Getting Into Singapore
A Guide for Expats and Kaypoh Singaporeans
David Goldwich
Published by David Goldwich
Email: david@reachforthestars.us
www.GettingIntoSingapore.blogspot.com
© 2009 by David Goldwich
David Goldwich asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
The anecdotes in this book are based on the author’s experiences, enhanced by his own imagination. Resemblance of any characters in this book to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover illustration by Miel
Cover design and typesetting by Influx Media
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Printed in Singapore by ST Commercial Print Pte Ltd
National Library Board Singapore Cataloguing in Publication Data
Goldwich, David. Getting Into Singapore: A Guide for Expats and Kaypoh Singaporeans
ISBN Number: 978-981-08-3219-3
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To my Singapore Girls,
Margarete and Cherisse
Contents
Preface
Singapore Girls
Business Opportunities
Doing Business
Local Delicacies
Chicken Fingers
Miami and Singapore Compared
Minnows in the Fridge
Something’s Fishy
Chinese New Year
The Great Outdoors
Gone Fishin’
Hot Stuff
At the Supermarket
Wet Floors
Home Sweet Home
Fashion
Bags and Shoes
Hawkers
The Dance of the Last Prawn
Fine Dining, HDB Style
Toilets
Queuing
Going Bananas
Die, Die, Must Die
Hampers
Please Stand Behind the Yellow Line
Cars and Taxis
On the Road Again
Singapore Practice Driving Examination
Handphones
Line Dancing
Just Married
Sports
Hobbies
What’s for Dessert?
Hungry Ghosts
Going Postal
A Chalet by the Sea
National Day
Watching TV
Read All About It
The Singapore Paradox
World Records
No Free Lunch?
Making Babies
What I Miss
Glossary
And Finally, a Few Words About Singlish
Acknowledgments
Preface
While it is common knowledge that the British have had a great impact in shaping life in Singapore—at least during colonial times—it is not well known that Americans have also played a significant role in the development of the region. I’m not just talking about “American Idol” and other TV shows; I’m talking about real history.
The American influence dates back to the time of America’s own colonial period. Betsy Ross was visiting the area, then known as Malaya, while she was designing the American flag. She left behind a prototype, which was modified and eventually adopted as the flag of Malaysia. The Sultan added a fourteenth stripe to the American flag’s thirteen, thereby beginning the spirit of one-upmanship that continues to characterize the relationship between Malaysia and Singapore. If one country invented the wheel, the other invented sliced bread. Most of the rivalry is in setting world records for such feats as the world’s longest popiah, the world’s biggest durian puff, and the world’s largest ice kachang.
Another American traveler who left his mark was the renowned composer Leonard Bernstein. He was staying in the north of Singapore with some friends when he composed his musical masterpiece, “An American in Pasir Ris.” A few pages of the manuscript were lost, some passages got transposed, and the bastardized version is now known to the world as “An American in Paris.”
So I’m not the first American to wash up on these shores. But many of my countrymen who wash up here make a lot of money during their stay, enjoy the company of the notorious SPGs, and go back home after a few short years. I have yet to make my fortune, married shortly after my arrival, and have been here 10 years and counting. While waiting in queues at various government offices, banks, supermarkets, and hawker centers I began recording my observations. I believe I have been as accurate and objective as one could expect one to be while waiting in an endless and maddening succession of long queues.
I originally intended for this book to be a collection of some of the many letters I have written to friends and relatives back in the States to help them understand my weird and wonderful experiences in Singapore. While the folks back home enjoy my letters, I have only had about six visitors from home during my years here. Most Americans would prefer to watch TV, eat Americanized Chinese food, and spend their vacations in Disneyland. Writing just for them would not be worth my time. I later realized that many expatriates could benefit from my experiences, so it is really for them that this book is written. Of course, I also realize that many Singaporeans, Malaysians, and others in the region are curious to know what expats think about life in this part of the world, so I feel some obligation to get it right.
For example, ask any expat whether he likes durians and he will say yes. Chances are he’s lying. Maybe one in a hundred ang mohs actually likes durians; the rest will give their Singaporean hosts a diplomatic answer. As an ang moh with a Singaporean wife, Singaporean in-laws, a Singaporean-American kid in a local school, and a Singaporean mortgage, I like to think I can tell it like I see it.
I sincerely hope that this modest contribution will enhance the understanding of our respective cultures, while allowing us the chance to laugh at ourselves. If I offend anyone in the process, please attribute it to the imperfect—some say warped—lens through which I view the world rather than to any malicious intent on my part.
David Goldwich,
Singapore, 2009
Singapore Girls
Long before I arrived in Singapore I had heard about the legendary Singapore Girl. I knew that she had perfectly coiffed hair and used just the right amount of makeup. I knew of her warm and inviting smile. The Singapore Airlines stewardesses (no need to call them “flight attendants” here) are the best in the world. The Singapore Girl is an icon in aviation circles. They are the most polished, courteous, and solicitous women ever to push a beverage cart. I have been told that there are 500 applicants for every position. Their uniform, called the sarong kebaya, is derived from a traditional Malay costume, and is only part of their heavily regimented appearance. No detail is overlooked. The result is nirvana for the weary traveler. These ladies are beautiful, refined, and sexy (in a wholesome, sophisticated way, of course).
