Curry puff madeleine

It was a hot and bright Saturday morning; the woman stood in the covered walkway linking the MRT Station to Jurong East Central. She was veiled, clothed in something yellow and pistachio green, a slim figure standing by a tattered cardboard box at her feet. Curry puffs, she said, two for one dollar, and I smiled at the thought that the only unlicensed pedlar I’ve seen in Singapore was selling tasty snacks rather than crack or knock off Raybans.

I left Singapore less than a month ago, but already these memories are fading. Is my mind making a concerted effort to forget, to erase? I feel doors closing with every passing day, blurring the edges of places I used to frequent, tucking away the small routines and rituals of every day life into somebody else’s memory box. It’s hard to make sense of that shiny, suffocating life here, in the dust and casual mess of provincial Cambodia.

I want to hold those moments close, to keep their colour and taste and feel, stop them from fading like old polaroids.

The woman handed me a thin red plastic bag. The curry puffs inside were small, about the length of a finger, the pastry fresh and crispy. I tasted creamy potato, sweet peas, spiciness, the taste of Singapore, two for one dollar, somewhere by the side of the road.

Where: Near Jurong East MRT Station. On a Saturday. Maybe.

Tip: Buy more than 2. And report back on how the sardine puff tasted.

 

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