Lezioni di Aragosta

Mi lamento, ‘’Perché la mia aragosta è piccola e puzza terribilmente? Guarda le altre aragoste vicino a noi ! Sono di un colore rosso sangue!’’ La mia commensale mi dice che il loro prezzo è identico. ‘’Davvero? Non è giusto! Vediamo,’’rispondendo, tendo la mano è afferro un’aragosta.

Libby the lobster: Eh, uncle! Don’t touch me lah!

Sciocato, dico: Scusi, uncle?! Non ti conosco. Deve rivolgersi a me con ‘’dottore!’’

Libby: Doctor? Why so formal? This is Singapore lah. Here, we call you uncle because we respect you, and we are friendly and casual, you know. We respect the older people by calling them uncle. You don’t like the lobster you just ate? You must have chosen a male one. We female lobsters are better, because we have more meat, and are tastier. Lobsters have a long life too, and we do not die of old age. I am already 50 years old – so you can call me Auntie Libby lah!’’

Piergirogio : ‘’Più di carne? Ma non è troppo grassa!’’

Libby: Mr Uncle-doctor, ascolta: bigger does not mean better, sai? Just like Singaporean girls lah – they are petite, but they are hot, hot, hot! The bigger a lobster is, the tougher the meat when cooked, capisci?

Piergiorgio: Senta, i suoi accompagnatori sono rossi e in forma, ma è verde!

Libby: Ah, now see who is more rude – are you saying I don’t look nice and healthy? Eh, I am not green with sickness, OK! Lobsters are usually black or green and only turn bright red after they are cooked, like my poor friends here. But I am still alive and kicking, and talking to an Italian ‘’dottore’’, can’t you see?

Piergiorgio: Alora, un’aragosta tipica misura quanto centimetro?

Libby: Between 25 and 50 cm. And I am 35 cm – well within the BMI, ha ha!

Piergiorgio: Ah, mi ricordo, le donne a Singapore si preoccupano del peso, sempre. Sono a dieta ogni giorno.

Libby: Uncle, we may be fashionably slim, and a lovely red when cooked, but do you know our blood is blue, like snails and spiders?

Piergiorgio: Come mai ?!

Libby: The haemocyanin in our blood makes it blue, and it contains copper, which is good for your health! And the blue keeps us cool, which is why we do not scream when we are boiled.

Piergiorgio: Non te lo credo. Sempre, ho sentito dello scrillo quando il cuoco bolle un’ aragosta.

Libby: No lah, uncle! It’s the whistling sound made by the steam that escapes from our shell.

Piergiorgio: Interessante! Dunque, ha una ricetta Singaporiana per cucinare l’aragosta?

Libby: Hmmm. The French cook with their senses, the Italians with their hearts, the Spanish with energy, the Germans with their appetite. But the Singaporeans cook with…chilli padi!

Piergiorgio: Con cosa??

Libby: Peperoncino lah! I am stuck here in this restaurant and can’t show you. Why don’t you go to this shop at the Braddell View Condominium, and buy the chilli padi from the friendly auntie there? She will give you a good discount, and even teach you how to cook it lah!

A Modern Auntie and her Collagen Noodle

Inspired by The Great Desertion over the last few days of Chinese New Year holidays, I decided to take the afternoon off work yesterday to once again savour the quiet and empty streets in town.

One whole afternoon of tranquility and calm to enjoy my own company – how marvelous! Yes, yes, after almost three years of working in a narcissistic environment dealing with self absorbed professors and equally self-centred students (and a few like minded colleagues), you can’t help behaving like them and craving your own company too – and no one else’s!

I decided to first nourish myself with a bowl of hot soup while plotting and strategizing how to outwit these cunning, power hungry, opinionated creatures at my work place.

I settled for The Eastern Restaurant at Centrepoint. A waitress showed me to a table. Soon, an out of shape woman asked if I was alone and if she could share the table with me. I nodded, but the waitress showed her to another table – phew!

I was intrigued by the ‘’special promotion’’ on the menu – collagen la mian. Ha! Haven’t I read somewhere that collagen is good for your sagging skin? Or was it ‘’soon to be sagging skin?’’ Maybe it would be good for my brain too – to help me connive and scheme at the office.

As soon as I ordered a bowl of collagen wanton noodle, I saw another out of shape woman, equally auntie-looking, being shown to another table for single diners. All around me the tables sat either couples or groups. Yes, there was another single diner, but he looked rather dishy, and certainly not out of shape, or ‘’uncle’’.

Are all single women diners aunties? Or, maybe I should put it another way – do only aunties take the day off to dine alone? What about the tai-tais? Many of them look like bored, dolled up walking billboards for a zillion brands, but I suppose they go for hi teas at The Fullerton, not the humble noodle at The Eastern Restaurant? (As for collagen fix, they could easily go to a spa for a nice facial, or a clinic for a nip and tuck?) And I don’t suppose you label them aunties, no matter how grotesque their shape or look.

Continuing on my borrowed trait of vanity, or self importance, I told myself I am no auntie, despite my age. Still, I joined the auntie brigade and relished my noodle. Relish is an exaggeration. Tolerate would be more appropriate.

The murky-looking soup was tasteless. At best, it tasted of flour. The collagen noodle was woefully insipid. Had it tasted medicinal, I might have forgiven them – after all, haven’t I read somewhere the amazing and wonderful collagen is good for aunties, I mean, women? And the wanton? Let’s just say I was grateful for the jars of chilies and vinegar and little precious shriveled shreds of ginger around the table to help me along.

The two aunties around me tucked in enthusiastically, emptied their bowls in no time and started picking their teeth in blissful satiation.

I took up the order chit at my table and went to pay at the cashier. I saw a few awards and certificates proudly displayed at the counter. One of them proclaims self righteously, ‘’healthier restaurant award – less salt, less oil…’’

And zero taste.