Jasmine, Justine Just Met

Jasmine, Justine Just Met



Abdul Rahim Said (C) October 2013.





The distinctive but undefinable yet unforgettable smell of frying salt fish wafting in the air takes me back to a cold day in Melbourne.



I was an exchange student at Melbourne University living in an apartment that was within walking distance of China Town and Victoria Market where students often shop for their provisions. On one unusually cold day, my girl friend, Jasmine and I were nominated to shop for an Asian students' group annual cook out. Relatively new to Melbourne and not well schooled in culinary arts, I was hardly aware that students from all over the world, in this cosmopolitan city could find almost every ingredient they needed to prepare dishes using recipes prescribed by mothers back in their own homeland.



We visited Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Vietnamese retail stores looking for supplies requested by our would-be student chefs at the cookout. By the time we were done, my beat up station wagon was packed with green onions, Korean kimchee, lemon grass, Indonesian tempe, tamarind juice, fish heads, ox tongue, oxtail, "belacan" or prawn paste from Malaysia, prawn crackers, fish sauce or "nampla" from Thailand and other exotic spices from the Orient.



On the way back to the apartment, Jasmine requested a detour to a little store selling thorny fruits or 'durian' in season from Malaysia. She said the word with that gentle Malay accent asking me to follow her by breaking up the word into three syllables 'du', 'ri' 'an'. But my accent produced 'duri anne'. She cracked up. But the smell that came into the car with the fruit almost ruined my entire day. It was garlicky, sweet, awful flavour I have ever known. Added to the spices and herbs the durian in a closed car on a cold day was beyond words.



Jasmine threw in a bit of historical information that Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of Singapore, ran away the first time he was introduced to the fruit. She said many whites have a hatred for the fruit on their first encounter but once they tasted its soft, creamy, ice-cream like flesh they would return for more.



By late afternoon, the tiny kitchen of our apartment was abuzz with enthusiastic cooks unskilled in culinary arts, frantically pitting their efforts together for an all Asian dinner. The aromatic smells of sautéed curry spices, lemongrass from steaming 'tom yam' soup, strong garlic presence in 'kimchee', fragrant coconut rice and the indescribable durian, made for a heady concoction.



John, a tall, nosy next door guy from the Gold Coast, staggered in following his curious nose and was assailed by unfamiliar smells, muttering , "What is this?" as he sniffed and coughed on the sharp throat tickling smell of fried chilies only to sneak back into his apartment without a word.



Asian music streamed melodiously in the background. Everyone was in a festive mood and as Victoria Bitter found a spot, someone cracked the generic light bulb joke, only this time it was the Asian rather than the Irish who was the victim.



Then someone burst into a melancholic Malay folk sing-along, "Rasa Sayang" followed by "Waltzing Matilda", a rendition of naughty ditties and a long loud trail of raucous laughter.



I was the only non Asian student in the group invited after repeated pestering by Jasmine whom I have been dating over the last three months. The rest were students from Southeast Asian countries. They were quite accommodating, tolerating me since they adored Jasmine and she liked me and could also have been because I was partly Asian myself. But I looked more like an all white guy from the Midwest without a trace of Asian in my appearance. "A token American" as one of the boys jokingly labelled me.



During the last Skype chat with my parents, Dad concluded that I seemed to have a preference for Asian girls because my Mom was American born Japanese. "But Dad, Jasmine is not at all like Mom! She is Malaysian". I insisted.



"What does that mean?" Dad asked in his Mid Western drawl.



"Well, she is from Malaysia!"



"Is that near Micronesia?" Dad asked not very knowledgable of the region's geography.



"No Dad, she is an adorable girl from the Malay Peninsula. It's South of Thailand, North of Singapore and East of Sumatra and about seven hours from Melbourne".



" I have to look it up. Anyway, it would have been better for you to date a girl from here in Columbus, Ohio or at worst California where your Mom came from. That way we could easily have dinner together once in a while".



"Dad, it is not that time yet!"



"Well, you've been dating this girl for three months now! Don't we get to see her?" Mom's voice boomed over the speakers.



I clicked on Jasmine's picture and posted it on line. That smiling picture of Jasmine I snapped a week ago after she dyed her hair brown made her look glamourous. It glowed in the sunlight to match her tanned skin. Her long eye lashes and high cheek bones always reminded me of the famous Latin American star, Eva Mendez.



