By Lin Jiawen (4K), Cheng Wenqi (19J06), Fan Wenrui (19J11)
In the spirit of every Singaporean’s favourite pastime - eating, we recently went on a food adventure to Maxwell Food Centre. We bring you on a journey of bite-sized poetry through our local hawker fare; it's truly more than just a bite.
Special food featured: sugar cane drink, char siew pie, rojak, fish soup, teh tarik, China Street Fritters and bee hoon (clockwise direction)
platters of food on table,
at a loss of what to start with,
why not try them all?
- a haiku
Traditional China Street fritters
Key ingredients that go into a delightful plate of China Street Fritters
they say,
food is a labour of love.
then for love, they have bled:
hawkers, upon a recipe
passed down through generations
from starch and water
is the sweet sauce born,
from a recipe of the past
and hope for a future
are the dreams of hawkers
sustained, serving
the marrow of their
work in each bowl
we consume, in this
tradition of food
they say,
Singapore is
built upon the backs of
hawkers toiling to feed
every student, civil servant
and office worker
for their children to fly:
to higher-paid jobs,
brighter futures, and
dreams beyond this horizon
on their once-broad shoulders
and now-hunched backs,
on plates, upon plates
of fritters
they say,
that we don’t appreciate
tradition until it’s gone
then for tradition,
for their craft, even family honour
they have stood,
unflinching,
guardsmen of traditions past
for who will cook
for the hawkers
when they rest, retire?
onwards, we will
sustain, salvage then
rekindle this flame
etched into history,
majulah, Singapura
Rojak
Munching on the familiar crunch of crushed peanuts and deep-fried youtiao
coated in sweet and sour prawn paste,
I reminisce about the old times
when I ran back and forth in the hawker centre
carrying orders to Pa and Ma’s humble Rojak stall.
I will never forget the sweet haunting of
the wafting homely aroma from
the rhythmic thumping of ingredients in the mixing bowl,
stickiness of my sweat-drenched uniform,
and my constant companion,
a 2-metre giant cast by the evening sun.
Munching on the refreshing cucumbers and sour, acidic pineapple slices,
I remembered the sweet bitterness of childhood memories
as I looked on my peers
who swung high on the playground swings,
living the perfect, carefree life.
Clanking of round, nickel coins and
satisfying crisp of plastic notes
marks the end of a work day.
Lugging out thick homework files
from my school bag infested with loose threads,
I stared hard at the smudging graphite marks on worksheets
under the gentle moonlight.
“Study hard, ah boy.
Don’t be like Pa and Ma when you grow up,”
Ma always says as she runs her creased fingers down my hair.
I always wonder,
what will happen to the Rojak store
if I don’t follow Pa and Ma’s footsteps?
Munching on the eclectic mix of food
that creates a mini explosion of flavours in my mouth,
I remembered the soul-stirring feelings I felt
on that fateful day.
Pa’s sweat
glistened in the dazzling sunlight
as he solemnly received the wad of cold hard cash
from the trash collectors.
The emulsion of guilt and shame inundated me,
as I fear that this may mark the end of the good old times
My heart felt like an empty cage,
for the very vessel of my childhood
is long lost.
Sugarcane Juice
“let’s drink sugarcane”
we don't like to think
about the drinks we take for granted
so as we gripe about prices
in our coins, drinking sugarcane,
in plastic bags
around plastic tables
“i don't think there’ll be a day without
sugarcane juice in Singapore”
we don’t like to think
about the drinks we take for granted
so we swirl plastic straws dyed
with bright colours of youth
as it diminishes with falling
levels of sugarcane juice. i guess
i now know what they mean by
out of sight, out of mind.
“no one drinks sugarcane anymore”
we don’t like to think
about the drinks we take for granted
so stalls shut down, taking
away a part of home with them
but what is home anymore
when familiarity is homogenised
when all that is left of nostalgia
has been drained dry by the past
through sugarcane processors
“i want to have sugarcane”
we don’t like to think
about the drinks we take for granted
so as the cups slip out of our grasp
i know that this is what won’t last
and one day, the buzzing of
sugarcane processors will deafen us
with their silence; the stalks will
soon cease to grow for us
-so let’s have it while it lasts
Fish Soup
fish soup
swimming in milk
-tomatoes, tofu; thick
wafting nostalgia in the bowl’s
rich broth
- a cinquain
Teh Tarik
uncle i want teh tarik
but uncle i don’t want
my mama to push and pull
when it comes to my etiquette
uncle i want teh tarik
but uncle i don’t want
my teachers to push and pull
when it comes to my studies
uncle i want teh tarik
but uncle i don’t want
my government to push and pull
when it comes to equal rights
uncle, you know what; i just
want my teh tarik -oh but
uncle give me teh tarik siew dai ah
later get diabetes government blame me again
Char Siew Pie
i don’t want to feel
pastry flaking off my fingers
the way nostalgia
flaked off my childhood;
leaving the oily, greasy
residue of regrets
i will never get to make up for.
i don’t want to feel
the tangy touch of meat on the tip
of my tongue. because that
tastes too uncannily similar
to the tragedies
and failures
i will never get to make up for.
i don’t want to feel
this familiarity they say is comforting; i don’t
want to be the one stretched thin
by the rolling pin
or the one on the chopping block,
drenched in the crimson of those
i will never get to make up to.
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