This stall is one of those rare places where the number of chinese customers sometimes outnumber their malay ones.Their customers come from varied backgrounds....fishermen,office clerks,towkays,nurses to housewives and the nearby villagers from both sides of the main Tanjong Tokong road.
Price?Comparable to the Nasi Padang in Transfer Road which means it can be exorbitant if you pile on whatever you like without a care in the world.
The first time I ate here,I really hated it.Compared to the finesse of the local kampung housewives who are extremely great cooks at pepper flame laden dishes,I found the dishes to be rather on the bitterish side,not that hot and wondered what the fuss was all about.With time,it kind of grows on you and then you know why the count-every-sen lowkey towkays make a beeline here.For the comfort food.The taste though truly localised Penang Malay to the bone,takes some getting used to.
This place is not for the novice diner.
It is in a lowcost flat area with rats scampering about,Mat rempits,pushers,junkies and old men with one leg up on the chair, loitering in the vicinity so you can imagine.
When you arrive here,you'll probably be greeted by an old OKU or physically challenged person,that goes round collecting parking fees.The pong will greet you first to make you succumb to payment.If that doesn't work he will tell you things like you park here and pay once then enjoy ten times free parking.
Rubbish.
Next time you go,he says he needs a loan for a haircut.Another time he will tell you he needs money to buy food.Each time he has managed to come up with different excuses.Being the soft hearted wimp that I am,I parted with dollar after dollar until one day I saw him pestering young girls at the pasar malam for more money.Another time this young fella tried to collect money and he agressively chased him away while hopping on one leg.He's a pro,this much I can say.
So now back to the stall,if you never intend to return,you must never ever take a look at the old cook cos your heart will melt in an instant.Seeing that she is bent over double,so sweet and gentle looking,yet so tiny,you can't help but like her.Eventually,some part of your grey matter will start to reminisce that the tudung wearing grandmother's cooking must be something really special.That's exactly what happened to me and the part of the reason why I returned a second time.Drat.
The middle aged lady owner used to be the one to kira the total bill.I thought she was expensive.Then one day I whooped with joy when her ever smiling hubby took over cos she had to attend to the kitchen.I got slapped 20 percent higher than usual.Nowadays the Drift King( he's the owner of a horrible looking orange carnage of a DIY fibreglass set of wheels) bearded son of hers that looks like somewhere in the family line lies some Moghul or Pakistani bloodties,whom she so used to loath has taken over the till.This fella has done so well at simply charging as he likes that his mother has given him stripes even the other watermelon juice squeezing Shirley Temple haired brother of his has yet to acquire.
When the type of women he digs stand in front of him,his eyes start to wander,he loses focus,and that's when he'll simply tembak you with the bill.He likes to look at our chest,legs( maybe butts too but how to tell with your back turned?) and that's what causes him to get itchy for a smoke to calm his nerves and slow down his accelerating heart rate.At one point he will take a last puff before sitting down again,but not before exclaiming to all and sundry that he has to focus.This is hilarious only if you are not paying for the meal I can assure you.I guess this is the moment that cheat diners strike cos he's such a blur buaya.
Coming to the dishes,most times the gravies run out so fast,we are left scraping the pan for trickles of it.The fried chicken though of a good recipe,is sometimes undercooked.Also due to the fact that it comes from the Mount Erskine market abbatoir,biting into broken splinters from the wing part accompanied by a terrible texture due to the marrow seeping in to corrupt the meat, is guaranteed.Last of all the fish gulai nowadays isn't fresh like before,making the curry reek of a fisherman's overnight net.
Having said all that, if you still want to try,do remember the most important rule,one look,might cause a lifelong unspoken bond of inexplainable affection to develop between you and the old nenek .Don't say I didn't tell you then.
Price?Comparable to the Nasi Padang in Transfer Road which means it can be exorbitant if you pile on whatever you like without a care in the world.
The first time I ate here,I really hated it.Compared to the finesse of the local kampung housewives who are extremely great cooks at pepper flame laden dishes,I found the dishes to be rather on the bitterish side,not that hot and wondered what the fuss was all about.With time,it kind of grows on you and then you know why the count-every-sen lowkey towkays make a beeline here.For the comfort food.The taste though truly localised Penang Malay to the bone,takes some getting used to.
This place is not for the novice diner.
It is in a lowcost flat area with rats scampering about,Mat rempits,pushers,junkies and old men with one leg up on the chair, loitering in the vicinity so you can imagine.
When you arrive here,you'll probably be greeted by an old OKU or physically challenged person,that goes round collecting parking fees.The pong will greet you first to make you succumb to payment.If that doesn't work he will tell you things like you park here and pay once then enjoy ten times free parking.
Rubbish.
Next time you go,he says he needs a loan for a haircut.Another time he will tell you he needs money to buy food.Each time he has managed to come up with different excuses.Being the soft hearted wimp that I am,I parted with dollar after dollar until one day I saw him pestering young girls at the pasar malam for more money.Another time this young fella tried to collect money and he agressively chased him away while hopping on one leg.He's a pro,this much I can say.
So now back to the stall,if you never intend to return,you must never ever take a look at the old cook cos your heart will melt in an instant.Seeing that she is bent over double,so sweet and gentle looking,yet so tiny,you can't help but like her.Eventually,some part of your grey matter will start to reminisce that the tudung wearing grandmother's cooking must be something really special.That's exactly what happened to me and the part of the reason why I returned a second time.Drat.
The middle aged lady owner used to be the one to kira the total bill.I thought she was expensive.Then one day I whooped with joy when her ever smiling hubby took over cos she had to attend to the kitchen.I got slapped 20 percent higher than usual.Nowadays the Drift King( he's the owner of a horrible looking orange carnage of a DIY fibreglass set of wheels) bearded son of hers that looks like somewhere in the family line lies some Moghul or Pakistani bloodties,whom she so used to loath has taken over the till.This fella has done so well at simply charging as he likes that his mother has given him stripes even the other watermelon juice squeezing Shirley Temple haired brother of his has yet to acquire.
When the type of women he digs stand in front of him,his eyes start to wander,he loses focus,and that's when he'll simply tembak you with the bill.He likes to look at our chest,legs( maybe butts too but how to tell with your back turned?) and that's what causes him to get itchy for a smoke to calm his nerves and slow down his accelerating heart rate.At one point he will take a last puff before sitting down again,but not before exclaiming to all and sundry that he has to focus.This is hilarious only if you are not paying for the meal I can assure you.I guess this is the moment that cheat diners strike cos he's such a blur buaya.
Coming to the dishes,most times the gravies run out so fast,we are left scraping the pan for trickles of it.The fried chicken though of a good recipe,is sometimes undercooked.Also due to the fact that it comes from the Mount Erskine market abbatoir,biting into broken splinters from the wing part accompanied by a terrible texture due to the marrow seeping in to corrupt the meat, is guaranteed.Last of all the fish gulai nowadays isn't fresh like before,making the curry reek of a fisherman's overnight net.
Having said all that, if you still want to try,do remember the most important rule,one look,might cause a lifelong unspoken bond of inexplainable affection to develop between you and the old nenek .Don't say I didn't tell you then.