"My, my, she is gorgeous! You have good taste my son!" Dad said loudly. "How come she has double eye lids? Did she have to see a plastic surgeon too!" An obvious sarcastic remark about my mother's makeover, followed by a gentle pat on the face from Mom. Dad laughed.



This has been going on in our family for years about Mom wanting to look Caucasian while Dad kept telling her that he married her for her Asian look, now he could hardly recognise his bride!



Our apartment door opened, John returned sheepishly bearing a bottle of Jacob's Creek white wine, a selection of Australian finest cheese and crackers on a worn out board, offering them to everyone but was politely turned down by the uninitiated Asians, yet unaccustomed to the snack. I remembered a remark someone once made that cheese, particularly Blue cheese had a smell resembling old socks. I could not help but remind him that Asians have yet to acquire the taste.



I knew that well. In my own family my mother when forced to serve Dad Blue cheese, would more often than not, politely pinched her nose and walked away. I take after my Dad and enjoyed all kinds of cheese.



To oblige John, I took a piece with the crackers on offer. He told me that Australia produced excellent cheese. He himself preferred Cuore Blu Burrata, mozzarella sac with a soft buttery centre of fresh cream, often described as “delicate, soft silky curds" and handcrafted with loving care in Melbourne itself.



He suggested that Jasmine and I should join him the following week at La Latteria on Elgin St. Carlton, in return for inviting him to the cookout. He said that was the best place to try Melbourne Italian cheese with some wine from Jacob's Creek that was world famous. "May be we could even try Australian style fondue there!"



Jasmine and I were at a loss for words because we were not sure who amongst us had invited John. Politely, I told him, "Of course, Jasmine and I would be more than happy to join you!" At the back of my mind was that thought that "Here's another excuse to pry Jasmine from her textbooks and her possessive bunch of groupie Malay girls!"



My parents too were curious about Asians and cheese. Over Skype they asked whether Jasmine liked it. "She has tried Australian mild cheddar with my gentle persuasion. We do occasionally eat soft Edam with green apples. She doesn't mind cheese and tomatoes on pizza when we eat out at our favourite pizza parlour. Or some parmesan on the spaghetti that I tried cooking for her myself recently. But blue cheese on crackers is definitely not on with her".



"There you go Jack, what did I tell you. Asians, like me, do not enjoy cheese. I am beginning to like this girl already! What else doesn't she eat?" Asked Mom, curious as always about all girls that I date.



"She does not eat pork or drink alcohol".



"I knew it. She must be Jewish" replied Dad without waiting for a further explanation.



"Yea, Dad, sure! You are very close there!" I replied sarcastically, "If you knew your history, the Arabs and Jews are actually distant cousins. She is Muslim Dad! Her forefathers came from the Middle East. Her mother is partly Japanese".



"Honey!" Mom replied softly. "Now, you see she has that genetic magnetic Japanese appeal. But the other...!" She hardly finished her sentence when Dad blurbed out, "I have nothing against religion but wasn't it the same country where they bombed a pub and many died a few years ago?"



"Dad, that's Bali, Indonesia. Jasmine is from Kuala Lumpur and is far from being violent in any way. She comes from a well educated Malay middle class family with very liberal views. I have met her parents during their last visit here in Melbourne!" I replied volunteering information that I knew would trigger another round of ethnocentric comments from my conservative Midwestern American parents.



"So, she took you to meet her parents. But we only got to see her picture this instant! I hope you have some explanation. Do I sense that this Jasmine is gently twisting our son's hand there, Jack?"



"Yea, sounds like it!" Dad responded.



"Mom, Dad. No arm twisting. We love being together" I responded.



"Please tell me again your plans!" Dad asked pointedly.



"I am on my Junior year abroad. She is in her final year".



"So, she is older than you?" Mom asked.



"Be wary of the cougar, son!" Dad said with a big grin.



"No way! None of the above. She is one year younger. In Australia, you are able to obtain your degree in three years. She has double promotions in school and started college at seventeen. I started at eighteen and by the time I get back to the US and complete my Senior Year, I would be twenty-two".



"Justine, dear" Mom replied "What are you gonna do? You guys are not going steady are you? From what I gather, she'll get her degree this year. You have another year to go. Is she going back to Malaysia to work?"



"No, Mom. She may go to the US for her Master's".



"So, both of you plan to live together?" Mom quickly concluded.