By the time I arrived at Changi Airport I was exhausted from my thirty-hour journey. The Singapore Girl was of no help to me—I didn’t fly Singapore Airlines. The airline that brought me across the Pacific is regulated by enlightened laws requiring it to be politically correct. This means that if a cow can walk on two legs it must be hired, or the airline could face a huge lawsuit. Fortunately, the crew working the Tokyo to Singapore leg of the trip was composed of local talent—no doubt Singapore Airlines rejects, who are still well above average. Thus I arrived in good spirits.
As I walked through the terminal I got my first glimpse of the Singapore Girl, coming out of another gate in her sarong kebaya, rolling her luggage behind her. She was lovely, and right then I vowed that I would have a Singapore Girl of my own.
I had already arranged to take a flat, but as it was after midnight it was too late to collect the key. I would have to spend my first night in Singapore in a hotel. I knew that some of the hotels here were very expensive, and as I would only need it for a few hours, I asked the cab driver to take me to the cheapest hotel. He took me to a place called Geylang. As soon as I got out of the cab I was approached by a very pretty girl in a very sexy dress. She asked me if I would like a date with her. I was very tired after my long flight, so I told her perhaps another time. When I got to the door of the hotel I was approached by another very pretty girl in a very sexy dress. She also asked me for a date. I gave her the same excuse, but I was quite flattered. I had only been in Singapore for 40 minutes and I was already a hit with the ladies. As I lay in bed that night I thought to myself: I’m going to like it here! I’m going to be very popular!
I awoke early the next morning, eager to get my flat and begin my new life here. I spent most of the day shopping for furniture and household items. I was going to be doing plenty of entertaining at home, and I wanted a swinging bachelor pad worthy of Austin Powers. After everything was squared away to my liking I went downstairs to check out the local action. There were a couple of pretty young women sitting on a bench, chatting. A couple of hot prospects! I knew how to play the game in this town: Just show up and let them approach me. I walked past them slowly and … they didn’t say a word. Perhaps they were not prepared for me, I thought. I walked past a second time, slowly and deliberately. Again, they said nothing. I decided to make one more pass and confront them directly. I walked right up to them and said hello. They answered politely and then … nothing. “Well,” I said, “aren’t you going to ask me for a date?” They looked at each other and said “Siao!” I didn’t like the sound of that, so I walked away, my ego slightly bruised.
Perhaps a Singapore girl was not in my future. Perhaps I should stick with what I know best. But where would I find a Western girl in Singapore? I didn’t know my way around yet. Back home, if I wanted to meet a Chinese girl I could go to Chinatown. If I wanted to meet an Italian girl I could go to Little Italy. Where could I meet a Western girl in Singapore? I looked at the map and found what seemed to be the perfect place: Ang Mo Kio. I got on the MRT and alighted at the Ang Mo Kio station. As soon as I scanned the platform I realized my mistake—I was the only ang moh in Ang Mo Kio. I started to panic. The Asian girls ignored me, I didn’t know where to find Western girls—it looked like I would be all alone in my new bachelor pad.
The next morning there was a glimmer of hope. It was Sunday, and I was awakened early in the morning by the sound of an old-fashioned bicycle horn. Honka honka! Honka honka! Who could be riding a bicycle at such an early hour, I wondered? I asked Auntie Soh, the elderly Chinese lady next door. She told me in broken English that it happened every Sunday, it was someone named Karen … Karen Gooney. Ah, a Western girl, I thought. She must be very beautiful if this auntie even knows her by name. I imagined a tall, shapely girl riding her bicycle, her long blond hair billowing behind her. I decided I would meet this early morning cyclist.
The following Sunday I was up before the sun. I got dressed nicely and went down to the void deck to wait. Soon I heard the sound I was waiting for. Honka honka! Honka honka! I looked around but did not see a bicycle, or even a trishaw. The only thing I could see that had wheels was a dilapidated pushcart filled with old newspapers. There was no sign of Karen Gooney.
For weeks I woke up early every Sunday and went downstairs to wait, but I never did meet this mysterious blond beauty, this Karen Gooney.
Business Opportunities
It used to be common knowledge that all expats had juicy compensation packages, including a fat salary, housing and car allowance, school tuition for their kids at top international schools, and other goodies. While a few senior executives of giant multinational corporations may still enjoy the royal treatment, most expats have a far more modest arrangement. In fact, many have to fend for themselves. Being a stranger in a strange land, how is an expat supposed to make a buck around here? I have a few suggestions for those of you looking to start a business in Singapore.
Bubble tea. This was a craze a few years back. This drink, popular in Taiwan, consists of a tea based drink blended with fruit juice and/or milk and chewy tapioca balls, or “bubbles,” which you suck up through a thick straw. A few entrepreneurs imported the fad, and soon everyone and his uncle was opening bubble tea stalls. After a few months most went out of business, but a number of them remain. Why shouldn’t you be one of them? You can buy all the equipment you need at a deep discount.
Hawker. A few expats have actually opened stalls in hawker centers peddling Western fare. The novelty of an ang moh working alongside the local uncles and aunties guarantees media coverage, and in Singapore media coverage of any new food outlet guarantees a swarm of people coming to check it out. There’s still time to get a piece of the action. The question is, what to sell? After all, there are already ang moh hawkers selling pizza, burgers, and meat pies. Why not try selling what the locals love best—noodles? Spaghetti is simple enough, but most Singaporeans don’t like it. They will eat any other noodle on the planet, but they don’t care much for spaghetti. Somehow, it is an alien taste they haven’t acquired yet. My suggestion is to fry it. Yep, they love fried noodles, but no one has figured out how to fry spaghetti. Just don’t use olive oil—use palm oil, which is more familiar to the local palate. Then cover it with satay sauce or curry. You’ll make a fortune!
