From left: Pak Kecil, Saiful, me and random pakcik at a warung in front of the Stasiun Tugu. Gemuk or not? And obviously I’m having fun being a tourist, what with that Same Same But Different tshirt and all.
No matter how cosmopolitan or diverse your taste buds are, some things are for certain: you are what you eat for breakfast, and the food you go running back to for comfort. Whether your favourite food is Italian, Japanese, French, Korean, Thai, as a general rule ‘breakfast food’ is what you’re about. I think nothing of eating noodles with various meats for breakfast; many others cringe at the thought. And no matter how much I proclaim to love South Asia and its food, I can never wrap my head around the idea of roti and dhal for breakfast (possible blasphemy: I can never wrap my head around dhal, at all).
Mine happens to be noodles. Asian noodles, to be specific, preferably with a clear broth.
You can’t go wrong with that. I will have them for every meal, and in any incarnation. Chicken feet noodles, wanton noodles, duck noodles, miso soup ramen, mee soto, niu rou mian (beef noodles, especially Taiwanese style), a Vietnamese pho bo (beef) or a Laotian feu ga (chicken), or Noodle House Ken’s stewed egg ramen in pork broth (my all time favourite)… noodles. I need noodles. I’m absolutely miserable without noodles, and even worse without a good Asian soup. Indian Chinese style ‘soups’, especially “egg drop soup!” and “vegeetayble hot sour soup!” don’t even come close, not even 10% close to the real stuff I love, but when in India for months at a stretch, even fake Chinese or Thai soup, Indian-style, works for me.
It poured in Jogja for most of last evening. Miserable, sick, grumpy, we walked around Malioboro annoyed by the silver/batik/painting commission scams we’d been lured into, having wasted so much of our afternoon. I usually get a good feel about restaurants/street stalls — if I get a good vibe, I know I’m bound to find good food there. Almost instinctively I sat down at a roadside warung outside the train station, needing. A bowl of hot, soupy noodles.
Indomie at a warung in the rain, Yogyakarta. Piping hot, steaming, soupy, in the company of friends, two hours’ worth of a stab at conversation. “Ini.. apa?” “Hari.. * counts* senin, selesa, rabu, kamis, jumat.. JUMAT! We leave hari jumat!” (Translated: “This.. what?” “Day.. monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday, we leave on friday!”)
Even though it was but a bowl of humble Indonesian instant noodles, Indomie at the warung in the rain is possibly one of my favourite culinary experiences. The sort of experience that doesn’t have to try at all, but that makes you think of good, happy times. Good, happy times like my father cooking me instant noodles at ungodly hours of night, adding the egg only when I come out of the shower, because that’s how I like it.
Food and experiences that make you think of home, in more ways than one; home that isn’t a place, but a state of mind, or several places and people all at once.
What’s yours?
possibly related
Middle-of-Bloody-Nowhere, Sirajgonj /
Our Food, Demystified /
You Asians have Two Stomachs /
Detox /
Diplomats and Physically Challenged Only /
The Food We Eat
No matter how cosmopolitan or diverse your taste buds are, some things are for certain: you are what you eat for breakfast, and the food you go running back to for comfort. Whether your favourite food is Italian, Japanese, French, Korean, Thai, as a general rule ‘breakfast food’ is what you’re about. I think nothing of eating noodles with various meats for breakfast; many others cringe at the thought. And no matter how much I proclaim to love South Asia and its food, I can never wrap my head around the idea of roti and dhal for breakfast (possible blasphemy: I can never wrap my head around dhal, at all).
Mine happens to be noodles. Asian noodles, to be specific, preferably with a clear broth.
You can’t go wrong with that. I will have them for every meal, and in any incarnation. Chicken feet noodles, wanton noodles, duck noodles, miso soup ramen, mee soto, niu rou mian (beef noodles, especially Taiwanese style), a Vietnamese pho bo (beef) or a Laotian feu ga (chicken), or Noodle House Ken’s stewed egg ramen in pork broth (my all time favourite)… noodles. I need noodles. I’m absolutely miserable without noodles, and even worse without a good Asian soup. Indian Chinese style ‘soups’, especially “egg drop soup!” and “vegeetayble hot sour soup!” don’t even come close, not even 10% close to the real stuff I love, but when in India for months at a stretch, even fake Chinese or Thai soup, Indian-style, works for me.
It poured in Jogja for most of last evening. Miserable, sick, grumpy, we walked around Malioboro annoyed by the silver/batik/painting commission scams we’d been lured into, having wasted so much of our afternoon. I usually get a good feel about restaurants/street stalls — if I get a good vibe, I know I’m bound to find good food there. Almost instinctively I sat down at a roadside warung outside the train station, needing. A bowl of hot, soupy noodles.
Indomie at a warung in the rain, Yogyakarta. Piping hot, steaming, soupy, in the company of friends, two hours’ worth of a stab at conversation. “Ini.. apa?” “Hari.. * counts* senin, selesa, rabu, kamis, jumat.. JUMAT! We leave hari jumat!” (Translated: “This.. what?” “Day.. monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday, we leave on friday!”)
Even though it was but a bowl of humble Indonesian instant noodles, Indomie at the warung in the rain is possibly one of my favourite culinary experiences. The sort of experience that doesn’t have to try at all, but that makes you think of good, happy times. Good, happy times like my father cooking me instant noodles at ungodly hours of night, adding the egg only when I come out of the shower, because that’s how I like it.
Food and experiences that make you think of home, in more ways than one; home that isn’t a place, but a state of mind, or several places and people all at once.
What’s yours?
possibly related
Middle-of-Bloody-Nowhere, Sirajgonj / Our Food, Demystified / You Asians have Two Stomachs / Detox / Diplomats and Physically Challenged Only /