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2016-04-30
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I've seen and tasted my fair share of poor service and shitty food but have never felt compelled to angrily type up any reviews because my laziness usually triumphs my displeasure. I mean, who has time to fill in details and create accounts? But today... well, today really takes the cake.It's been a long day. I'm sitting at home; layer of makeup uncomfortable on my face, contacts blurry and dry even though they're the thin (and expensive) Bausch & Lomb ones. I'm hopelessly thirsty. Bathing can w
It's been a long day. I'm sitting at home; layer of makeup uncomfortable on my face, contacts blurry and dry even though they're the thin (and expensive) Bausch & Lomb ones. I'm hopelessly thirsty. Bathing can wait. Basic bodily functions? Who cares. If I don't get this out of me within the next ten minutes the rage and indignance boiling through my veins'll build and build 'til I self-implode.
Rewind to this afternoon. I had something to do in the Tai Seng area and recalled there being a supposedly famous kway chap stall near where I was and so decided to head there for lunch. It's around 3 pm. My stomach's growling in anticipation because I only had a curry puff for breakfast and that's really not enough (be careful what you wish for, lol). I head towards the ordering counter with a spring in my step because I really, really like kway chap (or rather liked, I've probably been scarred for life and it'll taste like ashes in my mouth from now on).
The guy at the counter seems pleasant enough. Was it all a ruse for me to lower my guard? Well, it worked. It worked magnificently. In retrospect, his eyes might've sparkled too disingenuously, smile stretched too stiff across his face. I have only myself to blame, for being too hungry and excited to notice the underlying sinisterness behind his thinly-veiled facade. Things are always clearer in retrospect.
Despite my poor spoken Chinese, I clearly and distinctly place my order—"Yi ge ren de kway chap can can (mixed), wu hua rou, yu bing, tau kwa shao shao."
Translation: "Mixed kway chap for one, with less pork belly, fishcake, and braised beancurd." Meaning I wanted mixed kway chap, with the latter three ingredientds in a smaller quantity.
The man's misunderstood me, thinking I only want the latter three items, so I hasten to clarify. "With big and small intenstine too."
"Okay." he says. Good. It appears we're on the same page (oh, how laughably wrong I was). "Yao bu yao kway?" he continues.
I nod and return to my table, but not without a smile I now wish I hadn't granted so freely. I scroll through my phone aimlessly, fingers drumming against the table in mild impatience as I eagerly await the glorious food.
Imagine my shock when a veritable MOUTAIN of food materializes in front of me.
?!?!?!
Have you been to Udon Goen? If not (you must!), go google it and see the first picture. That's a lot of food, right? That's probably way too much for one pax, right?
... yeah. That's the amount of kway chap I got.
My expression remains carefully blank, but inside I'm thinking, "What on earth is going on."
"11 kuai (Eleven dollars)." The cold voice slices through my consciousness like the shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells. The pallor of my brow shall be my pall.
"Why's there so much?" I ask (politely), aghast. The horror's so trenchant it almost feels subdued, like when you cut your fingertip with the blade of a brand-new kitchen knife and it's so sharp that you don't feel the pain—just see the blood, florid across your thumb.
Apparently this is what you get when you order the items separately like I did. I dunno, maybe he though I was also ordering for my (nonexistent) boyfriend who was off buying drinks instead of just myself.
Oh wait, he brought only a single bowl of kway so evidently he got that only one person was eating.
In what universe is a $11 portion fit for one person (yi ge ren de kway chap can can)?! Mind you, I'm a petite 5'4" girl, not some hulking ravenous army boy. Obviously the only logical conclusion that jumps to mind is that the stall knowingly cheated me of my money by deliberately misinterpreting my order, since I look like a pushover.
(Which I am... I could've argued but being a non-confrontational Singaporean just obediently handed over my hard-earned cash.)
Heck, I should've argued. But somehow the anger didn't really register until I was on the MRT home and had some spare time to ponder it, and from there it just kept building and building like Mt. Vesuvius or something. It's too late for regrets now so I'm concurrently crying and licking my wounds by being a keyboard warrior.
P.s. The kway chap itself was not bad but not the best I've tried.
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