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| coconut coconut |
You may have wondered what they serve. You may have not.
This is a restaurant that's in fact not quite difficult to miss when you're traveling along this road. It sits along the road leading to Tiong Bahru and it's in this club-house type of building that's right after Block 9 of the Singapore General Hospital.
I'd passed by here a couple of times before but I didn't have the chance to step in until a year or so ago. That was the time when we trotted downhill from the main hospital building after visiting hours were over. That was the time when we were hungry and tired after having spent nearly the whole day in the ward. That was the time when we were feeling lost and helpless and uncertain and unsure.
It wasn't the happiest of times. Happier we are now, I'm glad to say. :)
We ordered the same claypot curry dish that we had the last time we came. Not because we particularly wanted to reminisce, but because the curry is really, really good. See, there're curries that are dry. There're curries that are like sauces. And there're curries that are rich like broths.
This is one of those.
It comes to you fresh off the fire, still bubbling and simmering in its pot. At once you're struck with an aroma that wafts towards you, and if you weren't hungry before, you're feeling the pangs now, and though you're not really sure whether it is the spices or the coconut that's creating the aroma, you simply dig in.
In between the spoonfuls of rice and tender slices of beef, I got a multitude of sensations that jumbled themselves up together. I had the sensation that tickled the tip and back of my tongue, I had the rounded palate of flavors that smoothly rolled around and then finally, this distinct warmth that settled herself snugly over me.
Evocative memories started flooding in.
I remembered the events of a year ago. I remembered how it had been for us then. I remembered myself sitting on an armchair in the visitors' area, with papers upon my lap, writing furiously away, hoping to block out the fear and uncertainty. I remembered the daily trips to another hospital as a companion for her therapy. I remembered all the words of encouragement and the adjustments made for her benefit. I remembered the resistance to the adjustments.
It came back, much of it.
But even now, as I chewed on the beef and slurped down the curry broth, even as I dug around the pot for any meat escapees, and ladled out the carrots and the cabbage to munch them down, I realized just how far on the recovery journey we'd come.
Today we no longer stood at a loss, wondering which direction we had to take. Today we could tell ourselves that as unconventional as our decision had been, it had been a right one. Because today, it would mark 9 months since she could take a bus and go around and buy juice and milk and take care of her needs unassisted. And today, she could enjoy foods that previously she had stubbornly declined.
Suddenly it struck me. This very dish had been more than just a simple, everyday dish. It had actually been a comfort, a boost. Because back then, it had been a reminder that there was life beyond illness- and that even as we numbly ate our very late dinner here, we had surreptitiously been sent a life-is-beyond-illness message from people no less than the good doctors from the Singapore Medical Council.
And because in that moment I'd realized that this was what I wanted for her. That it was possible for enjoyment and great-tasting meals to co-exist with diet and health, I forgot about the worries, I forgot about the uncertainties that lay ahead, I forgot how tired I was.
I simply carried on.