Curry Favour

I have always loved curry and consider it something that's very close to my heart.

When I had my first sip of red wine at the ripe old age of nine -- right after Christmas Eve midnight mass -- it was with curry and bread.

Since then, I've always regarded red wine, curry and bread as comfort food.

And last week, I decided to whip up comfort food for the boys Stanley and Carl.

"Any food that's close to the heart is dangerous," reasoned Stanley. "It often leads to death in the form of clogged arteries," my fey friend said, licking his fingers and reaching for another piece of toasted French loaf which he promptly dipped into his bowl of curry.


That night, I asked the boys over for supper mainly because I hate wearing masks outside, but partly also because I was eager to try out a new curry recipe.

It was the recipe of my partner J's mum.

The family's prized recipe was imparted to me about a month ago, during a family dinner.

I was standing around J's kitchen where his mum was stir-frying the nonya dry curry, when she offered to teach me.

It was a tedious dish that involved throwing in candlenuts, shallots, garlic and lots and lots of pounding, as well as stir-frying of chili and curry powder.

Stanley my sex bunny friend was particularly looking forward to the dish.

Anything that involves lots and lots of pounding was always promising to Stanley.

"I can help you stir you know," Stanley said that evening as he hovered over my shoulder.

"I'm surprisingly good at one-hand action even if it means stir frying," he said.

Not wanting to be left out, Carl the gym rabbit flexed his python sized biceps and made guttral noises in the hope that his body of work can also be considered for the stir-frying job.

After some two hours, I was finally ready.

My first attempt at recreating J's mum's curry -- which was in fact a recipe passed down by J's grandmother -- was rather successful.

I followed her instructions to a tee (which meant pre-deep frying the chicken drumsticks before cooking them in the thick curry gravy).

"Adam, this is good and while I won't say this is better than sex, I dare say your curry is as good as sex," Stanley remarked, and proceeded to fit a large drumstick into his mouth to make his point.


Carl looked away like a modest nun but nodded eagerly and stuffed a curried potato in his mouth.

It was a hearty sight, seeing Stanley and Carl stuffing their faces over my near-perfect curry that was meaningful because it is a dish that's passed down from generation to generation.

In a way, I felt like a legit daughter-in-law who's been endorsed by the matron of the Peranakan household.

Also, I enjoy hosting.

Feeding friends has since become an endearing habit formed after getting my own place years ago.


"When my own place is ready," Stanley said in between chewing, "I'll also form a habit to have lots of people over for feeding," he added, making inverted comma signs with his fingers at the word feeding.


It took the boys 1/4 the time I had taken to cook the curry, to polish off their plates.

"I am so full from dinner that I think my stomach would explode and my intestines would spill out," said Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

"And it would be a departure from my norm because whenever I explode, it's something else other than intestines that would spill out," continued Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

Carl looked blue and bloated from his seat, and I wasn't sure if he was in that condition because of Stanley's visuals or my curry.

Then, Carl let out a satisfying belch, closed his eyes and smelt the air, and said "compliments to the chef".

As I brought out a tray of coffee for everyone to aid digestion, Stanley lay on his side and said "After all the activities I had been doing that mimic the steps to pregnancy, I think I finally know how it feels to be heavily pregnant."

Carl the dense one responded by patting his own tummy.

"Adam, if I die from indigestion, know that it was a good last supper. Go forth and tell everyone that I had indeed led a very full life -- right to my last breath," Stanley said gripping my wrist and speaking like someone was strangling him. 

Carl drowsily made the sign of the cross at Stanley, blessing our very full and theatrical friend.

"Adam, Carl, pen down the words I'm about to say," Stanley the drama queen said as he continued to lie on my couch as if it were his death bed.

"Listen carefully. These are the words you would engrave on my tombstone if I die," he said tearfully.

Stanley Ong

1979 - 2020
All his life, he'd been dying to be laid (to rest) and now that he's officially and eternally bottom (of this grave), Stanley is happy. 

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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people