Spa. The locals are obsessed with spas, and the more exotic the treatment, the better. By exotic I mean ridiculous. The fact that the treatments have no scientific support is irrelevant. Spas make big bucks here. Lately I’ve noticed anything to do with gold is catching on. Some spas will wrap their customers’ faces in gold foil, or rub their bodies with a golden spoon. Why not get a golden helmet, put it on your customer’s head, and whack it with a golden hammer? Tell them the magical healing, slimming, beautifying, and detoxifying golden tones will leave them slim, beautified, detoxified, rejuvenated, and pampered. Get a spokeswoman who was born beautiful to appear in your ads and promotional materials and you’ll be rich in no time. Just remember to include the fine print in your ads: “Your results may vary.”
Education Center. If you hail from a country where English is the first language (such as England, Australia, New Zealand, or certain parts of America and Canada) you are qualified to open an English language tuition center. You can even offer diploma, certificate, and degree programs. The most important thing to do is think of a good name. You want a name that sounds like a real Ivy League or top British school, like someplace a king or head of state would send his kids. Something like Oxvard or Yaleford. Then take a photo of good looking Caucasians in black robes holding rolled up diplomas, use it in a newspaper ad, and you’re in business!
Tutor. You don’t have enough capital to start your own school? No problem. You can start small—as a tutor. No Singaporean parent can risk having their little emperor fall behind all the other little emperors. Your Western education and language skills will make you a hot commodity even as you charge premium prices. Simply print up a few thousand slips of paper with your contact information and subjects taught and stuff them into the letter boxes of all the HDB blocks in your neighborhood. Then wait for the phone to start ringing and you’re on your way!
Clothing designer. If you are creative you could become a clothing designer. You could even become a clothing designer if you are not creative. Just think of a slogan or invent a brand name and have it printed up on T-shirts. The wording need not make any sense or be spelled correctly. As long as it’s on a T-shirt people will buy it. So why not join the ranks of Pierre Cardin, Calvin Klein, Giordano, and Crocodile?
Tour guide. If you have ever traveled around the region you know that Asians love to travel on group tours. They get on a coach with a group of strangers and drive around for days looking at statues, eating at bad restaurants, and shopping at overpriced gift shops whether they want to buy any trinkets or not. The tour guide carries around a flag or umbrella and explains the sights in the local language, pocketing tips from the tourists and kickbacks from the proprietors of the bad restaurants and overpriced gift shops. You could do the same for people visiting Singapore from your home country. This is a small island, which means you could make more stops in a day—and receive more kickbacks!
Those are just a few business ideas. You may have other plans. Just be sure you do something. You can’t just sit around here as a ward of the state. This isn’t Europe, you know!
Doing Business
Now that you have a business, it’s time to do business. Doing business in Singapore is not like doing business back home. There are a few things you need to be aware of if you hope to succeed. I have a few tips based on my years of doing business here.
When you arrange to meet with a potential business partner or client they may suggest you meet at a coffee shop. This might be an international type of coffee shop such as Starbucks, or it could be a local coffee shop. The local coffee shops are hot, humid, outdoor places that sell fried noodles along with coffee, or kopi as the locals call it. Whether you order kopi or tea, it will look like muddy river water and taste like it has about 27 teaspoons of sugar in it. Having kopi or tea at these places always reminds me of the famous quote attributed to Lincoln: “If this is coffee, bring me tea. If this is tea, bring me coffee.”
Sometimes you will meet at McDonald’s. I am always amazed at how many people have business meetings at McDonald’s. I’ve noticed that most people who meet there are either selling insurance or trying to get someone to join their multi-level marketing organization. I also see a lot of students studying there. Occasionally I even notice people who go there just to eat.
I only mention this because you will notice these things as you wait for your Singaporean counterpart to arrive. After about fifteen or twenty minutes you might begin to think he is going to be late. Nonsense! It’s just that you probably operate on GMT, or Greenwich Mean Time, like most people in the world. Most Singaporeans, however, operate on SRT, or Singapore Rubber Time. SRT allows people to be flexible, so they can arrive after the appointed time without actually being late.
When your counterpart arrives you are ready to do business. First, you will probably shake hands. If you are meeting a Malay woman don’t thrust your hand out to shake right away. Many Malay women will not shake hands with a man for cultural or religious reasons. But most of the ones in Singapore do shake hands; just make sure you wait for her to initiate the process. It’s hard to do business when you offend someone from the get-go, so show your cultural sensitivity and follow her lead. Otherwise, you just shake hands in the usual way.
After the handshake, Singaporeans always like to exchange business cards. Exchanging “name cards” is quite the thing to do. Singaporeans will exchange cards as soon as they meet you, even if there is never any chance they will ever do business with you or call you for any reason. For example, if you are in the business of importing fine wines for investment purposes and you meet a man who drinks only beer and kopi and who invests exclusively in lottery tickets, he will still want to exchange business cards with you. So make sure you have a few cards with you at all times. Better yet, have two sets of name cards: a real one for bona fide business contacts, and another one with a wrong phone number and email address for people you never want to hear from again.
When exchanging business cards you must do it in the Asian style. This means you hand your counterpart your card with both hands, grasping the upper corners between your thumb and index fingers. Accept his card in the same way, and examine it deferentially for several seconds. You might make a comment about it as a show of respect. For example, you can always comment on the person’s qualifications. Singaporeans always list all their qualifications on their business card, right after their name.
Singaporeans take their qualifications seriously. Occasionally you will get a card with MBA or Ph.D. after the name. If the person only has a BA or BS degree it will be stated on the card, often with any honors that came with the degree. If the degree is from a foreign university, the name of the school will be listed as well. If there is no degree there might be various diplomas, certificates, and other designations to denote anything the person has ever done academically. For example, the card might note “CPR” if the person took a course in cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, or it might read “Primary Four Prefect of the Week.” It’s a jungle out there, so use whatever you can to gain an advantage. Anything goes.
After receiving the business card, place it reverently on the table in front of you. Do not write on it, fold it, or stuff it immediately into your pocket—these actions are considered disrespectful. Then you can begin your business discussion. Most business experts recommend you make eye contact with the person you are talking to. This means look them in the eye to show you are paying attention to them. Be careful not to overdo it, though. In some Asian cultures, too much eye contact can lead to a staring incident. This is when one person looks too intently at another, causing the other to respond with curses, a challenge, or a punch in the face. It probably won’t happen with a business prospect, but why take chances?
You must also remember not to point at another person with your finger as it is considered rude. To be safe, do not point at anything with your finger. For example, when indicating a particular clause in a contract, do not point to it with your index finger, pinky, ring finger, or God forbid, your middle finger. You may point with your thumb, a pen, or with an open hand.
Sometimes you might meet in an actual office with cubicles, a conference room, and a pantry. If you meet in a conference room do not sit at the head of the table, especially if you are an ang moh. Your host will smile outwardly, but inside he will be offended. He will be thinking, “Wah, you come to my office and sit at the head of my conference table! You think you’re better than me, is it?” Needless to say, there will be no deal.
If your host offers you coffee or tea, choose coffee. I say this as a tea lover. Before arriving in Singapore I had this strange idea that I would be enjoying all kinds of fine, exotic teas. After all, this is Asia, where tea is taken seriously. In fact, however, most office pantries are only stocked with Lipton or 3-in-1. On the other hand, thanks to the “Starbucks effect,” many offices now have expensive Italian coffee makers that turn out a great espresso or cappuccino.
Regardless of where you meet, make sure you thank the host after the meeting. And make sure you gave him the right name card.
Local Delicacies
If there is one thing Singaporeans are passionate about, it’s food. They will eat anything, anytime, anyplace. They call their country a food lover’s paradise, and a broad range of food is available. Some things are such a part of the local eating experience that they deserve special mention.
Let’s begin with the durian. This fruit is the size of a large pineapple and is covered with spikes. It looks like the business end of some medieval weapon. Be careful when cutting open this beast, because the spikes are more dangerous than the knife. Better still, have a professional cut it open for you. Inside are several large compartments containing giant “beans” the size and shape of kidneys. You do not eat the flesh or the beans; you eat the creamy goo covering the beans. You simply hold a bean in your hands and suck off the goo. It tastes somewhat like custard but smells like raw sewage. Most people eat them on a “durian picnic,” which involves taking them outdoors to a remote spot. It is prohibited to bring durians into hotels and some other public places, and for good reason. In fact, the buses and some hotel lobbies actually have signs depicting a durian with a red slash through it. Durians are classified according to an incomprehensible grading scale. The D-24 grade is considered to be among the best. I think D-24 means you will still be able to taste the thing 24 days after eating it.
Durians are relished on their own, but they are also made into all sorts of concoctions. There is durian ice cream and durian cake. The durian puff is like a cream puff, but with an overbearing flavor—I would estimate at least D-20. Few disappointments in life rival that of choosing a mouth-watering cream puff, biting into it, and anticipating a sweet custard taste but being assaulted with the taste of durian. You must then suffer with the taste of your mistake for weeks.
Nearly as large as the durian but less intimidating is the pomelo. This citrus fruit is the size of a cantaloupe (which the locals call rock melon) and looks and tastes like a grapefruit. Imagine a grapefruit on steroids. The segments of flesh are separated by tough, papery membranes which must be ripped apart with much effort. It’s all worth it, though. I love to eat the fruit on its own or broken into pieces and sprinkled over a salad.
Papaya is another local fruit that I enjoy. We can get papaya at home but it isn’t very popular for some reason. In fact, the only time I see it is in erotic modern paintings—you know the ones, Daliesque type things with the papaya sliced open to expose a mass of small black seeds surrounded by juicy orange flesh. I guess it’s supposed to symbolize a woman’s private parts. Anyway, papaya is very common here. In fact, a local retail magnate who died a few years ago at the age of 100 attributed his long life to his habit of eating papaya every morning. I figured I had nothing to lose by trying it.
The first thing you notice when you cut up a papaya is that it doesn’t really look like a woman’s private parts. Not literally, anyway. The next thing you notice is that when you cut it up and put it in the fridge and take a piece the next day it is covered with a mysterious clear slime that somehow accumulates during the night. You can scrape it off the exposed surfaces but the pieces are bonded firmly together where they contact each other. It is impossible to separate them. This papaya slime is the strongest adhesive substance on the planet. Someone should figure out a way to put it in a tube and sell it.
I have found that timing is critical when cutting papayas. If you cut one up too soon you will find that the flesh is too firm and it will not ripen further—the whole thing is wasted. If you wait even an hour too long it can suddenly get moldy on the outside and very mushy on the inside. It is very frustrating trying to cut the thing at just the right time during this brief window of opportunity. I have not been very successful and have given up on them. Now when I see a nice, juicy papaya in the supermarket I don’t buy it; I just take the $1.80 it would cost me and flush it down the toilet. This works better for me as it saves me time and helps keep me sane.
Another local delicacy is the chilli crab. This king-sized crustacean is cooked in a pot of red chilli sauce, which imparts a hot, spicy flavor to the meat. A variation of this dish features the same giant crab cooked with pepper. Both are very good, and the gravy is delicious over rice or sopped up with a soft bread roll. You must take care when eating these crabs, as it is easy to cut your hands on the sharp edges of the shells. Several people have died of infections caused by flesh eating bacteria after enjoying these crabs because they refused to stop eating long enough to treat their cuts.
If you go out for breakfast you may be tempted to order carrot cake. This is nothing like Western carrot cake, made with fragrant spices and covered with rich, creamy frosting. The local version is not a flour cake, has no frosting, and probably does not even contain carrots. It consists of chopped turnips fried with eggs, and is more accurately described as a spicy turnip omelet. It is actually pretty good if you know what to expect, but if you want something sweet for breakfast, try kaya toast.
One of my favorite local indulgences is kaya, which is Malay for “heart attack in a jar.” Kaya is a rich egg and coconut jam in a most unappetizing shade of radioactive green. It glows in the dark. If you jog at night you can smear some on your shirt so motorists will see you. To eat it you spread it on a slice of toasted bread, usually with butter as well. This traditional local breakfast is sweet and quite tasty, if you are not put off by the color, calories, or cholesterol.
Another popular dish is "steamboat." This is a large pot of broth boiling on a gas cooker at your table, into which you put prawns, bits of chicken and fish, vegetables, mushrooms, eggs, and fishballs (rubbery white meatballs made of fish paste). In other words, you make your own soup. The “you” here is plural—there is one pot for everyone at the table. But you do get your own little bowl to eat from. I am reminded of the expression “too many cooks spoil the broth,” but that depends on who the cooks are.
The locals also eat a lot of porridge. Yes, porridge—like what Goldilocks ate in the fairy tale. Bears are not the only ones who eat porridge, although I realize most Americans have no idea what the stuff is. When you use oats to make hot cereal, you have oatmeal. When you use wheat, you have cream of wheat. When you use corn, you have grits. And when you use rice, you have porridge—it’s just hot, soft, watery rice. To give it flavor, the locals generally add toppings such as pickled lettuce, tofu and bean curd, and sometimes chicken, sliced fish, or century egg.
Century egg requires an explanation. An egg laid by a regular hen is soaked in a pail of horse urine. After 100 years it turns black and gelatinous and it is sliced and eaten with porridge or as part of a plate of cold appetizers at Chinese dinners. I wonder who was the nutjob who first conceived of soaking an egg in a bucket of horse piss? And who was the even sicker nutjob who, 100 years later, decided to eat the damn thing? Now the real test, of course, is how the thing tastes. I must confess, I really don’t know what it tastes like. I have eaten many weird things worthy of “Fear Factor” since I have been here, including sea cucumber, jellyfish, black fungus, white fungus, fish maw, and chicken feet, but there is no way I will ever, for any amount of money, even if I live to be 200, put one of those vile century eggs in my mouth.
Bak kwa is a favorite snack. This is a square sheet of pork basted with honey and roasted until it is as tender as shoe leather. It is difficult to imagine something being greasy and dry at the same time, but this qualifies. Every Singaporean has his or her own favorite bak kwa vendor and, during Chinese New Year, they will queue for hours to get their preference rather than pick up a close second with no wait. I’ll have a bit occasionally, but only in the presence of trained medical personnel.
Another popular tidbit is keropok. These crispy treats are like large, airy Styrofoam chips flavored with prawn, lobster, cuttlefish, or other types of seafood. The flavor is subtle, so anyone can eat them. A giant bag of keropok weighs only a few ounces, so you can eat several bags over the course of an afternoon. They’re pretty good with beer. Just make sure you brush your teeth after eating it, or your goldfish will look at you with bedroom eyes.
I have to stop now, as the thought of all these peculiar treats is making me queasy. I need to whip up some homemade cookies and instant grits.
Chicken Fingers
I’ll never forget the first time I had dim sum. Dim sum is Mandarin for “tiny portion.” The idea is to order a number of little plates of assorted tidbits and make a meal of it. Most of the dishes are some type of dumpling, but anything is possible.
Margarete guided me through the menu, which had no English translation. She asked if I wanted “chicken fingers,” which sounded pretty Western, and we ordered a bunch of other things as well: siew mai and har gow (pork and shrimp dumplings), sticky rice stuffed with meats and mushrooms wrapped in a leaf, steamed buns stuffed with barbecued pork, and many others. We just popped them into our mouths as they arrived and enjoyed them. Until I tasted what seemed like a bone wrapped in plastic. “What’s this?” I asked. “That’s a chicken finger,” came the unexpected reply. Then the penny dropped. “Chickens don’t have fingers, they have TOES,” I realized too late. “This is a plate of chicken feet!” No meat, all skin and bone and gristle. Colonel Sanders would have been appalled.
Since then I have had dim sum countless times. We often go with the extended family to restaurants that offer an a la carte dim sum buffet. More often the buffet is not limited to dim sum, but all kinds of dishes, such as plates of cooked vegetables and meats, an entire fried or steamed fish, bowls of soup and porridge, and other dishes. You check off the dishes you want from a form and the waitress brings them to you when they are ready. You pay a fixed price per person and you can eat as much as you want. A sign ominously warns that you will be charged for any uneaten food.
