I had a ‘Ratatouille’ moment recently. Recall the scene when the jaded critic Anton Ego tasted the special version of ratatouille cooked by Remy and Colette? One taste of the dish and it took Anton back to his childhood, when his mother cooked?
Well, for me it happened in a HK restaurant that we went to for the first time. My friend’s wife, Peggy ordered a range of dishes – having obtained the maitre d’ guarantee – “if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay….”.
The first dish arrived. One look and I was transported back 40 years in time, when my black and white housekeeper-cook prepared a dish exactly like what lay in front of me. The aromas and taste of the dish brought on the tears. This was my ratatouille moment or should I say, the moment of the bitter gourd-pig liver soup.