Saturday December 6, 2008

Local legends

NAVEL GAZEL BY ALEXANDRA WONG

Local coffeeshops are great places to be in, not just because they sell tasty food at affordable prices, but because they serve up a platter of interesting characters .

It’s raining cats and dogs, and my train ride is just a few hours away, but there is no way I am leaving Penang without completing Le Mission Compulsory.

You see, last night, over plump fried oysters and char kuay teow, Uncle Lim had decreed, “Once you have tasted it, no other chicken chop will do.”

With a teaser like that, I had to check the place out.

The Chicken Chop at Hai Onn in Burma Road is a sight for sore eyes and easy on the wallet.

There was, after all, my foodie reputation to uphold.

So this morning, amid flash floods (I can now legitimately say, “she did it come hail or high water”), I brave my way to the unassuming coffeeshop located at the corner of Burma Road, at the start of the street just as you turn into it from Penang Road.

As soon as I walk into Hai Onn, I know I would love it, whether or not it served the tastiest chicken chop in the world. My late grandfather, who used to make periodic trips here, would have loved it, too.

Fading walls, snatches of Hokkien vernacular, the aroma of freshly prepared food, wooden booths — it’s as old school as you can get.

Shortly after sitting down, a harried looking, curly-haired lady — the towkay soh, I learn later — trots up to my table. She looks tired, as if she’d just served an army of starving soldiers.

“One Hainanese chicken chop, please.” As an afterthought, I ask, “How much is the chicken chop?”

The delicious otak-otak By Mummy Otak (below).— ALEXANDRA WONG

She reels off a number.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“That’s RM3.50, girl.”

My gobsmacked reaction must happen frequently, because she goes on to elucidate, “Oh, it is just a small patty of chicken that comes with sauce.”

Now this is beyond surreal. The owner is actually downplaying her own wares? Talk about taking Asian modesty to a whole new level!

“Would you like bread with it too? Plain is 30 sen, while buttered is 80 sen.”

I digest all this in disbelief, feeling like Arthur Denton at the Restaurant at the end of the Universe. The last time I even bought anything for 30 sen was, uh, Mamee way back in Standard Six? Swallowing my incredulity like dry biscuits, I finally croak out, “Uh, I’ll take the buttered one then.”

She acknowledges my order with a wan smile before shuffling to the back of the shop, presumably where the kitchen is. I anticipate a long wait. At least half a dozen tables, with the chopstick and chilli set already, are conspicuously bare.

As I’m digesting my surroundings, a bespectacled and short buxom lady trots up to my table, carting a rattan basket.

“Would you like some otak-otak?

“No thanks,” I reply absently. There is only chicken chop on my mind but she continues to smile brightly at me.

“Mummy Otak has the best otak in town. See my Internet (link),” she points excitedly to the back of her card, “You will see that Mummy is telling the truth. Everybody who tries Mummy’s otak will come back for more!”

Mummy Otak - ALEXANDRA WONG

Despite myself, I am intrigued. On her crudely made name card — a piece of white paper with black ink — are the names of the coffeeshops (where she makes her otak fresh), some website addresses (which presumably contain paens to her specialty) and her contact number.

I tell her as nicely as I can, thank you, but I have already ordered my food, maybe next time. Mummy Otak knows how to take a hint. She nods and ambles away politely.

Left to my own devices, I whip out my weather-beaten Olympus and begin snapping random photographs of the old coffeeshop with its antiquated accoutrements.

Before you can say “Guess who’s back”, Mummy Otak materialises at my table again. “Can you take a picture of Mummy Otak?

Oh, what the hell, I think, if I’m not going to buy her stuff I might as well be a Good Samaritan. Mummy Otak is a natural. After she poses with her basket of otak, she even puts one on the table and asks me to photograph it.

Once done, she beams and deposits a banana-leaf wrapped parcel on my table. “Here, Mummy Otak treat you to otak.”

She waves off all my violent protestations.

“Mummy wants to chia (treat) you. Just eat, don’t’ worry about it. Mummy can afford to do this.”

I accept her gift sheepishly and start prying the still-warm banana leaf apart.

“How is it?” Mummy Otak asks, her face inscrutable.

“You are right. It IS excellent,” I murmur with surprise.

The otak is crumbly, creamy and redolent of lemon grass, daun kadok (peppermint leaves, she apprises me), and embedded with a sizeable chunk of fish so firm and tender I would have sworn it was caught from the sea this morning.

I suddenly recall that otak-otak is one of my mother’s favourites. I’ll be seeing her when I take the train back to Ipoh that evening.

“Mummy Otak, can these otak-otak keep?”

The instant those words leave my mouth, I realise the import of my actions. Mummy Otak has just successfully converted prospect into a sale! You could say that she had, on all counts, just orchestrated a tactically and technically flawless guerrilla marketing campaign.

Know your product? Check.

Dangle a teaser? Check.

Parade your accolades? Check.

Follow up and get feedback? Check, check, check!

Find what makes your customer tick! Check!

And when you meet a particularly unyielding prospect, resort to that fail-safe gimmick: free gifts. (Always works for kiasu Malaysians).

It has been a long time since I saw a salesman with such prowess. Darn it, this woman should be giving sales training, not those so-called sales gurus who charge an arm and a leg for dishing out platitudes.

“Are you sure five is enough for your family?” she interrupts my musing. “I still have a few more, can give you discount.”

I shake my head in admiration. “Wow, upsell!” my inner salesman shrieks.

The otak turns out to be a blessing in disguise. For even after 45 minutes, there is no sign of my chicken chop, by which time I’m nearly hysterical with anxiety and hunger.

Either the other customers (who don’t seem as restless I am and have clearly waited even longer) have the patience of a saint, or the chicken chop must be thigh-slappingly good.

When it finally arrives, it is a sight for sore eyes — the slab of meat is wrapped in an evenly-browned omelette, and swims in a pool of brown gravy that evidently has been just spooned from the wok. Even the plate is still warm. All this trouble for a mere . . . RM3.50.

Bless all kopitiams, my heart murmurs a silent prayer.

My chicken chop epic has not quite drawn to a denouement yet. Halfway through my meal, a man and woman sashay over to my table, and ask, “Are these seats taken?”

The man indicates to the full house. I nod congenially.

“Please, go ahead,” I gesture to the seats.

The guy turns out to be a visitor from Kuala Lumpur and the lady is his employee who is taking him for a requisite Penang food tour before he flies back that evening. For this final hurrah, he naturally orders everything that is highly recommended in the house: lor bak, hainam mee, etc, and invites me to partake of the feast.

“Come, come join us. Let me get chopsticks for you!”

By the time I leave the restaurant, my tummy is filled to the brim, and not just from food. I may have gone without company, and yet I ended up dining among friends. It’s true what a friend said once about this country: you’ll never eat alone.

This is why I love living here. You just never know what fate will deliver to your table.

> For the food lovers, Hai Onn Restaurant is located at 53-55 Burma Road, Penang, tel: (04) 227 4751, while Mummy Otak can be reached at 016-4710430 at Kim Lee Coffee Shop, Macalister Lane.

Alexandra Wong (bunnysprints.blogspot.com) is a passionate foodie whose unofficial motto is, according to her friends, “Got food, will adventure.”