Hurry Scurry ...for curry!

The weekend saw me in a 'frenzied state'...not because of anything else but over a pot of curry.
By now, many would have heard about the Singapore Curry Movement that gained momentum over the (long-overdue: 7 years ago mind you) dispute between the Foreign Talent (PRC) who set roots here and their Indian Singaporean neighbours over the smell of curry.

No...this is not a rhetoric against Singapore's immigrant policies.
I believe that everyone has a place in this world...and that the One who really decides where we mere mortals would end up is the One above.  So as a civilised member of the human race, I would simple state that no one race is better than the other, nor above the other.  But for the sake of humanity, tolerance and  respect are some things which are premiums we cannot afford to lose.

So back to my curry story.
I promised myself that in this Holy month of Ramadhan, my 'small sacrifice' would not to post any comments on Facebook....though I concede that I still do read my 'wall'. When I got to know about the National Curry Day, I thought that it would be fun to join in...no, not as a protest, but as a show of solidarity and get into the spirit of things.  After all, how many people really hate curry?

I wanted to do something slightly different (re: Never cook what your mother-in-law is good at - hey, that does contribute to 0.1% to world peace you know)
I decided to cook Bamiah - this Arab-like curry with okra and beef, and eaten with bread. I do remember arwah Cikgu Sadiah's generosity.  Each time she cooked, she would bring a large pot to school to share with the staff.  Maybe I should carry on her legacy. However....I am not a great cook...so sigh.

Anyway, it became a learning experience for everyone involved. I sent Zarifah down to Geylang with Bibik to do some marketing, and I ended up having a good laugh at her 'harrowing tales'.  I forgot that my little princess is a supermarket shopper, and for the life of her, has never stepped into a wet market.  She gasped in horror when she realised that the meat she purchased were not nicely cling-wrapped in convenient packages.  She can't speak Malay to save her life, and there was a 'chicken-duck' miscommunication as she tried to verbalise her thoughts.  I had told her to buy 'mee kuah'...and had emphasized to her that I wanted the soupy version of the Indian noodles.  I think this was what transpired.

Zarifah: I want mee kuah. Sop please.
Mamak: Awak nak mee kah atau sop kambing?
Zarifah: Sop. No mee...no goat.
Mamak: Mee Kuah?
Zarifah: No mee. Soup one
Mamak:....goes out of his stall and asks her to point to the pictures above.
(well....at least she knows how to recognise her food!....though she had jumped when I asked her to buy ladies fingers. When she was younger, she had thought that I literally wanted to cut off the hands of some young women...and refused to show cannibalistic instincts)

But with that experience, both she and Bibik abandoned the idea of getting the other things I had on the list....which took me some time to search over the next few days.  The secret ingredient of course is the specially madefresh paste (and yoghurt) you have to purchase from the old Indian lady.

Then she posted on FB that I was going to make Bamiah.  Now, I forgot to mention that this dish is actually cooked on special occasions only...so when news got around, more than one family member got excited....and you know what that means.

Yes...I ended up cooking not for one family...but at least four others.
I am not complaining...but in this fasting month, I get a little worried that the dish may not turn out well. However, with a prayer, and a lot of 'campak-campak' ingredients (literally meaning throwing in things here and there)...all went well for Iftar.

Cook a pot of curry and share...
I like the idea
That's how memories are made.