Chope: A Noodle Stall Vanishes

The first time it happened, I assumed they just didn't open on Mondays. The next, I thought perhaps someone was ill. But after driving past many times on different days at different hours, I saw no other explanation—the Singaporean prawn mee stall on Jalan Tun HS Lee that I loved so much is no more.

It was as humble as any eatery can be. A tiny stall in a tiny alley, surrounded by big, noisy buses spewing smoke. Run by an elderly couple with some help, the stall never called attention to itself. Noodle soup, unlike say, fried rice, don't require a lot of noise in its preparation. No clanging of woks, nor the sizzle of garlic on hot oil. And the subtlety of its aroma probably got lost in the urban air, defeated by the more invasive smells of everyday city life. While the city hustled all around it, service was never harried here.

I never even knew the name of the stall—or if it had one—always referring to it simply as Singaporean Prawn Mee. There was little concern about confusion—I knew no other place that served a similar menu. The signature dish was, of course, its namesake. Despite what it was called, however, I don't think I've even seen the same dish in the island down south.

The broth was rich and hearty, sweet with the flavour of prawns and pork (probably MSG too, but whatever). Unlike the usual prawn mee one finds everywhere in the city, spiciness is optional. A jar of chilli powder sits on every table, for you to heat your soup to preference. The stall also served various soups, like pork meatball or pig's tail with peanuts, though I suspect they all came from the same pot of stock.

Opened only at night, the stall had been there as long as I can remember. Yet, in these times where the meaning of life can be found via a Google search, I could scarcely find any information about where they've gone. Asking a nearby restaurant was no help either. No one else seems to be mourning its loss, so maybe it wasn't as popular as I remembered.

Did they emigrate, becoming one of the hundred over thousand Malaysians who have given up on this country in the past decade? Or did they just figure that it was probably time to call it a day and retire to a nice big house in a gated community outside KL? Or God forbid, did someone become gravely ill?

The old man who started the stall in the '60s had been running his business for longer than I've been alive. I've often wondered what it must be like to be him, serving his noodles on the sidewalk, day in, day out, while the city changed around him.

But memory is a strange thing. I struggle to remember what this city was like before the Selangor Turf Club was shut down to make way for KLCC. Even though that only happened in late 1992. Yet, I can remember clearly the way my best friend's hair looked like when we went for Vanilla Ice's concert in KL.

I can only vaguely recall what it was like driving around the city before we were thrown towards this era of tolled "highways." Or before cars became a necessity. I can even smell in my head what it was like to be in a speeding, crowded bas mini on a rainy day, with all the windows up.

I once struck up a conversation with the stall owner, asking what was possibly the most uninteresting question one could ask.

"How long have you been doing this, uncle?"
"About 30 years," he said.
"That's a long time."
He smiled a little. "I blinked my eye, and decades passed by."

Things change. Sometimes for the better. Other times, for the worse. In either case, it's important to recognise it when they do. Even if it's just the end of the line for a simple noodle stall.


Brian Yap can't stand prawns or many other shellfish. But for some odd reason, prawn mee is considered acceptable. E-mail him at brian@freeform.com.my