We dined at Hans for the second time in as many days. Hans. HAiNaneSe. The food isn't spectacular, or particularly cheap for the fare dished up. But it has become comfort food. It's where I can find familiar tastes of a palatable variety to suit most moods, served with satisfactory consistency and at reasonable prices. If I delve deeper into why Hans has become comfort food, part of the reason is that my dad has always enjoyed his post-meal dose of Teh-C and pastries there, and the other part is that the localized (Hainanese) western fare reminds me of home-cooking. The kind that I grew up liking.

 

Good, comforting familiarity was probably what I needed after the trips to the hospital yesterday and today. Grandma isn't getting better, and we will have to accept that and stop feeling frustrated, and start empathizing more. I see her frail body and pained expression, and all I wish is for her to be well again. I see her back when I was six; she's frying potato wedges for her rendition of western food after my constant badgering. I see her preparing breakfast for me before the school bus arrived. I see her seven years ago, trying to cope after grandpa's demise by baking her 'bowl' cakes and yam cakes. We probably didn't realize then that hiding in the kitchen was her way of coping; we only saw the copious amount of cakes and her fading sense of proportion, and memory. And I see her last year, telling me as I was baking, how much Sanyi used to do the same. And I see her these days, like a meek kitten, waving her hand for the umpteenth time asking me to go home.

 

So perhaps, after a good dose of sobering reality, my subconscious search for solace led me to the place which does it the way, although not as good, as Grandpa and Grandma did it.

 

I foresee many a dollar will be spent on Hans' Hainanese pork chop set.