A casual criticism about baking from her aunt sparked a journey of self-discovery for Malaysian writer Ying Reinhardt, living in Germany. What began as a painful comment about not continuing her mother's baking legacy transformed into a profound understanding of motherhood and cultural connection.
The Stinging Question That Changed Everything
During her second trimester of pregnancy, Ying Reinhardt faced an unexpected confrontation from her Aunt Julie. "Aiyah, why don't you bake?" her aunt scolded in disbelief. "You should learn how to bake for the sake of your child! Your mother was such a good baker!"
The comment struck deep, especially coming from the only family member who also lived in Germany. Standing in her aunt's immaculate kitchen, hormonal and pregnant, Ying felt chastised for failing to be a good mother before even giving birth.
Her aunt had a point. Ying's mother had been an exceptional baker who baked late into the night upon request. She maintained her recipes in a thick, leopard-print notebook filled with neat handwriting and yellowed magazine clippings. Family members regularly called for her instructions, and her butter cake was remembered in hushed tones of awe.
Confronting Inadequacy and Cultural Disconnection
Ying's mother passed away when she was 18, leaving unanswered questions about why she never learned baking from her. The truth was complex - baking required discipline and precision that didn't match Ying's restless, impatient personality.
In her twenties, Ying led a nomadic life, living in rentals with strict rules or on cruise ships often without proper kitchens. She preferred agak agak cooking - a Malay term for eyeballing measurements rather than following recipes precisely.
Yet Aunt Julie's question lingered, creating doubts about whether not inheriting her mother's baking passion made her less of a daughter. This feeling of inadequacy followed Ying into her first year of motherhood, especially as her daughter began demanding sweet treats.
Finding Connection Through Imperfect Cookies
Driven by the desire to offer healthier alternatives and partly to prove herself to Aunt Julie, Ying began baking. She started with vegan blueberry muffins, reasoning that no eggs meant fewer ways to mess up.
After several successful batches, she attempted peanut cookies for Lunar New Year - something her mother used to make. The first attempt resulted in a wet, lumpy mixture that made her want to throw the bowl away.
The following year, determined to create meaningful Lunar New Year memories for her daughter despite being far from Malaysia, Ying tried walnut cookies with her toddler. As they worked together in their German kitchen with snow coating the ground outside, something magical happened.
The comforting scent of butter and sugar filling the hallway triggered a visceral memory of standing beside her mother as she deftly dislodged flower blossom pineapple tarts from their mould. The cookies emerged from the oven as golf ball-sized monsters that stuck together, but her daughter declared them "lecker" - delicious.
Ying realised Aunt Julie's comment wasn't meant to make her feel inferior but to remind her of her mother's magnanimous love. Baking became less about precision and more about showing up relentlessly for loved ones - the true legacy her mother left behind.
These days, Ying no longer fears combining eggs, flour and butter. Her peanut cookies now turn out fine - so successful that Aunt Julie recently asked her for the recipe, completing a beautiful full-circle moment of family connection and cultural continuity.
