Brunch of Provenance

Did you ever forget about your roots once and again? Living in the city can sometimes lose you into this pulsing and vibrating over-drive that made the city of Jakarta alive and well-oiled. Not only that it was the norm but also it was almost seemingly mandatory to take part of the available lifestyle to feel belong to the city. It was either you are in or you are out: Sometimes people will do anything to belong somewhere.

People change their hair-do-s, their outfits, their addresses, their behaviors, and even their friends in search of a place to belong. Last weekend however, I found it rather cute tracing back my root only to find a very comfortable zone that was long forgotten.

The place was called Angke, the restaurant. Nestled in a shop-house jungle in Ketapang Street near Gajah Mada, for ages it was known as one of the places to celebrate anything significant. Be it birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, anything that worth celebrating back in the days when Gajah Mada Plaza* was the only cool place to go.

Thirty past eleven we took two of the round tables (of course with the helpful lazy-Susan in the middle) and commenced my grandma’s birthday brunch. Of course it wasn’t my idea to hold the event over there, where traffic congested the narrow streets and parking was next to impossible. My uncle, or her son-in-law to be precise, had this great imagination to dine in the perfect place for such celebration.

The elders gathered themselves at the table next to us, while we -the kids- sat together to mingle with long-lost cousins. It was kinda cute to see them all together with the shy girlfriends and do-I-have-to-be-here looking boyfriends to barter our how-do-you-do-s across the table. At that moment, I really wish that I could bring my boyfriend and introduced him to my relatives. Secretly hoping that they all would be okay with this.

Food however was abundant, the types I haven’t seen in a long time. The types in which supposed to be hailed as some luxury treat for your tongue. The true special party-mix which you should not consume as everyday food. I couldn’t even spell the rightful dish names even if I wanted to. To my eyes they were a shark-fin look-alike soup, the birthday fried noodles, sweet and sour pork, somekinda drunken fried prawn, sautéed water crest and topped with unagi-like crispy fried eels on a bed of green vegetables.

For somebody who can actually cook, I wonder why did people flock to the establishment? The food was so so, nothing special. Furthermore, the MSG show of force even gave me instant muscle-knots on my shoulder blades and a manageable diarrhea later on. And for the final bill that my uncle had to pick up, he could certainly go to a more modern Chinese establishment with a lot more interesting culinary offerings in a glitzier part of the town.

Bored with the conversations, I started to observe the place and wrote this onto my brother’s PDA phone: Everyone seemed to put on his or her Sunday dresses and outfits. Since it was a Sunday, maybe they just came from their places of worships with their families. Affluent looking ladies with big hairs and European handbags (not sure if they were real though, the hair and the bag!); gentlemen wearing polo shirts that would suit the putting greens very well; obviously westernized teenagers who were tuning into their iPods or speaking in English than whatever mother-tongue lingua-franca available in the region; Hot looking engkoh-engkoh (nick for older brother or older male) with their trophy girlfriends. “Why are these people here?”, I asked myself. If they can afford the hefty price tag at the Angke, they can have brunch of their choice absolutely anywhere. Maybe the exact question may even seem absurd to them. Where else would they celebrate family togetherness in Jakarta?

If I feel that the place I should belong is in the South (part of Jakarta), I certainly forgot that I came from the West. Because originally the West is where Chinese people work, shop, eat, and relax. And at the end of the week, this is where people got enjoy their family too. This is the place to see and be seen, where some people show that they had finally made it.

All around the Angke smiles, laughter, and great conversations filled the atmosphere.

Happy Birthday Oma.

Even with the gastronomic misadventure,
it still felt good to be home.

*) In the 1980-s, do you remember your first chocolate chip cookies at Famous Amous, your first bite of rubbery mozzarella from Pizza Hut, your first wiener schnitzel at Glossis, the little shop that sold latex Smurf figurines, the pet shop that you’d spend hours hoping that your parents would get you some? The heyday of Gajah Mada Plaza.