J.Panicker

Can an ordinary plate of rice somehow reflect a small way of belonging to a place, especially one that’s constantly evolving? That’s what I got to unpack in my recent essay for a food journal I adore so much, GOYA.

Earlier this year, I responded to their open call for Singapore stories, and I knew I wanted to write about something very local, but perhaps less spotlighted than the typical icons of Singapore food, laksa, chicken rice, kaya toast and the like. I eventually landed on economy rice, also known more adorably as “point-point” rice: that everyday meal, a cultural staple we know intimately but may easily take for granted. While working on the piece, I spoke with people in the local food industry whose work I have long admired. Unsurprisingly, many of them were ambivalent about economy rice as a subject, which made carving out an angle difficult.

It made me think harder about what it means to write about something so ordinary yet so woven into everyday life here. And of course, a lot of economy rice also went into the eating, thinking and drafting. As I drafted the essay, I realised I was also writing from a familiar ache about what is even local in a place like Singapore, this little constantly overachieving city-state built on many migrant communities, a constant feeling of belonging and “unbelonging” at once. I arrived at a realisation as I listened to some of my interview transcripts that maybe the ways we eat can also tell a story of the ways we belong, however momentarily, in this city known for its multiplicity and constant evolution. And so what came forth was an ode to the dish and way of eating I have a love-hate relationship with! Full essay here.

While it is my byline, any writing is often held up by other people. This “solitary” work was made possible by a constellation of wonderful people in my inner world who kept life and laundry going while I disappeared into writing. I especially want to thank my wonderful friend JL, writer and comic artist, whose book is coming out very soon! She championed this essay from the start, accompanying me to economy rice places, helping with shots, co-working with me as the piece slowly came together, and listening as I worked through its many drafts. I also shared a little of this piece at our monthly Kilang Kobis reading group, a safe space where we bring anything from works in progress to wild corporate stories, united by a simple motto of owning our own nonsense. I am grateful for that space, for the listening, the warmth, and the peals of laughter that made me feel excited about the essay. I am thankful to the GOYA editors and to everyone who generously shared their time and thoughts with me. I guess this sounds like an acceptance monologue, but I really did enjoy this process and am thankful for everything that made it possible.

Also, sharing some of my favourite reads from GOYA this year:

Unpacking caste in the spice aisle

This was such a sad and eye-opening essay. It begins as a love story, then gradually unfolds into a moving meditation on how caste appears in the spice aisles of South Asian supermarkets, and in the hidden labour of Dalit and Adivasi women who package those boxes.

Selling homemade ghee in London

There is nothing like homemade ghee! When slathered on warm toast, it has floral, honeyed notes, so moreish. Reading this article made me think of memories that are not actually my own, but my sister’s, of times in our paternal aunt’s house, sharing her homemade ghee on toast with our cousins and grandfather, our favourite human in the whole wide world. I remember the jar of orange blossom honey, my grandfather’s favourite, that was a fixture on the kitchen table.

The story of Paal Mee Siam

I love mee siam, especially the homemade kind. Learning about this version was such a delight and offered a small glimpse into Tamil Muslim migration in Singapore.