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In every congenial trip back to my mother-in-law’s in Alor Setar, we would religiously make our compulsory visit to Pekan Rabu, the all northern food-galore center. When we were there recently, Amir found a new love – the “emping”. We were at this regular store, getting the regular stock of ikan masin and putu beras when we realized that Amir was happily dipping his little hand, filling it with emping from one of the containers. He was munching bit after bit that we decided to stock that too.

I already knew what to dish up with the emping. We just need some young grated coconut and some thinly sliced gula kabung to be mixed with the emping to make an unforgettable concoction. Which reminds me of the good old days...




When I was small, there was a period of time that my family stayed with my late grandmother in her kampong house. My dad was assigned to a very remote school deep in the jungle of Pahang. Accessing his workplace was very challenging, he decided to leave us to stay with our grandmother. This was in the mid-70’s, when having electricity and water is a new concept to the kampong people. Oh! I remember… I think we only had electricity, but water access was still very much ‘going-to-the-well’ type.

This was when I remember there was a lush green paddy field behind the house, with plenty of coconut trees swaying, that you could see tempua’s nests moving to the motion of the wind. This was when the air was crisp and smell of young paddy seeping up my nostrils. This was when I would pull the strings of the scarecrows tied to a bunch of empty milk cans made by my late grandmother to jolt the nerves of the uninvited visitors, cheering their departure.

I remember after the harvesting season, my mom’s siblings would gather at their eldest sister’s place to celebrate yet another good year of harvest. This was where the fun start, the making of emping. I recalled my aunties choosing a certain type of yield, dry frying the rice and when it was ready, transferred to a lesung kaki. Boy… I remember the fun of tapping the lesung with my elder cousins, and it was done with such a rhythm. The best part was enjoying the emping hot from the "oven"!! How I wish my kids would experience the simple life in the kampong during those days...