Ladies Who Lunch

I wasn't looking my best when I first met Desiree. We go to the same gym, which likes to put you through the kind of workout that could break your body down but lift your spirits so much that you don't mind people knowing you can pop 100 push-ups in five sets or bench press the equivalent of a beer keg (that's some important heavy lifting). So Des Lee would always see Des Koh drenched in sweat, tears and swearing bloody murder on my way out, as she arrived full of morning freshness for her workout. I have never seen her work out, but I've seen how many pancakes she can eat, so I only surmise that she, too, is soaked in sweat, tears, and screaming bloody murder after she's done.

The reason why I know how many pancakes Des Lee can eat is because she is brave, loves to question, ever open to new experiences, and a fantastic conversationalist. She asked me out to lunch one Saturday a few months ago after just a few hellos and commiserations at the gym, and we put away fries and a couple of pizzas and (I) drained some cocktails. Des Lee does not drink, which makes it all the more impressive - without intoxication, she still presents intelligent, coherent ruminations and observances, while the rest of us who can bench press a keg remain crutched to beer barrels more than we can stand.

These lunches on the weekends have become a regular occurrence (sometimes, they reinvent themselves as dinners!), with the irrepressible Amy now also at the table (Amy drinks - oh, she drinks). They average about three to four hours, sometimes longer if the urge for more food or dessert or beer or cocktails leads us astray elsewhere. I just read East of Eden again, and the meal discussions at the Trask farm between Samuel Hamilton, Adam Trask and Lee remind me a little of our summa cum laude mastication sessions, without the burden of philosophy and the responsibility of salvation, but with the onus of bon mots and the necessity of wit.

A few weekends ago, we decided to eat our way across Kampong Glam, Singapore's Arab enclave, which turned out to be rather symbolic of how our lunches roll and stroll - a platter, sometimes more than we can handle, of diversity, culture, sauciness, gravy, sass, rambling, gossip, discovery, knowledge, and education. We had a goal, though - whatever it was, however that afternoon turned out, we were going to eat baklava, goddamn it. We don't usually impose goals for our lunches, beyond making an appointment for the next repast, which is in itself a sweet, multi-layered anticipation. Baklava.

Here's how we did the baklava.

We started at the 101-year-old New Victory Restaurant, an old-timer landmark for Indian-Muslim food.

 Famous for roti prata, which is NOT a type of pancake by definition as often mistaken, because it is not made from batter, but a flat bread that's flipped thin, then fried on a griddle with ghee.

 Also famous for murtabak, which is like roti prata's wealthy Hummer-driving cousin, stuffed with spiced meats, onions and eggs.

 Finally, also famous for nasi briyani, which is a meat curry buried under a pile of spiced basmati rice.

 You couldn't go to Kampong Glam and NOT have nasi padang, especially from Minang Kabau. Here are the standards of sayor lodeh and beef rendang. You can learn more about nasi padang from my visit to a Jakarta institution here: http://www.desireekohink.com/2010/12/field-day-with-nasi-padang.html.

 A Middle Eastern community has also emerged in Kampong Glam recently, so we wandered into Beirut Restaurant and in good humor, ordered hummus. How pretty it was!

 We curiously ordered the Oum Ali, a custard soup scented with rose and filled with pistachios, dried fruit and all those Mediterranean mainstays. So, so fragrant it was!

 By the time we got to baklava, it wasn't really good. We've all had such excellent baklava in other parts of the world that this one didn't compare.

But, we'd already had our fill of baklava.