Tonic soup, dissipating traditions and the rat race

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It was sure a blistering day, topping at 34 degrees Celsius. Usually heat stifles any soupy cravings I may have had outside, but this is home made (courtesy of my mum). Out in the streets you can have a decent meal with one of the many selection of tonic soups. Again I avoid them unless I could get away with it in an air conditioned setting. It is served piping hot out of a steamer, and you could burn your tongue from the layer of oil if you are careless.  The folks in the F&B business usually serve these in stainless steel bowls, which makes good for stacking and washing.

So, this particular bowl has winter melon, dates, and chicken in stock. Tasty tasty.

It dawned on me a while ago that I have friends with kitchens they never ever use. Who could? The common complain is working hours. I get home around 8pm on less than ideal days, and I bet most of us would be lazy to even turn on the stove. Factoring in the preparation and potential clean-ups, cooking is looking like a less-than-ideal proposition.

Yet majority of us grew up eating home cooked home. Most of us proudly proclaim that our mum’s soup is the best, or our granny’s dumplings the tastiest. I don’t know; I find it hard to visualize family recipes and traditions filtering down to the next in this current context. I’m more worked up about being financially sustainable now, rather than making the next batch of tasty pies, or a good cuppa joe over a moka pot. I suspect most people (at least locally) of my age feel the same, and that we are so caught up in this whole rat race.

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