Dean Martin and Hainanese Chicken Rice
I was having a late lunch in Jalan Gasing today when I bumped into Dean Martin.
Not at the popular Restaurant PJ Chicken but the one next to it. The 70's-looking coffeeshop in the corner. Restoran Satellite. An unlikely name for a coffeeshop, a name inspired perhaps by it's close proximity to a telecommunication tower. Telecommunication = Satellite. Perhaps.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, I was feeling lazy and didn't exactly feel like cramping into a restaurant packed with ravenous families so I chose the anti-social option. Restoran Satellite.
It still had those small, green and white tiles which created symmetrical designs on the floor. Round formica-topped tables and chairs on the main part of the restaurant and green colored, concrete round tables with matching concrete stools in the open air courtyard, partly shaded by a retractable green awning with used-to-be white stripes.
I'd just ordered a bowl of kon low kuey tiau with a side order steamed chicken drumstick and taken my seat at a plastic-topped table in the courtyard area of the coffeeshop when I heard someone sing," Volare, oh, cantare, wo oh oh oh..."
"Dean? Dean Martin?", I heard myself saying. "Hello. How do you do?", he replied, pleased to know that someone in a Chinese coffeeshop in PJ recognised him. I must have looked really surprised to see him cos he said,"You look like you've seen a ghost".
"Um, er...as a matter of fact, er....Aren't you dead?", I said regretting it almost immediately. "Sometimes I am, sometimes I'm not", he said, as though it was the most logical thing in the world.
I introduced myself as the Myanmar waiter brought my kon lou kuey tiau and steamed chicken. "Join me.", I said to Dean. "Why not", he said and plonked himself across the green concrete table.
The waiter recited the menu," Chicken Rice, Kuey Tiau Soup, Kuey Tiau Curry, Beefball, Nga Choy..." "Thanks, I had some chicken rice earlier...but I wouldn't mind a cappucino", he said to the waiter. " "Here not have cappucino sir! Got kopi, kopi O kau, kopi O, kopi peng....", replied the waiter. "Well, um, a kopi O kau then".
"How's the Rat Pack?", I asked, trying to recover from my verbal faux pas in between mouthfuls of smooth, thinly-sliced kuey tiau tossed in a combination of black sauce and sesame seed oil and tender steamed chicken lightly-flavoured in soy sauce and garnished with spring onion parsley.
"Dead", he said. "And loving it! Frankie and Sammy D. Jr both agree with me that it's more swinging down there that it is up here". "They just don't make music like they used to". "Apart from that it's pretty much the same as it is here".
The waiter brought his kopi O kau just as Elvis Presley walked in and started singing Kentucky Rain. He looked well in his white, sequinned catsuit and trademark oversized sunglasses. Not the bloated, 5 kg a day coke habit Elvis that died of a heart attack. He looked lean though I'm sure he still had peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He'd been spotted all over the US but here in PJ?
Dean Martin raised his kopi O kau to Elvis and I did the same with my teh peng. I made a mental note to tell my dad and brothers about this place where all the old greats were hanging.
"You mean same in the physical sense?", I asked, continuing our conversation about life after death. "Yup! From Beverly Hills to Monte Carlo to PJ". "We got the clubs, the parties, the booze, the broads." "But I gotta tell ya Stevo, Chinese houses down there look goddamn awful!"
I smiled knowingly, thinking about the mansion we sent granma more than a month back. I wonder how she's keeping.
"Are there angels? With Harpsicords?", I wondered out loud. "The only angels I seen are 70's reruns of Charlie's Angels". "Harpsicords?", he laughed. "Nobody plays that anymore".
As though on cue Sam Cooke came on next singing Cupid as he joined Elvis at a table. "Dino, ma man!", he yelled across the coffeeshop. Dean turned around and waved. I finished off the rest of my lunch and pulled out my pack of Marlboros and offered Dean one. "Gracie!", he said as he exhaled smoke that drifted lazily up to the green and white retractable awning.
More and more familiar people appeared in the coffeeshop. Elvis Costello was there. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline.
"So, what brings you back from the dead to a coffeeshop in PJ?", I asked finally. "The Hainanese Chicken Rice mostly", Dean Martin said. "I might be dead but I still gotta have my Chicken Rice". "And this is the only Hainanese Chicken Rice place that I come to. Same with Elvis, Sammy D and the rest of the guys from my era".
"Why's that?", I wanted to know. "You see that?", he pointed to two old wood speakers sitting on a cupboard inside the coffeeshop. "When the boss turns that on, he brings me back to life", Dean said smiling. "You know any other Chinese coffeeshop that serves Hainanese Chicken Rice and plays swingin music from my time?" I nodded, understanding finally,"Radio Redifusion".
"Hey, if you ever crave for Hainanese Chicken Rice, if you don't make an appearance here, you look up my granma". I borrowed a pen from the towkay, pulled out the foil from my Marlboros and scribbled my granma's name and on it. "Look her up in the YellowPages".
"Much obliged Stevo", he took the piece of paper from me and beamed like he'd hit the jackpot in Vegas. With that I paid the bill and got up to leave. " It was my pleasure Dean!", I said as I shook his hand. "Dino", he said.
As I walked out of the coffeeshop I passed a tall, well-dressed Negro who was humming a familiar tune. It was Nat King Cole.
