For
all those people who either actually know me, or have actually read my
blog in the past (Hugs!!!), there is one thing that might, just might,
be a teensy weensy bit apparent by now.
I’m
interested in food. Like… it does hold a bit of importance in my life.
Like…my life might just revolve around it, you know…just a teensy weensy
lil bit.
So the food I have does tend to alter and determine my moods, my actions, and sometimes life altering decisions.
So
there happen to be a few rules, a few theories revolving around
different food items in my life. The Chop suey Theory is one very
important one among them. Now I can’t go into details about it…its
really top secret, and I am still waiting for the patent to come in…but
it has held true these past twenty one years,( soon to be) and deserves due
respect. And recently, to pay my respects, I have embarked upon a
Chop suey Challenge.
The challenge is simple.
Singapore.
Random tiny Chinese restaurants.
One American Chopsuey.
And so it began.
Location: Authentic Chinese Restaurant
Order: Pepper Chicken, American Chopsuey, Pepsi
Time Taken: Torturous
And
I kid you not. I thought my watch had stopped. All time and matter
stood still, not even a slight ruffle in the chicken’s feathers as it
faced its last few moments in a kitchen somewhere. That’s how long it
took. But there was a very valid explanation for it, as I will soon let
you know.
The
place was nice, the way a Chinese restaurant should be. Because in my
experience, the best Chinese is not the Bercos, Golden Dragons and Five
Spices of the world…even though I love all those as well. There’s
something about sitting in a small, brightly lit chinki* family run
restaurant, with one Chinese fan adorned on the wall to make it look
more authentic and a little stained menu with at least two price
revisions scratched out with a pen…it just makes the experience…well…an
experience. And the food’s usually good.
So
I placed my order, and waited with bated breath. And waited. And
waited some more. Just when all the oxygen of my before mentioned bated
breath had run out and stars were popping before my eyes, I spotted the
reason for the delay. Some ten packets of home delivery.
Hmph.
Oh well, the food came.
I
tasted the chop suey. The crunchy sweet orangy chop suey. I opened my
mouth to comment on the taste, but the conversation on the next table
proved to be rather distracting.
Two
women with extremely painted and botoxed faces (I swear they couldn’t
smile even if they wanted to) walked in and were greeted rather warmly
by the waiter.
“Ok, show us the photos.”
The
waiter eagerly bowed, ran in and came back with his fancy phone. He
then showed them some photos in a rather conspiratory manner. They
nodded at each other and smiled (or at least I think that’s what the
frozen face muscles were trying to do).
“Oh, they’re cute!”
More nods.
“They have been with me since they were babies. I have taken really good care of them.”
Awww…his little adopted chinki kids.
“They’ll adjust to our home well.”
Huh? Suddenly my full attention was with them. Lil cute chinki slave traders.
“So once we take them, do we need to give them cooked food? Or just raw food would do?”
Huh??
“No no…don’t bother cooking. Just make sure you give them enough water throughout the day. That’s enough for them.”
Wtf…inhuman ^%&$*!!
“So your final price is 8000? Nothing less?”
Nods. Looks exchanged. Handshake.
The price of a lil cute chinki kid = Rs. 8000 wonly. ( are they going to make them massage their frozen muscles ??!!! )
“Don’t worry…they’re very well trained. They won’t take flight.”
Hmph.
“Yes…I really love pets…and I think birds are perfect.”
Ok…so
you knew what that conversation was about right from the beginning. But
believe you me, when you’re sitting in that tiny restaurant, starved by
the wait, hogging away on crunchy chopsuey, your mind does take you in
weird random directions.
Oh…the chop suey!!
It was…perfect.
Well, it did come late. And for some weird reason there was no egg on it. But it was perfect.
It was just the right amount of crispy.
It was just the right amount of sweetness.
It adhered to the right gravy to noodles ratio.
And the noodles were broken just the right size.
It was really worth the wait.
21 years. ( well ... soon to be .. )
P.S.
It might be important to mention here that the birdie negotiations were
being handled by the waiter…erm…the sole waiter. So for half an hour,
all orders, all payments and all requests of each and every person in
that restaurant came to a standstill.
P.P.S. 8000 bucks for birds? Really??? You know the amount I can shop in that much?!?
*I
hate the word ‘chinki’. I know its racist. But I’m
hoping I’ll be excused here on the pretext of creative liberties.