Laugh Out Loud

When I was at my old place in Bukit Gombak yesterday, I took a trip down memory lane. While this stall has changed hands and undergone renovation many times, this two-decade-old Muslim-Indian eating place "Alif Restaurant" is still recognisable to old boys like me. While pratas these days sometimes come with fillings like chocolate, banana, cheese, and what-not, I remember that there was only "kosong" (plain) or egg back then. Those who are old enough may also remember that we only had free-to-air channels on our CRT TV sets that would screen horror classics like Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street or Child’s Play every Tuesday or Thursday late night. My elder brother and I would lay our ragged "ti lum" (mattress) on the floor in the living room, and scare ourselves silly watching those horror shows. Almost every single time, my brother would cajole me to buy supper right after the first horror scene in the movie. I was a chubby kid back then, so I would always be suckered into making that trip to buy some tasty pratas for supper. However, imagination would get the better of me once I got downstairs, and I would always break into an Olympic sprint to reach the restaurant. Once there, I would be mesmerised, and forget about the horror scenes playing out in my head, as the Malay encik (uncle) would physically abuse balls of smooth dough before performing a circus act of gravity defying prata-flipping. Then, right in front of us in full glory, he would throw the translucent flattened dough onto the big heated flat pan doused with (possibly) eight tonnes of oil. As a grand finale, another uncle would display the ultimate act of masculinity by stacking up the ready-to-serve piping hot pratas, and crush them mightily in one blow between his bare hands. Once the uncle handed me the hot crispy pratas in my hand, Chucky and Freddy would be back in my head instantly. So, needless to say, I made another Olympic sprint back home! I guess that’s how I am still alive today. #hawkerpedia

This is one of the most stressful and terrifying supper experiences one can undergo, with a most handsome reward... IF you survive the onslaught. Come midnight, once everything is ready, the stall lights come on, and (like when you alert the Witch in Left 4 Dead) the horde closes in via stampede to instantly form two queues — one to pick the ingredients, and one to place your order and make payment. It is essential to go in a minimum party of two, and assign the relevant roles beforehand if you want to reach home before daybreak. You will feel cold, limp, sweaty flesh caress your body parts from behind as the ravenous zombies dart for taupok and brinjal below and above your arms; you will hear desperate cries of "aiyah just 随便 (anyhow) pick lah!" from warriors who simply want the ordeal to be over; your body will be shoved left and right by aggressive golems in the fray if you don't stand firm while picking your items; your patience will wear thin when the uncivilised and daring brazenly cut the queue to fling their bowl ahead of yours, in a manner of a skilful frisbee toss, into the bowl queue. It will be ugly. But, if you survive — and I have, precisely six times — you will be rewarded with one of the best yong tau foos around. The variety of ingredients is just wonderful (their pork items in particular, like their pork belly, fly off the shelves), and the ikan bilis-heavy soup demands consumption in its entirety. I always ask for green chilli padi to be added, but do be warned — they add a fierce edge to the soup that will sting you without mercy if you happen to bite on them. There is a cheat code, like in every other game, if you wish to avoid the horrors of the above-mentioned experience — just go after 12.30am. By then, order will be restored by way of self-regulation, and all you have to do is queue for a long, long time. But, where's the fun in that? Soon Li Yong Tau Foo is a must try. This is non-negotiable. But before you taste the best, you gotta pass the test. #hawkerpedia

Tau huey is my ultimate comfort food, and I found the reason behind my love for it over a bowl of Chen Shun Mei Tau Huey ($1, probably the most life-changing tau huey yet). When my mum was pregnant with me, she ate a lot of tau huey, hoping to give birth to a beautiful Snow White. In fact, her wish for me to be fair (as opposed to tan) was so strong, she almost named me 'Xue Er', which means 'snow' in Chinese, and also has a similar pronunciation to my English name, Sheryl. But alas, I ended up with quite a natural tan, and nothing like the Snow White she hoped for. Nevertheless, her intensive tau huey-eating habits while I was still in her womb probably fortified tau huey as my ultimate comfort food even before I was born! To me, Chen Shun Mei's tau huey is the king of all tau hueys. Aside from the interesting day I discovered the reason for my love for tau hueys, I feel Chen Shun Mei's tau huey boasts the best taste and texture. Velvety-smooth soybean curds drenched in pandan-flavoured sugar syrup, this seemingly innocent tau huey is very addictive, and my family just can't stop coming back for more. #hawkerpedia

After work, when everyone starts to go home, and against the backdrop of noisy Jalan Besar traffic, I become hungry. As a Japanese living in Singapore, I sometimes get curious and feel like trying the curry rice below my office. What do you imagine when you think about curry rice? Indian curry? Japanese Curry? What does it look like? This curry is totally messy. The first time I ate this, I just thought, "what's this!? Is this really curry? Looks like I'm eating someone's leftovers". That was the day I became addicted. Since then, I eat curry rice every month at this place. #hawkerpedia

When I was doing my pupillage at a law firm in Bugis, this legendary curry mee was a guilty indulgence I'd visit over and over again, just for their chilli. It's so deep, smoky and intense that chimneys wave white flags in surrender. The uncle who manned the cashier and took orders (he is still there to this very day) didn't speak a word of Mandarin. Whenever I placed my order, he'd repeat it in dialect, and I would feebly use whatever bits and bobs of dialect I learnt from my parents to confirm the order. He would ask if I wanted "hiamjio", and insisted that I scoop it myself, as I should be the one determining my own Vulcanian destiny. The chilli means serious business — my female colleague would always take the teeny tiniest scoop and still have to force back tears, whilst another colleague of mine, one of those cheeky, laddish, "I love soccer" type of guys would whack the chilli with grand machismo... and sweat through his white shirt while constantly drying himself with three-ply tissue. #hawkerpedia