“Dee, can you get the Yim Kai from the fridge?” Kay’s mother hollers from the kitchen. I look at Kay, who is equally blurred. Salted Chicken? We look into both fridges, opening and closing doors. There was a large turkey sitting in the chiller staring back. Maybe it’s a Cantonese tradition, Kay volunteers. Kay’s mother ambles towards us, she has the look of one annoyed with the foolishness of youth – that being Kay and I. She shoves pass us and takes the turkey out. “As plain as day itself and these two think they can cook it by staring at it!” or some Cantonese idioms to that effect. Both Kay and I are clueless. He doesn’t speak his mother tongue and I, being part Hakka am equally hopeless. Kay’s mother glares at us. “I thought you meant salted chicken, Mom,” Kay says. Kay’s mother takes out the bird and places him on a large enamel plate. “I had to book this Yim Kai from Ipoh. This one’s a big boy, about 6.5kg and cost RM50 per kilo, “she boasts. Yim Kai is a cast...