When you sit down at the table you will notice a couple of small dishes the size of coasters containing ground nuts (what the locals call peanuts). The restaurant will charge about two dollars for this garnish of a few dozen nuts. While waiting for the food to arrive I pick up nuts with my chopsticks, which allows me to refine my technique. I’m getting pretty good at it.
Some of these places serve special tea in small bowls. They put some tea leaves in your bowl, and some guy in pajamas comes by with a watering can. The spout of the watering can is about five feet long. Pajama Boy will stand some distance away and aim the spout at your tea bowl. Without spilling a drop, he will shoot a powerful stream of hot water into your bowl with the skill of a hired assassin. The water will spin like a whirlpool. I guess that’s where they get the expression “a tempest in a teacup.” One of these tea artists told me he spent five years perfecting his skill. Personally, I’d rather spend five years in medical school and make my tea with a regular pot of water. But this is art.
Generally our party will require a large table with at least 10 seats. I sometimes sit in the corner, sometimes on the side nearest the kitchen, sometimes on the side farthest from the kitchen, trying to anticipate where the waitress will stand when she serves the food, with the aim of sitting somewhere else. The waitress will always, always, always serve the food over my shoulder. With 10 people at the table, the odds are only 20% (one in five) that she will serve the food over one of my shoulders on a given occasion, but I manage to beat the odds every time. I am terrified that while serving she might accidentally brush a female body part against me and I will be caned for outrage of modesty.
We start out by ordering one dish of everything on the menu, and then order additional servings of the dishes that our party (meaning the women) deem best. You have to order these things in advance, and you forget that you will have less room in your stomach as the meal progresses. So when everyone is thoroughly stuffed there is still more food arriving. It is not unusual for someone to continue ordering even at this late stage of the meal. The thinking seems to be that if the food is really good we will find a way to eat it because we want to, regardless of whether we might be physically able to. When we are absolutely stuffed and there is no possible way to eat any more we hide the leftovers under leaves, napkins, and seat cushions to avoid being charged for wastage. Then we order 40 desserts—one round of each kind of dessert for everyone: red bean soup, mango pudding, walnut cream, and turtle jelly (don’t ask). Somehow, there is always room for dessert.
Miami and Singapore Compared
People I meet in Singapore naturally ask me how I like it here. The word I usually use to describe it is “comfortable.” And most things about Singapore are comfortable, except for the climate. The country is clean, modern, safe, efficient and stable. Getting around is not a problem, and neither is getting along with the people here. But these are generalities, and it would be revealing to examine how the two cities compare on a number of key points.
Climate. The weather in Singapore is tropical, meaning it feels like a sauna. It’s not just the temperature, it’s the humidity. The air here is saturated with the most water it can possibly hold without actually raining down in a hot shower. In fact, I never even take a hot shower, yet as soon as I get out of the shower and dry myself I am completely wet again, as bits of humidity cling to my entire body. (I apologize if that image disturbs you.) Visitors to Miami always complained to me that it was the most humid place they had ever been, but compared to Singapore, Miami feels like the rare documents room of the British Museum.
Singaporeans combat the heat and humidity by keeping the air con in offices and public buildings as cold as a meat locker. I go from the blazing heat outside to the near-freezing cold indoors, so that I never really feel comfortable. Perspiration transforms from liquid to solid and back again three or four times a day. And, I have to carry a jacket with me everywhere so I don’t freeze when I’m indoors.
Mildew is another byproduct of the tropics, and it runs rampant in my home. When I come home from a short trip I find that all the clothes in my closet are coated with the stuff, especially the leather items. When I return from a longer overseas trip the entire house is covered in mildew and needs to be repainted.
In fact, Miami is nearly as hot and humid as Singapore most of the time, but for a few weeks in winter Miami can be delightfully cool with almost no humidity. Miami is also battered by hurricanes every few years. So let’s call it even on climate.
Economy. There are a lot of parallels here. Tourism and finance are mainstays of both economies. Singapore is a gateway to Asia, and Miami is the gateway to South America. Singapore is the world’s largest shipping port, with endless stacks of big, heavy shipping containers from around the world. Miami is the world’s largest cruise port, with endless crowds of big, heavy tourists from Kansas.
I have to hand it to Singapore for sheer ambition. The Lion City aspires to become a major hub in tourism, finance, manufacturing, information technology, shipping, shipbuilding and marine repair, fish farming, horticulture, the arts, fashion design, education, aerospace, medical tourism, robotics, pharmaceuticals, life sciences, international law, and sports (meaning table tennis and badminton). The list grows longer every day.
Beaches. Miami definitely has the edge here. Soft sand, beautiful people, and lots of skin. The average bikini on South Beach has about as much material as a tissue cut into three triangles. The three triangles all go in front, leaving the back door pretty much open. And that’s assuming the two triangles on top are being worn in the first place! All exposed skin is a warm golden brown glistening with oil. On the beach at Singapore’s East Coast Park, most people wear jeans and many even wear long sleeves. They don’t go in the water or sunbathe, they eat. The more adventurous have a barbecue, and the rest bring precooked food from home or buy fast food. Many people ride bikes or skate, and some jog, but few can match the South Beach crowd in terms of style and good looks.
