More than 20 years ago, in a small town called Sabak Bernam, I was often recognised as the grandson of "Luck Bee" – a name given to me by some adults who came across me. Luck Bee is the Teow Chew pronunciation of a traditional soup-based dessert. Back then, I was just a primary school student, unaware of the significance behind this name.
Luck Bee, literally translated as "six tastes", is a dessert made with six different ingredients. My grandmother was well-known in Sabak Bernam for selling her signature Luck Bee long before I was born. Many adults in the town had fond memories of her dessert, making her a familiar figure in the community.
To prepare Luck Bee, my grandmother followed a meticulous process each day. She would soak malva nuts in a basin filled with rainwater collected in a large pail, allowing them to swell into a gelatinous mass, traditionally believed to have cooling properties.
At the back of her house, where countless coconut trees stood, she gathered dried coconut leaves to light a fire in a charcoal stove. She then boiled a pot of water over the flames.
She cracked open hard ginkgo nut shells, removed their thin brown skin, and halved each nut to extract its bitter core. The ginkgo nuts were then simmered in a sugar solution until they absorbed the sweetness.
Additionally, she prepared raw pearl barley and sago, soaking the cooked sago in cold water to prevent hardening. She also sliced dried winter melon strips and dried persimmons into thin pieces. Each of the six ingredients was stored separately in containers, ready for use.
These preparations began in the morning and continued throughout the day. After an early dinner around 6pm, my grandfather would carefully pack the prepared ingredients into a wooden crate, place it on his bicycle, and push it slowly to a designated spot near the town’s cinema, where their wheeled wooden stall was set up. He would boil a large pot of water on a paraffin stove, adding white sugar, pandan leaves, and dried longans to create a fragrant, sweet soup. Later, my grandmother would join him, and by 7pm, they were ready to serve customers.
When a customer arrived, my grandmother would scoop small portions of each ingredient into a vintage porcelain bowl imprinted with "ping pong kids", then ladle in the clear brownish soup. With that, a steaming hot bowl of Luck Bee was ready to be served – for just 60 sen per bowl.
Before writing this story, I gathered details from family members who had helped my paternal grandmother more than 30 years ago, relying on their recollections. In truth, I have never tasted my grandmother's signature Luck Bee. By the time I was a child, my grandparents had long retired, and their wooden stall sat abandoned in the backyard of my old house, gathering dust. At the time, I had little understanding of its significance – how it had once helped them make ends meet.
Although Luck Bee may seem like an ordinary dessert to many, and countless other sweet treats are readily available to me today, my grandmother’s Luck Bee remains the most luxurious dessert I can never taste.
