I’m sitting on the large balcony of our flat in Singapore feeling a little guilty. After a very nice weekend together, Lisa had to get up for work this morning while I pretended to sleep. Ruth was already busy in the kitchen, revitalized after a Saturday night and Sunday filled with Majong and beaching on Sentosa Island with friends. The boys were happily eating fresh mangos and toast. So finally I dragged myself out of bed to have Ruth make us coffee, which definitely helped Lisa’s mood. Then I stood at the street with her while the cab came. And as I watched it disappear around the bend of idyllic Nassim Road, I reminded myself of how fortunate all of us are to be here and have this amazing international experience; all because of her hard work and excellence in everything she does. So as I sit here now, overlooking the pool beneath the towering, orchid-laden trees with exotic, melodic birds warbling away, I realize I have embraced my identity as “Trailing Spouse” more quickly than anticipated…. And I take a moment to say to my wife: Thank you.
The weekend started out with dinner with our friends Mala and Darrin. Soon they will leave Singapore for San Francisco. A great opportunity for Mala, but we will miss having them in Singapore almost as much as they will miss being in Singapore. This is their second time living here – and leaving here – and I don’t know how they can do it; even for The City on the Bay. But I guess we will all have to deal with saying goodbye to this wonderful place someday.
They took us to Raj, a vegetarian Indian restaurant in Little India, just near the famously chaotic Mustafa Centre, where if they don’t have it, you don’t need it, and everything is negotiable. Mala apologized upon our arrival for the unusual presence of caucasians – swearing that one rarely sees anyone but Indians in the place. Indeed, there were two other tables of Aussies, but they seemed to know what they were doing, so I trust they were local expats. Still, as Mala’s tone implied, there goes the neighborhood….
There’s something about eating in a local joint where you stand out as a token foreigner – the food is always better. And Raj was no exception. We glanced at the menu and promptly abandoned ourselves to Mala’s wisdom and experience. She ordered quickly and authoritatively and the dishes came out fast and in perfect order. The highlight of the meal were 2 very large Dosais; one – masala dosai – filled with curried potatoes and vegetables with fragrant spices; the other – rava dosai – filled with cheese, onions and spices. Each of these wondrous, crispy crepes could be dipped into a five alarm red sambal or, on the other end of the spectrum, a yogurt raita-like concoction, which cooled the spiced fire with a refreshing, minty flavor. The triangular, folded pastry was remarkably delicate and golden brown , and not at all greasy. I have seen attempts at these in other Indian joints around Singapore, but never have they appeared to be so picture perfect or delicious. The smooth folds of the wafer thin crust exposed the expertise of the unknown hand which made them, no doubt bending the thin batter with an easy turn of the wrist. One of those things that a true chef makes look so easy, temping foolhardy wannabes like me into actually believing I could recreate it without the lifetime of experience required to do it right. But I’ve learned to just leave some things to the pros – and this definitely falls in that category.
The way I see it, Indian food – at least really good Indian food – is much like sushi. Its just cutting fish and dropping it on a chunk of rice; anyone can do it, right? But to reveal the unspoken wonder of sushi takes years of study. Whether cooking the perfect rice with just the right stickiness and complimentary backdrop, to selecting the fish and then slicing its crisp flesh at the precise angle and thickness in one clean, continuous guide of the blade, a true sushi chef –none of whom are young – can take what appears at first glance to be the chow you grab at Sushi Boy in the mall and transform it into a gustatory experience that transcends the mere sum of its ingredients. This describes the difference of eating at one of the many tasty Indian stalls in food courts along Orchard Road and eating the food at Raj. The delicate balance of flavors and aromas, coaxed out lovingly by the chefs in the back, transformed the meal at this simple vegetarian eatery into an authentic tour of Southern India’s very best culinary offerings. And while I have never been one to shy away from the flesh of living creatures on my plate, at Raj the absence of meat is not only unnoticed but actually welcomed. And while the amazing food has not exactly inspired me slip on Birkenstocks and embrace a vegan lifestyle, it certainly has changed the way I think about vegetarian dining.
Darrin & Me about to dive into a dosai at Raj, Little India, Singapore.
After dinner we headed to the Opium Bar for mojitos. Only one word describes this place for me: groovy. Gentle, jazzy music wafted through the outside bar, our only light the purple illumination from within our table – as we sat beneath the stars and overlooked the river and the fabulous Fullerton Hotel. And while no hallucinogenic hookah was passed our way as the name might suggest, this spot, as cityscapes rank in my book, reached the top of the list for modern architectural gazing. The styles of the buildings – brand new all of them – are intriguing and even attractive; granite and marble and glass – sharp and crisp – piercing the sky. The masculine edifices of downtown Singapore exude the sheer commercial success of the this Asian financial bull’s-eye. Like Hong Kong used to be, only newer, younger, hungrier. The river bends gently, dappled from the lights in the trees along the paseo and shimmers in the wake of crisscrossing old style bumboats slipping by. An urban paradise which, regrettably, my camera could not rightfully capture.
Mala & Lisa chillin' at the Opium Bar, Singapore
City Centre & the Merlion Fountain (off!), Singapore.
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