Crazy Rich Asians

Soon they were on Robinson Road, in the heart of the downtown financial district. Nestled in the shadows of massive towers was Lau Pa Sat — or “old market” in the Hokkien dialect — an octagonal open-air pavilion that housed a bustling hive of food stalls. Walking from the car park across the street, Rachel could already smell the delicious spice-filled aromas wafting through the balmy air. As they were about to enter the great food hall, Nick turned to Rachel and said, “You’re going to go nuts for this place — it’s the oldest Victorian structure in all of Southeast Asia.”

Rachel stared up at the soaring cast-iron filigree arches that radiated out across the vaulted ceilings. “Looks like the inside of a cathedral,” she said.

“Where the masses come to worship food,” Nick quipped.

Sure enough, even though it was past ten, the place teemed with hundreds of fervent diners. Rows and rows of brightly lit food stalls offered up a greater array of dishes than Rachel had ever witnessed under one roof. As they walked around, peering at the various stalls where men and women were frenziedly cooking their delicacies, Rachel shook her head in awe. “There’s just so much to take in, I don’t know where to start.”

“Just point to whatever looks interesting and I’ll order it,” Colin offered. “The beauty of the hawker center is that each vendor basically sells just one dish, so whether it’s fried pork dumplings or fish-ball soup, they’ve spent a lifetime perfecting it.”

“More than one lifetime. A lot of these people are second- and third-generation hawkers, cooking old family recipes,” Nick chimed in.

A few minutes later, the four of them were seated just outside the main hall under a huge tree strung with yellow lights, every inch of their table covered with colorful plastic plates piled high with the greatest hits of Singaporean street cuisine. There was the famous char kuay teow, a fried omelet with oysters called orh luak, Malay rojak salad bursting with chunks of pineapple and cucumber, Hokkien-style noodles in a thick garlicky gravy, a fish cake smoked in coconut leaves called otah otah, and a hundred sticks of chicken and beef satay.

Rachel had never seen anything like this feast. “This is insane! Every dish looks like it came from a different part of Asia.”

“That’s Singapore for you — the true originators of fusion cuisine,” Nick boasted. “You know, because of all the ships passing through from Europe, the Middle East, and India in the nineteenth century, all these amazing flavors and textures could intermingle.”

As Rachel tasted the char kuay teow, her eyes widened in delight at the rice noodles flash-fried with seafood, egg, and bean sprouts in a dark soy sauce. “Why doesn’t it ever taste like this at home?”

“Gotta love that burned-wok flavor,” Nick remarked.

“I bet you’ll love this,” Araminta said, handing Rachel a plate of roti paratha. Rachel tore off some of the doughy golden pastry and dipped it into the rich curry sauce.

“Mmmm … heaven!”

Then it was time for the satay. Rachel bit into the succulent grilled chicken, savoring its smoky sweetness carefully. The rest of them watched her intently. “Okay Nick, you were right. I’ve never had decent satay until now.”

“To think you doubted me,” Nick tut-tutted with a smile.

“I can’t believe we’re pigging out at this hour!” Rachel giggled, reaching for another stick of satay.

“Get used to it. I know you probably want to go straight to bed, but we have to keep you up for a few more hours so that you’ll adjust better to the time change,” Colin said.

“Aiyah, Colin just wants to monopolize Nick for as long as possible,” Araminta declared. “These two are inseparable whenever Nick’s in town.”

“Hey, I have to make the most out of this time, especially since mommie dearest is away,” Colin said in his own defense. “Rachel — you’re in luck, not having to deal with Nicky’s mum the minute you arrive.”

“Colin, don’t you start scaring her,” Nick chided.

“Oh Nick, I almost forgot — I ran into your mum the other day at Churchill Club,” Araminta began. “She grabbed me by the arm and said, ‘Aramintaaaaa! Aiyoh, you’re too dark! You better stop going into the sun so much, otherwise on your wedding day you will be so black people will think you are Malay!’ ”

Everyone roared with laughter, except Rachel. “She was kidding, I hope?”

“Of course not. Nick’s mum doesn’t kid,” Araminta said, continuing to laugh.

“Rachel, you’ll understand once you meet Nicky’s mum. I love her like my own mother, but she’s one of a kind,” Colin explained, trying to put her at ease. “Anyway, it’s perfect that your parents are gone, Nick, because this weekend your presence is required at my bachelor party.”

“Rachel, you’ll have to come to my bachelorette party,” Araminta declared. “Let’s show the boys how it’s really done!”

“You bet,” Rachel said, clinking her beer with Araminta’s.