Where it all started - the love of sweet treats…

I think it all started because I didn’t even see an oven until I was five! Growing up in a small village in Malaysia, life was completely off the grid—our water came from a rain-fed well, and the stove was a wood burner that needed chopping, stacking, and lighting just right. Once the fire burned down to that perfect orange glow, it was hot enough to cook a meal or boil water without turning everything into charcoal.

We didn’t have a fridge either, so food was kept in the coolest corners of the house—or eaten straight away. Some things came in powdered form—just add water and you’ve got a meal. And showers or baths? None of that. Even the toilet was a short walk from the house—just the bare basics of living.

My grandma, bless her heart, would be up before the rooster crowed, getting breakfast ready. Everything took time, but you could taste the love she poured into every meal. She couldn’t read or write, but she had this quiet gift for turning the simplest ingredients into something unforgettable.

She never baked, but she made the sweetest little treats with so much care. My fondest memory is her love for bread. Sometimes she’d buy a loaf from the shop, and we’d spread it with butter or margarine, then drizzle condensed milk over the top. That was it—simple, sweet joy. I can still taste it now. I think that’s where my love for sweets (and my curiosity for all things delicious) really began. Thank you, Tok.

And then there was the weekly visit from the bikeman with his sugary treasures. The excitement whenever I heard the rattle of his bike! I’d race to meet him, with my grandparents just behind me, ready to help choose a treat. It was our version of the ice cream truck—only ours came with pure, old-fashioned happiness on two wheels.