Tonight, I recreated the timeless ritual of preparing pork fat and cracklings, just as my grandmother did many years ago.
During my childhood, pork fat was an uncommon indulgence. Meat was a precious commodity, and the thought of spending our scarce ration coupons on pork fat instead of a well-cut piece of meat seemed unimaginable.
My grandmother was a remarkable woman who never complained and seldom indulged herself—except for her love of pork fat. Occasionally, she would take me to the food market across the street, where she would purchase a modest slab of pork fat with its skin intact. She would then meticulously chop the fat into pieces before commencing the pan-frying process in a wok, perched atop a coal stove.
The initial pan-frying swiftly transitioned into deep frying as the fat rendered its golden treasures. She would skillfully scoop out the fragrant oil, storing it in a small, ebony urn that occupied a revered spot on a timeworn wooden shelf, safely out of reach of curious felines, resembling a treasure chest.
In the wok, the humble pork pieces would ultimately transform into a bounty of golden, delectable cracklings, a feast we shared with our extended family, totaling about ten people.
Over the ensuing days, my grandmother and I savoured hot boiled rice paired with the succulent pork fat, lightly seasoned with a drizzle of soy sauce. My grandmother affectionately called this meal ‘lou fan,’ a phrase that translates to ‘rice mixing.’ These simple yet profoundly flavorful meals remain some of the most cherished culinary memories of my life.
I can still vividly recall our kitchen from those days. Its walls, never adorned with paint, bore the darkened scars of coal cake smoke. Nestled among piles of coal cakes, which we acquired from a small shop at the end of our lane, stood our unpretentious, earthy stove. From a tender age, I assisted in ferrying those coal cakes home, a few at a time, balancing them atop a humble wooden plank.
Our house cats, during the winter months, sought refuge atop the coal cakes for warmth from the stove’s radiant heat. They would awaken in the mornings, their fur dusty and dishevelled. These cats were practical, working companions, tasked with sourcing most of their own sustenance in the form of rats. Their diet typically consisted of scraps from our family meals, often a meagre offering of rice, vegetables, and sauce. Unloved and perpetually hungry, they wore an anxious look in their eyes that lingers in my memory to this day. Their lives were undoubtedly tough.
Fast forward to today, our kitchen boasts gleaming modern appliances and an exquisite stone splashback. In our household, we share our affections with a beloved dog who enjoys lovingly prepared home-cooked meals brimming with goodness.
As I relished my meal, I couldn’t help but reflect on the profound appreciation I hold for what we now have.
delish Home Cook - happiness is homemade 
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