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 purpose 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 which 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, and 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 ready to cool my senses. I breathe in the noise 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 tantalises my palate with its svelte home-made thinness, making 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 which 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 labour of love. This is laksa as it was meant to be. I ladle mouthful after mouthful of taut prawns, slim noodles, 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, they fill it, and she totters serenely away, makeshift takeaway-container slopping 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.
