BACK in Gaza, Palestine, a young Dalia yearned to help out in the kitchen. "You're too young!" her mother admonished her sternly. It didn't faze the wide-eyed girl. She snuck into the kitchen one day when her mother was busy. She knew her way around the kitchen. After all, she'd often watched her mother chopping parsley for the traditional salad Tabboulleh, while roasting whole aubergines over a naked flame.
Her passion for cooking rose like flames from an open stove. Her hands moved fast as she recalled the traditional recipes from memory. This was her sphere, her world. Invariably women rule the home kitchens — mothers, daughters, grandmothers, aunts and cousins cooking together while passing on techniques and swapping recipes.
There was maqluba, meat and vegetables cooked in a spicy broth, served with nuts, herbs and yoghurt; baba ghanoush or muta'abal, a dip of roasted aubergine, garlic, lemon and tahini; mujadara, rice and lentils topped with caramelised onions; and musakhan, chicken roasted with sumac and served with sweet onions on taboon bread.
The tastes and aromas of traditional Palestinian food are at the heart of every home, where vividly flavoured dishes are created from scratch using the freshest ingredients, herbs, spices and olive oil.
Her father loved young Dalia's cooking. "Our daughter will prepare our lunch today!" he'd say with pride.
Since that fateful day when the Palestinian girl snuck into the kitchen and cooked with gleeful abandon, her father's stamp of approval earned her a place at what was once her mother's domain. Memories of steaming hot food served at her family's table where her father sat, beaming in delight, remain with Dalia to this day.
Years later, Dalia is now a refugee in a land far removed from home. Her carefree youth had been cut short by war and instability. Memories of her homeland is now a distant dream. She's left behind family, friends and the comforting familiarity of home. It's been tough but Dalia is determined to live out her dream as a chef.
In her small kitchen, she cooks the dishes of her home. Food is more than a mere necessity; it nurtures and binds her small family to each other and their cultural identity. This childhood passion has also been a source of income that helps tide her family through these hard times.
Those warm memories form part of Picha's Christmas menu this year. A delightful amalgamation of traditional Palestinian cuisines and traditional Christmas favourites, you can now "invite" Dalia into your homes with an amazing feast of a whole roasted chicken, Musakhan rolls, pumpkin and sage quiche, Baba ghanoush, Tabbouleh and chocolate tarts. PichaEats Christmas meals are now available for those eager to sample an interesting fusion of the season's staples combined with ethnic infusion of refugee chefs' home recipes.
NEW LEASE OF LIFE
Dalia is but one of many refugees given a second lease of life at PichaEats, a social enterprise that aims to serve Malaysians great food while providing refugees in Malaysia an opportunity to earn a living. Together with her husband, Dalia cooks at least 200 meals per day, to cater to the growing clientele that PichaEats has amassed over the past four years.
In this nation where the dominant narrative is that refugees are a burden on the society, PichaEats offers a small but striking counter-narrative, showing that refugees can bring skills and are more than willing to work.
"Refugees here are seen in a negative light, as pulling the country down, as having nothing to offer, but in fact they offer a chance to exchange cultures, to bring something positive: the cuisine of their homeland that comes with a lot of heart," says the diminutive Lee Swee Lin, co-founder, chief operating officer and product development head.
Dalia's is one story among many. Last year, according to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), 68.5 million people were uprooted from their homes. The vast majority hailing from developing countries. It's the worst migrant crisis in history, and the numbers are getting graver. The UNHCR reports that one person is displaced every two seconds; an average of 44,500 a day.
As of end February 2020, there are some 178,990 refugees and asylum-seekers registered with the UNHCR in Malaysia. Some 154,080 are from Myanmar, including some 101,010 Rohingyas. There are some 24,900 refugees and asylum-seekers from other countries, including some 6,660 Pakistanis, 3,680 Yemenis, 3,290 Somalis, 3,290 Syrians, 2,590 Afghans, 1,830 Sri Lankans, 1,270 Iraqis, 790 Palestinians, and those from other countries.
