Last time I went to the fatiroh shop near our campus was a single visit last year for a hawawshi fix. Today it was exceptionally cold and the mood called for a fatiroh. If I was lucky, maybe they'll have some fresh from the oven.
As it turned, the fatiroh were piping hot and the dancing asap beckoned me happily. I asked for one with jam.
"Wahid bas?" The guy asked.
"Aiwah."
He was entertaining an earlier patron so there was time for me to mull over the hot and sweet, fluffy fatiroh. Sinfully carbacide. It could probably take my appetite off Four Seasons Hotel's Chocolate Molten Cupcake and Costa's latte frappucino.
Why not?
I changed my order to one with jam and another one with sugar.
"Satu jem, satu gula?"
"Ehh?"
The only explanation for my lack of intelligible words was that Malay-speaking non-Malaysians always caught me off-guard. I gave out an awkward grin and a nod in an afterthought.
The thing that crossed my mind was, who taught this guy Malay?
He eyed my apparently grin-stuck face as he fixed up my order. I handed him an LE5 note.
"Dua ringgit." He said and handed me my fatirohs.
My face was still frozen with the awkward grin and automatically accepted the plastic bag.
He fished out some coins and dropped them into my palm. "Tiga ringgit."
"Shukran." And I left, still surprised.
Now that probably wasn't a good reaction. I resumed walking and that geared back my thinking.
As it turned, the fatiroh were piping hot and the dancing asap beckoned me happily. I asked for one with jam.
"Wahid bas?" The guy asked.
"Aiwah."
He was entertaining an earlier patron so there was time for me to mull over the hot and sweet, fluffy fatiroh. Sinfully carbacide. It could probably take my appetite off Four Seasons Hotel's Chocolate Molten Cupcake and Costa's latte frappucino.
Why not?
I changed my order to one with jam and another one with sugar.
"Satu jem, satu gula?"
"Ehh?"
The only explanation for my lack of intelligible words was that Malay-speaking non-Malaysians always caught me off-guard. I gave out an awkward grin and a nod in an afterthought.
The thing that crossed my mind was, who taught this guy Malay?
He eyed my apparently grin-stuck face as he fixed up my order. I handed him an LE5 note.
"Dua ringgit." He said and handed me my fatirohs.
My face was still frozen with the awkward grin and automatically accepted the plastic bag.
He fished out some coins and dropped them into my palm. "Tiga ringgit."
"Shukran." And I left, still surprised.
Now that probably wasn't a good reaction. I resumed walking and that geared back my thinking.
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