A Romantic Dinner for Scuzz

Hey there. Scott here. Flying solo tonight at the Grande Resto, Karaoke & Billard down the street from our homestay. It’s a Tuesday night, so there’s no karaoke. At least not here, at least not yet.

I just ordered dinner, flipping through the Indonesian menu for words I recognize. Ayam (chicken) about a dozen different ways, most with nasi (rice), and something spicey. I’m a little tired of ayam (I am ayam, as Veronica would say). Bakar sapi 34,000 Rp, at almost $3.50 grilled steak is a little out of my price range. Pasta with grilled eggplant? Oh come on, that’s too easy. Cumi goreng mentega, which is like fried calamari in some sort of a magical sauce, I must assume, since I don’t know what mentega means. I flip through my Indonesian phrase book while the waitress waits patiently, mentega… mentega… mentega... Nothing. Oh well. Hey, I knew two out of three words, that’s pretty good, cumi goreng mentega it is.

“Saya mau satu Bintang.” And a Bintang (which means star, I believe). An “international quality pilsner beer brewed with finest ingredients”, according to the label. Actually it’s my favorite in Padang, although the options are quite limited (I haven’t actually looked for any Belgian beer in Padang, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t here). It’s the Indonesian national beer served everywhere. We call it Binne for short.

Black Eyed Peas are playing inside the restaurant (not normal for Padang, normal for Grande Resto), I’m at a rackety little table outside by myself. Well, not really by myself. First there are the mosquitoes who so kindly have joined me this evening (last night they feasted on my feet), then there are a few other groups out for dinner or drinks as well. They all stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the bule (westerner) as I walked in off the street.

I’m kind of a big deal in Padang. The other day I was playing soccer with a bunch of little kids and I told them I was David Beckham. They laughed, one of them said he was Ronaldo, but they still called me Scass (pronounced Scuzz, my Indonesian nickname, when Skot just won’t translate).

It’s another warm evening in Padang. A typical evening in Padang is like the hottest night of the year in San Francisco. The one night a year I’d pull my sleeping bag out onto my futon and sleep under the stars. My Binnie arrives with a cold beer mug. Fantastic. That’s even hard to find back in the States. There are a few things the States could learn from Indo, and always offering a cold beer mug is one of them. The other is public transportation.

In Padang, when you sit down for dinner, the waitress who seated you hands out the menus and then waits for you to order. No chit chatting with your friends for a few minutes, straight to business and straight to the menu. The waitress (or waiter, excuse me) stands there waiting patiently for your order, while you flip through the menu. It’s quite hard to get them to go away and come back a few minutes later, so you need to order quick. Since the menu is all in another language anyway, I might as well flip through the pages with my eyes closed until someone says stop. Stop.
“Permisi.” My food has arrived. Fried squid with what appears to be a mellow sweet and sour sauce. Enak (delicious)! Served on a bed of lettuce and grilled onions, and covered in sauce. Everything in Padang is covered in sauce, lots of sauce, usually the kind that is so spicy my lips hurt and my nose goes for a run.

Stop what you’re doing. Come here immediately. Ice Ice Baby just came on in the restaurant. I’m not kidding. Wait for it… Yup. That was the greatest moment I’ve had in Padang so far.

There is something peaceful and enjoyable about having dinner by yourself on a warm mellow night in Padang. You’re halfway around the world from home, and no one else around you even speaks the same language. There’s a comfort somewhere in solitude. Of course, you’ve been keeping me company as well. J