Les Petits Contes

About life's little observations, which matter. About hilarious situations, which illuminate. About stories which offer immense possibilities, open endings, different interpretations and perspectives.

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Location: Singapore

A nature lover; sun-worshipper, manic book-collector, dessert-devourer and a magnet for hazards

Thursday, March 04, 2010


I held the wafer thin ‘’toast’’ in my hand. It was chilly. A ‘’chilled’’ toast. Interesting.

I turned it around to take a look at the inside before I took a bite. It crunched. Lagi more interesting – a cold toast that has no fragrance or aroma of a toast, but can manage a crunch. Two desiccated slices of brown-coloured bread, held together by a film of browny, indefinable spread (presumably kaya) and slender slices of butter that’s stonily icy and still not melted, on the cold toast.

And this what Singaporeans – supposedly food aficionados, pay for willingly – at breakfast, tea, and snack times. They happily queue for a frosty piece of brown stuff, and shell out $1.20 for this piece of shit, service tax excluded! (service defined as slow sloppy sauntering waitress bringing the forlorn looking plate and then forgetting the serviettes….) Is it for a piece of nostalgia? Or are we a nation of suckers, easily conned by marketing and advertising?

I think, we are simply undiscerning, and have bad taste.


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