"CHINESE love letters! That’s definitely the unmistakable sweet and fragrant scent of kuih kapit," I tell myself during an early morning walk around the heart of Simpang Empat after wolfing down a large bowl of delicious fish ball noodle soup at a nearby market place stall.
A small town located about 13km south of Alor Star, Simpang Empat is one of my favourite haunts during the weekends due to its cheap and delicious hawker food as well as fresh-from-the-farm produce at the morning farmers' market.
My visit this time, however, includes an additional agenda. With Chinese New Year fast approaching the tail end of its customary 15-day celebratory period, this trip will probably be the last opportunity to replenish my already receding stock of festive titbits and cookies.
Imagine my delight when I happen to stumble upon three young men huddled around a gas-lit stove in the front section of a double storey terrace house located behind a row of shop houses fronting the Simpang Empat main road making love letters.
The first thing that strikes me is the fact that it’s an all-male kuih kapit-making team. It’s definitely a departure from the norm where it’s usually the women folk who enjoy near total monopoly of the process of making these popular paper-thin biscuits, which are a festive must-have for many.
CHILDHOOD MUSINGS
The sight of the men labouring over the stove soon sends my thoughts drifting back to past Chinese New Year preparations at my maternal grandmother's home in Pekan Cina, one of the oldest parts of Alor Star established upon the arrival of the first group of Chinese immigrants in the Kedah capital more than two centuries ago.
Back then, the distinct aroma of love letters being moulded in their irons over charcoal braziers was the surest sign that Chinese New Year was just around the corner.
Since most families do this in their backyard kitchens which face each other across the narrow alley, it was a pre-festival party of sorts for us children growing up in the area.
Over the years, my friends and I learnt not to position ourselves too close to get in the way of the ladies but, at the same time, tried our utmost to remain within reasonable distance to reach out at a moment's notice for defective biscuits when they were handed out.
With so many braziers going on at the same time, there was always a sizeable number of love letters that failed to make the cut and found their way into our waiting palms.
Although the sight of people preparing love letters has dwindled over the years, the love for these traditional biscuits has persisted over the ages.
Even today, popular love letter makers are always finding it hard to satisfy the ever increasing demands from their legions of loyal customers.
My presence at the gate soon attracts the attention of ‘team leader’ Garson Lim Sze Gan. After learning of my intent to purchase some love letters to take home, he promptly gets one of his nephews, Lim Kah Thong, to let me in.
Garson and his nephews generously offer to prepare a fresh batch after discovering that I wanted about 500 pieces.
An affable lot, the men volunteer to enlighten me on the finer details of making love letters while I watch them work.
EXPERTS AT WORK
Working like a well-oiled machine, each person in the group has his own assigned duty. It does not take long for me to understand the rhythm of their work.
Garson, by virtue of being the oldest, assumes the leadership role and controls the most crucial parts of the operation.
Working simultaneously with 10 iron moulds, Garson has his own systematic approach to make sure that each and every one of them receives just the right amount of heat to cook the batter. Multi-tasking skills are essential here and everything has to be done with split second accuracy.
"Leaving the moulds even a few seconds too long will result in disaster. Dark coloured and bitter tasting love letters have to be discarded. We do not sell rejects and will not compromise on our quality," quips Garson, as he continues to focus on stirring the bowl of batter and pouring a ladle full onto a hot iron mould to coat one side of it thinly.
Garson allows the excess to drip away for two seconds before snapping the mould shut and putting it on the far end of the line on the stove. Then, he flips the other moulds over sequentially while keeping an eye on their rims. Those with too much batter run-offs are taken out, trimmed and returned to the same position in the queue where they originally came from.
By the time he reaches the end, Garson retrieves the last mould and opens it. Using his thumb and index finger, he gently peels off a paper-thin piece of perfectly cooked golden yellow crepe before tossing it over to his waiting nephew, Lee Chin Man, who quickly folds the still hot and pliable love letter in half twice over to give it the traditional Chinese fan shape.
"I only have one brief second to decide on the nicer side to face outwards to make the love letter look more presentable before I start to fold. Then on, I have a further four seconds before it starts to harden rapidly," explains Lee while putting aside a perfectly folded work of art to cool.
MODERN ADAPTATIONS
While waiting for Garson to toss over the next piece, Lee takes the opportunity to arrange several love letters folded earlier into an air-tight plastic container.
He admits that although things have changed over the years, some adjustments have been for the better.
