Tales of Singapore: “PHOOEY!”

Something happens, and I suddenly recall anecdotes from my last visit to Singapore. The last trip I had was when Helene generously welcomed me to her home and dining table during the merry month of Christmastime 2008.

There are a couple of perks to staying with her family.  One,  I get to eat to my heart’s content all her home-made scrumptious and very attractively-presented dishes. Two,  Christmas means food, food food!  Join the two facts together and it is a foodie’s heaven come down to earth.

The third perk is that I get to hear true-to-life stories recounted amusingly by Helene,  especially those which deals with her living and adapting to life in Singapore.

While I may not get all details right nor have Helene’s gift for presenting it with flair like how she does with her numerous commercials, I hope you will get a couple of hearty giggles out of your system the way I did.

There may be some embroidery on the seams of the tale when I recall it, but please pardon the humble storyteller as it was some time ago.

*snickers in remembrance*

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When Helene arrived in Singapore,  she knew she was bound to make an adjustment - not only to the language (even if it was just English paired with a Singaporean  accent) but also to the customs of the varied nationalities living in this island-nation. While her hubby was busy with work and other matters, she put to use her time to explore the city and see the Singaporeans interact.

One fine day, she was jauntily walking along one of the street markets in Singapore.  She may still have been feeling touristy – looking agog and thrilled over the colourful, and perhaps peculiar sights that met her eyes.

But with this kind of exploratory walk,  she began to feel the ferocious fangs of sudden hunger.

Lo and behold, the first thing her quickly-roving eyes caught was this stall selling rows and rows of something which looked familiar.  Back home in the Philippines it would be called “puto” (rice cake).  The only difference now was that these cakes were somewhat  different in size and shape...and even more garishly-coloured than what she was used to.

But never mind that.  After all,  puto is puto..or rather - rice cake is rice cake!

Hopping quickly to the languidly lounging vendor,  she pointed to one pack of the suddenly-delectable looking  rice cakes and handed over the payment. With happy anticipation, she clutched the rice cakes to her chest,  and with a satisfied sigh, tore off the transparent cover.  She promptly began to pop one saffron-colored  rice cake into her salivating mouth and was looking forward to getting a good couple of bites in before she continued her trek.

Understandably engrossed with her gustatory mission,  she failed to see the horrified look the vendor bestowed upon her as he, along with other vendors stared with open-mouthed disbelief.

It was only a second later that she registered the bizarre tableau -  not only was she on the receiving end of half-appalled, half-outraged looks from the people around her, she was also feeling.somewhat... unaccountably... bitter.

Before she could give a moment's thought to why she, of all people, felt some bitterness,  her survival reflexes took over...and she spat out into the ground the barely-chewed contents with the speed of skilled SWAT sharpshooter, accompanied by a very emphatic and unrepentant “PHOOEY!”.

(And all this was done in front of the seller she brought her rice cakes from.)

Unceremoniously tossing into a nearby garbage receptacle the rest of the colored cakes she had just bought and spit out with gusto, she then unconcernedly continued her walk.

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It was only later that she learned about the cultural significance of such not-so-edible cakes. As it turns out, those poor, misunderstood rice cakes are decorations used in ceremonies (read that as funerals) for the dearly departed folk.

(And with an innocent-looking puto-cheese by my side, I can't help but remember this tale...PFUI! indeed *grin*)