“Phew, it’s hot in here.” Sifu Sabrina tunnels elegant fingers through her perfectly groomed hair and veers her gaze upward at the ceiling. All fans are pirouetting like the blades of helicopter. “The fan’s only swirling hot air.” Her voice is low and buttery.
My gaze traces from the curve of her neck to the hollow of her throat, and my breathing thickens at the thought of doing the same. “Always hot as hell when CNY’s round the corner.” A sheepish grin tugs at my lips.
Sifu Sabrina’s cinnamon-coloured eyes drop down to the level of mine and remains there. “Thanks for this treat, Ewe.” A gentle exhale escapes from her red lips as she takes a sip of her soya bean milk. “I’ll give you my Water Tiger predictions next week.” She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, a hint of cleavage peeking out the neckline of her black dress.
Sifu Sabrina and I are sitting inside Kum Kee Charcoal Roast Pork Restaurant in Taman Continental, KL. Gulping another swig of lemon juice, I let my gaze burn hers with a smouldering look, and, for a moment, we run out of things to say to each other.
As if to break the silence, Sifu Sabrina asks, “You’ve heard of the origin of the roast pig?”
“Tell me.” I sit ramrod straight in my chair, waiting for her to begin.
Sifu Sabrina tosses her hair back in a side jerky motion. “There once was a farmer named Ho-Ti who lived during the Shang Dynasty. He reared a few pigs in a pen adjacent to his hut. One day, Ho-Ti went to the market. His ten-year-old son Bo-Bo played with fire and a pile of dry straw was set ablaze accidentally. The fire got bigger and Bo-Bo ran out of the house. He watched in horror as the hut burnt down.” She pauses, sips at her soya bean milk—her polished fingernails wrapping around the tumbler glass—and lifts her eyes to meet mine. “When Ho-Ti returned, he found his pigs burnt to death, his home destroyed. As he inspected his burnt pigs, a fragrant aroma reached his nostrils. He took out a knife and cut a piece of meat from a burnt pig and ate it.” Sifu Sabrina’s eyes widened and brightened. “It tasted delicious! Ho-Ti chopped the burnt pigs into pieces and sold them in the market. Sales were fantastic! Soon, Ho-Ti frequently burned down one hut after another to produce more burnt pigs.” Another pause as Sifu Sabrina knocks back the rest of her drink.
“Hmmm…Culinary skills non-existent at that time? What was the period of the Shang Dynasty?”
“Around 1700 to 1500 B.C. That’s a very, very long time ago.”
I bring my glass to my lips and toss a splash of iced lemon tea to the back of my throat. “Then, what happened?” I rap the table with the half-empty glass, push it to one side and release an exhale.
“Months later, a court messenger ordered Ho-Ti to report to the magistrate. Villagers had complained about the frequent fires in his farm, the messenger said. In court, Ho-Ti produced a slice of burnt pig for the magistrate to eat. The magistrate was delighted at its taste but admonished Ho-Ti for his stupidity. He advised Ho-Ti there was no need to burn his hut down to produce burnt pig. He could grill the pig on a metal grate placed over a fire.” Sifu Sabrina winks. “Thus, roast pig was invented.”
A waiter arrives and sets a plate of roast pork and another plate of char siu in the centre of our table. I pick up a fork, jab at a piece of roast pork and chomp on it with a firm clamp of my jaw. The crunch of the crispy skin echoes in my ears and gives way to tender, succulent flesh.
I jab at a piece of char siew. “How’s the roast pork?”
“Excellent, thanks for bringing me here.” The twitch of a smile on Sifu Sabrina’s lips becomes a twitch in my eye. “There’s depth of flavour in the meat."
/end
