On Sundays, I crave dimsum. I felt the craving quite strongly on this peculiar Sunday, and so I woke up from my post-fajr nap at 7am, crawled out of bed, dressed my body in sweat pants and a t-shirt, slid on my favourite pair of socks, the grey ones with an avocado print, put on my lucky pink running shoes and headed out to the grocery store nearby.
At the store, I became laser-focused on the mission: pick up frozen siomay, red bean bao buns, plain mantau buns, and shrimp hakau, and maybe grab other little things like a canned beverage as well. I headed to the fridge and claimed my bags of frozen goodies which I dropped inside my red shopping basket. To my delight, I saw a packet of frozen xiao long bao dimsum and chicken gyoza – I couldn’t resist and so I added two extra items into my basket. I then searched the canned beverage aisle for something sweet and peachy and found a can of peach-flavoured milk soda which went straight into the basket. Mission completed.
*
I started eating dimsum on Sundays when I was a university student. At the time, my four friends, Lila, Intan, Eka, David, and I were broke and hungry university students in Jogja, looking for food to fill our bellies. In the beginning, we tried all kinds of food to eat. We tried Italian food, pizza, pasta, lasagne, which was satisfyingly delicious but was sometimes too greasy and cheesy to stomach. We then moved on to Japanese food, sushi, chicken katsu and curry rice, ramen noodles, which suited our taste buds but eventually became boring when we ate too much of it. We also tried Indian food, colourful curries, naan bread, gulab jamun soaked in sweet rose water, which was incredibly flavourful but was too fancy in Indonesia and would therefore make a dent in our pockets. We needed something delicious but not too greasy, filling but not too fancy, practical but not too boring.
One Sunday, when us girls were sitting front and centre of the electric fan to cool ourselves in Lila’s room, Intan asked me, “Nisa, you got any ideas for brunch?” We skipped breakfast and it was getting close to lunch time, so brunch would be our first meal of the day. “How about something Chinese?” I asked the girls. “That could work,” Lila chimed in and suggested, “how about dimsum?” And we all nodded our heads in agreement. We let the boys know in the group chat to meet us at Fat Choi’s Dimsum; it was the restaurant with the best ratings in a good area not too far from where we were, which seemed ideal. The boys replied with a thumbs up emoji, and off we went.
*
Back at the apartment, my t-shirt and sweatpants were lightly soaked in rain water. It had drizzled and I forgot to bring my navy blue umbrella with me on the way out. I was glad I made it back home before the rain got too heavy, that would’ve ruined the whole day and I was counting on today to be a good day. I walked over to my dusty kitchen, a place that’s rarely used because I often ate outside or ordered takeout, but not today.
In the kitchen, I moved like a delicate dancer. After emptying my shopping bag and unwrapping the dimsums, I grabbed my bamboo steamer, the one I bought on a whim from browsing online shops late in the night that one time, which was as wide as the width of my chest from the shelf above. I arrange pieces of shrimp hakau, red bean bao buns, xiao long bao, and siomay in quarters inside the bamboo container.
After adding water to a pot that was the same size as my steamer, I turned the right side of the stove on and set down the pot with the bamboo steamer on top of it.
Whilst keeping a watchful eye on the steaming dimsums, I poured oil in a round and domed wok and began the process of frying mantau buns on the left side of the stove. Once I saw little bubbles form in the hot cooking oil, I carefully dipped pieces of plain mantau buns inside into the wok. With a spatula, I buried the buns into its hot oil bath so that it would submerge, and flipped them over methodically until they’re golden brown. On a plate that had a sheet of paper towel which would soak up the excess oil, I layed down the cooked mantau buns. Soon enough, the twenty minutes of steaming time was over, and I turned the right side of the stove off.
For the gyoza pieces, I decided to pan sear them. I grabbed a flat pan and added some of the hot oil that I had just used for the mantau buns. I carefully set down pieces of chicken gyoza into the hot pan, and gently squashed each gyoza down to the pan with my spatula. I flipped them over, added two and a half tablespoons of water and closed the pan with its glass lid. Once it was ready, I lifted the lid open which released the steam that was forming inside the pan. The dimsums glistened with perfection, and my hungry eyes took it all in before my stomach did.
*
At Fat Choi’s Dimsum on that very first Sunday, we came with no expectations. We were ushered in by a male server who wore a cooking apron which suggested he was also the chef to a round table next to the window. There were many options to choose from that we could order; we ordered what spoke to us then, and for what we didn’t order we vowed to try it the next time.
