A good chef is a storyteller, using ingredients to weave a narrative on the plate.
– Anon
If you have been in journalism for nearly five decades, retirement is a question you will hear often. A friend recently posed this to me: “Raj, why haven’t you retired yet? And what would you have been if you hadn’t chosen journalism?”
Without missing a beat, I responded in three confident words: “A master chef!”
This candid admission might have raised some eyebrows, considering the importance of my profession. But let me assure you, if there is a world parallel to reporting stories, chasing scoops, and hitting deadlines, it is the world of spices, simmering sauces, and perfectly cooked crabs.
Yes, I could have been as successful a chef as I am a journalist.
The dream to don a chef’s apron started when I was just eight years old, in Primary Two. Back then in my hometown Sibu, my ambition wasn’t just to cook; it was to become a prominent cook and own my restaurant. However, my enthusiasm didn’t sit well with my status-conscious dad.
One fateful day, he caught me in the kitchen, busy whipping up a sardine dish for my sandwich. Let’s just say his reaction wasn’t one of approval. A tight slap followed, coupled with a stern lecture. “You are supposed to study, not cook!”
Like most fathers of his generation in the Indian community, he dreamed of me becoming a doctor, engineer, or accountant.
It didn’t help that my mother had revealed my secret ambition to him. While dad’s vision for me was grounded in tradition, I was neither a science- nor a math-inclined pupil. My destiny as a doctor or engineer was, quite literally, cooked.
Instead, I turned to English, History, and English Literature – subjects where I could excel. These became the foundation of my career as a journalist though my passion for cooking didn’t vanish.
While dad was at work, I would sneak into the kitchen, guided by my mother’s encouragement. She believed in my culinary passion and became my earliest mentor. Under her watchful eye, I learned to cook, experiment, and improvise. From creating traditional Indian dishes to mastering the art of seafood, my culinary repertoire grew.
By the time I reached adulthood, I wasn’t just a journalist covering stories – I was also the go-to person for friends and relatives whenever gatherings were planned.
“Raj, you handle the drinks!” they would say. I wasn’t just good at cooking; I had also perfected the art of making cocktails and mocktails that rivalled those served in fancy bars! Yes, you heard right!
And seafood? Let’s just say I could turn crabs, prawns, and fish into masterpieces that left people licking their fingers and asking for more.
Years later, I decided to merge my culinary passion with entrepreneurship. As a journalist by day and a budding chef after work, I launched my own restaurant specialising in crab and seafood biryani.
The verbal reviews poured in – glowing ones, of course. My biryani became the talk of not only Kuching but Sarawak, too.
VIP customers – who included then deputy chief minister and a good friend Datuk Patinggi Tan Sri Dr George Chan and his beautiful wife Datuk Lorna Chan, ministers and deputy ministers, and government officials – came to taste what was arguably the best seafood or rather crab biryani around.
But as any chef will tell you, running a restaurant is no walk in the park. Behind the scenes, it is a whirlwind of logistics, human resources, and government red tape.
I struggled to find skilled local chefs who shared my passion and innovation. Many lacked the dedication needed for the restaurant industry. Hiring foreign chefs was another hurdle, thanks to restrictive labour policies. Add to that the challenge of retaining experienced waiters, and the dream started to crack.
After three fulfilling yet exhausting years, I made the difficult decision to close shop after losing a fortune. While it was heart breaking, the experience taught me invaluable lessons about resilience and creativity. Let’s say it was an expensive learning curve!
Looking back, I often chuckle at the “what-ifs” of being a chef. While cooking brings immense joy, it isn’t without its pitfalls – both literal and metaphorical.
For starters, the kitchen is a battlefield. One misstep, and you have got burns, cuts, or worse, an entire dish ruined. And let’s not forget the chaos during peak hours – angry customers demanding faster service, orders piling up, and the constant pressure to innovate.
Then there is the matter of taste. A journalist only needs to win over readers; a chef, on the other hand, has to satisfy an army of taste buds.
But perhaps the biggest peril is the heartbreak of unappreciated effort. Imagine slaving over a dish, only for someone to complain it’s “too salty” or “not Instagram-worthy”. At least in journalism, criticism often comes with constructive feedback. In cooking? Not so much.
Despite its challenges, cooking remains my solace. I still spend time in the kitchen. There is something therapeutic about chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and plating dishes. It is a creative outlet that rivals writing.
My family often jokes that I use the kitchen as my laboratory. And they are not wrong – I am constantly improvising dishes, experimenting with flavours, and adding my signature twist to traditional recipes.
Cooking, much like journalism, is an art form. Both require passion, attention to detail, and a willingness to adapt. Where one tells stories through words, the other tells stories through flavours.
In an alternate universe, I might have been standing in a kitchen instead of a newsroom. Perhaps I would have been known as the ‘Raja Nasi Biryani Ketam’ or the ‘Cocktail Guru’.
But in this universe, I have had the privilege of doing something just as fulfilling – telling stories that matter. And occasionally, those stories involve a dash of humour and a sprinkle of culinary adventures.
As for my friends who wonder why I haven’t retired? Well, writing, much like cooking, is a passion. You don’t retire from something you love; you just find new ways to keep it exciting.
If there is one takeaway from my journey, it is this: passion is the secret ingredient to success. Whether you are wielding a pen or a spatula, what truly matters is the love you pour into your craft.
So, the next time someone asks me what I would have been if I weren’t a journalist, I will proudly say, “A master chef.” Because at the end of the day, both writing and cooking are about one thing – creating something memorable that touches people’s lives. And I am grateful to have done just that, both in the newsroom and the kitchen.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune.
