Friday, July 22, 2005
Back to that same old place
It's good to be home.
I've been busy catching up on all the foods that I missed, and here they are in chronological order:
1) Prata
2) Laksa
3) Teochew Porridge
4) Nasi Bryani
To make the homecoming complete, I made a trip down to Geylang to fulfil a desperate craving that anyone who's been away for too long would have. A drive down the main street of Singapores red-light district that branches off into seedier lanes would be a wonderful sight to behold for a Singaporean who's been unable to partake of the local pleasures for the past ten weeks.
Row after row of durians lined the street, with the accompanying crudely hand-painted signs proclaiming their price and pedigree. The fruit sellers competed against each other and the din of traffic to make as much noise as they could to draw attention to their wares, almost like the garishly made-up and gaudily dressed women who competed for a different crowd. People strolled across the street in typical non-chalant fashion with little regard for traffic. TV sets from the kopitiams blasted out some drama serial or sports broadcast to add to the aural soundscape for the old, grizzled customers lounging on the once-bright-red plastic chairs to a cheap bottle of lager or stout, complete with a small bucket of ice. Though blasphemous to any true beer-lover, it helps to keep the beer cold on a humid Singapore evening.
This is probably one of the last few bastions of Singapore life that refuses to yield to the sanitizing forces of tourism, a celebration of sleaze with neon-lit KTV lounges, ambiguously named "sports clubs" with heavily-tinted windows and cheap hotels clearly displaying their 2 hour booking rates. Though there’s nothing along the line of "Totally Nude!" or "Live Girls XXX" neon signs that I saw in some parts of Los Angeles, the women walking the streets in their cheaply-colourful get-ups made up for that lack of publicity. After the old Chinatown became the touristy monstrosity that it is now, Geylang remains as one of the sides of Singapore that you don't see in the tourism brochures that often. It’s greasy, dirty and grimy, just like me.
Ok, never mind about that.
In the midst of all this, there is some of the best food to be found in Singapore.
After going through the parking nightmare that is Geylang, my father and I walked to a fruit store, where after some gentlemanly discussions on the merits and pricing of Malaysian durians and some sampling, we ordered a number of out thorny friends and went to the back of the store, where a folding table and faded plastic stools afforded a makeshift eating venue. The fruit seller, a Chinese guy probably around my age from Malaysia, pried open the thick, green husk with the knife he held in his hand, a sign of the (non-violent) trade carried with pride. With his other hand, protected by a dirty, patchy cotton glove, he brought it to his nose, taking a whiff as would a sommelier evaluating a 1952 Cabernet Savignon. He offered his expert opinion as well, except that instead of French-tinged English it was in heavily-accented Malaysian Mandarin.
"Ah, this one very fragrant."
If this is your first time seeing/smelling/tasting a durian, you might have thought he was mocking you. The pungent (some might say malodorous) aroma hits your nostrils with all the subtlety of a sweaty armpit on a crowded subway. The more exaggerated descriptions might include fermented milk, rotting flesh or dead rat, but it you're savvy to the wonders of the King of Fruit, the fragrance is a treat to the senses, even after the durian has long been disposed of and the smell is all that remains.
The flesh varies in hues from deep reddish orange to pale yellow, while the texture and mouthfeel can range from chewy to creamy to almost watery. The flavours are even more varied, mostly a mixture of bitter and sweet. The more fancy street names given to some breeds are "XO", "prawn", "ice-cream" etc. Of course, there's always the D24 designation which apparently is a scientific designation of some sort, but no one really knows or cares as long as it tastes like it's supposed to. It remains a strong selling point, however, and the fruit sellers are ever eager to point it out. They’re not all crude thugs or gangsters as popularized in the mass media, but dealing with these guys is almost a subtle game of psychology. If you show them that you know your thorny fruits and won’t settle for the cheap stuff, they’ll know how to satisfy your taste buds with the quality goods. They almost always take pride in pleasing a demanding customer.
Of course, this pre-supposes that your experience with durians goes beyond the shrink-wrapped seeds bought in supermarkets, which I personally stay away from. I don't really remember a time when I didn't like durians, so for the benefit of those who've never even heard of it, here's an expatriate account.
After demolishing 5 durians between the 2 of us, my cravings were finally satisfied. While I can definitely appreciate and savour the wonderful tastes of charcoal-grilled ribs or freshly-barbequed hamburger beef patties, there’s a certain pungent aroma that will always be lodged at the back of my nose, a pre-cursor to periodic cravings that can only be satisfied by a gastronomic pilgrimage to the heartland of Singapore sleaze.
This is home.
I've been busy catching up on all the foods that I missed, and here they are in chronological order:
1) Prata
2) Laksa
3) Teochew Porridge
4) Nasi Bryani
To make the homecoming complete, I made a trip down to Geylang to fulfil a desperate craving that anyone who's been away for too long would have. A drive down the main street of Singapores red-light district that branches off into seedier lanes would be a wonderful sight to behold for a Singaporean who's been unable to partake of the local pleasures for the past ten weeks.
Row after row of durians lined the street, with the accompanying crudely hand-painted signs proclaiming their price and pedigree. The fruit sellers competed against each other and the din of traffic to make as much noise as they could to draw attention to their wares, almost like the garishly made-up and gaudily dressed women who competed for a different crowd. People strolled across the street in typical non-chalant fashion with little regard for traffic. TV sets from the kopitiams blasted out some drama serial or sports broadcast to add to the aural soundscape for the old, grizzled customers lounging on the once-bright-red plastic chairs to a cheap bottle of lager or stout, complete with a small bucket of ice. Though blasphemous to any true beer-lover, it helps to keep the beer cold on a humid Singapore evening.
This is probably one of the last few bastions of Singapore life that refuses to yield to the sanitizing forces of tourism, a celebration of sleaze with neon-lit KTV lounges, ambiguously named "sports clubs" with heavily-tinted windows and cheap hotels clearly displaying their 2 hour booking rates. Though there’s nothing along the line of "Totally Nude!" or "Live Girls XXX" neon signs that I saw in some parts of Los Angeles, the women walking the streets in their cheaply-colourful get-ups made up for that lack of publicity. After the old Chinatown became the touristy monstrosity that it is now, Geylang remains as one of the sides of Singapore that you don't see in the tourism brochures that often. It’s greasy, dirty and grimy, just like me.
Ok, never mind about that.
In the midst of all this, there is some of the best food to be found in Singapore.
After going through the parking nightmare that is Geylang, my father and I walked to a fruit store, where after some gentlemanly discussions on the merits and pricing of Malaysian durians and some sampling, we ordered a number of out thorny friends and went to the back of the store, where a folding table and faded plastic stools afforded a makeshift eating venue. The fruit seller, a Chinese guy probably around my age from Malaysia, pried open the thick, green husk with the knife he held in his hand, a sign of the (non-violent) trade carried with pride. With his other hand, protected by a dirty, patchy cotton glove, he brought it to his nose, taking a whiff as would a sommelier evaluating a 1952 Cabernet Savignon. He offered his expert opinion as well, except that instead of French-tinged English it was in heavily-accented Malaysian Mandarin.
"Ah, this one very fragrant."
If this is your first time seeing/smelling/tasting a durian, you might have thought he was mocking you. The pungent (some might say malodorous) aroma hits your nostrils with all the subtlety of a sweaty armpit on a crowded subway. The more exaggerated descriptions might include fermented milk, rotting flesh or dead rat, but it you're savvy to the wonders of the King of Fruit, the fragrance is a treat to the senses, even after the durian has long been disposed of and the smell is all that remains.
The flesh varies in hues from deep reddish orange to pale yellow, while the texture and mouthfeel can range from chewy to creamy to almost watery. The flavours are even more varied, mostly a mixture of bitter and sweet. The more fancy street names given to some breeds are "XO", "prawn", "ice-cream" etc. Of course, there's always the D24 designation which apparently is a scientific designation of some sort, but no one really knows or cares as long as it tastes like it's supposed to. It remains a strong selling point, however, and the fruit sellers are ever eager to point it out. They’re not all crude thugs or gangsters as popularized in the mass media, but dealing with these guys is almost a subtle game of psychology. If you show them that you know your thorny fruits and won’t settle for the cheap stuff, they’ll know how to satisfy your taste buds with the quality goods. They almost always take pride in pleasing a demanding customer.
Of course, this pre-supposes that your experience with durians goes beyond the shrink-wrapped seeds bought in supermarkets, which I personally stay away from. I don't really remember a time when I didn't like durians, so for the benefit of those who've never even heard of it, here's an expatriate account.
After demolishing 5 durians between the 2 of us, my cravings were finally satisfied. While I can definitely appreciate and savour the wonderful tastes of charcoal-grilled ribs or freshly-barbequed hamburger beef patties, there’s a certain pungent aroma that will always be lodged at the back of my nose, a pre-cursor to periodic cravings that can only be satisfied by a gastronomic pilgrimage to the heartland of Singapore sleaze.
This is home.
# posted by BloozeGit @ 4:55 pm 
