always a sizeable number of love letters that failed to make the cut and found their way into our waiting palms.
Although the sight of people preparing love letters has dwindled over the years, the love for these traditional biscuits has persisted over the ages.
Even today, popular love letter makers are always finding it hard to satisfy the ever increasing demands from their legions of loyal customers.
My presence at the gate soon attracts the attention of ‘team leader’ Garson Lim Sze Gan. After learning of my intent to purchase some love letters to take home, he promptly gets one of his nephews, Lim Kah Thong, to let me in. After the second fold, the love letter shape resembles a traditional Chinese fan.
Garson and his nephews generously offer to prepare a fresh batch after discovering that I wanted about 500 pieces.
An affable lot, the men volunteer to enlighten me on the finer details of making love letters while I watch them work.
Working like a well-oiled machine, each person in the group has his own assigned duty. It does not take long for me to understand the rhythm of their work.
Garson, by virtue of being the oldest, assumes the leadership role and controls the most crucial parts of the operation.
Working simultaneously with 10 iron moulds, Garson has his own systematic approach to make sure that each and every one of them receives just the right amount of heat to cook the batter. Multi-tasking skills are essential here and everything has to be done with split second accuracy.
“Leaving the moulds even a few seconds too long will result in disaster. Dark coloured and bitter tasting love letters have to be disand carded. We do not sell rejects will not compromise on our quality,” quips Garson, as he continues to focus on stirring the bowl of batter and pouring a ladle full onto a hot iron mould to coat one side of it thinly.
Garson allows the excess to drip away for two seconds before snapping the mould shut and putting it on the far end of the line on the stove. Then, he flips the other moulds over sequentially while keeping an eye on their rims. Those with too much batter run-offs are taken out, trimmed and returned to the same position in the queue where they originally came from.
By the time he reaches the end, Garson retrieves the last mould and opens it. Using his thumb and index finger, he gently peels off a paper-thin piece of perfectly cooked golden yellow crepe before tossing it over to his waiting nephew, Lee Chin Man, who quickly folds the still hot and pliable love letter in half twice over to give it the traditional Chinese fan shape.
“I only have one brief second to decide on the nicer side to face outwards to make the love letter look more presentable before I start to fold. Then on, I have a further four seconds before it starts to harden rapidly,” explains Lee while putting aside a perfectly folded work of art to cool.