A Feast at Kotuwa

S finally got back after traipsing across the two cities on different continents. So we made a date to celebrated his birthday at Kotuwa. It was our first visit to its new location at New Bahru. We were delighted to see a set menu for S$68++ per pax which pretty much covered everything we wanted to eat that night. It doesn't carry the restaurant's signature Sri Lankan mud crab curry, but that's okay. We weren't in the mood for peeling crabs at all. 

This set menu isn't a buffet, but the food portions were sufficient for the four of us. If your metabolic rate is higher and you need more food, then add on some mains and another plate of carbs. We began with easy drinks and two appetizers of rather fun panko-crumbed spiced mutton rolls and crab cutlets. 

There were dallo baduma (crispy calamari tossed with chilli and vegetables), and poricha erachi (beef cheek in tamarind and chilli). The basmati rice arrived just then too. Although this isn't a buffet menu, the kitchen was happy to give us another plate of rice if we needed. Erm... naah, this was enough for us since hoppers were coming along with the curries later.

The sides were delish — pol sambol (fresh shredded coconut with chilli and lime), seeni sambol (spiced caramelized onions with tamarind), and wambatu moju (spiced eggplant pickled in coconut vinegar). The dal that arrived was oddly very little for four persons. It wasn't enough for this table of dal-monsters. The kitchen obliged with a second complimentary bowl.

Then there were the two mains we were looking forward to because of the hoppers. There were Jaffna duck curry and malu baduma of seared jade perch with turmeric leaf curry and pomelo topped with crispy coriander leaves. The plain hoppers were great! Although the second set of two hoppers were a tad burnt. Hurhurhur. It wa a full house for this 6pm seating, and the kitchen was a bit flustered. 

Instead of two cups of coconut sundae for dessert, the kitchen was nice to us and gave us one coconut sundae (salted Kithu caramel, cashew nuts and toasted coconut) and a Wattalappam tart of coconut custard with jaggery, pistachio, candied orange and spices. We rolled out of the restaurant, stuffed, but not to the brim.

A Big Piece of Yorkshire Pudding

I had a craving for good Yorkshire pudding. That’s not unusual. I love Yorkshire pudding. That was the one thing I ate loads of during childhood vacations in the UK, and at home, the grandmother or her housekeeper would do them for me on Sundays.

Now, it's not easy to find a decent one. There're mini ones and there're bigger ones. COL, Muddy Murphy's, HUB and Tilly's do them, especially for Sunday roasts. These are decent enough. But not that many restaurants offer. I can't be bothered to go to the clubs or hotel restaurants to hunt it down. 

When I mentioned about it to the girlfriends, they suggested lunch at the British Club. Yayy! Both of them are still members at the British Club, so it’s a breeze for me to go by and meet them there. Nothing much has changed at the Club, except for the renovated and brighter washrooms. Heh.

Now, I don’t own any of these club memberships anymore. I held them till I was 30 years old (legacy of child memberships from my parents and grandparents), and then let them go because I was certain at that point that these club memberships have got no value-add to my lifestyle or social circle. The husband too, had his own set of memberships. He held on to them till he was 40 years old, and let them go as well. We don’t even want to hang out at the newer lifestyle clubs, and aren’t bothered to join any wine bar or whisky clubs either. The up side — many of our friends still hold these club memberships, which are honestly practical if you have children. We then get to go, courtesy of their memberships. Wheeeeee.

Anyway, I got my big Yorkshire pudding. I spent a precious lunch with dear girlfriends and as always, we have great chats. I was soooo happy. 

Is There Freedom to Move, Really?

This story is so familiar to us on so many levels. To people who live at home in their home country still, and for people who live overseas and return for visits. This is 'Freedom to Move' by Ayşegül Savaş, published in The New Yorker on July 14, 2024.

Written in first person narrative, the narrator visited her grandfather on a hot afternoon during a visit to Istanbul. We are told that like her cousins, the narrator do not live in Turkey anymore. This visit felt more poignant than the others because the grandfather is now frail and death lurks. She also has many relatives to visit because her mother and father have separated and don't get along with people from each side of the family. 

