Food as Bearer of Memories

It rained in the afternoon as I was getting ready to head out. The heavy rain thumped the concrete and tar, the metal sheets of covered walkways and the soft earth held together by trees and grass. The melody hypnotises while the humidity stifles.

I was in the mood for something soupy, but also spicy and heavy, cheesy and greasy. Basically, hearty. I knew where I needed to go.

I headed to Jinjja Chicken in Bugis for their rabokki, with a side of spicy boneless chicken bits. The noodles were soft and slurpy, the tteokbokki contrasts the softness of the noodles with its satisfying chew, and the melted American cheese lends a creaminess to the already thick rabokki sauce.

I made a mistake of wearing white. My carnal desire for a hearty bowl of noodle stew and assorted carbohydrates did not care that white attracts spillage. We all know this. And of course, I had a blotch of the red-orange soup as soon as the first slurp of noodles began. Oh my god... I switched to a fork halfway through my meal, because I knew if I let a tteokbokki slip, it will send a wave of soup on my blouse. No one needs to witness that massacre.

The spicy boneless chicken were not the main event but they might as well be. Crunchy on the outside, juicy and succulent on the inside. Topped with yangyeom sauce that made me weep (because it was spicy). There was so much of the chicken, I had to pack some to bring home.

Despite being placed in a food container in a tied up plastic bag, the scent of fried chicken remained on my backpack for a couple of days. It was a welcome reminder that I had fried chicken that week.

Food has always been a bearer of memories. The first taste of my mother-in-law's couscous warming me up in her home, after a long day out in the cold in the North of France. The first tangy contrast of lingonberry jam against the rich and fatty gravy of Swedish meatballs in the halal Ikea restaurant in Tampines. The umami-ness of Bakso soup that brings me right to my childhood in Tanjung Pinang, seated on the floor in front of a small tv, hunched over to make sure the soup doesn't splash around me.

Food is central to most of my social outings. Every single one - just a catch up, a movie date, a hike, a museum visit - comes with either lunch or dinner (or breakfast, on days I feel a little crazy). There has never been a social outing that does not come with eating. It's not just a way to nourish the body, it is also a way to nourish the soul.

When I think of moving away, I think of losing the ease at which I could get the foods I enjoy. I'm a creature of habit, I think. I'm adventurous to a point, and then I'm like nah. I'll miss how easy it is for me to get a food that I crave at that instant. Following my hunch to my favourite spots, only googling to check if they are open.

But I guess, in uprooting myself, I'm giving myself a chance to explore. To recalibrate my tastebuds. To find new foods, to create new memories with said food. To find new favourite spots, retraining my hunch to get a sense of what is and isn't good. To find familiar food, in places I least expect them to be.

And maybe, I'd stumble upon a random Korean food canteen in the streets of Rennes in the cold 18 degrees weather, and crying after finishing the meal because I could not believe I found rice and spicy food in the middle of Brittany, on a lonely sojourn around France.

It was also, fatefully, 2 days before I met my husband 😀