Most Singapore Parents Can’t Cook Past Instant Noodles

I went for a meal near my place after gym the other day. Chicken chop rice, sunshine egg on top, coleslaw on the side, baked beans, sweet chilli sauce squeezed out next to the rice.

It is probably one of the unhealthiest things you can eat right after a workout. But it also fixed my entire day.

Because I've had this exact plate before. I was a teenager then and that plate became lunch on most days in a cafe on the top floor of Far East Plaza.

I haven't been back to there in a decade but sitting there in Pasir Ris holding a metal fork, I swear I was 20 again for about 10 seconds.

They call this comfort food. Food that makes you feel better because it's familiar, because it reminds you of home or of being younger.

The other one for me is my mum's prawn rolls. Those got me to her place many times when she was still around. You tell yourself you're visiting your mother. Partly you're visiting the prawn rolls.

That's roughly why I cook for my kids.

Not often though since cooking is a hassle and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But occasionally, especially for the teenage ones who would rather spend 3 hours on FaceTime with their friends than 1 minute with their parents.

I was that kid. Door closed, in my room, discovering this new thing called the internet. Then broadband came along, and oh boy.

But I always came out. The smell from the kitchen would get under the door and I'd slowly stop whatever I was doing and walk to the table.

In Singapore, food is cheap and outsourcing is easy. Most of my parent friends can't cook past fried egg and instant noodles. No judgment, I get it. When both adults are working and the hawker centre 5 minutes away, why bother.

Food is also what makes people stay. My wife had a colleague who got clearance to transfer to the Melbourne office. He came back in under 3 months. He missed the food. Bak chor mee, roti prata, that kind of missing.

My mum's prawn rolls didn't mean much when I was 16. They were just dinner. They only became the thing I'd drive across the island for after she was gone.

So I am hoping some 40-year-old version of my kids will be sitting at a hawker centre near their place one day, eating something ordinary, and get thrown back into a kitchen in Pasir Ris. And I won't be there for it.