The Bittersweet Art of Farewells: A Journey of Love, Distance, and Mom’s Comforting Pineapple Tarts

After nearly four years of living abroad, thousands of miles away from my cherished family and friends in Singapore, you might assume I’d have mastered the art of farewells. I once thought so too, believing I could approach these partings with a calm demeanor, a stoic wave, and a dry eye. Yet, the truth remains a persistent contradiction: I am, and always will be, profoundly terrible at saying goodbye.

I confess, I’ve always been an easy crier. My tears flow freely during poignant movie scenes, and I find myself deeply moved by news of someone’s passing, even those I barely know – like the unexpected death of my office building’s caretaker, which moved me to write about making each day count. But it is the act of parting from those I hold closest to my heart that truly brings forth a torrent of warm, salty tears.

I vividly recall that cold, winter day in January 2008, standing by a bus window in Paris. I was heading back to Mannheim, then on to Singapore, and had just said goodbye to Juan. My face was streaked with tears, a raw expression of complete agony. Typically, I care what others think, but that day, every shred of concern for public perception evaporated. I cried because there was no other way to articulate the overwhelming sadness and separation anxiety that gripped me. I had no idea if I would ever see the boy I had fallen in love with again. The thought that we had met only to part felt utterly excruciating. (This, I admit, is the sappy, romantic side of me, rarely exposed when I’m discussing food or recipes).

When Juan and I later decided to embark on a long-distance relationship, with nearly 16,000 kilometers separating us – he in Argentina, me in Singapore – we committed to seeing each other twice a year. We’d take turns flying across continents, a testament to our burgeoning love. Yet, with each reunion, the inevitable farewell loomed. The dreadful feeling would return as we packed luggage, loaded it into the car, and drove to the airport. No matter how fiercely I tried to hold them back, the tears would always come, an uncontrollable cascade mirroring the ache in my heart.

Navigating Long-Distance Love and Family Bonds

After two years of this truly challenging long-distance journey, we made a pivotal decision: one of us had to move. Ultimately, I was the one to relocate. My career in finance offered greater portability compared to Juan’s nascent law practice at the time. While this change brought Juan and me closer, it merely shifted the focus of my sad farewells. Now, instead of tearful goodbyes with Juan, it was my family I embraced at Singapore Changi Airport, holding onto them a little longer than usual, just because I could.

My annual pilgrimage back to Southeast Asia, typically around the Chinese New Year period, involves an arduous, 30-hour flight. These trips are a whirlwind of emotions, a compressed three-week schedule packed with reunions with my much-missed family and friends. It’s a time for indulgence, stuffing myself with festive goodies like my mum’s legendary pineapple tarts and my granny’s deep-fried meatballs. However, with so many cherished individuals to connect with, my time is spread incredibly thin. The three weeks invariably fly by, leaving me with the feeling that I barely had any time in Singapore at all, the bittersweet taste of fleeting moments.

This past visit from my mum and sister was no different in its rapid conclusion, yet it was exceptionally meaningful. My mum, in particular, meticulously squeezed every single day from her office leave to be here, a gesture I deeply appreciate. We embarked on memorable adventures, from a charming trip to Colonia to an exhilarating horse riding experience at Caballos A La Par. The 19 days she spent in Buenos Aires vanished without a trace, and last Friday, my mum boarded her flight back to Singapore.

Even though her physical presence is no longer here – she’s not bustling around the apartment Val and I rent, not cooking us breakfast, or engrossed in her word search puzzles – it feels as if my mum’s spirit lingers in Argentina. Her love, her warmth, and her presence remain palpable, not just in my memories but in a very tangible form in our kitchen.

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MUM’S
PINEAPPLE TARTS
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A Taste of Home: The Enduring Comfort of Pineapple Tarts

On our kitchen counter sits a large container of my mum’s pineapple tarts. These small, bite-sized pastries, either filled or topped with sweet pineapple jam, are more than just a snack; they are a powerful symbol that I’ve come to associate profoundly with her unwavering love and the festive spirit of Chinese New Year. My mum has a cherished tradition of sending a few containers of these golden goodies whenever I travel. They serve as a taste of home, a comforting embrace when homesickness creeps in, or simply, her unique and delicious way of showing us how much she cares.

According to my mum, the original recipe for these delightful treats came from her tuition teacher, Ms. Vanessa, over a decade ago. But my mum has baked them so frequently, with such dedication and mastery, that the recipe now feels intrinsically hers. It’s a testament to her countless hours in the kitchen, perfecting each buttery, sweet morsel.

The Art of Baking: From Observation to Creation

I’ve watched my mum bake these little balls of buttery goodness countless times in Singapore. So many mornings, I would descend the stairs to be greeted by the intoxicating aroma of pineapple tarts baking in the oven – a harmonious blend of rich buttery batter and sweet, dried pineapples. The scent alone was enough to stir feelings of warmth and comfort.

