MANY Malaysians are having a ball celebrating Chinese New Year. Woks are out. Ovens are pre-heated. Recipes are being debated – again.
But let me ask a deceptively simple question: what oil do you normally cook with? Palm oil as in palm olein? Sunflower? Canola? Rice bran? Coconut? Peanut? Corn? Olive? Avocado?
And does it change with the task? One oil for frying, another for stir-frying, yet another for baking or steaming?
Do you reach for different bottles depending on the dish – or simply the nearest one within arm’s length?
In a season filled with choices – menus, guest lists, reunion dates – few decisions are made as casually, yet matter as quietly, as the oil we pour into the wok.
And that is where the story begins ...
If I were palm oil, I would not arrive with the New Year. I would already be there – settled, familiar, quietly warming in the wok – waiting for the flame and the hands that know exactly what to do next.
As the Year of the Snake coils itself gently into rest and the Fire Horse paws the ground with restless energy, kitchens across Malaysia begin their most meaningful transition.
Years do not change at midnight before Eve is here. They change when chopping boards come out, when recipes are recalled from memory rather than paper, when families gather not around screens but stoves.
The Snake was a year of patience.
Of measured heat and careful timing. Of learning – again – that good things do not respond well to force.
Palm oil understands this language instinctively. It remains steady when heat is held low for long periods, when festive preparations begin days ahead, when kuihs are fried, cooled, stored and revisited without fear that flavours will sour or textures collapse.
Its resistance to oxidation and its long shelf life have long made it a quiet ally of festive kitchens, where cooking is done not for one meal, but for many – often shared across households.
This dependability is not modern science rediscovered. It is inherited wisdom.
Then comes the Fire Horse.
The Fire Horse does not wait. It charges forward – energetic, bold, unapologetic.
It brings roaring flames, rapid movements and multiple dishes competing for attention.
It is the season of prosperity tosses, deep-fried favourites, quick stir-fries and kitchens operating at full rhythm. In such moments, not all oils behave equally.
The joy of palm oil
Palm oil was made for fire. Its naturally high smoke point, hovering around 230 degrees Celsius, allows cooks to work confidently at traditional festive heat without acrid smoke or bitterness creeping in.
Woks can roar without fear. Deep frying can be repeated without oil breaking down.
The result is food that fries cleanly, absorbs less oil, stays crisp longer – and looks exactly as it should: golden, inviting, auspicious.
This is why battered slices of nian gao (traditional Chinese sweet, sticky rice cake made from glutinous rice flour) emerge crisp on the outside and soft within.
Why keropok puffs evenly. Why festive snacks achieve that familiar crunch that announces celebration before the first bite is taken.
Palm oil also understands speed. Stir-fries and sautés demand oil that can handle sudden bursts of heat, quick tosses and fast finishes.
Its stability allows garlic, shallots, dried shrimp and spices to bloom without scorching, releasing aroma without bitterness.
And because refined palm oil carries a neutral flavour, it never competes with the dish. It supports, but never intrudes.
Festive food is not meant to taste experimental. It is meant to taste right.
Across zodiac cycles, every animal has passed through the kitchen.
The Ox cooked steadily for many mouths. The Tiger thrived on boldness and roaring heat.
The Rabbit favoured delicacy and balance. The Dragon demanded abundance – banquets that stretched tables and laughter alike.
The Snake refined, simmered and waited. And now the Horse gallops in, bringing speed, confidence and momentum.
Through them all, the oil in the wok remained unchanged – not because families resisted change, but because they trusted what worked.
Palm oil earned its place not through branding, but through performance. It delivered consistency when expectations were inherited, not negotiated.
Taste, after all, is memory made edible. Change the oil, and you risk changing the memory – the colour of the kuih, the texture of the pastry, the aroma that signals home.
Palm oil’s goodness extends beyond frying.
In baking, it lends richness and moisture, giving cakes, muffins and festive pastries tenderness and structure.
Traditional bakes stay moist. Biscuits hold their bite. Mouthfeel remains familiar.
In sauces and gravies, refined palm oil provides a neutral, glossy base that carries spices evenly and keeps flavours rounded rather than sharp.
And then there is its more expressive cousin – red palm oil.
If refined palm oil is the quiet workhorse of festive kitchens, red palm oil is its storyteller.
Gently refined to retain much of the natural goodness of crude palm oil, it carries with it a remarkable concentration of carotenoids and vitamin E tocotrienols – phytonutrients that give the oil its deep crimson hue and its nutritional depth.
Vitamins and goodness
Rich in beta-and alpha-carotene, red palm oil is among the richest plant sources of provitamin A, which the body converts into vitamin A to support vision, immunity, growth and development – especially important for growing children and grandchildren.
In the kitchen, red palm oil brings both nourishment and theatre.
With a smoke point comparable to refined palm oil, it remains stable for sautéing and light frying, while its colour transforms dishes visually.
Fried rice glows warmer. Scrambled eggs deepen in hue. Gravies and chilli sauces take on a richer, more appetising intensity.
Used thoughtfully – often at moderate heat or added toward the end – it enhances flavour, improves shelf life through its resistance to oxidation, and reminds us that colour, too, is part of how food communicates joy.
In festive seasons where red symbolises vitality, fortune and renewal, red palm oil feels almost instinctively at home.
It is this versatility – frying, baking, stir-frying, sauces – that made palm oil a one-oil solution in many households.
Fewer bottles. Less waste. More certainty. Its naturally balanced fatty-acid profile allows it to perform consistently without chemical modification.
Its ability to solidify in cooler temperatures and melt again without loss of quality was never a flaw in tropical kitchens – it was simply understood.
And its cost-effectiveness matters.
Celebrations are generous by nature, but they must also be inclusive.
Palm oil’s efficiency as a crop producing more oil per hectare than any other vegetable oil – has long helped keep cooking oil accessible. Prosperity loses meaning if only a few can afford to celebrate.
This is where Muhibbah quietly enters the picture. Goodwill does not begin with slogans. It begins with food that crosses tables freely. With dishes exchanged between neighbours without asking whose tradition they belong to. With hands reaching across cultures for something familiar in taste, if not in name.
Palm oil has long played this quiet role. It flows effortlessly across cuisines, communities and celebrations. It does not impose identity. It supports it. It does not demand recognition. It enables connection.
In that sense, palm oil is not merely an ingredient. It is a bridge - between generations, between cultures, between festive seasons that differ in symbolism but share the same heart.
As the Fire Horse charges forward - full of promise, ambition and motion - it is worth pausing to notice what remains constant. Not the zodiac animals that race across the lunar calendar, but the small, steady elements that hold celebrations together: trusted methods, familiar flavours, and the understanding that food is how we welcome one another home.
If I were palm oil this New Year, I would not ask for applause. I would simply remain where I have always been – by the fire, in the wok, within the rhythm of families and time. Because while years change and symbols shift, what endures are the meals we remember, the hands that prepared them, and the Muhibbah that lingered long after the last dish was cleared.
And if there is one thing even MasterChefs, seasoned chefs and fiery cooking competitions quietly agree on, it is this: when the heat is real and the stakes are high, palm oil never gets voted off the kitchen.
May the Year of the Fire Horse be spirited, generous and grounded - welcomed with warmth, sustained by tradition and shared together. Gong Xi Fa Cai.
Joseph Tek Choon Yee has over 30 years of experience in the plantation industry, with a strong background in oil palm research and development, C-suite leadership and industry advocacy. The views expressed here are the writer’s own.
