The smell of butter wafted through the room, and the bread turned a golden brown. I could see the butter bubbling on the pan as it combined with the heat and toasted the slice of bread.
As I moved it to my plate and dropped a dollop of jam, I couldn’t help but be taken back to a little kitchen in a 5th or 7th-floor flat. I have been unsure of the floor for many years, but I know we called it flats. I had never heard of the word “apartment” until 2004.
The little kitchen was always bright, so high up that we could never keep the bright rays of sunlight that streamed into our home from the glorious Omani sky. As a child, I could never forget there used to be designs of shadows on the walls of our house as the sun streamed through the Islamic architecture of the windows.
The kitchen was bright, and I remember standing at the four-burner cooking range diligently making “buttered toast.” It was in the middle of the school year, but I was on study holidays, the time our schools gave us to prepare for our high school exams.
My parents were off to work, and I would make breakfast before I sat down. My favourite breakfast was buttered toast.
We always had a loaf of white bread in our house ( those were the days of fresh bread, and my father would purchase a loaf every few days on his way home from work). There was no multigrain, gluten-free, seeded bread back then.
The butter was Lurpak, the only brand my parents ever purchased. Known by its distinctive silver packaging with blue lettering, I would learn that it was a Danish brand much later. My father and I often debated buying the salted or unsalted type. I loved the salted version, where sometimes you could feel the salt crystals on your tongue. But he loved the unsalted, so we would trade off now and then.
I slathered the butter on both sides of the bread and placed it in a hot skillet. I remember Lurpak butter being golden, so golden, and because it was always warm in Oman, it would often be at a very spreadable consistency in the dish, golden and bright. As the bread toasted, it would also turn golden brown, and the edges would crisp up.
Then, I would slather jam all over the toast. I have wracked my brain to remember the brand my dad always bought. It was mixed fruit jam, and he loved the taste of this particular brand, and that is what we had in the kitchen cupboard for years.
This memory has always been in the recesses of my mind, and ever so often, it sneaks up on me. Usually, on a Saturday morning, when I religiously eat toast. I don’t think I could not live in a world without toast, butter & jam.
I have often shoved specific memories into the corners of my life, almost like a box of old bits and pieces one does not know what to do with. You are not quite ready to part with it or prepared to go through it.
They often bring up the feelings associated with said memory when you go through them. Sometimes, the feelings are good; other times, they bring up pain, hurt, anger, and emotions you would rather not deal with. Why would we want to bring up pain and hurt? Some memories are best left in the past, where they are meant to be.
But sometimes, we need to remember. Occasionally, we must bring those memories out of storage, dust them off, and linger over them. Why? Because remembering the past brings new awareness to the present. Memories bring value to a person’s life experience, allow you to reexamine the years gone by, and find the value in those moments. Memories are like a personal journal we carry around with us. The interesting thing about them is that it’s often easier to remember moments than days.
As an immigrant, I have spent years tucking away my memories. I have focused more on living in the present versus dwelling in the past. Fear, anxiety, sadness, and the worry of not living for the moment have caused me not to look back. But memories sneak up on you when you least expect it, and lately, I have begun to allow them to waft over me.
It has been good for my soul to remember, be thankful for those happy moments, and linger over them. They help keep my heart warm, and the butter tastes delicious.
Books I am reading this month:
1. Out of office by Warzel, Charlie - an interesting book about the work from home culture
2. Purses and Poison by Dorothy Howell - a good old-fashioned whodunit!
Sherene, I appreciate you bringing me with you through those memories. Food has a way of speaking into our whole narratives by reminding us where we've been with it before and where we encounter it now.
Lurpak, Klim, Nido, oh how we loved these products. I can actually smell and taste it whilst reading your article. Thank you dear Sherene for reviving my gastric senses.