WHENEVER I slice and sauté onions these days, I think of May Miranda. No, she didn't make me cry, but her meticulous handling of a mundane kitchen task somehow has left a lasting impression; one that informs my own (admittedly, rather limited) cooking.
Slice the onions and monitor their progress in the skillet so the result is a bronzed, sweetly fragrant tangle. Don't rush: Keep the heat on medium, and stir frequently to guarantee no bitter burnt edges.
By watching her cook in such a structured, quotidian way, I'm able to stop time — a compelling state for an anxious mind like mine. I can finally slow down and ask her questions about the foods we ate, growing up. What I didn't know was that I'm entering a master class in Malayalee home cooking.
There's something innately nostalgic about May's cooking. Traditional Malayalee dishes of my childhood has been her forte for as long as I can remember. My late father would insist on going over to her restaurant, May 'n' Mikes in Taman Petaling after his hospital visits. "Let's go there for lunch!" he'd try to cajole me.
"Hello Koshy!" May would greet my gruff father with a beaming smile. Not long after, dad and I would sit and enjoy an authentic Malayalee meal. In no time, pachadi, fish molee, mutton varuval, prawn thoran, avial, inji pulli would be piled on our plates and we'd be sitting there — our arguments about coming over to this place forgotten — and blithely licking our fingers clean.
"Your father came there often when he was well…" she shares as she contemplatively adds chillies and curry powder to the onions, before adding: "...your uncles too!"
For a while, silence hangs in the air. The oil in the pan crackles and pops.
The signage 'May 'n' Mikes' takes pride of place on the wall behind her. She turns and looks at it briefly. I catch her wistful smile. The restaurant in Section 17 enjoyed a good run, converting walk-ins into regulars and turned Malayalees like my dad into "homing pigeons" who'd constantly flock back for a taste of home.
For the latter, the space was a physical reminder of their kinship. When they came "home" to May 'n' Mikes, they could return to where they started.
But in 2018, May finally gave up the restaurant business. "I had to," she sighs, adding: "Running a restaurant is tough and time consuming. It was time to move on."
But moving on didn't include hanging up her apron for good.
The enterprising cook continued running a food business from her home, selling perennial favourites like the authentic Kerala mutton roast with coconut and favourite condiments like chammanthi podi, inji puli and salt fish pickles.
Ever ready to challenge herself, May recently took part in what's now known as the world's largest cooking competition — the Malaysia Culinary World Cup 2023 — which earned her the silver medal with her prawn thoran.
"I would've made you prawn thoran…" she begins a little regretfully, adding: "But you said make something simpler, so I'm making you chammanthi podi."
Kerala cooking, she reminds me with a smile, is filled with cardamom, pepper, cashew nuts and mangoes, which seem to grow in every backyard. "Grated coconut chutney accompanies almost every meal," explains May and I nod eagerly.
She throws in a bowl of peeled and cleaned ikan bilis (anchovies) into the sizzling pan.
GROWING UP YEARS
"It's a condiment like sambal belacan," May schools me, admitting: "This is what makes me want to eat that extra plate of rice. I love ikan bilis. And this podi makes everything tastes better."
The heady fragrance of frying anchovies soon permeates the entire kitchen. Did you always want to be a cook? I ask her curiously, while trying to ignore the rumbling in my stomach. The 61-year-old chuckles and shakes her head.
"I didn't enjoy cooking at first, to be honest," she confesses sheepishly, adding: "My late husband enjoyed cooking much more than I did!"
Ah, the erstwhile 'Mike' of the 'May 'n' Mikes' moniker. "He's the reason why I'm in the food business in the first place," she attests firmly.
Mike D'Cruz enjoyed cooking and dreamt of running a restaurant someday. The Kuantan-born man had honed his cooking skills while he was studying overseas. But it was different for May. "Back home, I'd help my mother in the kitchen of course, but I wasn't interested in cooking," she admits.
Born and raised in Port Klang, May was the youngest of six siblings. Her father worked with Malayan Railways, and her mum was a homemaker. According to the affable woman, life was tough but they got by, largely due to her mother's ability to run the household on their father's modest income. "She saved and scrimped, and taught us the value of sharing what we had with each other," she recalls.
The young May took up secretarial studies. But six months later, she'd meet her future husband at the St Anne's Church. They got married not long after. "I was only 21. I didn't really get the chance to see and explore the world," she adds half wistfully.
Was it love at first sight? I tease her, and she laughs. "Well, he met me and decided he wanted to marry me!" she says gaily.
From Port Klang, May moved to Kemaman, Terengganu to be with her husband. It was there that her cooking career began in earnest. Mike dabbled in the food business while still holding down a full-time job.
He and his friend put their money together and opened a restaurant in Kemaman. His wife helped them at the counter. "I wasn't doing any cooking at first," she recounts, laughing. "I wasn't interested!"
