(published by The Jakarta Post on 31 Aug 2010. Click here)
One of the many things we do when we want to make our parents happy is taking them out to dinner at our favorite restaurants, to savor our best culinary discoveries.
My late father always expected me to take him to a warung (vendor) that served soto (chicken or meat soup) or pecel (assorted steamed vegetables dipped in peanut sauce) whenever I returned to my hometown. Taste-wise, for him, this was hardly any different to the food my mother prepared, and there was no particularity in the warung we visited, as long as they served those dishes. The meals were extraordinary because we were dining together. The rare moments we spent together chatting over meals were so special for him.
During my college years in Surabaya, East Java, he always looked forward to the times when I returned home. Each time he knew I would come home during the school break he would keep his stomach empty until I arrived. When we arrived at a warung he would proudly introduce me to the owner.
When I finished my studies and worked in Surabaya, my father sometimes visited me, too. I usually took him to a warung for rujak cingur (vegetable and fruit salad with slices of cow muzzle, served with shrimp paste/petis udang) or soto Madura (meat soup from Madura island, East Java). These were really enjoyable moments with him, which I remember fondly to this day.
I always get the same feeling whenever I come across a family having dinner together with their parents at a restaurant. I praise the sons and daughters for their willingness to share happiness with their loved ones. A story about a family dining, however, bogged my memory a little.
One day, I was chatting with a friend of mine on how little our parents eat in their senior years because of their receding appetites. My friend then started to tell a story about his favorite restaurant that he usually took his wife to for dinner after work. The restaurant applied a unique discount policy, based on the age of its customers. The rule was that you had to show your identity card (KTP) to a waiter before you ordered. One card could be used for a maximum of eight people. After showing the card, you were entitled to order as much as you wanted, but another rule said you could not take the remaining food home.
“So if I was 40 years old?” I asked.
“Then you would get a 40 percent discount,” my friend said.
“Wow, that’s pretty big,” I said. “I should have taken my late father there for dinner,” I said, imagining getting an 80 percent discount — since he was 80 years old.
“But the restaurant doesn’t serve soto, pecel or rujak cingur. Do you think your father would still have been keen to eat there?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. My friend was right. Would I have taken my father to a restaurant to make him happy or just for the discounts?
My friend continued his story. He said he often saw old men and women in their late 70s stepping out of luxury cars in front of the restaurant. Some arrived in wheelchairs, while others had to be supported because they could not walk by themselves. After the families were seated, they would show the KTP of the old men or women to the waiters and begin to order.
“I hope their moms and dads feel happy and enjoy the food,” I told my friend.
“I hope so too,” my friend replied very softly.
***
Serpong, 31 July 2010
Titus J.
One of the many things we do when we want to make our parents happy is taking them out to dinner at our favorite restaurants, to savor our best culinary discoveries.
My late father always expected me to take him to a warung (vendor) that served soto (chicken or meat soup) or pecel (assorted steamed vegetables dipped in peanut sauce) whenever I returned to my hometown. Taste-wise, for him, this was hardly any different to the food my mother prepared, and there was no particularity in the warung we visited, as long as they served those dishes. The meals were extraordinary because we were dining together. The rare moments we spent together chatting over meals were so special for him.
During my college years in Surabaya, East Java, he always looked forward to the times when I returned home. Each time he knew I would come home during the school break he would keep his stomach empty until I arrived. When we arrived at a warung he would proudly introduce me to the owner.
When I finished my studies and worked in Surabaya, my father sometimes visited me, too. I usually took him to a warung for rujak cingur (vegetable and fruit salad with slices of cow muzzle, served with shrimp paste/petis udang) or soto Madura (meat soup from Madura island, East Java). These were really enjoyable moments with him, which I remember fondly to this day.
I always get the same feeling whenever I come across a family having dinner together with their parents at a restaurant. I praise the sons and daughters for their willingness to share happiness with their loved ones. A story about a family dining, however, bogged my memory a little.
One day, I was chatting with a friend of mine on how little our parents eat in their senior years because of their receding appetites. My friend then started to tell a story about his favorite restaurant that he usually took his wife to for dinner after work. The restaurant applied a unique discount policy, based on the age of its customers. The rule was that you had to show your identity card (KTP) to a waiter before you ordered. One card could be used for a maximum of eight people. After showing the card, you were entitled to order as much as you wanted, but another rule said you could not take the remaining food home.
“So if I was 40 years old?” I asked.
“Then you would get a 40 percent discount,” my friend said.
“Wow, that’s pretty big,” I said. “I should have taken my late father there for dinner,” I said, imagining getting an 80 percent discount — since he was 80 years old.
“But the restaurant doesn’t serve soto, pecel or rujak cingur. Do you think your father would still have been keen to eat there?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. My friend was right. Would I have taken my father to a restaurant to make him happy or just for the discounts?
My friend continued his story. He said he often saw old men and women in their late 70s stepping out of luxury cars in front of the restaurant. Some arrived in wheelchairs, while others had to be supported because they could not walk by themselves. After the families were seated, they would show the KTP of the old men or women to the waiters and begin to order.
“I hope their moms and dads feel happy and enjoy the food,” I told my friend.
“I hope so too,” my friend replied very softly.
***
Serpong, 31 July 2010
Titus J.
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