I’d sit by the kitchen table, mesmerized, watching her expertly roll batch after batch. First, she’d meticulously prepare the dried pineapple filling. Then, with practiced hands, she would wrap each portion of filling in a thin layer of delicate batter – just the way my dad likes it, the thinner the better. Finally, she’d gently roll them between her palms, shaping them into perfect, uniform spheres.

These exquisite little yellow balls, reminiscent of miniature golden moons, would then be carefully arranged on a parchment paper-lined baking tray. Before they entered the oven, my mum would lovingly brush them with liquid egg yolk, giving them a lustrous sheen that made them shine like tiny suns.

I’d witnessed her repeat these actions so many times over the years, taking for granted the effort involved. It was only when I pleaded with her to make these special tarts during her recent visit to Buenos Aires that I truly understood the meticulous and somewhat tedious nature of the process. The reality of baking them from scratch, far from the conveniences of Singapore, brought a newfound appreciation for her dedication.

Our journey began with a practical challenge: we had to ask my brother to take a photo of the old, slightly faded recipe pinned by a magnet on our refrigerator door back in Singapore. Without the readily available pre-packaged pineapple filling found in Asian supermarkets, we had to start from scratch. This meant purchasing desiccated pineapple rings, painstakingly cutting them into small pieces, cooking them with a bit of water, and then mashing them all together until a thick, sweet paste formed. Once the mixture cooled enough to handle, we rolled them into small, sticky balls – a task that quickly covered our hands in sweet jam. (If you’re fortunate enough to be in Asia and can get the pre-made filling directly, I wholeheartedly suggest you do so to save yourself significant time and effort!)

The batter, a simple yet perfect mix of butter, flour, sugar, and vanilla extract, comes together beautifully if you aren’t afraid to get your hands in there and work it until smooth. Take a small spoonful of this pliable dough, roll it flat between your palms, and carefully wrap it around a ball of the pineapple filling, ensuring the batter completely encloses the jam. A final brush with liquid egg yolk, a stint in the oven, and you’ll have a batch of these golden, delectable tarts ready to enjoy – a true labor of love that tastes like home.

PINEAPPLE TARTS (Makes 6 dozen)

My mum’s treasured recipe

Ingredients:

For the batter:

• 500 g of plain flour
• 250 g salted butter, cut into small cubes and chilled
• A pinch of salt
• 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil
• 1 egg yolk
• 1 teaspoon of vanilla essence
• 3-4 tablespoons of chilled water
• 2 egg yolks (beaten) for glazing

For the filling:

• 600 g of desiccated pineapples
• 1 cup of water

Steps:

For the Filling (Skip if using pre-packaged pineapple filling):

1. Chop up the desiccated pineapples finely and blend them in a blender with a cup of water until smooth.
2. Pour the blended pineapples into a cooking pot and boil over low heat, stirring frequently, until the mixture thickens and dries into a firm paste.
3. Remove the paste from heat and let it cool completely. Once cooled, roll it into tiny, uniform balls.

For the Tarts:

4. Sift the plain flour into a large mixing bowl and add the pinch of salt.
5. Add the chilled, cubed salted butter to the flour mixture. Using your fingertips, quickly rub the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Work swiftly to prevent the butter from melting.
6. In a separate small bowl, combine the vegetable oil, vanilla essence, and one egg yolk. Add this wet mixture to the crumbly flour mixture.
7. Mix with your hands to form a smooth, pliable dough. If the dough is too dry, add chilled water one tablespoon at a time until it comes together.
8. Pinch off a small lump of dough (about a teaspoon-sized portion) and roll it thinly on the palm of your hand to create a flat disc.
9. Place one pineapple filling ball onto the center of the flattened dough. Carefully wrap the dough around the filling, ensuring it’s completely covered, and then gently roll it between your palms to form a smooth ball.
10. Place the rolled tarts onto a baking tray lined with baking paper, leaving a small space between each.
11. Brush the tops of all the tarts with the two beaten egg yolks for a golden glaze.
12. Preheat your oven to 170°C (340°F). Bake the tarts for 25 minutes, or until their tops are beautifully golden brown.

*Note: If pre-packaged pineapple filling is available, you can conveniently skip steps 1 & 2 for the filling preparation.

Chop up the desiccated pineapples roughly and blend it in a blender with a cup of water:

Pour the blended pineapples into a cooking pot and boil over low heat:

Until it thickens and dries up into a paste:

Leave the paste aside to cool and then roll them into tiny balls:

Sift flour into mixing bowl and add in the pinch of salt. Cut chilled salted butter into small cubes and add to flour:

Rub butter with the flour in the mixing bowl with fingers until crumbly (work quickly so that the butter does not melt):

Mix oil, vanilla essence and one egg yolk together:

Add the oil mixture to the crumbly flour and mix with hands to form a smooth dough:

Roll a small spoonful of dough between the palms of your hand:

Flatten the dough as thinly as you can without breaking it:

And add pineapple filling to roll into a ball:

Place rolled balls onto a baking tray lined with baking paper:

Glaze the balls with two beaten egg yolks before placing the tray into the oven:

Bake for 25 minutes at 170 deg cel or until tops the tarts are golden brown: