Culinary Tales from Singapore

It is difficult to explain the Singaporean passion for eating. In my month-long stay in Singapore, I saw more restaurants and food outlets than I had in previously in my entire life. The shopping malls there have more than their share of restaurants, food courts and doughnut shops; the zoo and other nature parks have restaurants tucked in wherever they can go; and even the world’s biggest Rotay Peeng (Ferris wheel), the Singapore Flier, will turn into a restaurant if you are rich enough(for slightly more than Singapore $250) .

It was my first week in Singapore, and I experienced my first cultural shock abroad—a culinary one. I had thought years of watching English films and TV sitcoms had prepared me for everything Singapore had to offer. I was right, to a point. I did not bat an eye when young couples got intimate—frequently—in empty train cars. The humongous shopping malls that make our malls look like tea-stalls surprised me but did not shock. I grew accustomed to Singapore’s almost-perfect law and order situation, where the government has to remind its citizens that crime actually does exist (slogan: low crime does not mean no crime). I even got over the fact that everyone seemed to have a genuine designer label clothing or bag. What shocked me was how much Singaporeans adore eating.

 Less than a day after I had landed in the island state, I went to a nearby shopping mall to familiarize myself with the area. The mall was jam-packed, and even more so were the several food courts in it. In the beginning, I justified the crowds by assuming that it was festival season, since it was not a weekend. However, as days went by, the crowds around the restaurants showed no sign of decreasing. The realization that the crowds would not go away, and daily long lines outside good restaurant outlets were usual phenomena, was difficult to get by. The only similar crowds I had seen were outside KFC when it opened, and I had then thought it was rather stupid of people to line up for a restaurant. Looking at those Singaporean crowds during weekends, that now seemed pretty tame.

With so many big-brand names and the high-cost rentals, one would think food would be terribly expensive too. I discovered there, however, that a lot of neighborhood food courts are a lot cheaper than comparable Nepali shops. A plate of masu-bhaat (meat-rice) with fish, eggs and a can of cold drink at a non-branded food-court costs a third of what it would here. For the Singaporean equivalent of Rs. 160, I had had the following in a very hygienic place, every day: all the rice I could eat, reasonable helpings of chicken gravy, fish, fried eggs, two types of vegetables and a can of Pepsi.

I liked the combo so much that for a week, I was afraid to experiment with new items. One day, I decided to be brave and got myself different types of fish species with rice. And then I immediately understood my fear of experimentation. Out of the four types of seafood I had ordered (I did/do not know what they were, only the fact that they were marine creatures), three were pretty good and the fourth still haunts me. It was crispy, slightly sour and very, very sweet. Perhaps it had been cooked in honey, perhaps artificial sugars had been added to it, I will never know—I was too fearful even to talk of it there onwards—I still am. Shudder.

Fortunately, the culinary mishap was a freak accident. I later tried French, Japanese, Chinese, Italian, American and British cuisines, all in their specialty restaurants, and I never regretted ordering anything. Of course, there was this time when I ordered a dessert because it looked fabulous on the menu, only to discover it was all marshmallows—the  vile ones. I gulped down the entire bowl of the dessert with crushed ice, so that its taste would not linger around in my mouth.

 Singaporeans, who share our staple diet of rice and wheat, have  come up with interesting ways of eating traditional food.  Invented perhaps by some hapless mother whose child would  simply not eat rice, the Rice Burger is one innovative way to  eat masu-bhaat. Instead of the regular buns, this burger has    outer crust made entirely of rice. Inside, it has a big chunk of  fried chicken with gravy and tomato sauce. It’s like the  everyday masu-bhat-achar (meat-rice-pickles), boring for too  many people, went inside a telephone booth, changed its  clothes and turned into Bhat-Burger, the beloved superhero of  many kids who don’t like traditional rice, but love it. Also, our  simple roti (bread) is no longer interesting for Singaporeans—  it’s called roti-prata, comes in packets and can be cooked within  2-minutes of heating. My requests for roti were never  comprehended, but prata was universally understood.

And then there was this freakish thing—Singaporean donuts do not have holes. It bothered me throughout my entire stay there; if it doesn’t have holes, why would it be called a donut? It should be called pastry or sweet burger or something else, but definitely not donut. And yet, millions of Singaporeans eat this wonderful bakery item every day, calling it a donut, unaware that they have been fooled into using a misnomer by commercial giants like Dunkin’ Donuts and Donut Factory. I understand that Singapore is not the only country with donuts without holes, but law-abiding people as they are, they should start the wave of correcting the name of this delicious delicacy.

My rendezvous with the culinary heaven ended on a fine note on the return flight back to Nepal. Thai Airways kept filling me to the brim and even though the food was not exquisite in any way, it was way much better than the bhat and roti I have here every day. But perhaps, some day, some daring entrepreneur will come up with something refreshingly new yet deceptively simple, something that will make even the dullest of meals exciting and adventurous. Until then, I wait, cherishing the memories of the culinary heaven I was in.