Soon enough, one by one, each plate of our dimsums arrived at our table. Before we could dig in, Lila took an aesthetic picture of our food, arranging the plates here and there so that it would all align into an Instagrammable picture. With a few clicks of her phone’s camera, she was satisfied. “Okay, done!” she announced, and finally we dug in, chopsticks at the ready, chowing down delicious dimsum.
“How about,” Intan said in the middle of us chewing and swallowing dimsum, “every Sunday, we have dimsum for brunch?” Though it was never explicitly said by any of us, we all knew that each of us had become busier and busier, juggling responsibilities here and there, but we still wanted to make time for each other. What we needed was a ritual that would act as a glue to keep us together, and what better way to meet than to make eating at the centre of the plan? “Sure,” I said with excitement, “let’s call it our Dimsum Sunday!”
*
I brushed off the dust on my little dining table. At the centre, I put down the big bamboo container which cradled the steamed dimsums with its lid off. On one side, I set down the plate of fried mantau along with a little dipping tray that carried condensed milk. On the other side, I laid down my plate of pan seared chicken gyoza and a little sauce bowl filled with soy sauce. In a glass cup shaped like a can, I filled it up with ice and poured in the peachy milk soda. I sat down at the table with my glass can, plate and orange chopsticks, facing the window which showed a view of rainy Jakarta, ready to devour dimsum.
*
It’s funny how I can’t fully describe what it is that Lila, Intan, Eka, or David do for a day job, but I can name their usual orders at the dimsum shop. And if it weren’t for Google calendar reminders, I would probably forget to send them a happy birthday text, but I can visualise the exact way they eat their savoury and sweet dimsums and what they drink to wash it all down. These details that I’ve carried with me of my friends are valuable pieces of observations which I’ve picked up from our Dimsum
Sundays.
We’re usually the most obnoxious ones, talking and laughing the loudest and most importantly the ones having the most fun, or at least that’s what it seemed like to us. Lila orders hakau, those shrimp dumplings wrapped in rice paper that glisten from the steam are her favourite, which arrives first. Then the server brings my plate of lumpia udang kulit tahu, and I dig in almost immediately because I’m starving. Next to my plate of lumpia udang kulit tahu is a plate of cheong fan, and I know it’s Intan who ordered it. Soon enough, Eka’s lo mai gai arrives along with the Chinese tea that we ordered to share which comes in a ceramic teapot. There’s pieces of golden friend plain mantau and a dipping tray carrying sweet condensed milk – our little dessert which we wait to cool down and enjoy later. There will be times when we order too much dimsum, we can’t help it that we’re hungry, but it’s okay because David will eat almost anything that’s on the table which the rest of us can’t fit in our stomachs.
*
After devouring two shrimp hakaus, one xiao long bao, one siomay, half of a piece of chicken gyoza, half of a piece of fried mantau, I was full. I had made too much dimsum for myself to eat, and I wished now more than ever that I had my university friends with me to help me finish the food I cooked. I texted my sister, “Hey, I made too much dimsum for brunch today, can I come over and bring the leftovers for you to eat?” to which she replied, “How did you make too much?” “I was hungry!” I texted back and could almost hear her sigh from the other end. “Fine, bring them over for dinner, we’ll eat together.”
*
After we graduated from university, each of us moved from Jogja to the big city of Jakarta one by one for jobs. It was wonderful continuing the tradition in a new place whilst we embarked on a new season of our lives. We went from bickering about school assignments to venting about office drama over dimsum in a blink of an eye.
And when work and life became too hectic to balance, Dimsum Sundays became an event that we would schedule in our digital calendars. It all felt very adult to become someone who needed to check their schedule on a digital calendar to confirm something like a coffee date, but then I realised I actually am an adult, which was strange to come to terms with because I felt like more of a tall child instead of a grown adult. There were other events that came alongside Dimsum Sundays like engagement parties, weddings, baby showers, it was a mark which signalled that everyone was growing older, and it tasted both sweet and bitter. Nowadays, Dimsum Sunday rarely makes an appearance in my digital calendar. Three out of five of us have moved out of town, and two of those three don’t even live in Indonesia anymore.
David was the first one to leave Jakarta. He got a job working for his father’s company in Taiwan and was in no position to turn it down. We all encouraged him to go for it, because why not? And so he went for it, and we got together for one last time. We had dinner at Julia’s Italian Kitchen and ordered pizzas. We toasted our glasses of strawberry virgin mojitos to the next adventure of David’s life and wished him well. At the end of the night, we said our goodbyes, and David screamed “LATER SLUTS!” from the back of his ojek. We all laughed with tears in our eyes.
