I longed for the breakfast that I will satisfy me – half-boiled eggs, slightly sweet and burnt tea and coconut jam toast (kaya toast). But I did not get a taste of it on the lazy Saturday morning. Instead, I had dumplings filled with juicy prawns (ha-kao), pork dumplings that had a large portion of meat (siumai) and egg tarts with crusts that will crumble when I bite through it, served by two middle-aged Chinese ladies who peppered the order conversation with Cantonese.

I was sceptical when my husband asked me to join him on his market trip. Unlike him, I’m not one that is fascinated by the myriad of raw ingredients and esoteric items sold in a market. Perhaps esoteric items may interest me, but I will be drawn to it for its relationship with the social setting it is placed in rather than its use as an ingredient in food. For example, I was drawn to the messy provision shop run by old men that was amidst government-subsidised flats (HDB). As I did not have any errands to run at that time, and I did not have any urgency to start my to-do list for the day, I agreed to be the compliant partner who follows to the market because my husband wanted me to.

We conveniently drove to Cheng San market at Ang Mo Kio Ave 10 and found it easy to find a place to park. As I walked towards the market, I saw food stores on the left and the wet market on my right, with rows of shops patronised by people living in the neighbourhood in both. The pace of sauntering was slower there compared to other wet markets. People were sitting on coffee tables and purchasing ingredients for their family in the wet market. These people seem to be in the moment rather than checking off a task list for the day. I stood there observing the scene, and felt pleasant but slightly taken aback by the reality I was in. It was different from the goal-oriented task-completer that I have become.

I was drawn to the minced meat noodles (bak-chor-mee) store in front of me – it has been awhile since I had salty, spicy and tasty noodles. My husband gestured me to walk further down, as there were 10 times more stalls than what I saw in front of me. Obediently, I followed. He knows the market better than I. We agreed to reconvene after he bought ingredients from the wet market. I will buy breakfast for both of us.

I took my time to decide on the food that will be my lazy-morning breakfast. After all, it would take my husband longer to purchase ingredients for our house-warming party the following week than I would take to buy breakfast. The first food I decided to buy was the sweet sauce carrot cake (chai-tau-kueh). The transaction occurred rather swiftly. I then went on my noodle-hunt again. Perhaps there were tastier noodles than the minced meat noodles store.    

I saw a duck noodles store. They displayed pictures of food they were selling and they look good, and the uncooked noodles that I could see through their glass-window store were of good quality. Perhaps I was also drawn to the few newspaper blurbs that featured their stall, although if I was asked, I will be unwilling to admit to the Singaporean quality of eating food that has been socially-approved.  I then ordered a duck drumstick noodle from the couple who owned the store. An honest short conversation ensued.

“Is the dish S$5.00?” I asked, as the price displayed was blurred by a masking tape.

“No, it is S$5.50. If the duck drumstick came with noodles, it would cost S$1.00 more because the cost price of the noodles is already 50 cents. If it was paired with rice, it would be additional 50 cents,” she said, patiently explaining to me the reason for the price.

I was surprised by how revealing she was with her cost price. I suspect I hid my expression well, as she continued to explain her pricing scheme.

“Do you make the noodles yourself?” I asked.

“We order the noodles from a chef who specialises in making them. He makes noodles for hotels as well,” she said. I could see the pride in her face as she answered, tacitly acknowledging the qualities of her noodles.

“No wonder it is more expensive than normal noodles!” I quipped, having understood from my husband’s restaurant business that noodles per plate were not as expensive as 50 cents.

By then, her husband has prepared the noodles, and we thanked each other before I left.

I then walked passed a couple of rows of food stalls to go to the dim sum store. I love dim sum, but good ones are hard to find. I remembered that the dim sum from this market tasted good when my husband bought them for me about a month ago.

“Do you have ha-kao, siumai and dan-ta (egg tart)?” I asked in Mandarin.

“Yes, we do have, is that all?” the younger lady at the store asked.

I nodded my head. She then asked a next question, which I was delighted with. My delight came from a simple reason, as what she said was typical of what a food stall owner would ask.

“Sek asi pao?” she asked, wondering whether I was eating at the food stores or taking away.

I have not heard Cantonese spoke to me in a natural setting in Singapore when I order food from food store owners. I have experienced ordering food in Hokkien. They will reply in either Mandarin or English. This annoys me
, as it connotes that I cannot speak their language. It particularly ticks me off when they will speak English to me and when they turn back to talk to their family members making food, they will speak in Hokkien. There seems to be a barrier between customer and owner, a formality and professionalism that cannot be breached even when the mother tongue is used.

“Sek,” I happily answered, continuing the conversation in her mother tongue.

“Gei Doh Chin?” I asked her, wondering how much the three ha-kaos, three siumais and three egg tarts will cost.

“Gau Man,” the older lady answered, which is 9 dollars. It is more expensive than I thought it would be, but I willingly paid for it. Perhaps because I know it was of good quality, perhaps it was because I had a pleasant encounter with the two ladies. Perhaps it is for the “at-the-moment-ness” that I experience from the dim sum store and from the duck noodles store, something so rare in Singapore, yet so real to life. I walked away from the food store, with a slight discomfort in me. I long for these moments, yet have not experience it often in the past year. It probably speaks more of the dissonance in my character than the morning I experience. Thank you, food store owners for being nice. My half-boiled eggs, slightly sweet and burnt tea and kaya toast can wait another week.