Last Saturday was supposed to be an ordinary trip to the mall. The kind of mall day that happens almost on a regular basis that autopilot kind. The SM city Clark was doing its usual thing like the people drifting between shops, cold air from the AC clinging to everyone like a second shirt, the lights giving you the impression that it wasn’t already evening outside. I was with my husband and my brother, our footsteps naturally syncing the way they always do, with no actual plan and more by instinct. Hunger eventually was felt and decided.
We ended up at Fortune, the Chinese restaurant tucked inside SM City Clark. It wasn’t our first time there, but somehow every visit feels slightly different. We took our seats inside but I was secretly hoping we took the table outside where I see the passersby. I don't know the crowd makes me feel claustrophobic but I did not want to make a debate as I am too famish. The menus barely needed. Some choices have already made themselves permanent. The usual the familiar and for some reasons I am feeling like those tech people who eat the same meal each day.
I am talking about lumpiang shanghai, of course. That crisp, golden promise of familiarity. Siomai, because my husband has a long-standing devotion to it, especially when paired with that peanuty chili oil he loves mixing together like a ceremony. And who would ever expect chicken feet, glossy and unapologetic, resting in their small bamboo steamer like they know they aren’t for everyone right?.
But then there was the fried rice.
Or at least, something pretending to be fried rice.
When it arrived, I didn’t recognize it at first. It wasn’t spread casually across a plate like fried rice usually is. It wasn’t scattered, loose, or careless. Instead, it stood there in the center, wrapped completely in egg. A perfect dome. Smooth. Golden. Quiet.
It looked less like food and more like a secret.
The egg casing was thin but intentional, holding everything inside. Those small bubbles that dotted the surface is making it look creepy, like it had breathed while cooking. What kind of thoughts am I having just looking at it. The light garnish of chopped green onions made it look like food to me after all. Nobody announced it. Nobody needed to.
I stared at it longer than I meant to.
There is something about seeing something familiar presented in an unfamiliar way. Fried rice is supposed to be predictable. Comforting. Background noise. But this wasn’t background. This was the main character.
I remember thinking how strange it was that rice something so basic, so everyday could suddenly look important.
When the spoon broke through the egg layer, the illusion dissolved. Inside was the fried rice itself. Darker than usual. Moist yes it is unusually moist. It is compact. Each grain clinging slightly to the next, held together by whatever gooey thing had happened inside that egg shell. Steam escaped quietly.
It felt like opening something alive. That really creeped me out just saying it
The texture was different too. Not dry. Not loose. There was weight to it. Intent. The egg wasn’t just decoration it had shaped the rice, sealed it, protected it while it became something else. The flavors felt contained, earthy, deeper somehow. Less scattered.
I realized then that presentation isn’t just visual. It changes your expectation. It changes your attention as it picks on your crazy thoughts.
You taste differently when you’re curious right?.
Around it, everything else existed in its own place. The lumpiang shanghai snapped cleanly with each bite, I like it the earthy umami taste I dissected it hahaha to figure out what that taste could be. I saw some green onions maybe and I think those gave it that earthy taste I like. The siomai sat in its familiar comfort zone, reliable and steady but the steamer looked like plastic to me not sure. My husband dipped each one into chili oil, as if repeating a ritual that is his moment and his favorite condiment I don't blame him. The chicken feet glistened, bold and unapologetic, their rich sauce refusing to be ignored but it is not for me. I kept returning to the egg-wrapped rice. I love the deep golden yellow color and texture of the egg on my mouth.
There is something almost emotional about encountering food that surprises you without trying to impress you. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It just creepy a little and different.
And that was enough.
A dome of egg holding fried rice.
We finished the meal the way we always do which is slowly, conversations between silence and small observations. It simply was satisfying and comforting.
Keep learning and exploring! Always be curious and never stop learning new things.
