Seking Simplicity
To me, Food should come in its simplest form possible. No garnishing, no dressing, no tobasco sauce, no belachan. No need…prepping up food is tantamount to covering up a great body in unnecessary frills.
What comes to my mind now is this piece of nostalgia at Pulau Seking about four years back. For the uninformed, Palau Seking was Singapore's last island kampung, a 45-minute boat ride away from the mainland. What used to be home to fishermen villagers, it's now just flat land being turned into a dumping ground for Singapore's tones of garbage.
I was then a journalist with one local
paper, assigned to meet and talk to the island's last remaining
inhabitants ~ weary villagers and scrawny cats included. The
island was in a sad state. At one end, some villagers were
seen packing their stuffs, at another, graves were being exhumed
to make way for "development". Set against the beauty
of the island ~ coconut trees swaying in the sea breeze, moving
to the sound of waves and the chirping of birds ~ are the
banging sounds of doors and windows of the empty huts flapping
forlornly. Meanwhile, underfed, malnourished cats follow you
everywhere, seemingly seeking your sympathies.
I went into one kampung hut. Still occupied, but the owners
were all packed up.
"Assalamualaikum," I said. A makcik and her husband greeted me similarly, accompanied by a smile as warm as the sun's rays. Once the introductions were over with, I was told I had to stay for lunch. It was, by the way, their farewell lunch too, as this was their last day on the island. " Your visit happens to be timely… I have just came back from fishing," said the pakcik.
"Oh, just some ikan selar kuning," he humbly replied when I asked what his haul was for the day.
And off went the makcik to do the cooking, as her husband spread a straw mat on the creaky floor. Meanwhile, some drinks first, they insisted. Hot the limau was served, as the pakcik told tales of generations after generations of his family starting out on the island before "migrating" to the mainland.
Moments later, a feast. Well, at least to me. I was starving.
The spread: rice, a plate of kangkong, belachan and golden brown ikan selar kuning. The kangkong tasted familiar, the belachan, pounded just right. But the fish! Must have been the freshest fish I've ever tasted, fried to perfect crispiness. So sweet… with an almost tangy taste to it. I ate them all ~ flesh, bones, tails and heads.
The kangkong and belachan made perfect complements. I gulped everything down with that teh limau. Between mouthfuls, I wondered about how Singapore's less-than-clear waters could throw up such wonderful catch.
On my way back to the mainland, it dawned on me what made that simple lunch so wonderful for me. It was the warmth and simplicity of the whole place ~ the island, the warm sun and the sea, the creaky hut and the worn straw mat, its hosts, their stories, their smiles… and of course, the belachan too.
by Siti Rohanah Koid
