I Know What You Ate Last Supper
We walk past a million different things everyday; some we notice, some we don’t. One Thursday afternoon in February, as my colleagues and I stepped out of our office building to go to lunch, I noticed something white on the grass from the corner of my eye. I kept walking, carrying on our conversation. But for some reason, I felt this itch to go back to take a closer look. (Just so you know, this is not something that I do — I’m aware of how weird this sounds.) I told my colleagues to wait as I jogged back to the spot. When I bent down and took a closer look, I couldn’t help but giggle. Yes, I knew then that I was supposed to notice this, as strangely freaky as it was. You see, whoever dropped this receipt had eaten at Mongkok Dim Sum just the night before — my trusty, brainless supper spot.
For the past many years, Mongkok Dim Sum has been where I’ve caught up with old friends for a late dinner, where I’ve sorrowfully stuffed my face with glutinous rice after playing badly in a basketball match while my ever supportive friends do their best to make me laugh, where strangely honest conversations have been had, and where my husband and I brought friends we’ve made on our travels to experience Geylang. I quickly snapped a photo of the receipt, but left it in its place. Somehow, I felt it wasn’t mine to take, even though it was basically litter.
I zoomed in on the photo to look a little closer at the food and drinks that were ordered. I could suddenly picture a table full of friends, four to be exact, sharing a quick meal before heading their separate ways. This tiny piece of paper told me that the group placed their order at 2:52am, and left at 3:31am. These guys have definitely been to Mongkok before, because they ordered really well. It was a Wednesday night, and I wonder if they’d been out drinking in a pub nearby, or perhaps they’d worked really late and decided to drive out to Geylang for a good meal. I thought it odd, that this receipt should fall out of someone’s pocket or wallet so neatly on the ground just the morning after — perhaps one of them worked in the same building as I did?
Whatever the case, they were right to order both chee cheong funs, because I too can never decide between Mongkok’s barbecued pork and shrimp. They probably were not too hungry, since they only ordered one glutinous rice with pork, my favourite thing there. It does sound like a rather nice meal though, doesn’t it? I wonder what they spoke of, whether they spoke at all, and whose idea it was to eat supper that night. Were they catching up on each other’s milestones, or consoling a confused heart like my friends and I have so many times? Did they sit at the same table on the sloping pavement beside the illegally parked cars — the one I think is the best spot? After all, Mongkok’s charm does not simply lie in its food, as satisfying and value for money as their dim sum is. I mean, the chili comes in a perpetually sticky, clear squeeze bottle on the table, and reveals itself in a fascinatingly neon hue and is neither sweet nor spicy — a chili that doesn’t do much aside from remind you that you’re at Mongkok. And yet, the first thing I do is to squeeze a little dish of chili for everyone at the table. Truly, the Mongkok experience is as much about the food as it is the constant onslaught of taxis and buses along the four-lane road that quickly becomes a rhythmic hum, the unexpected cool breeze that accompanies late nights, carrying with it the foreign accents and dialects that underlie the chaos of those streets. It is all these things that form a strange, warm, inviting cocoon for friends to sit, talk and eat.
Most of all, this receipt got me thinking about the food we seek late at night. Our brains are usually pretty fried by then, and what we really want is something to warm the belly and satisfy an itchy mouth. Unlike other meals, supper is neither prescribed nor routine. Instead, it’s usually spontaneous and sometimes even unnecessary, so it is no wonder that our supper choices are often rather naughty. They’re probably also quick to prepare, and sometimes even quicker to wolf down. When we’re with friends, it’s usually that slightly greasy cheese mushroom prata smothered in fish curry, washed down with a fat Milo dinosaur; stacks and stacks of innocent baskets of dim sum crowding a rickety table, or a steaming bowl of bak kut teh with little pieces of you tiao on the side that make you think you’re not eating a whole you tiao, when you actually are. And when you’re alone, you probably made Maggi noodles with an egg in a semi-dark kitchen, a cheesy toast with too much butter, or snuck a few teaspoons of Milo powder straight into your mouth.
I guess supper is a little silly, and that’s why we like it so much.
