菠蘿包

One day, when I see St. Peter at those white pearly gates, I'm going to have a list of questions for him... Who killed JFK? Who was behind the disappearance of Kristen Smart? And... how many 菠蘿包s have I consumed in my lifetime?

What is it about this mysterious pastry that has been as much an anchor as it has the Big Mac to Americans? Or kim chi to Koreans? How has it transcended the open seas of immigration to survive the decades of culinary evolution and the modern culture of carb and starch ostricization?

A simple internet search can unravel the origins of the 菠蘿包 in Hong Kong culture. But to me... 菠蘿包, along with its twin partner in crime 雞尾包 originates as the daily sustenance of my dad. Every morning, before heading to work, he would stop by a Chinatown coffee shop for his cup of coffee and these two staples. It wasn't till many years later...that big bro and I realized, in dad's long 10-11 hour day of manual labor, this was his 15-20 minutes of peace and quiet where he can escape the cross-fires of a Chinese restaurant, for him to find peace in his daily newspaper. Slowly but surely, his daily ritual became my lifelong affair for this crispy, crunchy and internally warm center of flavorful explosion.

Ironically, 菠蘿包 wasn't always my go-to pastry or bun. I grew up loving the equally welcoming and twice as famous 叉燒包. Legend has it... I once downed 10 of those snow-white treasures in one sitting. Of course, with most legends, it was probably 2 or 3... but the number grew legs over the years for dramatic effect. Then in 1993... the movie 八仙飯店之人肉叉燒包 forever sealed the fate of my love for this wondrous marvel... buried in the safe confines with the leftovers being mocking and ridiculing others who feast on the mere idea of possible cannibalism. Heh...

Though not as beloved as the mondo-disgusting 叉燒包, 菠蘿包 was never far behind. One memory that seems to stand out was around the age of 5-6 when I finally put my foot down, and refused to go dim-sum with my dad and his friends. I didn't like the hour long sitting and watching them talk. We didn't have the luxury of electronic devices, nor did we have the wherewithal to know to bring a book or two (if I was even a reader back then), and in the 80's, smoking was still prevalent in San Francisco restaurants. That day... I chose to rather starve, then take the plunge of punishment for 2 hours. Instead... I decided to stay home with mom who somehow understood and knew I wanted something else. That something else... was a 菠蘿包 and a box of Vitasoy 甘蔗汁. When mom asked if I wanted to eat... I was afraid to tell her. Afraid she'll end up simply bringing me to rendezvous with dad and his friends. When I finally cracked under pressure, she said, "Let's go." As vivid as last night's dream, I still remember second-guessing her. "Really? Just me and you? 菠蘿包? Not 飲茶 with dad?" Just as vivid... was the memory of sitting at 平園 Bakery on Stockton... with the best combo known to man. I was.... spoiled.

Over the years, especially in my college years... I longed for many things. Making my random trips to SF so much more special were the trips to Garden Bakery on Jackson. $1 for 3.... how do those businesses even survive?? Upon graduation and moving to the South Bay... whenever I knew a friend or even a non-friend... go out to SF, I would nonchalantly ask them to make a stop by Chinatown and bring me back a simple dollars worth of enjoyment.

At church, during special events, they would go out to a Vietnamese/Chinese bakery to order 菠蘿包 for the kids, and mark it specifically for kids. The adults are left with porridge and croissants. I rarely abuse my God-given authority at church, but this is a case where I will break the law and sneak in a bun or two. To a point where, the breakfast and hospitality staff already know that it's 賣非罰 and will order it on my behalf every time.

There has been different instances of the 菠蘿包. Most notably... ones with custard or red bean or the likes. In Hong Kong and in LA... there's the famous 菠蘿油, which is nothing more than a 菠蘿包 with a slab of butter in the middle. But I've never wavered, staying true to the original form that it was intended to be consumed.

Yesterday... on my way home from SF... I was able to stop by a little known bakery on Noriega. I ordered 9 buns... knowing the kids, who if anything, have also inherited my love for this treasure, will fight me for every last crust. She only gave me 8.... cuz she needed to save what's left of her collection for the rest of the Sunset that share in my love for this precious gem. It's been 2 days... and the 8 pineapple buns, are now down to 2. Two of which are left for the kids tomorrow morning. Of the 8... I've had none. Opting for the runner up of the cocktail bun.

There is no greater love than this.. than to lay down your life for your friend. Shortly after that... is, "and also, to give up your beloved 菠蘿包." As much as I love my 菠蘿包, I love my kids that, THAT, much more. How blessed am I.... that I can have a personally delivered 菠蘿包. A seemingly meaningless gesture, that actually means a lifetime of memories for me.

Mood: heavenly