"No Mom. Let's put this way, we'll be near each other but cannot live together!"



"Now, seriously, Justine!" Dad, butted in.



"Dad, Muslims of opposite sex can't even be in the same room alone without a chaperone, never mind living together!"



"But you are not Muslim!"



"Well, she is!" I emphasised. "Jasmine told me that in Malaysia the religious police occasionally arrest unmarried couple found in 'close proximity' or alone together in a room!"



Dad cracked up, "Your Mom and I would have been arrested many times then!" They both laughed uncontrollably while I tried to keep a straight face.



I managed a smile and replied, "You are not Muslims. Jasmine said that these overzealous religious police do break down doors of hotels and private apartments, from time to time to catch unmarried Muslim couples in her country!"



"What a strange country! Justin, just be very careful! You are alone in Melbourne. We are too far away to offer you immediate help!" Mom cautioned. "Anyway, you carry on and chat with Dad while I go to the kitchen. I have to check on my roast beef in the oven!"



She disappeared from view. Dad put his face close to the camera and said, "If you were to marry this Muslim girl, what else do you need to do?"



"We haven't gone that far yet, Dad! But from what I understand, non Muslims marrying Muslims would have to convert, Dad!" I told him gently. I paused for a few seconds to watch for his reaction about conversion to Islam. But he did not react, so I proceeded with the next statement that I certainly knew would make him squeamish, "For men, conversion also involves circumcision".



"Ouch, Justin, in your twenties, it would be damn painful! Sounds like a Jewish custom to me! But Jewish boys are circumcised at birth! Is she worth all that trouble?"



"Dad, you asked me and I told you. But we have not even mentioned marriage. It's just courtship Dad! We are light years away from matrimony!"



"I read somewhere that dating is not even allowed amongst Muslims! I heard a state in Borneo somewhere recently wanted to stone its citizens to death for adultery. Justine, be very very careful with these people. You never know....!"



Dad wanted to dwell on the subject but dropped it when Mom returned and talked about my forthcoming vacation. "Are you coming home for Christmas?"



"Of course, Mom, I wouldn't want to miss your turkey and Santa!"



"Well, I thought you may want to stay on and celebrate with this girl of yours!"



"Mom, Jasmine is Muslim. She doesn't celebrate Christmas. Besides, I'd like a white Christmas".



Mom replied, "Don't you get snow there?"



"Christmas is in the Summer in Melbourne, Mom!...Melbourne is in the Southern Hemisphere. Everything is the opposite of North America here!"



Back at the cookout, I was unusually busy helping Jasmine fry dried chilies and anchovies for the "nasi lemak", a spicy fragrant coconut rice, a popular dish in Malaysia.



I told her about the conversation I had with my parents on religious police but carefully omitted conversion and circumcision. She laughed out aloud. Wiping tears triggered by the frying, she quickly said, "Justine, we are not planning on being ambushed by the religious police, are we?"



"Heavens, No, Jasmine" I quickly responded. Feeling warm all over just being in her presence. Anyone would. Her sweet smile, her gentle ways just made me want to hug her. The perfume she uses, something that sounded Spanish, "Narcisso Rodriguez" she bought with me at High Point Shopping Centre during a recent Winter sale in Melbourne, had a subtle smell of musk that seemed to strongly urged me to reach out and kiss her long slender neck. But I refrained myself, afraid that I would get some uncalled for remarks from fellow students at the gathering.



Jasmine and I knew we were always under the watchful eyes of every Malaysian student on campus. She herself had quite a number of her own family members amongst the thirty thousand odd Malaysians living in Melbourne. According to Jasmine most have settled around Doncaster, a suburb of Melbourne.



Every now and then, someone from that community would tease her with remarks like, "What are you doing with that 'Mat Salleh'?" I was told that it is a Malay stereotype term used to refer to the pale skinned whites. She would smile and replied, "He is better looking than you guys!" They would happily laughed and dropped the subject.



Amid the cacophony in the apartment, I thought I heard a faint knock on the door when it suddenly imploded. In the doorway stood two firemen, dressed in hazmat outfits, armed with fumigation equipment, ready to spring into action. My immediate thoughts were "Oh, my God, the Malaysian authorities must have known I was with Jasmine and they have decided to conduct a raid!" But then I was not alone with her, I rationalised. So, I was quite safe then!