In an interview with the author, she reflected on the complex emotions going through people who don't live in their hometowns anymore, and only returning for brief visits. Ironically, her grandfather is also being taken care of by a Georgian woman Ketevan, who has also left her home to come to Turkey for a better-paying job. She was here all through the years of pandemic lockdowns.

The narrator, like her cousins, no longer lives in Turkey, and, as she reflects, “our visits back home consisted of seeing many people in a short span.” Do you think those visits are marked more by pleasure or by guilt? 

The narrator might tell us that she does what is expected of her while trying to fit in a few leisurely outings as well. But it’s clear that she doesn’t really enjoy herself, because the time she allocates to individual members of her fractured family is always very little, and she feels that she is letting them down. It seems to me that she does not have a strong sense of agency and she is pulled in many directions during her visits home. Her freedom to move around as she pleases has also become a source of oppression.

The narrator's grandfather welcomed her visit. Ketevan's fifteen-year-old daughter Natela was there too, and the narrator noted that the grandmother called Natela 'Little Princess'. Natela just arrived in Istanbul three months ago. She could understand Turkish, but was shy about speaking it; she works in an office across the street.

Although the table was set for four, Ketevan kept on repeating that she and Natela—her daughter—could eat in the kitchen. 

“Please sit with us,” I told her. At the same time, I was annoyed that my grandfather had come up with such a plan, had made the woman cook and asked that we all eat together. Surely, I thought, the mother and daughter would rather be by themselves. 

“I asked her to make you her specialties,” my grandfather said. 

He motioned to me to help him get up, and we walked step by step to the table, his hand resting heavily on my arm. Again, I took in how frail he’d become, and I couldn’t quite believe it, as if his old self were concealed within this approximation of my grandfather. I had the irrational feeling that this was just a phase and that he would soon be restored to vitality. 

It was awkward to be sitting at the table while Natela and Ketevan brought dishes, so I got up to help them. In the kitchen was a tray of golden buns; a salad of grated carrots and one of beets; a cake, decorated with sliced fruits. 

“This is too much,” I told Ketevan. “You really shouldn’t have.” 

She shook her head and smiled at me, then handed me a plate of food to carry.

Lunch seemed to have gone way although the narrator was embarrassed about the amount of food. She was also horrified to know that it was Natela's name day, and they might have been forced to 'celebrate' it with her there. But they seemed happy enough to hang out together.

She took issue when she was leaving and Ketevan wondered why she was leaving so early. She actually felt anger towards the caregiver's comment. Ketevan requested for the narrator to ask her father again if she could go home to Georgia for a visit in spring. Ketevan had asked her employer twice, but he was adamant about not letting her go. 

The narrator nodded her head as Ketevan mentioned about this, but I guess she had no intention of asking her father about it. The narrator remembered a conversation with her father about the grandfather being difficult when Ketevan went off for ten-days for a home visit, to see her husband and her son. The logistics then were so hard for the father to deal with. Also, the narrator was wondering if the grandfather would even make it the wedding, to summer. Ah well. Most of us know that when it comes to the matter of domestic helpers not hired by us, it's not our call to make. 

I wasn't surprised by the 'selfishness' of the narrator who decided that she didn't want to ask her father about letting Ketevan off for a home visit in spring. What sort of feelings of guilt and anger decided that? Jealousy? And therein, lies another form of oppression.

It was sunny outside, bustling with traffic, pedestrians, street sellers: the heart of the day. I walked toward Barbaros Boulevard, where I’d hail a cab. I’d more or less decided that I wasn’t going to mention Ketevan’s request to my father. No doubt it would only anger him once again, and I didn’t want to spoil our short time together. Anyway, I was in no position to defend the woman, to explain her wish to see her husband and son. I was leaving in a few days, free of responsibilities; I wasn’t the one overseeing my grandfather’s daily needs. Besides, I didn’t want my grandfather to be left with some stranger in the weeks that Ketevan and Natela would be gone; he was so comfortable in the mother and daughter’s company. Surely they could go back in the summer, when my grandfather travelled with us to the wedding.