Transportation. Singapore has a world class public transportation system. The jewel in the crown is its MRT line. The trains are clean and efficient, and the operator is fined heavily every time a train is late or breaks down.
In Singapore it seems that every third car is a taxi, and I have seen five or six buses lined up at once at a single bus stop. They even have lanes exclusively for buses. You really don’t need a car at all. Whenever we visit Miami, my wife Margarete wonders why there are no taxis or buses. There are in fact a few buses, but you will only find taxis at the airport. There is also a train, but it just follows one route from the suburbs to downtown, and no one takes it. Everyone in the suburbs has their own car, even maids.
There are lots of nice cars in Singapore, but only about half the households own one. This is good, because the roads are already too crowded. Miami has all of the same nice cars you see in Singapore, plus a few that you don’t: Mustangs, Corvettes, and Vipers.
Singapore definitely has a better public transportation system, but Miami has the advantage for private transportation.
What about driving? Miami has millions of drivers who learned to drive in countries where driving is a dangerous, lawless pursuit, or who never learned to drive at all, or who learned to drive but have since had their license suspended or revoked but continue to drive anyway. And they don’t all drive Mustangs, Corvettes, and Vipers, either—some drive rusted out Oldsmobiles from the 70s that leave clouds of blue smoke in their wake. But one thing I can say for Miami drivers: they all get out of the way of an ambulance.
Nightlife. I’m married and have a child, so what do I know about night life?
Language. With all the various races and mother tongues in Singapore you’d think communication would be a problem. But one of the main differences between Miami and Singapore is that in Singapore nearly everyone speaks English. In Miami, a major city in a major English-speaking country, you cannot walk into a store or restaurant and make a purchase or order a meal unless you are fluent in Spanish. Officially, most job descriptions for service positions in Miami call for bilingual applicants. Unofficially, a person who speaks fluent English and is conversant in Spanish after studying it for three years in high school will be passed over every time for someone who speaks only Spanish but can say their own name in English. Perhaps this is one of those rare occasions when I am exaggerating because, in all fairness, Miami employers use a standardized language test to gauge fluency, as follows:
Question for native Spanish speakers: “¿Cómo se dice ‘no’ en inglés?” (Translation: “How do you say ‘no’ in English?”)
Question for native English speakers: “Translate the Declaration of Independence into Spanish.”
Food. You’ve been waiting for this one, haven’t you? I discuss the food in Singapore elsewhere in this book. As for the food in Miami, let’s just say I gain a few pounds every time I visit there.
Not satisfied? Okay, okay, I’ll tell you about it! Miami has all the Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai, and other Asian cuisines we find in Singapore. Some may quibble that the food is not authentic, but the Chinese food is prepared by Chinese chefs in Chinese restaurants owned by Chinese families, and the other Asian cuisines are similarly prepared by people from those cultures.
Likewise, there are lots of places serving burgers, pizza, and sandwiches in Singapore. There are also numerous upscale Italian restaurants, and even a few French, Mexican, and Spanish restaurants here. But Singapore does not have a large variety of European, South American, or other Western cuisines. Moreover, the Western food in Singapore is not very Western. Singapore lasagna has corn in it. Singapore barbecues have fishballs instead of ribs, and hot dogs are served on a wooden stick instead of on a bun with mustard, ketchup, and relish. Chilli is just a red sauce spelled with two l’s instead of a hearty stew of beef and beans.
So, as you would expect, Singapore has a more Asian bias and Miami a more Western one. But there are a few other differences.
Singaporeans are big on crabs. They love chilli crab, pepper crab, hairy crab, and botak crab. But they don’t have that quintessential Miami delicacy, the stone crab. Only the claws of the stone crab are eaten, but these are big claws, and you get a whole pile of them. The claws are boiled in water, then chilled and the shells are cracked before bringing them to the table. Huge chunks of flesh are easily removed and dipped into melted butter or a delicious mustard and mayonnaise sauce. If you consider yourself a crab lover, trust me—you haven’t lived until you’ve had stone crabs.
Miami also has a lot of Cuban food. I think Chinese Singaporeans would like Cuban food. It uses a lot of white rice, black beans, pork, fried bananas, and yucca—a root kind of like a yam, cooked with garlic. The desserts are very sweet and often use condensed milk or coconut. A cup of Cuban coffee is nice after a meal. Cuban coffee is strong and sweet. It is so strong it is served in tiny little cups, like the ones you use for getting ketchup at McDonald’s. If I ever follow the trend of ang mohs opening hawker stalls I will serve Cuban food.
One thing you will not find in Miami is a hawker center. Miami diners like to know their dishes and cutlery are washed with hot water and soap, and would freak out if they saw them soaking in a pail of water out back. Does that mean that those familiar orange plates I see at Singapore hawker centers are not washed with soap and hot water? Whenever I ask Singaporeans about this, they say “We try not to think about it.” Hmmm. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
Minnows in the Fridge
I just got back from a visit to Miami. As I look around my home here in Singapore I notice a number of things I have become desensitized to. I guess that means I’m really starting to fit in here. But the fact is, there are all kinds of things in my house that I have no idea what they are.
For example, I see a plastic bag in the refrigerator containing hundreds of little minnows. What are they, and why are they in my fridge? They look like bait, but we don’t go fishing. And while we often have fish for dinner, I don’t remember ever being served a plate of minnows. I hardly notice they are there, but if my mother ever found a bag of minnows in her fridge she’d scream.