"Although metal tins used in the past kept love letters fresh longer, the transparent nature of plastic bottles used today allows me to better arrange the pieces in order and give our customers the opportunity to inspect our product before making their decision to purchase," adds Lee.
He then jokes that love letters taste so good that they do not remain long enough in their containers to degrade in terms of crunchiness.
"To make, very time consuming; to eat, very fast," he jests while shifting his gaze over to his uncle who’s still busy minding the stove.
Despite having to juggle several tasks at the same time, Garson considers himself lucky compared to love letter makers in the olden days.
"In the past, they only had charcoal burners and minding the fire was a real challenge. Today, gas powered stoves are heaven-sent. The easy-to-control heating element allows me to take my mind off the fire and concentrate on the other aspects of cooking," he explains while lifting several moulds momentarily to reveal tiny blue coloured flames on the underside of the stove.
When quizzed on the origin of love letters, Garson reveals that this popular snack was believed to have originated from the Dutch, who assimilated their pastry-making techniques into various Southeast Asian countries through exploration and conquests since the early 15th century.
"That is probably the reason love letters are also called kuih belanda," he explains.
SECRET MESSAGES
A popular lore has it that love letters were improvised in the late 19th century in Malaya to become an effective method for creative maidens who were forbidden to meet boys without chaperons to pass romantic messages to their heartthrobs.
Furthermore, the love letters' edible attribute made it easy for any evidence of a tryst to be quickly destroyed and the process of consuming the snack meant the message had been taken to heart.
While the love letters made by Garson and his nephews do not contain any secret notes, the men assure me that their product holds something equally exciting. They use freshly-laid free-range chicken eggs instead of ordinary ones.
"The superior quality eggs make all the difference. Our love letters are crispier and fragrant. That sets us apart from our competitors," elaborates Garson.
After rattling off the list of five other types of ingredients, Garson cautions that knowing the recipe alone is no guarantee for success.
"Our family has been using these traditional patterned moulds for the past five decades. To us, they are priceless and have become more seasoned after each Chinese Lunar New Year comes to pass. As a result, the love letters that we make also becomes better," explains Garson before drawing parallels with the way Chinese chefs treasure their old woks and other cooking utensils.
It is this undying loyalty to their time-tested tradition that has made Garson and his nephews resist the temptation to improvise and change the way they make love letters.
The trio are aware of recent innovators who place things like meat floss and peanut butter into the love letters but they prefer to stick to the original version passed down by their elders.
"Apart from affecting the texture and flavour, the inclusions take up space and make it more difficult to fold. As it is, there’s just enough time to fold the cooked batter properly before it hardens. Adding stuff like meat floss will surely slow me down and affect my work," elaborates Lee.
While waiting for the last batch of my order to be cooked, Garson casts a glance at both his nephews who are hard at work.
Shifting his attention to me, he says: "This will probably be the last time I helm this operation. By the looks of it, these two boys are ready to take charge and I will make way for them next year. I have every confidence they will be able to continue our family tradition in the years to come."
Garson's words are music to my ears. He has done a great job in training his successors. With them waiting in the wings to play the starring role, I know I’m assured of a continuous supply of tantalising love letters for many, many more years to come.
LOVE LETTERS (kuih kapit)
Ingredients (enough for 1,000 pieces)
1 kg all-purpose flour, sifted
150 g corn flour
150 g tapioca flour
40 large free-range chicken eggs (can be replaced with ordinary eggs)
1.5 kg granulated sugar
1.1 kg fresh unadulterated coconut milk (equivalent to 3 grated coconuts)
Method
1. To prepare batter, combine all the ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Stir with a wire whisk to mix well until the sugar fully dissolves. Strain the batter and allow it to stand for an hour before use. Store any leftover batter in the refrigerator or a cool place to avoid the coconut milk from becoming fermented.
2. Thin down the batter with water if it is too thick as a thin coating produces better results.
3. Heat up love letter moulds over a gas-lit or charcoal stove. Keep the heat moderate and consistent in order to cook the love letters evenly.
4. Lightly grease both the insides of the mould with cooking oil before putting it back on the stove.
5. When sufficiently hot, pour a ladleful of batter onto one side of the mould. Close both sides tightly and bake for about half a minute on each side. Trim the batter run-off with a butter knife during the turn over process.
6. Peel the cooked love letter carefully from the mould and immediately fold into halves twice to form the shape of a fan. The other option is to roll it into a cylindrical shape.
7. Set aside to cool for five minutes before storing in an air-tight plastic container or tin.