In the sea of shaved heads, I look down to my dark brown grimy tray, on it lays a plate of lumpy rice, with some limp vegetable, and some overcooked beef in gravy, with a pathetically small piece of fried fish.
And I think about the other time, at Mr Bean's cafe, where we had mediocre western food. I had Lasagna, and you had chicken bolognese.
Or the other time we at the hawker beside Hougang mall, where we had 'cai fan', your usual selection, steam egg tofu, and vegetable.
Or the other time at we had Teochew porridge along Serengoon road, we peeled the flesh off the pomfret, and served each other.
Or the other time at Saturdate cafe, we met after I finished work, we had good wings, good nachos. You loved their nachos because of the cream cheese.
Or the other time we had Kebab at Clark Quay, I remember that next time I should add more cheese and only add lettuce for the vegetable selection.
Or the other time we had a lunch date at Gastronomia, you had salmon and mushroom rice box, I had ravioli.
Or the other time we had lunch at my place, I made risotto with scallops, the one that looked like a black boob.
Or the other time we had lunch at Singapore Polo Club, you prepared lunch for me, I really enjoyed that meal, because it was made with love, and I could taste it!
Food really doesn't matter to me much. But I miss having meals with you, I miss you so much.