I was having a late lunch in Jalan Gasing today when I bumped into Dean Martin.
Not at the popular Restaurant PJ Chicken but the one next to it. The 70's-looking coffeeshop in the corner. Restoran Satellite. An unlikely name for a coffeeshop, a name inspired perhaps by it's close proximity to a telecommunication tower. Telecommunication = Satellite. Perhaps.
It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, I was feeling lazy and didn't exactly feel like cramping into a restaurant packed with ravenous families so I chose the anti-social option. Restoran Satellite.
It still had those small, green and white tiles which created symmetrical designs on the floor. Round formica-topped tables and chairs on the main part of the restaurant and green colored, concrete round tables with matching concrete stools in the open air courtyard, partly shaded by a retractable green awning with used-to-be white stripes.
I'd just ordered a bowl of kon low kuey tiau with a side order steamed chicken drumstick and taken my seat at a plastic-topped table in the courtyard area of the coffeeshop when I heard someone sing," Volare, oh, cantare, wo oh oh oh..."
"Dean? Dean Martin?", I heard myself saying. "Hello. How do you do?", he replied, pleased to know that someone in a Chinese coffeeshop in PJ recognised him. I must have looked really surprised to see him cos he said,"You look like you've seen a ghost".
"Um, er...as a matter of fact, er....Aren't you dead?", I said regretting it almost immediately. "Sometimes I am, sometimes I'm not", he said, as though it was the most logical thing in the world.
I introduced myself as the Myanmar waiter brought my kon lou kuey tiau and steamed chicken. "Join me.", I said to Dean. "Why not", he said and plonked himself across the green concrete table.
The waiter recited the menu," Chicken Rice, Kuey Tiau Soup, Kuey Tiau Curry, Beefball, Nga Choy..." "Thanks, I had some chicken rice earlier...but I wouldn't mind a cappucino", he said to the waiter. " "Here not have cappucino sir! Got kopi, kopi O kau, kopi O, kopi peng....", replied the waiter. "Well, um, a kopi O kau then".
"How's the Rat Pack?", I asked, trying to recover from my verbal faux pas in between mouthfuls of smooth, thinly-sliced kuey tiau tossed in a combination of black sauce and sesame seed oil and tender steamed chicken lightly-flavoured in soy sauce and garnished with spring onion parsley.
"Dead", he said. "And loving it! Frankie and Sammy D. Jr both agree with me that it's more swinging down there that it is up here". "They just don't make music like they used to". "Apart from that it's pretty much the same as it is here".
The waiter brought his kopi O kau just as Elvis Presley walked in and started singing Kentucky Rain. He looked well in his white, sequinned catsuit and trademark oversized sunglasses. Not the bloated, 5 kg a day coke habit Elvis that died of a heart attack. He looked lean though I'm sure he still had peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He'd been spotted all over the US but here in PJ?
Dean Martin raised his kopi O kau to Elvis and I did the same with my teh peng. I made a mental note to tell my dad and brothers about this place where all the old greats were hanging.
"You mean same in the physical sense?", I asked, continuing our conversation about life after death. "Yup! From Beverly Hills to Monte Carlo to PJ". "We got the clubs, the parties, the booze, the broads." "But I gotta tell ya Stevo, Chinese houses down there look goddamn awful!"
I smiled knowingly, thinking about the mansion we sent granma more than a month back. I wonder how she's keeping.
"Are there angels? With Harpsicords?", I wondered out loud. "The only angels I seen are 70's reruns of Charlie's Angels". "Harpsicords?", he laughed. "Nobody plays that anymore".
As though on cue Sam Cooke came on next singing Cupid as he joined Elvis at a table. "Dino, ma man!", he yelled across the coffeeshop. Dean turned around and waved. I finished off the rest of my lunch and pulled out my pack of Marlboros and offered Dean one. "Gracie!", he said as he exhaled smoke that drifted lazily up to the green and white retractable awning.
More and more familiar people appeared in the coffeeshop. Elvis Costello was there. Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline.
"So, what brings you back from the dead to a coffeeshop in PJ?", I asked finally. "The Hainanese Chicken Rice mostly", Dean Martin said. "I might be dead but I still gotta have my Chicken Rice". "And this is the only Hainanese Chicken Rice place that I come to. Same with Elvis, Sammy D and the rest of the guys from my era".
"Why's that?", I wanted to know. "You see that?", he pointed to two old wood speakers sitting on a cupboard inside the coffeeshop. "When the boss turns that on, he brings me back to life", Dean said smiling. "You know any other Chinese coffeeshop that serves Hainanese Chicken Rice and plays swingin music from my time?" I nodded, understanding finally,"Radio Redifusion".
"Hey, if you ever crave for Hainanese Chicken Rice, if you don't make an appearance here, you look up my granma". I borrowed a pen from the towkay, pulled out the foil from my Marlboros and scribbled my granma's name and on it. "Look her up in the YellowPages".
"Much obliged Stevo", he took the piece of paper from me and beamed like he'd hit the jackpot in Vegas. With that I paid the bill and got up to leave. " It was my pleasure Dean!", I said as I shook his hand. "Dino", he said.
As I walked out of the coffeeshop I passed a tall, well-dressed Negro who was humming a familiar tune. It was Nat King Cole.
posted by stevo at 7:33 AM
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