Being raised on fried chicken, mac-and-cheese and the occasional buttered-to-death vegetable wasn't something I complained about as an ankle biter. My favorite meals were composed of butter, cheese, and bacon.
On the other hand, moving to a foreign country and being expected to provide healthy meals for five with minimal fat or sugar scared the mess out of me.
No butter. No bacon. Cut back on the cheese. Only use fresh veggies and herbs. No processed foods. Nothing canned.
In summary, stray from your childhood Lily. In a good way, of course. Throughout the trip, I've lost a few pounds and saved myself from another cavity.
My aunt, in fear of her children gaining 25 pounds during my stay, scheduled 4 cooking classes that showcased a variety of foods. I have taken French cuisine, Saigon street food, substantial salads and healthy Thai dishes. Aside from the French class, the selections taught were fairly healthy.
Let it be known that I was perfectly content with the massive quantity of butter in the French dishes.
I've made many of the dishes and no one has suffered any form of food poisoning, so I guess you could say things are going smoothly. I am looking forward to getting back to the Auburn and cooking for my friends.
The food is superb, but the experience and class is far more beneficial to me.
Expat kitchen, the group of instructors, facilitates cooking classes for those that are out of their realm. Expat, short for expatriate, is a term used to refer to those living and working outside of where their citizenship lies. It is typically used to describe people that are working abroad. Aka, my uncle and his family.
Typically, the expats are not who are being taught to cook. Expats send their "helpers" to learn the fundamentals of cooking. Helpers are similar to housekeepers, often from the Philippines.
My family's helper is Melba. She has been working for the family for 8 years now and when we leave for London she will be staying behind to work for another family. Melba has never cared for a baby before, which will be her next client, providing a new adventure.
She laughed, shrugged and said, "Will be a challenge," when I asked her how she felt about taking care of a newborn.
The class wasn't exactly what I expected...at all.
It was intimidating to sit down at a table of all Filipino women, listening to them snicker and whisper in their languages. After warming up a bit, I began to make conversation. They are extremely friendly and have little knowledge of what 'personal space' is.
But, hey. A wise man once said that 'space' was just a word made up for someone who's afraid of getting close.
The women were sweet, but didn't understand why I was there. I'm white and 19 years old. One said, "Aren't you supposed to be with your friends partying at a club?"
Looking for the garlic I had just sliced, one of the older ladies yelled, "Um, little white gir--uhh-- little girl, little girl!" The rest of the ladies laughed and gave her a concerned, motherly glances. She took the garlic from my hands and gave me a strangely tight hug and a pat on the head.
They were intrigued by my nationality and questioned me whenever we had time. Our upbringings were polar-opposites. Most of the women had left their families and traveled far and wide to work and care for unrelated families.
These cooking lessons were somewhat of a day out for these women. The instructor had to scold the women constantly for their untimely selfies. I'm pretty sure my face is all over their Facebook profiles now, as they refused to let me say no to the hundreds of pictures they wanted to take.
They cracked jokes, whispered like teenage girls and dove into the food they had made without caring if they put the fork on the right side of the plate or if all the water glasses were filled to the brim.
What their employers saw as training, they saw as a morning with food and friends.
These ladies were the first friends I made in Singapore. Good food and good company, a pleasant way to be welcomed in.
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