Play it again, Sam

Some say as one aged, one’s memory tends to fade exponentially. But, it is equally true that as one’s memory faded, one will try hard to remember one’s actual age. I did not make this up; my sister merely ‘said’ this in her son’s blog. She refuses to tell her birthday age (being a female gender) but I suspect it was because she couldn’t remember and hides it conveniently under her senility.
How time flies, I still remember the years when our birthdays went away unnoticed except mum would always insist upon having us to swallow two really hard boiled eggs. And that is a sign of another year older. There wasn’t a gift, or a surprise birthday cake, or even some birthday parties, as such. It was an era of simplicity where two hard boiled eggs was all you get. I don’t remember myself going through a real birthday party, nor would I remember my sister having one. I guess we were too ignorant of the importance of birthdays. Incidentally, how important is the birthday anyway? It only reminded us we are a year older, which was fine when you are in your teens. When one gets to 40s, a birthday will only remind us the number of extra wrinkles, the problem of having to count one year less and finally, the whole idea of not wanting to remember our age.

Anyway, this is not my birthday but Sam’s. I will let her age remain a mystery but I am sure you can count the number of wrinkles on her face to make a good guess. The other mystery is her name. Sam has always been the nickname we so affectionate bestowed on her, and we continued to use the name irregardless of the other name for her. Sam is not short for Samantha but rather Sam Quat. I will not go through how the second part of her nickname came about, but I will be happy to reveal the truth if her children conveniently bribe me to a super jumbo size laksa, else my lips are sealed…….zip zip.
The other thing about this younger sister of mine is her insidious effort to make her cents worth. I don’t know which side of the genes she inherited but it will always marvel me in total astonishment every time she displays her skills. She orders her Roti Canai in the strangest way, yes the empat segi version instead of the usual circular version. Empat segi is a special order, and it has to be made to order. Instead of the mass production type, some of which ended cold and no longer flaky, you get a freshly made, baking hot roti……….all for a mere 60 cents or a little more now! She wouldn’t admit this but rather attributes it to being not so oily. I will take my hat off for her chivalric act for being so particular but I am sure she wouldn’t have it if she was the one that does the toss. Very healthy, plus her forever kurang kurang manis teh tarik. Each time I have breakfast with her, she mumbles an extra kurang. I am not over-reacting but I suspect it is age rather than health that made her mumbles another kurang. I said it before and I will say it again, for no matter how times you care to mention kurang, you will still end up with the sweetest teh tarik. That being the case, Sam will always have her means to dilute it. She asks for hot water! And you know what? Paid one, get one free.

I say no more. Happy birthday my dear sister, and may you have great health. Remember age is only a number, that is, if you can still remember it.

Postscript: Greetings from my two children who also celebrated their birthdays today.

A Connoisseur of Bak Kut Teh

Most of my early memories about, places I heard and have been, places I heard and never been, or places I have never heard and never been, have a singular commonality. And, that is their names! Last weekend, I did what I am notoriously famous for…yes, I brought my two golden oldies out for a breakfast to a place I thought was “Su Li Li”, or “Solily”, or even “Solili” whichever fitted the pronunciation of the day. I have no idea, of course (in hindsight), the real name of this place until I was confronted with the ever educational Malaysian highway signboard. It indicated “Tg. Sedili”, and you can imagine the surprise on my face, that after so many years of being misled by some idiotic assumptions on the mispronunciation of the name of a rustic town in my very own state.

Anyway, to put things in a better perspective, I have never been to this place, I must admit even though it is like some 100 kms from my hometown. Neither has my mum. The only person claiming to have a vague but brief visit to that town was my father. I say vague because my dad never fails to amaze me with his mental and memory prowess. Vague means he knows every bends and junctions, and detailed meant he can direct you over kampong roads and meanders you to the destination. With that, we set out to savour the infamous Bak Kut Teh of Sedili.

The place, or rather the “restaurant”, is in the middle of nowhere, I bet you with my last dollar that you will never believe any person with the right frame of entrepreneur mind would ever spare thought of opening business there. It is like….hmmm oil palms tree, narrow roads, and in the middle of nowhere…I know I will start a Bak Kut Teh business here!!! Where on earth do you find your patronage? I still don’t understand how this silly tawkay found a convincing reason to suggest it will be profitable venture. It is either he is mad, yup cuckoo enough to enter Tampoi mental hospital, or he has a crystal ball to read the future potentials. Anyway, the place is packed with people under the comfort of an attap roof, with only ventilation provided by a few grandfather’s fan, and yes those fans are old enough to be housed in the museum.

The Bak Kut Teh, I have to admit is indeed deliciously nice and meaty. I am not the official connoisseur, I am afraid that honour must go to my old man. Sitting down, looking at him sipping the thick soup and chewing the meat with his remaining teeth was a sheer joy, despite having the discomfort of fanning yourself to tone down the perspiration. Every mouthful is the same old remarks…good…good…fresh…not boney. I believe those remarks were genuinely uninhibited compliments, judging from the way he left his lips and cheek stained with thick soya sauce. Somehow, I do feel good looking at him savour every mouthful of the delicacy, albeit his clumsiness in table etiquette. But who cares, if it is good, it should be eaten in this manner! Say what you may, but I can’t see the difference between Bak Kut Teh and durian fanatics! Both have the same attributes, eat clumsily and enjoy the taste first lah.
After that late late breakfast (hey, it is a long way to nowhere!), my two golden oldies unanimously requested a trip to Tg. Sedili, to which I obligingly agreed. It was another 25 km drive, and it was then I discovered mum had no idea where this place was, and dad could paint the minutest details of the place he visited 40 over years ago. And he was right; Sedili is a rustic sleepy town with only short stretch of really old houses. Surprisingly the place is more Chinese even though it was meant to be a Malay kampong. We made a long trip there, only the exit without stopping. I can’t say I have done enough for my old folks but seeing them chatting happily throughout the journey is something different from the daily squabbles over little things. They were in coherence through and through, which I should say is a rarity. I guess one today is worth two tomorrows is perhaps the best way to sum up this rather adhoc trip. I hope one day, in years to come, my offspring will also reciprocate this gesture to me, and I am sure by then I will know how to pronounce and spell Sedili correctly.