The annotated budak

On the road of no return

The highway to Old Gombak Road passed by miles of mercantile erections that nestled in the faint shade of retreating cliffs. A shadow (or two) loomed over the late morning, threatening to launch a meteorological assault on our mission and dampen what began as an questioningly lucid state of mind. The good people of the valley once navigated this hillside road in their hunt for higher fortunes, but swifter routes to dicey death and random destruction have turned this windy passage into a roaring thoroughfare of corporate retreats and neglected villages.

A still, cool seep that had formed close to a trackside riffle provided a fishless refuge for tadpoles and striders, as they hovered on both sides of a liquid mirror. The air hung low with the weight of depressed humidity. As if to avoid the smothering deep, damselflies with half opened wings and a foothold of gold darted under the knee line and clung to twigs that threaten to snap at unimagined offences. In the nearby brush, a spider with the body of a marbled pearl manned a ragged web. She was the largest of her kind that I have seen, and her girth hinted that she had reached the final prime of her life that precedes her passing. 

Hunger and the hope of fresh energies drove us to a stall of rural snacks. A wood-fuelled fire in a long pit fanned the fragrance of grains stuffed in briskets of bamboo. A native indulgence whose making is too raw and risky for a rugged island, lemang is a confection of glutinous rice wrapped in banana leaves, stuffed in cylinders of bamboo and topped with a thick layer of santan (coconut milk). Two bars over the fire allow the segments to be placed like the loose rafters of a leaky roof. After about two hours, the rice swells, swallows the santan and burns with the sweet stench of soft woods.    

The cooked, compact mass is shaken from its chamber, sliced and served with a side of dry curry. Each bite is a splash of sweet and salty flavours that melt in your mouth and wedge into fragments of memory that linger but do not last. A cat with pale blue eyes and a face of dust cried for vain attention. The day grew long and words cut short in this slow, suffocating crawl for satisfaction through strange paths that lead to nowhere in particular and every secret fear you hope to leave behind.

Reference: Sri Owen (1976), Indonesian Food and Cookery, Prospect Books, London

Bad drink

 

It's a surprise that this brew for bedtime, which boasts a villainous line-up of additives, lacks the region's most honoured ingredient for stiff support. The last-named herb, however, appears to have had its powers validated by sacrificial bunnies. Having failed to procure obtained a sample of the beverage, my duck pleads for patience while he awaits an opportune time to see if horny goat weed does have the power to send limp old birds on an adventure up there...

Mucho mayo

A light and fluffy roti john at Changi Village Market.

Meet your destiny

This restaurant at Geylang Serai is apparently not half-as-bad as my dodgy duck would have it. But Friday's midday meal ended up at nearby Hajah Maimunah's, where my duck filled up on $2.70 worth of rice with tempeh, potatoes, egg, anchovies and mixed vegetables. This was enough to last till early Saturday morning, when my growling belly echoed the roar of a Sumatran squall.

Baby food

Save the addition of a website address, the package of this Malaysian snack looks like it hasn't changed since the company was established in 1955. The Chinese characters describe the contents as "yummy fish flavoured bean biscuits" which isn't quite as misleading as it seems, since muruku does utilise legumous flour.

Unfortunately, the product looks nothing like the throat-parching strings of deep-fried spice and dried curry leaves that accompany South Indian homilies. And the chosen graphic invites twisted conjectures. Is the precious little thing a homage to the founder's firstborn? Or does it indicate the snack's suitability for infants? Or perhaps it hints at the use of a secret ingredient that contributed to the longevity of this baby booming brand? I suspect as well that the snack enjoys a dubious reputation in Germany, where "Popo" is slang for that part of the anatomy from which poo is extruded.

Gado gado

Aided by its dim lighting and plastic diner deco, the ayam penyet (smashed fried chicken) joint at Beach Road opposite Shaw Towers has an old school continental feel, being a rare local establishment that is housed in the confines of a basement block instead of spilling out onto the sidewalk. For starters, we had a spicy beef soup and gado gado, which arrived in servings larger than our mental impressions. Eaten as both a side dish and a meal in itself, gado gado is a staple salad dish from Indonesia made from mixed vegetables in a peanut sauce called bumbu, which should also harbour traces of terasi, the Javanese term for belachan. The blend of greens might comprise cabbage, French (or long) beans, carrots, cauliflower, beansprouts, cucumbers and watercress. A hard-boiled egg and krepok (prawn crackers) are standard garnishes. The sambal's hot enough to cross words too.