Against such harrowing data, Dalia's, along with other Picha chefs' meals, are in their very small way, inspiring.
At PichaEats, the refugees, even while unmoored and grasping for security, are guardians of a culinary wisdom that's in danger of vanishing. It's unlikely that anyone is familiar with food like Z'aatar, Toum, Mandi Rice, or Musakhan. "You get to taste the food of their childhood," says Lee. "This is what they ate while they lived their lives as free citizens."
PichaEats' food delivery and catering business have been bustling. The symbiotic collaboration clearly works. They partner with refugees and asylum seekers — mostly women, though a handful of men have slipped into the ranks — who love to cook and seek audiences for their native cuisines.
For every meal served, 50 per cent goes to the chef for their raw materials purchased and basic living expenses, while the other half is channelled towards operation costs and reinvested back into the business. To date, PichaEats has served up a whopping 135,000 meals while contributing RM2 million to the livelihoods of these enterprising chefs.
The social enterprise, highlights Lee, works with up to 30 Picha chefs, with about 15 to 20 being currently active at the moment. "I prefer to call them Picha chefs, not refugees," she adds smiling. Some, she adds, would cook from home, ("… with strict guidelines and hygiene standards complied with," asserts Lee) while others cook from the central kitchen with head chef, Parimalar Devi.
"I'm the product development chef here," declares Parimalar Devi (or Pari, as she prefers to be called) with an impish grin. Laughing at my quizzical expression, she elaborates: "It means I develop new recipes, train the chefs and help elevate their cuisine because they're essentially home cooks."
CHEF WITH A MISSION
The smell of spice hangs heavy in the air, permeating through the modest shoplot located at Jalan Sultan Azlan Shah, Kuala Lumpur. "We're in the process of moving," explains Lee, leading me through the narrow hallway to a small meeting room. In one cubicle, I see two young women busy preparing food.
In another, a young man is bent over a laptop in deep concentration. There's a lot of activity around what I imagine to be a high-octane central kitchen at the rear of the building. People are walking through, carrying stacks of ready-to-heat meal packages while delivery men amble outside waiting for their turn to collect. It is after all, a busy day at PichaEats and nearly lunchtime.
These ready-to-eat meal boxes are the latest innovations steered by Pari as the answer to meeting the needs of the public during the onslaught of the current pandemic. The social enterprise had to pivot due to the effects of the Covid-19 pandemic which adversely affected the livelihoods of Picha chefs when their catering business had suddenly halted.
Initially planned as a trial product to generate income for them, Pari's kitchen team quickly recognised the potential of frozen meals in meeting a new need in the market. With more people staying at home, they're looking for better meal alternatives to supplement or replace their daily cooking.
"Before the pandemic, our catering used to contribute between 60 and 70 per cent of our revenue. When the pandemic hit, the chefs that who depended on this revenue to survive were badly affected," explains Lee. Given that it's almost impossible for asylum-seekers to find well-paying jobs in Malaysia, these home cooks are often the only earning members of the family.
A suggestion from a friend on preparing frozen meals soon became an idea worth exploring. "It's easy and convenient. You could get a hot meal anytime by throwing it into the microwave or by steaming the food," chips in Pari. The Ready-To-Heat meals were launched last November, and the response, she shares, has been very encouraging.
Available in bundles of three, six or nine meals, these Ready-To-Heat Meals can be ordered on a subscription basis, where the same number of meals will be automatically re-ordered and delivered to customers each month in one go.
The menu changes every month to ensure a good variety, and Pari oversees the entire cooking process in the central kitchen as well as monthly menu creations. Training the home chefs is pivotal too, she adds.
"They were essentially home cooks before they joined PichaEats. After they train with us, they become professional chefs able to cater for the masses." PichaEats, adds Lee, simply serves as a platform that connects food lovers to these chefs.