However, my heart was pounding, all the while thinking, what a paranoid person I had become about the religious police since I have been dating Jasmine. She reached out and held my hands tightly. I guessed she too was afraid of the unexpected intrusion. Her tender hands around mine reduced the anxiety, eased my heart beat, calming me down.



Everyone stopped, frozen in their tracks and stared at the intruders while the delicious smell of cooking seemed to be sucked out into the hallway by the sharp draught of air that rushed in through our broken door. Soon other doors opened and curious heads popped out to see what the commotion was about. Some could be seen covering their noses as the draught of air bearing smell of strange cooking descended upon them.



The firemen were acting on incessant complaints about the stench coming from our apartment described as that of a dead animal. My suspicious thoughts were that some of the neighbours must have called the firemen just to spite us for not inviting them.



I invited the firemen in to sample our culinary creations. They declined, opting instead for a cold beer. After much persuasion they tried our "nasi lemak". No sooner had they tasted it, the firemen screamed, "Oh, la, la. Hot, hot, bloody damn hot!" and gulped down the cold Victoria Bitter, their faces turning redder than a cooked lobster.



Onlookers from the hallway followed suit and sampled our culinary delights with mixed reactions, repeatedly asking "What is it?" The few that attempted did so cautiously taking a long time to chew before swallowing. We watched anxiously, fearing they would throw up on the carpet in our living room. I could hear comments like "Smells bad but tastes good!" among the new converts while others simply dismissed the dishes as completely unpalatable. As an outsider, I was quite surprised at the many negative reactions considering that Melbourne is such a cosmopolitan city with a large Asian population yet many of its residents still find Oriental cooking alien.



Ah Beng, a Singaporean student who was passively watching the scene in silence, suddenly jumped into action. "Hello friends", addressing all the Asians in the room, "These Aussies are going to love my dried salt fish! You just wait and see!" He offered his plate of bean sprouts, scallions and fried shallots with fermented dried salt fish to the firemen, proudly telling them it was a secret recipe, handed down from father to son.



One of the firemen took a bite of the fried salt fish, dropped the fork and turned to Ah Beng with a look of disbelief on his face, "What is this?"



"Dried, salt fish and bean sprouts, Sir!" Ah Beng replied proudly expecting a compliment.



He took another whiff and shouted, "That's it, that's it!"



"Guys, what did I tell, you. He loves it" said Ah Beng, clapping loudly then raising his clasped hands in the air over his head, like a champion at the end of a race.



Before we could understand what the fireman meant, he excitedly ordered, "Open the windows, please! ... My God! This is bad. The smell must have made its way into the air-ducting system and gives out smell like dead animals!"



I heard John whispering and nodding his head in their direction, "What awful stuff, worst than the smell of my blue cheese".



They ignored him, picked up their equipment, wrinkled their noses, wished us, "Good day mates!" and rushed out of the apartment, slamming the broken door behind them followed by most of the neighbours, leaving a handful who seemed to have acquired an Asian taste. John too disappeared back into his apartment clutching his board full of unwrapped selection of cheese and crackers.



We were left to carry on with our dinner and reflect on that eventful afternoon with Ah Beng persistently repeating, "The Aussies just love my dried salt fish! Don't they?"



"No, Ah Beng, I don't think so!" Jasmine responded. "Neither could your dried salt prompted the call to the firemen. All that stuff that we cooked packed in this steamy room with the windows closed is a powder keg of Asian inspired culinary bombshell!"



"Well put Jasmine", said another Malaysian guy in the audience. I could not hide my happiness with her views and ensuing appreciation for my girl. I applauded louder than the rest. "We are used to the 'belacan' and 'durian'. We are accustomed to the smell and we assumed others would appreciate our peculiar and strange preferences. As an American, what do you think Justine?"



"Well, I did not want to offend you guys because I am a guest. I love being with Jasmine. I could have run away like Raffles did from this morning itself. But then again I am not Raffles. He did not have a Jasmine to hold him back!"





No sooner had I said that Jasmine hugged me and gave a peck on my cheek whispering in my ear, "I am glad you stayed Mr. Raffles!"



The whole gathering burst into a rendition of Disney's "It's a Small World After All" followed by Bob Marley's "Is this Love?", on that cold day in Melbourne, swaying slowly to the music, next to Jasmine, with the smell of fried salt fish in the air, etched in my memory for ever.