Intan had the longest serious relationship out of all of us. The rest of us had relationships and flings which didn’t last, but Intan and Bagus’ story was different. They dated in our third semester, and got married two years after graduation. The picture of us on her wedding day still hangs above my bed; Intan in her white bridal attire and jasmin flowers in her hair, Lila in her lavender kebaya, Eka in his grey batik button down shirt and black trousers, and me in my gold top and beige batik skirt, all of us frozen in time. Eka even edited David into the picture using a picture of him from one of the halloween parties we threw back in our university days when he dressed up as Rich Brian. The picture never fails to make me smile. On that night, we danced, we laughed, we hugged. And on my way back home, it dawned on me that Intan would probably have less time for us than ever before now that she has a family of her own to care for. And sure enough, we saw her less after she had become a mum to the most precious girl, Nora, my non-blood-related niece. It was as I had expected, but I was happy for her nonetheless.
Lila was the most ambitious of us. She was going places, and it wasn’t long until she took off to pursue her postgraduate studies in the UK. I remember Eka and I sending Lila off at the airport; she was bundled up in a thick coat that made her sweat from the tropical heat but would later keep her warm in Europe’s cold weather. I hugged her goodbye and dropped in little packets of Tolak Angin in her coat pocket. “Are you coming back?” I asked her, “Of course I’m coming back!” she said. “Do you know when?” I asked. “No, but when I do you’ll be the first to know,” she said. She came back to Jakarta one spring break ago bearing gifts; a drawing pad with a set of charcoal pencils for Eka, a bag of spiced chai leaves and butter biscuits for me, and an Oxford University baby bib which she gave to Intan for little Nora. Afterwards, she flew back to London, graduated from her master’s degree studies, then moved on to pursue her PhD in Edinburgh. I see snippets of her life on Instagram which she often updates, and press like on all of it – a picture of her afternoon tea meal, the trees at the park she visits, the view from her library’s window – to let her know that I’m still here in case she forgets.
On the Friday that I got promoted to Senior Reporter by Batavia Daily, I announced the news to Eka and Intan during our Dimsum Sunday meal. “Congratulations!” they both squealed in excitement. “We’re so proud of you,” said Intan. “You deserve it,” said Eka. I thanked them and we all toasted our glasses of iced black tea. Then Intan had something to announce; she, Bagus and Nora are moving to Bali. “Why Bali?” I asked. “Well, Nora’s almost ready for school and Bali just has some of the best schools for kids, so we’re moving there for her and it should be good for Bagus and me too,” said Intan. And so two weeks after, Intan, Bagus and Nora moved to their new home in Bali. That left me and Eka still in Jakarta, but my new role as Senior Reporter for Batavia Daily meant that they could send me to all sorts of places around the country to cover news so I was out of town quite a lot. I didn’t know it then, but that time the three of us got together was the last time I’d have Dimsum Sunday with my university friends. For a while, I felt guilty for barely seeing Eka but then I saw on social media that he had found a new circle of friends who he met at work, and I stopped feeling so guilty. I wasn’t mad that he’d made new friends, if anything I was happy that he met new people to hang around with. Though I don’t think he and his new friends have eaten dimsum together on a Sunday, and I’m deluded enough to also think that he meant to not do that with them, because it was always our thing.
*
On my commute to the South side of town to get to my sister’s house, I walked through Chinatown. There were hundreds of places to eat around me, but one place in particular caught my attention: Awesome Dimsum. I walked to the dimsum shop and peeped inside. Amidst the groups of people eating at their round tables and servers walking back and forth from table to table, I saw an empty round table fit for five people, and I felt my heart aching. I could see us together again, and I yearned for those times. I grabbed my phone from the inside pocket of my jacket, went to our group chat which hasn’t been active in a long while and typed “I miss you guys” in the message bar. Then my thumb started to hover between the send and erase keys.
About the Author:
Ghina Furqan is a writer of Indonesian heritage currently based in West Java. She writes poetry, personal essays, fiction stories, and journalistic reports. Her work has been featured in Magdalene Indonesia, Buah Zine, Word In Progress ID, and Everyday Muslim Heritage UK. She posts early drafts on Instagram (@ghinaafurqanwrites), and rambles on Medium (@ghinafurqan).
*Feature image by Olesya Yemets on Unsplash
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