Lessons cover things like knife skills, kitchen movement, how to follow and scale recipes, dish plating techniques, and how to improvise when necessary in ways that maintain consistent and quality food. "It's not a 'show and tell' type of lesson where I do the cooking and they watch," explains Pari, adding: "It's more like 'cook with me'. They help me in the kitchen and cook along. It's how I first learnt how to cook as a child, and this, I find, is the best way to learn!"
She has a few goals, Pari confides with a grin. She wants to expose Malaysians to the cuisines and cultures of those who have arrived on the nation's shores, but whose food have yet to penetrate the Malaysian food scene.
She wants to help elevate the refugee home cooks and turn them into great chefs. She also wants to introduce new exciting recipes. Most of all, however, she wants to begin to change the way immigrants are viewed in Malaysia.
"We need to stop seeing them as burdens, but to welcome them with dignity and kindness, because we could all become refugees at some point in our lives," adds Pari, softly.
JOURNEY TO HELP
Her face lights up when she changes the subject to food. The 31-year-old chef is passionate about using local ingredients and enjoys experimenting and exploring ways to add a new dimension of flavour to dishes. "I love creating recipes," she enthuses. "I like to go to the wet market and source for local ingredients. I often think… ooh let's do this, let's explore this!"
Her entire cooking career had been led by her heart, she confides. "I've always wanted to be a chef. It was either I become a chef or be a pretender. At 16, I told myself, 'Pari, you got to be a chef!'"
The Penang-born fondly recalls her grandmother who inspired her as a child. "It's funny that we're talking about this today," she muses wistfully. "Today's my grandmother's death anniversary."
She was a fantastic cook, remembers Pari, of her grandmother. "Her curries were fantastic. She passed away when I was 14. I'm 31 now but I can still vividly remember the taste of her fish curry."
Growing up, she spent her time watching her grandmother humming a tune over the hot stove preparing meals. "She had her own charm around the kitchen," she shares, smiling.
After completing her studies, Pari talked her father into enrolling her at a culinary school. Her father had other ideas though. "Why not be a teacher?" he asked her. "Why do you want to be a chef? I don't understand!" But she already knew what she wanted and was determined to follow her heart.
She took on a job at the kitchen of Sakae Sushi, a restaurant chain serving Japanese cuisine. "I wanted to prove to my father that I could do well in this profession," she says, grinning.
The stern Japanese chef banished her to washing dishes because she wasn't familiar with Japanese food and couldn't communicate with him in Japanese. "I cried that day," she tells me ruefully.
She was determined not to fail. "I had to prove to my father I could make it in the culinary world. I wasn't about to return with my tail between my legs!" she exclaims. The-then 17-year-old took back the menu that very night and memorised every single food item.
"I studied hard. After a week of washing dishes, I returned to the kitchen," she says, grinning. She eventually saved up enough to enrol herself in a culinary school. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Pari eventually became a full-fledged chef, garnering invaluable experience in French dining and haute cuisine. "I've achieved my dream. It was exhilarating to live out my passion every day. I worked very hard. But after all that, I started to ask myself what's next?" she explains.
The intrepid chef had indeed done it all. From cooking in the best kitchens to starting up restaurants, serving as a consultant, chef and trainer as well as setting up various kitchen operations all around the country.
"It's been a blast," she says, with a shrug of her shoulders. "But after 11 years, it was time for me to do something more meaningful with my life."
Here at PichaEats, Pari's extensive experience is being channelled into raising up a new generation of chefs while giving them a new lease of life.
"It feels like I've come full circle," she remarks. "Being a part of PichaEats is reflective of my own personal journey as a chef. I've accomplished my dream. Now it's time to give back. And this, to be honest, has been my most exciting venture ever."
Memories of her grandmother led to a glittering career in the kitchen. But now, Pari helps train chefs who serve up their precious memories on a plate.
When life gives you lemons, make labneh. These refugees have done just that, overcoming the odds to build PichaEats into a successful business, despite the challenges. And Pari is here to guide them every step of the way.
Meals are delivered on every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. To order, WhatsApp +6018-289 4353 or check outvisit www.pichaeats.com/en/delivery.