The rojak man

I was looking at recipes when I suddenly thought of the rojak man who used to park his motorbike right downstairs. It was no common motorbike. It had a big wooden box behind the seat, which opened up into a workspace and contained all the equipment and ingredients for the yummy dish.

It was usually evening time. There was still light but fading. We would be playing or something, and suddenly, "bibo bibo!" And off we ran to the kitchen window, looked down and there he was, the rojak man, in front of his box, ready to make rojak!

We didn't get to have it all the time but sometimes, we got money to go buy a pack or two. And it was really fun!

First, we had to queue with other kids and aunties in the neighbourhood who got there faster. Then, when it was our turn, we gave our order and - this was the fun part - stood right next to the uncle and watch him work.

I still remember his wooden bowl, then at my eye level, which was dark with the sauce from previous orders. In his wooden box were the various ingredients - tau pok, you tiao, cucumber, pineapples, peanuts, sauce, chilli, and I don't know what else!

I loved the sight of the rojak being stirred furiously. I loved hearing the sound of the metal spoon scrapping the sides of the wooden bowl.

Then very suddenly, it was done. The middle-aged uncle would pour the rojak into a plastic drawstring bag, throw in a couple of satay sticks, collect the money and turn his attention to the next customer, while we would run back, very very eager to tuck into the snack of the day!

I think I would like to have some rojak now...