Make Love, Not Chicken Rice War.
I’m a bitter, sour man nearing his mid-life.
By the third day, after I was done with my wedding assignment, standing in the middle of Orchard Road, waiting for 15 to 20 minutes for this shot for the travel magazine assignment, as another family asked me to take a photo for them in front of a Christmas tree, then I realised, I was over Singapore.
“Your mistake was to go to Orchard Road, never go to Orchard Road,” said one friend.
Nah, it’s not Orchard, it was me.
I was hot, tired, and homesick.
I was told before I left, that I was lucky, and that I should eat as much chicken rice as I can.
“How much chicken rice can one person eat before you get sick of chicken rice?” I asked.
The answer, for me, was three.
Apple made a short documentary about a chicken rice ‘war’.
Usually, war means something is at stake.
There are a billion chicken rice stalls on this island that couldn’t fit within the dot of an ‘i’ on the world map, and you’re telling me, I can only choose from two stalls in Chinatown?
So, there is no war.
Walk away, man.
Just pick another dish, man.
My first hawker food during this trip wasn’t even chicken rice; it was braised duck rice.
However, I think this is something the travel magazine would be interested in. This ‘war’.
At the very least, a photo of Maxwell.
Here’s the good thing about being alone.
I queued up, bought chicken rice from Tian Tian, sat outside, took photos, tasted the dish, returned the tray, bought chicken rice from Ah Tai, found a different corner, took photographs, tasted, returned the tray, all in twenty minutes, and no one cared.
I also realised, that the last time I was here (2015), I had Ah Tai’s chicken rice, which I still prefer out of the two.
Why? Because Ah Tai’s was cheaper.
The chicken was boneless, and it came with a bowl of soup.
Come on, if I’m judging peasant food, I have to prioritise a peasant’s need.
When I watched the short documentary, the chicken rice dishes were shot like Jesus’s second coming. In reality, both stalls served the rice on disposable polyester plates. There was no zoom-in or panning, no smiley faces of the owners, and the sauce wasn’t drizzled on the dish, more like a sad plop of finishing.
We queued up like sheep and had to carry our own food on a tray, in a food court full of sweaty armpits, to look for an opening.
What war? Life sucks either way.
Tian Tian had a bit of arrogance, with its ticket ushering and self-serve cutlery. (Regretted getting the egg.)
At least Ah Tai took the time to debone the chicken, let me self-serve the chili sauce, and man, the bowl of soup was what I needed in this material world.
Whoever decided to award Tian Tian the Michelin thingy and not Ah Tai, screw you, but also, thank you.
The real winner is Boon Tong Kee.
On my way to meet my high school friend for dinner the next day, I asked the driver if it was any good. Yes, he said his favourite chicken rice is at Boon Tong Kee.
And there you have it.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about my dinner at Boon Tong Kee because I was busy catching up with friends. I was glad to have the salted egg vegetables in soup, the pork ribs were flavourful, and the tofu soft on the inside, and the chicken … very chicken rice-ish.
I’m not sure about you, but I trust the taxi driver to represent the majority of Singapore more than an ad made by a phone company. (Not that I don’t trust my high school friend.)
I get this sometimes.
People tell me “it’s all your fault - I went to this place because of your photo. I spent $200 because of your photo. I was let down because of your photo.”
What I hear is that it’s my fault that they lack critical thinking.
Maybe that’s the real reason I was fed up with the city.
All the ads, billboards, shiny things, reinforced by people queueing up, the sale, consumption.
And then they complain: why are we so busy and stressed out?
Walk away, man.
Just pick another dish, man.
Think for yourself, man.
Chicken rice isn’t just about the rice, but also the company you keep.