328 Katong Laksa
In a city of great renown not so very long ago, there lived a humble man whose ancestors had invented noodles. A simple invention. Not the latest iPhone or mp3 player, not o2 mobile phone deals reviews or Kindles, no. He invented noodles, plain and simple. This man, too, had the gift of his bloodline and soon became the most popular noodle-seller in all the world. But fame came with a price, and many individuals of nefarious purposes pursued the humble man without relent, desperate to drain the secrets of his blood and assume his ancestral mantle upon their selves. The humble man spent his last days in fear, running from the world that loved his noodles until he slipped in a pool of radiator fluid and fell 73 floors to his untimely and well-videotaped death. His is a story of humility, sacrifice, and critical levels of viscosity in radiator fluid. It is not today’s story.
Today’s story is about a small laksa stall in the East of Singapore, which for many years battled several rivals to establish its claim as the Best Laksa in Singapore. After calling in a team of ninjas to recalibrate the establishment’s feng shui and execute some well-timed slayings, the owners of 328 Katong Laksa saw themselves triumph over their main rival, 49 Katong Laksa, in sales, if not originality of name. The homely hawker-eatery has now gained worldwide fame amongst ninjas, mercenaries, and civilians alike, and I have finally received the opportunity to make my pilgrimage. It is an opportunity I do not wish to squander.
I meditate at the table, lime juice at my side, and I am ready to cool my senses. I breathe in the nose and taste the air, sharp with the far-off rumble of a monsoonal afternoon. The lime juice ripples in the wake of the gentlest of breezes, and I take a quick sip of tart sweetness to still for a moment my densely beating heart.
Otak-otak tantalizes my palate with its svelte home-made thinness. It makes up for its lack of photogenic elegance with the chewy-gooey fish taste that ninjas would sacrifice contracts for. Without love, sweat, and banana leaves, otak-otak cannot reach such heights, much like nasi lemak and banana trees. I nibble at my portion, then nibble a bit more until the wafer-block of mashed fish is entirely gone.
And then it arrives. There is no fanfare of trumpets and virginally-clad sexy women, no elaborate flourish of a maître d’, no chopsticks. This is Seafood Laksa as it was in the days of humble men and blood tradition; laksa pulls no punches with quantities of coconut milk copious enough to slay an army of weight-watchers. This is laksa, where the seafood is searingly fresh, and you only need a spoon because the silky white noodles have been diced in a labor of love. This is laksa as it was meant to be. I ladle mouthful after mouthfuls of taut prawns, slim noodles, and spicy-creamy-velvety laksa broth down my throat until I can take no more. Then, I order a second round.
As I quench my hunger with the speed of my spoon, a well-dressed woman walks into 328 Katong Laksa holding a bowl. She offers it to the staff, and they fill it. She totters serenely away, a makeshift takeaway container sloping precariously between her hands. This is not something you expect to see in the Singapore of today. But 328 Katong is a relic of another time, when recipes were in the blood, and people fought each other face to face, with swords and not with papers. The first raindrop falls. It’s time to move.
Concluding Remarks: Book your flight now. If you don’t, you may well miss the best laksa in Singapore – and possibly the world.
