Secret Asian Man- Finding Rocket Man

Time ticks by and we start forming lists. Lists of things to pack. Lists of things to buy.  Lists of places we want to see before we go.  Lists of the things we’ll miss. 

Missing things like the melon.  Oh my god!  The melon! First, buttery and savory, with a cool sweet finish. I will have crack-dreams for years over this melon.

Or missing things like falafel. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to eat falafel anywhere else.  Or shwarma. Same thing.  They’re simple, delicious and darn near free. Paying 7 bucks or more back in the US seems obscene.  

Out with the Mrs. for a spring evening stroll to obtain such sandwiches. The start of the dwindling number, I’m sure. Trying to get our fill.

We came across a new place that had opened a couple months back.  It was bright and clean with decor a step above.  And they were cooking something new. It was like shwarma meat cooked on a large shield-like pan. A little oil, a little lemon juice, some secret spices.  They press some pita down on top of the stew that’s created sopping up any extra juice then they wrap it all up with some tomatoes, pickles and hot peppers and squirt on some lemon juice to finish.  Served with fries.

It looked like a shwarma, but different. I thought I’d give it a try, so I walked up to the counter and picked up the menu.  

“That is all in arabic, but don’t worry, I will explain to you everything.” said the purveyor.

In near perfect English, he explained that this was a Turkish sandwich called a Tantuni. He talked a bit about it and how long they were here.  He and all the cooks there were Jordanian, but they had a Turkish chef who was on holiday.

Chicken or beef, I opted for chicken and placed my order.

I called Mrs. S.A.M. in from her Pokemon hunting. He explained the whole process again. She exclaimed, “That looks amazing, but I’m a vegetarian. That looks like it would be great with tofu!”

The man considers this and tells us that he used to own an Italian restaurant in Guanzhou, China. He said he never had tofu until he went there and grew to love it.

“Ah, I will make a vegetarian sandwich for you that is not on the menu!”  And he proceeds to bark out orders to the guy behind the counter who responded and made some suggestions of his own.  

He throws down a pita, smears on some yogurt, takes some Arugula and tears off only the tender parts.  Seriously, at a fast food street vendor, he tore the stems out of 12-15 individual leaves of arugula and laid them out strategically for maximum coverage.  Some tomatoes, pickles, etc.

“I love arugula”, he says. “I put it anywhere I can!”

We told him the sandwich should have a name.  “I don’t know, I guess a rocket sandwich?! Ha ha!”

I offer to pay for the extra creativity, but he waves me off.  “It is my compliments!” and then after we’re sitting outside he brings out two cold yogurt drinks with froth on top.  He called it Airon(sp?) and said it is a popular dish in Turkey.  “You will drink more Airon than water there.”

Sipping our icee cold, spoiled milk, we wondered together about this man’s story. Here’s a guy with a salad-greens fetish, speaking perfect English, who’s owned an Italian restaurant in China, now importing a Turkish sandwich concept to Jordan. How does that happen?  

We figured that it must be family that drew him back. This country is full of people with postponed dreams. Men or women who went away and did interesting things, but came back to care for mom or dad or in-laws and work the family business or on the side driving Uber or guiding tours.

When I started this entry, I was going to say that people were the other thing I’d miss. Their pride and kindness and stories like these.

But then I realized there are stories and people like this everywhere. I could go to the State Fair this summer and find a fried food vendor and if I stood and listened for long enough, I’d probably find an equally kind and proud person, who just might give me extra chocolate sauce for my deep fried twinkie.

                                                   

On Topik

Walking to the fruit store late one afternoon, we found a much less trafficked, safer path. We passed several Kaki Limas parked on a street corner.

Kaki Lima means 5 legs, and is the name of of the food cart vendors that are ubiquitous in Indonesia.  With their two wheel, foot stand and a man’s two legs, from afar they look like they have 5 legs. They serve noodles, rice, tempeh and soup, just about any form of food. I’m told the food is good, but hygiene standards are often lacking.

One of the men on the corner called over to me like a hawker at the fair. This is kind of unusual as mostly when we walk by, we are regarded quietly, sometimes with a smile.

But this guy called out in loud English, in a gravelly voice shaped by far too many filter-less cigarettes. 

“Hey! Come get nice fresh coconut milk!” He was waving a young, green coconut and a machete and smiling.

We walked over. “I don’t know if we can. We’re American. We have the stomachs of wimps.”

“Oooh, America… Barack Obama”  

This is what everyone here says when you tell them you’re from America. “Barack Obama!  He love Nasi Goreng! He live Indonesia.  He love Indonesia!”  Bilateral relations between our two countries are going to suffer a setback when he leaves office. Trust me.

Anyway, he gravels on.  “Coconut milk, all clean, all natural, no water, no ice, all coconut!”  I’m telling you it was like being at the fair.

“How much?”

“For you? $0.90.”  I’m sure he was inflating the price, but I said okay.

He picked up his machete, whacks the fruit over a plastic container and poured out the water.  A cloud of flies scattered.  Gulp!  He scooped out some of the flesh into the container.  “This will help you when you’re tired or dehydrated”

Then he dumped the whole thing into a clear plastic bag.  This is an Indonesian thing.  Liquids like soups or drinks are all served in plastic baggies tied up with rubber bands. He handed it off to me “Enjoy!”

I asked, “What is your name?”

“My name? My name is Topik.  You know, when you want to have a conversation you need a Topik!”

Later, walking back from the store we passed by again. It was growing dusk.  

He called from across the street.  “Mister, you like my coconut?!”

I held up the bag.  “I’ll try it at home!”

“Yes, okay mister!  Try it after your walk. Then...you will seeee...the vitaliteee... of da Coconut!”