WHY I’LL NEVER BE THE NEXT FOOD BLOGGER

I love food. No, really—I LOVE food. My weight reflects it, my wardrobe fears it, and my friends accept it as part of my brand. If eating were an Olympic sport, I’d be proudly standing on the podium, clutching a gold medal in one hand and a half-eaten roti canai in the other. I enjoy trying new dishes, hunting down hidden eateries and indulging in everything from humble hawker fare to multi-course tasting menus where each dish is described in three languages and comes with foam. 

And I have friends (you know who you are!) who enjoy doing this, too. Food, recipes, and new makan spots dominate our WhatsApp chats. Once, a simple plan to eat mee rebus at Rasta TTDI somehow led to us ending up at Asam Pedas Askar Pencen in Muar—that’s how spontaneous we can be!

Eating brings me joy, nostalgia, and a deep appreciation for culture, creativity, and the human capacity to combine random ingredients into something magical (or sometimes, questionable). But despite this very enthusiastic love affair with food, I don’t do food reviews.

Why? Because taste is deeply personal. What’s delicious to me might be tragically bland to someone else. Everyone walks into a meal carrying their own palate, preferences, and possibly unresolved trauma involving bitter gourd. A bowl of homemade Laksa Johor might taste like home and childhood and the sound of rain to me—but to someone else, it’s “I’ve tasted something better than this.” A sambal that sets my soul on fire in the best way might have another person calling the fire department. It’s all subjective.  

Also, I genuinely respect the hustle that goes into cooking. Behind every plate is a person (or entire squad) who’s spent time, effort, and probably burned fingers to make that food. Reducing that to a score—“3.5/5, too much coriander”—feels a bit like rating someone’s heartfelt poem with a shrug. I’d rather celebrate what made me smile, recommend what gave me joy, and let others have their own food epiphanies.

Besides, being a proper food reviewer? That takes actual skill. I believe — and this is my personal opinion —  need culinary knowledge, an understanding of technique, sourcing, flavour layering—and ideally a vocabulary that goes beyond “wah, sedap gila” and “got umami vibes.” Me? I’m out here describing things like “a bit lembik, but in a good way” and “crispy until my teeth ached biting into it.”

And let’s not forget the self-discipline involved in reviewing. You’re supposed to take a bite, contemplate, maybe scribble some notes. I, on the other hand, inhale. I demolish. I clean the plate like it owes me money. Only then do I remember—oh right, I was supposed to be observing, not demolishing. Oops.

So no, I don’t do food reviews. I do happy noises and wide eyes and “please pass the sambal” (again). Life’s too short to overanalyze your laksa. Just give me something tasty, some good company, and maybe a second helping. Or third. Who’s counting?

Not me. I’m busy eating.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA WAS MY TEACHER, NOW IT’S YOUTUBE

Image
Remember the encyclopedia? I had an uncle who kept volumes (from A to Z) of the Encyclopedia Britannica in a cupboard. No one could touch it. It was as if these books were put in there as a display. At the school library, I use the encyclopedia as my reference books. Just like the dictionary, only the encyclopedia had a lot more information than just on words alone. It was my teacher. I refer to it mostly when teachers can’t give me a satisfactory answer to my questions. These days, kids (and adults, included) have Google and the many search engines available. All they need to do is type in what they want to know and voila … the answer is there for the taking! But it is YouTube that has replaced the encyclopedia as my teacher. Some of the things I’ve learned and become good at are because of the videos on YouTube. Baking is one of them. Decourage is another. The third will, insya’Allah, be playing the guitar. When I was in school, I used to follow my mother to her bakin...
Read more

“DARI RUMAH KE TANAH” …

Image
Have you heard of this term before? I can bet you have not. It’s my mother’s favourite line on her squabbling grandchildren. Well, they don’t squabble all the time. You know how teenage siblings are; they can be best buddies one minute and get on each others’ nerves the next. One word, one sentence or an action can trigger an outburst. And it can happen anywhere; hence, “ dari rumah ” (from home) and “ ke tanah ” (to mean outside the house). And it can be irritating to the grandmother because she’s with them in Putrajaya. Whenever they start quarrelling, the nenek will go, “ dari rumah ke tanah …” and starts her rant. Mysara and Danial will start blaming each other on who started the quarrel first.   And because the nenek uses it often enough, they will, in the midst of their squabbling, say “ dari rumah ke tanah ” before she can say it herself. And they will burst out laughing. And nenek will be annoyed. “ Tengok tu, dia main-mainkan kita ,” she would say. I don’...
Read more

A Wednesday's Child

Image
Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for a living, But the child who is born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good in every way. -           A. E. Bray's Traditions of Devonshire (Volume II, pp. 287–288) This is a new blog. Does this mean a new life? Well, maybe. This is my third blog, to be exact. I don’t remember the first blog. I accidentally deleted the account when I wanted to change the blog name. Lucky for me, there weren’t that many postings yet. The second blog was initially called Latte @ Chinoz on the Park as I used to hang out there quite a lot with my good friend Helen, who has now moved to Kuching, Sarawak. We had a good time watching people from all walks of life there. I started it on a Wednesday, on 26 July 2006 to be exact. I ...
Read more