Mike eventually sold off the restaurant and then suggested they open a food stall at the petrol station, selling chapatis with curries. May's mum was aghast when she found out about their plans.
"My mother told me I should take my secretarial certificate and light the stove with it!" recounts May blithely. "...but I was adamant to support my husband's dreams."
LIGHTING UP THE FIRE
May began to expand her repertoire of recipes by learning to make authentic Malayalee dishes from her in-laws. "I began to enjoy cooking once I saw how people enjoyed eating the food I cooked. . The looks on their faces changed my attitude towards cooking," she says softly.
From helping to run the food stall, first at the petrol station and then at a Chinese restaurant, May went on to manage a cafe at her husband's place of work.
"I worked there for four years. That was my training ground, to be honest. I learnt everything… from staffing to food safety to displaying food… I also learnt that the kitchen should never be wet and that cleanliness is paramount," she reels off enthusiastically, adding: "I loved every minute of it!"
But she gave up the job when an opportunity to open a restaurant back at her hometown in Klang arose. The couple moved back with their three daughters in tow and the first 'May 'n' Mikes' was opened in Southern Park.
While the food received rave reviews, business was challenging — especially during the recession. To compound their dilemma, Mike lost his job at the height of the global financial crisis.
"It was hard," she admits, adding: "All our savings were dumped into the restaurant and we were barely breaking even. Resources got stretched. Morale wavered."
Continuing, she says: "The magic that kept the bad investment afloat the first time inevitably got diluted. I had to work at another restaurant just to make ends meet. I also made condiments like inji pulli and salt fish pickle, and sold them to friends and family. I had three children to think about and bills to pay."
Heeding the advice of their regular customers, the couple gave up the restaurant in Klang to open a stall at a club in Petaling Jaya. At the same time, Mike also took up catering for an international school.
The couple eventually moved their business to Taman Petaling in 2000. May ran the restaurant like a tight ship until she sold the business almost two decades later.
A DEEP LOSS
The genial cook grows quiet as she turns her attention to the stove. Generous amounts of coconut are put into the pan with a dollop of curry powder and curry leaves. The aroma is almost distracting me.
Running the restaurant wasn't without its challenges, she notes.
"I worked long hours trying to keep everything afloat. I struggled most of the time," she admits. To make matters worse, her husband's health started to deteriorate.
"I couldn't understand at first why he couldn't keep up with the pace. It was his dream to start a food business initially. But now, here I was… trying to do everything while he suddenly stopped trying," she reveals without a trace of rancour.
A CT scan later revealed that Mike was suffering from dementia. He was only 40 years old.
The news was devastating. "I was now on my own. I had to put Mike in a nursing care facility while I continued to run the business," she recalls, her face clouding. "He was no longer able to care for himself. It was the toughest decision I ever had to make."
May had to ask her eldest daughter Sharrolyn to drop out of college in order to help her at the restaurant. "I'm so grateful that she pitched in to help without complaint. She took over the catering job her father had been doing for the international school and I paid her a salary," recalls May.
Mike passed away at the age of 46, surrounded by his wife and daughters.
"I'm very, very grateful to him. I don't think I'd be where I am today if it wasn't for his burning dream of opening a restaurant," she says softly. "My only regret is that I didn't learn his recipes. He was a very gifted cook."
Years later, the plucky restauranteur decided to shutter her restaurant for good. She wanted to spend time with family and take care of her eldest daughter during the latter's confinement. "I didn't want to spend the rest of my life running a business that took up a huge chunk of my time," she confesses candidly.
But once she returned from the United States (where her daughter resides), she found that she wasn't quite ready to step away from the kitchen just yet. "So I decided to get back to cooking. I stepped back into the kitchen and it felt like a homecoming of sorts," she tells me, smiling.
There's been no looking back for the grandmother of three.
From bagging a silver medal at a cooking championship, to selling her famous roast mutton and condiments online, May's interests also expanded to conducting cooking classes for anyone who's interested in learning to make authentic Malayalee cuisine.
"My husband left me a legacy and I want to pass that to the next generation," she explains, adding: "I don't want to take my recipes to the grave."
Anyone can cook, insists May. "You just need to learn the exact measurements. There's no agak-agak for me. I have everything down to a science so it's easy to replicate my cooking. So, if you want to learn, you can!"
Our conversation falters briefly as she takes the contents of the pan and transfers them to the blender. The blender whirrs loudly for a few minutes.
Her chammanthi podi is now ready. Taking a clean spoon, she scoops a little of the delectable mixture from the blender and offers it to me.
"Try this," she urges and I need no further encouragement. She beams at my reaction when I taste her podi.
Later, as I bring back a container full of that coconutty, savoury condiment, my mother and I exchange happy grins. Thanks to May Miranda, dinner is going to be epic.
How could it not be, with that familiar taste of home in every bite?
For details, go to www.facebook.com/may.n.mikes or contact +60 12-252 9683.