Selasa, 28 Ogos 2012

The Malaysian Insider :: Food


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The Malaysian Insider :: Food


The Greek

Posted: 28 Aug 2012 06:33 PM PDT

KUALA LUMPUR, Aug 29 — Carnegie, Melbourne, circa 1996 was a kind of nursing home where the old folks feed themselves. Along Koornang Road, where I lived, there were a lot of places to feed yourself. There's Gabriella's Pizza, whose owner I thought was Lebanese, but told myself he couldn't be, since the pizzas had ham (it never occurred to me Lebanese could be something other than Muslim). There was a kimchi place which I brilliantly deduced was run by Koreans. And there was a mom and pop café/deli run by an elderly Greek couple named King's Burger.

Aussie places close early by Asian standards. Hell, Asian places in Oz close early by Asian standards. One month in Melbourne and I was still failing to adjust to this fact and when I stepped into King's Burger one night after class at the ungodly hour of...  what, 6pm?... the old man was not happy.

"Please," I say through glass.

He comes up to the glass, broom in hand, and says, "We closed."

"Please," I say, all Oliver Twist.

He gives me a stare that lasts a month and then lets in a boy who is clearly some fool arcade-frequenting, class-dropping Asian gangbanger.

He makes me a burger. This is one of those places that make their burgers from scratch. He does not ask me if that's what I want.

His 60- to 83-year-old wife eyes me like she would any burglar/rapist and asks for $4.95. I considerately place the money on the counter so I don't have to get my Asian all over her. Then the old man hands me a bag of fries.

"For me?"

He shakes his head. "For burger."

I say thanks and sorry and their silence says they've done their charity for the year.

I do this exact same thing twice more.

Then one night, after issuing the standard sigh that comes from the Ancient Greek Well of Regret and Exasperation located in the pit of his stomach, he hands me my burger and fries — and a fish.

"I didn't order this."

"No, you take."

"No, I can't." Because I can't finish it, and I didn't order it.

"If you no eat, I throw anyway. You take."

Ok, I take.

On future visits, I take fish. Souvlaki. Bread. Cold macaroni. Some truly dreadful substance which was the old lady's attempt at lasagna.

But I take. I put on weight like I wasn't Asian, or pregnant, but I take.

And then I notice something. He's starting to close late. He's still open even after I add another class. And then I'm rushing after class not because I'm afraid he'll close, but because I'm afraid he'll stay open.

He's now waiting for me.

I realised this when I didn't go one night and when I finally did, he said, "You no come Tuesday. I wait." He was actually angry. More than angry. He was hurt.

This can't go on. I did not order this. I am stressed from work, I miss my girlfriend, I have only one mouth, and now two chins.

So I stop going after class. After 7pm, the food just doesn't burn and I'm eating enough for two.

I have to break up with him.

So I say, "You do breakfast?"

The bacon is so salty your lips go numb as soon as you close your mouth. And there are at least four of them to get through.

But the coffee.

The coffee is a caffeine-flavoured crack cocaine in a cream body. It is served in a very average three-inch glass on a napkin and placed on a non-matching dish. The foam bulges threatening spillage. Soon as it lands on my table, he whips out a butter knife, and with the straight side, shaves the foam flat. The knife then goes to me — cream still on the blade — and it is an unspoken understanding that that's my knife. I can cut my bacon, butter my toast; either way I'm not getting a new one.

I do this for a year and a half. We don't speak, not really. The prices don't change, I don't dare order anything new.

One day, I come by and he's talking to a pinstriped young man outside the café. I go in and sit down. The young man starts barking at him and I watch the old man take it. Junior drives off and the old man comes in. I let him cry. As a present, I order things I have no intention of eating.

About four months later, I bring my girlfriend to drink his wonderful coffee and eat his dreadful bacon. The old man makes two, and as I introduce my lady, he brings out his from the back room.

"He good boy," he says to my girlfriend.

"He good boy." And then he squeezes my shoulder.

I order two more of those sublime coffees.

And I don't tell him I'm leaving.

* Cafe Stories is a series celebrating the many memories (very often not food-related) that certain cafes evoke.


Boulud, Ducasse and Savoy guest judges on ‘MasterChef’

Posted: 28 Aug 2012 06:10 PM PDT

Alain Ducasse, with Daniel Boulud and Guy Savoy: 33 Michelin stars between them. — AFP pic

NEW YORK, Aug 29 — French culinary titans Daniel Boulud, Alain Ducasse and Guy Savoy will share the stage tonight as judges on the US cooking reality show "MasterChef".

You can almost hear the platform groan under the collective weight of their Michelin stars — 33 between them all — and their gastronomic clout.

The three of them — referred to by show host Gordon Ramsay as "VVIP guest judges" — will appear on the episode and judge the dishes of the four remaining competitors on the show.

"I mean, there are guys out there who would cut their leg off to cook for one of these guys and I'm cooking for all three," said one competitor. "Man, it's amazing."

Unlike Bravo's "Top Chef", in which professional chefs are thrown in the proverbial fire pit, the Fox broadcast version "MasterChef" crowns the best amateur home chef across the US.

This year, 30,000 people across the country auditioned for "MasterChef".

Watch a preview of tonight's episode below. — AFP/Relaxnews


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