The Daily Whine

I was up till 4.30 this morning watching ‘The Unit’. I like shows about the military, especially elite forces. They fulfill my macho fantasy to be part of a brotherhood that plays to strict, well-defined rules. This sounds ridiculous to anyone who knew me from school, of course, because the first 10 years of my education took place in Chinese schools renown for iron discipline, and you would have been either crazy or communist to have enjoyed that.

And then there was my stint in National Service, where during boot camp I was a major fuck-up trying to get out of active service with every conceivable excuse I could find. I’d play up my asthma and ‘field allergies’. My knee started acting up (and boy hasn’t it let up since). I ‘discovered’ I was somewhat flat-footed. Actually, my fear was they’d send me to Officer School — why anyone would volunteer to extend their National Service obligations by another ten active years (as required of National Serviceman officers) was beyond me even at 18. So I remember making a mockery of my very existence in boot camp — I was the worst shooter at the range (frankly I didn’t need to try very hard to fuck up there because I’m just naturally blind as a bat). I would occasionally break down and cry like mummy’s boy because I figured it’d make me look wimpy and unfit for officer service. Wasn’t very glamorous, and I know a few people in the platoon really bought into that, but it worked like a peach. Got transferred into some logistical unit afterwards, and ended up playing basketball for my brigade till I was out (not bad for someone with flat feet and gimpy knees eh?). Best of all, I haven’t been called up for reservist service since I got out — I figure they think I’m a lost cause.

So I know it’s hard to believe I actually fantasize about being part of an elite military unit, but there you have it. I love my military history. I love military shows. I love military documentaries. I love Tom Clancy-esque narratives. The uniquely high level of discipline required to make the team work is a big part of the attraction. I love it when there’s a feeling that the team sucked it up together and made it through whatever crisis they had to face.

Okay, I was up till 4.30 watching The Unit and then I heard the call to prayer from the mosque nearby. I have to be absolutely honest — when I first arrived and put up at my apartment here, I couldn’t stand the prayer call. It was the most fucked up thing in the world to be rocked out of deep sleep by religious duty. But now, it’s very different. I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve gotten so used to it, in fact, that I actually enjoy hearing it when I do. It’s quite reassuring. A reminder that it’s a brand new day, that whatever happened yesterday has already been consigned to history. Also, once you start to ‘get it’, the prayer call sounds rather beautiful. When I hear it, I like to imagine it like they paint it in Hollywood movies, where the sun’s barely creeping up from behind the distant hills, and the African or Middle-eastern town slowly stirs to life, alley by dark, twisting alley. My mom, who’s become a real firebrand Christian with little tolerance for alternative belief systems (including Algebra and Traditional Chinese Medicine), would roast me over a spit if she heard me say this, but there are some faces of Islamic life that should be imported into stuffy old Catholicism and rock-infused  Christianity. The morning prayer call, for example, is just one of those things I reckon would make urban life a lot more charming (I also love the way Hindhis in Bali and Buddhists in Thailand wash and clean the area in front of their houses every morning with water and jasmine flowers; that ought to be practiced by everyone, especially some of the folk who own houses along the street my office here is on).

This morning’s prayer call was slightly different. I can’t quite put my finger on where the difference lay, but it sounded a little more… I don’t know, ‘celebratory’, I guess. There was a little more excitement in the Imam’s voice than usual. And I’m guessing it has to do with Puasa.

Muslims everywhere began the month of fasting this morning. For the next 30 days, they will abstain from food and drink while there is daylight. This is the month for Muslims to act out their faith and place their spiritual needs before their corporal ones. When Puasa ends, they will celebrate Hari Raya, their New Year.

I think it’s a beautiful expression of collective willpower and discipline. We’re not just looking at fit and young Muslim men taking the vow of abstinence during this month; even the ladies will fast too (women in labour, the sick, the young and the elderly are exempted). And the amazing bit is, once everyone begins to feel the effects of the fast, they will be expected to respond with grace and forbearance. For example, you can’t go mouthing off at someone just because you’re feeling tired or hungry. Think it’s easy? I know I couldn’t do it. I lack that sort of discipline. I couldn’t go a full day without water. And if my tummy’s rumbling, god help the fool who incurs my wrath.
I tried fasting once, when I was still in high school. It was for World Vision or Earth Vision or some humanitarian cause of that ilk. The idea was that by fasting, you’re making a certain sacrifice and you’d ask for donations from those around you, and you’d send all the money gathered from the pledge to the charity which, in this case, was supposed to distribute the proceeds to hungry children somewhere in Asia or Africa. This was during the more socially-conscious period of my life, when I could be arsed to do something about famine, deforestation, environmental pollution and the evils of coca-cola. I obviously got over my conscience a long time ago. Anyway, I was supposed to fast for 3 days — an entire weekend. Gee, that was hard.

