Mixing spices for a living - By Jeya Seelan

Image credit: Jeya Spices.

Jeya at his spice station located at Fairprice Finest in Causeway Point.

When I was five, my ambition in life was to be a professional racer. When I was ten, I believed I was better off as a pilot. At fifteen, the more "mature" me aspired to be a neurologist. As the rampant gaming habits kicked in and stayed, it redefined my goals and at twenty, I was sure I was going to be a professional gamer. At the evanescent age of twenty-five though, all of these fleeting dreams vanished.

I became a professional spice-mixer.

Wait, hold on to your cinnamon sticks. What is a spice-mixer?

Simply put, a spice-mixer dips into his vast array of spices, in precise portions to concoct a blend for the specific needs of the customer. It’s an ancient art and needs patience, knowledge, and flair to get it perfect. That would lead to the next question... how did I end up here?

The story begins in Old Chong Pang Market back in 1980. My granddad was famed for his fresh and unique spice mixes, which legend says he learned all by himself through experimentation and research. The laborious hours took a toll on him, so he pushed my dad into the abyss and forced him to pick up the trade. Before long, my dad adapted the trade to the evolving times, added more spices and mixes to the menu, and took my mum along on his journey, which spanned across numerous locations before setting up a shop in Yishun in 2014.

My dad saw me idling at home after my ill-fated corporate stint and told me to “help him out” at his shop. I was reluctant, stupidly thinking I championed the “work hard, work smart” trope of the millennial. The first three days were hard. Our shop was right in the middle of the wet market. It required long hours on my feet, and continual engagement with customers. I had barely stepped into the kitchen before that, and I could not tell the difference between mustard and black pepper. Being an introvert all my life, it was a struggle to even make small talk. I often thought about throwing in the towel.

It did get better. My Malay (the lingua fraca of the wet market) improved, and so did my rapport with the customers. I finally got to pack my first spice mix – A dry concoction of coriander, cumin, and fennel for Satay. My feet did not ache as much, and perhaps most importantly, there was a progressive sense of gratification in waking up every day and going to work. My parents (already seasoned to the arduous hours and mindless labour), were extremely supportive of me.

After two weeks, I made the decision to join the business full-time.

Image credit: Jeya Spices.

Different spices used for different blends.

As my grasp of the business improved, it was not without its ups and downs. My dad and I argued a lot. He preferred the fan to an air-con. I preferred a savvy electronic payment system to the age-old cash in a bucket pulley system, an emblem of the past. He did not like the limelight of social media. While I dreamt of seamless online gateways for customers ordering spice mixes, my dad truly championed the brick-and-mortar philosophy. The difference in ideologies translated to temper tantrums both in the shop and in the house. My mum would often be the inadvertent mediator. It would often reduce her to tears.

These tedious experiences, however, taught me the roller-coaster emotional ride of preserving heritage. It is a constant war. While the vast ocean of technology and consumerism threatens to drown our wet markets, red payphones, sand playgrounds, and mamak stores, our lifeboats of nostalgia and culture preservation seem to be fighting a fruitless battle. I am glad to say I have jumped ship. If you take a trip down to my cozy little Yishun store, you will be greeted by the rich aroma of spices, but not before getting harshly interrupted by the umami of musty anchovies and the nutty nuances of leafy greens. Take a walk down to the "counter" and the chaos of it all will take most of my older customers back to the 80s. While I have incorporated technology, I have deliberately kept the "chaotic" nature of old-school provision shops alive. My haphazardly arranged spice station right at the front is a testament to that.

Image credit: Jeya Spices.

Jeya Spices Yishun outlet maintains a traditional provision shop layout.

Right after the circuit breaker in 2020, I penned a lengthy post on Facebook about my spices and it quickly went viral. It caught the attention of NTUC Fairprice, who approached me to open physical stations in their up-and-coming stores on a contract basis. I now have a spice mix station each in Causeway Point and Parkway Parade. While these stations are posh and aesthetically pleasing, I am pleased that they retain the tradition I am battling to uphold and sustain in this modern era. Many kids look upon in awe as my men (and sometimes myself) mix with wondrous precision and dexterity. My long-term plan is to anchor these spice stations at strategic locations all around Singapore, and a spice mill to call my own. I would carefully tailor every aspect of my business so it does not get suffocated by technology's vice grip. I believe our modern aids should be a complement, rather than a means to an end.

Image credit: Jeya Spices.

Jeya at one of his spice stations located at FairPrice Xtra at Parkway Parade.

With well-trained men in all my stations, I often take some time off to write on my socials. I write to let off steam and express my emotions. These posts often talk about spices and experiences in my shop in a humorous, relatable way to my readers. Many have approached me to commend my writing style, and it has inspired me to conduct workshops and classes as well. When the time permits, I take my humble knowledge and expertise and share them in heritage centers, schools, and community clubs. Eventually, I hope to expand this "educational" arm and conduct it regularly, especially at schools.

After all, there is little in life that gives me more satisfaction than a kid who wants to know more about spices.