The Gift of Gifting
As a child, few things came close in the excitement stakes than being allowed to help my grandmother in the kitchen with the preparation of a plethora of traditional treats in the weeks leading up to the Lunar New Year festivities. Equally exciting was witnessing the seemingly endless stream of gifts beating a path through the front door, from mammoth hampers brimming with delicacies like bird's nest, abalone and dried scallops to small jars of homemade pineapple tarts or squares of Kuih Lapis, each layer impossibly thin and even and perfect.
As an adult, I have to wistfully confess this palpable sense of anticipation has almost all but vanished. I know I am not alone; many friends recount a similar feeling of loss. I suspect it largely has to do with the malady of the modern age - the chronically time-strapped condition we find ourselves in. Said tarts and kuih are notoriously painstaking and laborious to make - I remember my grandmother taking a whole day alone to grate dozens of pineapples and simmer the pulp down with sugar and spice just to make a vat of jam. Then there was another day spent making, rolling, stamping, crimping and filling the tart pastry. And we haven't even come to the batch baking part of the story yet - Who has the time? Or the energy? Especially given that the ready made option is so readily accessible?
Convenience, alas, may have been bought at the expense of the true spirit of the season. Handcrafted gifts of food have sadly become a dying tradition, and along with its demise, there's a waning sense of the momentousness, the very pomp and splendour, of the occasion - no mere coincidence, surely. Of course, it should not be gifting per se that defines the season, but the gift of gifting. And as far as I can speak from personal experience, nothing quite puts me in the right spirit of things than rolling up my sleeves and putting my hands to work. It may not be weeks, or even days, on end. Just the odd hour stolen here and there. Nonetheless, the satisfaction at having produced something from scratch - and whoever said it shouldn't also be simple and quick? - more than amply repays whatever little time was set aside.
As an adult, I have to wistfully confess this palpable sense of anticipation has almost all but vanished. I know I am not alone; many friends recount a similar feeling of loss. I suspect it largely has to do with the malady of the modern age - the chronically time-strapped condition we find ourselves in. Said tarts and kuih are notoriously painstaking and laborious to make - I remember my grandmother taking a whole day alone to grate dozens of pineapples and simmer the pulp down with sugar and spice just to make a vat of jam. Then there was another day spent making, rolling, stamping, crimping and filling the tart pastry. And we haven't even come to the batch baking part of the story yet - Who has the time? Or the energy? Especially given that the ready made option is so readily accessible?
Convenience, alas, may have been bought at the expense of the true spirit of the season. Handcrafted gifts of food have sadly become a dying tradition, and along with its demise, there's a waning sense of the momentousness, the very pomp and splendour, of the occasion - no mere coincidence, surely. Of course, it should not be gifting per se that defines the season, but the gift of gifting. And as far as I can speak from personal experience, nothing quite puts me in the right spirit of things than rolling up my sleeves and putting my hands to work. It may not be weeks, or even days, on end. Just the odd hour stolen here and there. Nonetheless, the satisfaction at having produced something from scratch - and whoever said it shouldn't also be simple and quick? - more than amply repays whatever little time was set aside.
I imagine I can't be the only baker in a hurry. The sort who needs things done in a jiffy. Yet insists on something freshly baked and crafted by hand. And it is for this very reason that I designed the recipes for this series of classes the way they are - effortless recipes where speed and ease of preparation do not compromise deliciousness. The wow factor comes not so much from how many man-hours it apparently took you, but the element of surprise, of using familiar flavours in wholly unexpected ways. Flexibility was another major consideration - the freedom to bake just one, or two, or all four of the basic recipes (Jasmine Tea Macarons, Mandarin Friands, Sesame Financiers, and/or Almond Shortbread) to give away. Or choosing to jazz one up at reunion dinner table (or any other dinner table with an Asian menu at any other time of the year, for that matter) with an easy accompaniment to compose a plated dessert. Each of the four recipes will, hopefully, also provide plenty room for improvisation and invention. The remaining sessions are on 26 January(Saturday) and 27 January (Sunday) (the January schedule has all the details; please call the school at +65 6479 8442 or email shermaycs@yahoo.com.sg for all inquiries).
Even if you take the minimal approach and zoom in on only one of the baked treats that speaks to your particular sensibilities, that doesn't mean the packaging and presentation has to be anything less than spectacular. I can't say often enough how most of us eat with our eyes first, and presenting what you've taken the effort to make in a thoughtful manner really is half the battle won.
Felt and silk cord can dress up vibrantly coloured boxes, adorned perhaps with a fabric bloom or two. Treats can come coddled in twists of metallic tissue, interleaved with squares of mulberry paper, or simply cradled in pleated cases. Art papers, be they silk screened or reversible crepe or corrugated card stock, can make for rather special envelopes, pouches and wrappers. I sincerely hope this series of pictures illustrates how a little imagination goes a long way when it comes to artful gifting.