The price of comfort food |
| Wow, not a mention of food was breathed in every report on the Aware EGM saga. I have always known many Christians and even folks who believe in a choice of an alternative lifestyle, yes- gays and lesbians, to have a sharp palate and tongue for makan. Many serve as advisors and makanmatas (food police) for us at Makansutra. I had thought a meal of comfort makan between for breaks would calm frayed nerves and raging egos and bring their EGM back to audible and calmer settings (like a teh tarek halia(ginger tea) to soothen the throat, a sticky, gummy and lousy ang ku kueh to make talking difficult or a really spicy chilli prawn vadai to keep all panting for air to cool the mouth and swollen lips). Ah, the lure, effects and price of comfort food.
So here I am, after ten cities in Canada, US and England with eleven food promos, cooking demos, assignments and television spots (including a curtain raiser with Martha Stewart on her show and cooking in Spice Market with legendary chef owner Jean Georges in New York) over five weeks, finally, back home in Singapore. More precisely, in Geylang. This I’ll share – there ain’t nothing in any of the “vibrant” cities, including New York that has the street soul vibrancy that Geylang has. I realized this after I wolfed down that plate of fried fish skin with achar and the brinjal tempura with potatoes at JB Meng cze cha coffeeshop surrounded by brutes, queers, opportunists, desperados, entrepreneurs, hookers, culture vultures, hard working class folks and absolute foodies. It was flavours and a unique slice of home that says “home” for me. It’s the value of comfort food and culture. Can’t really blame Time magazine for calling this red light hub the most vibrant spot in our little red dot of a nation. My last stint in UK was to ensure the 50 plus hawkers could perform at their peak for the 12,000 comfort food and culture deprived London based Singaporeans at the Singapore Day in Hampton Court Palace late last month. They did, and testimony to it was the scores of comments overheard in the long patient lines for the food, “ the Wee Nam Kee chicken rice is worth queuing for man!”, “I’ve never had muah chee this good in my life and I don’t even like muah chee” and even a “the laksa really makes me miss home in Katong”. But after the best burgers, pizzas, steaks, casseroles, and even a highly rated French meal at the top of the CN Towers in Toronto (the best burger I had actually was the Uncle Burger in a A&W in Vancouver), these comfort makan of foreign lands only served to make me hanker for my own comfort food. I exited Piccadilly Circus tube station and wondered into their pathetic Chinatown, all of about 500 sqm of cheesy Chinese and Asian grease spoon eateries, supermarts and massage spas before it diverts you to Covent Garden. I came across a slice of those National-Geographic-like visuals of a small mom and pop Chinese eatery you see in their ulu China exploratory programs. An old man and his wife sits at the back of the non-descript stall and they were hawking a huge glassed cupboard of Chinese pastries and dim sums. The you tiao (dough fritters) were so bold, huge an old fashioned, the sesame seed something buns had that come-eat-me look and the water chestnut cake was translucent and wobbly with bits of water chestnuts peering at you. It all said to me and my colleague Yong Kuat, “come on in home.”, for us two Singaporean Cantonese blokes. Then the owner’s daughter (they always work in such places as if it’s a statement to filial piety and love for parents) fished out a dog eared menu and what stood out was what I knew I needed, but hadn’t known I did, after a month of western chow,- a bowl of rice porridge with fu yue (fermented tofu), spicy Szechuan pickles, and steamed peanuts with lard. I reacted with a “mm koy..chok, fu yue, cha choy tong mai fa sung” , knowing they will give me the non anglicized version if I spoke in their Cantonese lingo. Yong Kuat had to have the fried beehoon with vegetables (much like a lousier version of our breakfast beehoon at hawker centers) and bowl of wanton soup and two you tiaos. It all came as expected, soulful and comforting with no strange foreign accents and ingredients in the flavours- except the bill, 24 pounds or just over $50 for the lot with some sad Chinese tea. The price of comfort food! Ouch! |