Another strange thing I notice in the fridge is the white liquid I pour on my breakfast cereal. I thought it was milk—after all, that’s what the carton says—but a glance at the ingredients tells me I was wrong. It does contain milk solids, as well as preservatives and flavoring. I wonder what flavor it is? I hope it’s milk flavor. Real milk doesn’t need any flavor, nor does it come from powder mixed with water. This is a leading brand in Singapore, and it isn’t even the real deal. You would think a nation of foodies would insist on real milk, just as they insist on real lard in their char kway teow.
Here’s something else weird in the fridge. Some kind of red balls covered with long greenish-brown hairs. It looks like a swarm of creatures from a science fiction movie. The attached twigs suggest they are some kind of fruit. I’m not sure what to do with them.
Between the fridge and the cabinet I count 17 bottles of black sauce. Several of them are different varieties of soya sauce, but some of them are not. Some have labels printed in Chinese with no English translation. What are they, and what are they used for? I have no idea. There are also a number of bottles of other sauces and oils, but the only ones I recognize are olive oil and ketchup.
We have a few boxes of children’s cereal. I can tell they are children’s cereals because the boxes have cute animals on them and pictures of puffs and flakes. But I can’t even read the labels—they’re all in foreign languages. I have no idea what I’m feeding my kid. It’s all gula this and gula that, but that’s okay—as long as she isn’t eating too much sugar.
There is plenty of chilli. Some chillis are in their natural state, and others have been pulverized into a paste. There is also chilli powder. When I lived in the States I just had a bottle of Tabasco sauce, and it would last for years.
Here are some long green leaves that look like they come from a palm tree. Sometimes my wife boils them when she cooks. She also keeps a bunch of them under the car seat to keep bugs away. If it’s poisonous to bugs, why are we eating it?
There are special slippers for kitchen. They don’t look very special, but my wife assures me they are. They are cheap rubber things that must always be worn in the kitchen and must never be worn out of the kitchen. No bare feet are allowed in the kitchen. This, I believe, is to prevent the patina of cooking oil from the kitchen floor from being transferred to the floors in the rest of the house. Mind you, all the floors are mopped every day. We have four pairs of these special slippers: one pair for me, one for my wife, one for our daughter, and one for the maid. There is no way four people can ever fit into that kitchen at the same time, but we each have our own pair of special slippers.
Hanging out the kitchen window are two mops. One mop is for the kitchen, and one is for the rest of the house (oil free). There are three pails: one for mopping the kitchen, one for mopping the rest of the house, and one for miscellaneous non-mopping uses. I am not sure what will happen if any of these are mixed up, but judging from my wife’s behavior the consequences would be serious indeed.
The toothpaste tubes are always in foreign languages. Sometimes Chinese, but occasionally in Japanese, Indian, or Thai. I can’t understand them, but I can distinguish the characters. I hope they have fluoride. Hell, I just hope they’re toothpaste—for all I know, I could be brushing with hemorrhoid cream.
Something’s Fishy
Like most American kids I grew up with pets. My brothers and I had a series of dogs, a few cats, fresh water and marine tropical fish, turtles, rabbits, and ducks. And those are just the animals we didn’t keep hidden from our parents. I miss those days.
So I bought myself a pet goldfish to keep me company. His name is Ikan Billy (after Ikan Bilis, which is Malay for “Billy the Fish”). Goldfish and other tropical fish are popular here. Part of the reason is fish are considered auspicious and symbolize prosperity in Chinese tradition.
You rarely see dogs in the heartlands because there is not enough room. However, many families get a dog when they move to a condo. I don’t understand why, as condos are generally no bigger than HDB flats. But it seems like most of them get dogs, as I try to avoid all the piles of dog poop between my unit and the swimming pool.
I remember when I got my first dog as a child. My parents finally gave in to the endless begging and pleading because they thought the responsibility of caring for a living creature would be good for me and my brothers. That argument seems to work here, too—many parents think their kids will learn valuable lessons on responsibility by watching the maid feed, walk, bathe, groom, and clean up after their dog.
But for the most part, outside of the condos, dogs are uncommon here. Cats are more common. For one thing, you can leave them outside so space is not a problem. Many soft-hearted aunties feed stray cats in the neighborhood. Cat “owners” who keep their cats indoors often sleep on the floor rather than remove their precious Whiskers from their bed.
The locals also love birds. Old men often take caged birds to the park, where they sing to each other (the birds, not the men). This is a far better situation than in the parks back home, where you mostly hear rap music. The birds are generally kept in the kitchen, along with the washing machine and the family’s collection of pails, bamboo poles, and stools.
The problem with birds in the kitchen is they generate three byproducts: seeds, feathers, and, of course, droppings. Some bird fanciers attempt to contain these by wrapping the sides of the cage in plastic wrap, but I would not want them in my kitchen. While I have all kinds of strange things in my kitchen, bird droppings and feathers will never be among them.
Some of the younger guys here are into reptiles. They like exotic snakes and lizards. Every now and then you hear of someone getting into trouble for smuggling in some exotic species. Some of these critters are cute, but I would never risk jail and a caning over a snake or lizard.
I like Billy. He doesn’t bark, shed, molt, or take a dump on the floor. Who knows, he might even bring me good fortune. But he seemed so lonely swimming around in his bowl. His sole interests are eating and pooping. So I decided to get him a companion. I would have chosen a mate for him, but I am not sure if he actually is a “he”—I have merely assumed that Billy is not a Billie. In any case, Billy/Billie is no longer lonely.