No really, it was. I was miserable for all 3 days. I was around 15 at that time, and it was impossible to function without a Big Mac and French Fries in my tummy. According to the rules of the Hunger Pledge, I was to have a huge meal before the fast began, then over the next three days I would only be allowed some bread and water every morning. By the first afternoon, I was cranky. By that night, I felt like I would murder and tear chunks out of everyone who asked me how the fast was going. From that point, it didn’t take long for me to cheat. So I scammed a couple of hundred dollars out of my generous family, friends and neighbours who thought it was noble I was fasting for a good cause. On hindsight, it was probably just as well I snacked when I did — I can tell you now that if the starving children were in Indonesia, chances are they stayed that way while some bureaucrats enjoyed a good dinner. It would have sucked if I had fasted for them.

My ‘farce’ lasted 3 days. What I learned — I was probably not Delta Force material.

extract from email:

"JKT is the sort of place you’ve got to get used to, and in order to get used to it, you’ve got to have a very positive attitude about life. Take things in your stride. Be able to laugh things away and look at the big picture often. Be able to recognize that there are very few places in the world like Singapore and so you don’t impose Singaporean benchmarks on life here. Be able to adapt to unforeseen circumstances readily. Be happy about what you have, and be unaffected about what you don’t. This is the sort of city where the unsavory is more obvious than the pleasant, so you’ve got to have the stomach for adventure. But if you can deal with all this and still come out on top, JKT is extremely rewarding. You gain a lot living here. Perspective is one big win. You develop an incredibly large view of life, the universe and everything. It’s not so much that perspective makes you content and not struggle anymore – quite the contrary, you continue to strive for more in life, maybe even harder, but you do so with a very clear picture for why you’re doing so. I think that’s the best thing I can say about my experience here so far – I’ve gained clarity.

An uncomplicated example. I miss Roti Prata. I can find good Roti Prata here, and if you’re talking about the culinary execution, the Prata at the Penang restaurant here isn’t inferior to the ones I love back home. So it’s clearly not the quality that I miss. It’s something else very intangible. The smell of spices intermingling with the roast of coffeebeans at the kopi-tiam. The bustle of voices speaking familiar vernacular, conversations that flavor the Prata as much as the curry. The greasy table-tops wet-wiped by even greasier table-cloths, soaking up newspaper ink from the Sunday Times that you sprawl across the surface to read while you eat. Teh-si Siu Tai Peng that is the exact same stuff you get anywhere else in the world when you ask for Iced Evaporated Milk Tea with little sugar, except that it’s entirely different because only back in your kopi-tiam will you be able to conjure up this glass of manna by uttering those magic words Teh-si Siu Tai Peng. And so on. It becomes very clear to you what it is you really love about life. You become extremely familiar with the things that do matter, the ones that count. The little details in the big picture. That kind of clarity – priceless."

I encountered an extremely innovative culinary concept at Senayan City
during lunch today: Nasi Padang served along a sushi-style conveyor
belt.

Nasi Padang is a traditional Indonesian cusine from Sumatra, and is meant to be enjoyed communally — the restaurant will typically bring out heaps of plates of food and stack them on the dining table for you and your compadres to enjoy. You only pay for what you eat — you pick what you want from the plates in front of you, and dish them onto your own plate of rice. What they don’t tell you, though, is that what you don’t eat goes back into their stove pots to be dished out again for the next customer, so ignorance is definitely bliss in a Nasi Padang restaurant.

This place me and my chums went to, PaNice (contraction for
Padang-Nice! apparently), tries to update that culinary concept by
fusing it with the self-help convenience of conveyor-belt sushi.

Yanne, Mochi and Adrian just before they pig out

It’s still the same idea — you pick what you want — but because all dishes are already carefully portioned for the conveyor-belt, you know you’re not having something that’s somebody else’s reject. They also decorated the dining area with an appropriate level of funk so it feels young and hip. It’s a brilliant concept, really.

Not the cheapest meal on the block
The problem is, the food’s decidedly bad. To begin with, the dishes don’t taste particularly good, considering that they’re much pricier than at traditional Nasi Padang restaurants (a meal for 4 set us back by 170,000 Rupiah, or about up to three times what you’d expect to pay for the equivalent at a warung). The Rendang was tough, and around these parts they say that if you’re in a Padang place and the Rendang’s not tender, you know the cook’s not from Padang (okay, I don’t know if that’s conventional wisdom or another of Adrian’s well-intentioned but often erroneous local trivia bits).

But the biggest problem, for me, is that the food isn’t innovative itsef — you’ll still find the same old Nasi Padang dishes (think Rendang, Ayam Pop, Dendeng, Sayur Singkong etc) rotating around the restaurant. Which means the creative inspiration didn’t quite reach the kitchen. And that’s a huge pity because Padice has a novel idea going for itself here, and if the dishes served are fused with modern elements too, this could be a restaurant that carves a proper niche for itself. Beyond the novelty of trying Nasi Padang on a conveyor belt for the first time, nobody’s going to come back for very mediocre food when the alternative on the streets outside the mall costs less than half a meal here. I feel like Seinfeld in that Pakistani cafe episode but I’d advise the owner to revamp his menu and bring genuine innovation into the cuisine. If Padice can do that, they might even spark a new fusion fad here. Nasi Padang on a conveyor belt… who’d have thought.

What? No Teh Manis at a Nasi Padang meal? This is so wrong!!