Blue Moon Over Bidor

In Bidor for a spot of duck noodle soup, we decide to investigate the town's market.

It's not large and, by 10am on a Sunday, it's half-deserted. But we find spanking fresh fish, tiny clams of the sort that seem never to show up in Kuala Lumpur's markets, mounds of thick-stemmed paku (ferns) sporting tightly coiled fiddleheads, and lots of petai, or stink beans. Bidor is almost synonomous with this aptly named (but delicious) vegetable - bunches of whole pods are everywhere. (This photo was actually taken on the pavement in front of Pun Chun.)

Small though it is, this market's a good one, because in its aisles can be found new-to-us ingredients. Like this wild vegetable sold by each of two elderly Chinese ladies who've staked out squares of market floor directly across from each other. They call it - as near as we can understand - kong ji xin, and tell us it's added to curries.

The stiff green leaves remind us of lemongrass, as do the concentric layers of woody flesh revealed when one of the scarlet bulbs is sliced open crosswise. On the tongue, there's astringency reminiscent of torch ginger flower plus a bitter punch that brings to mind arugala gone to seed. It seems more a Malay than a Chinese ingredient, but none of the market's Malay vendors know its name.

This morning the market holds other treasures too.

We stop at a stall to inspect a particularly enticing bundle of paku and end up chatting with a motorcycle-helmeted customer. Where're you from? he asks, and we go through the usual sequence of answers and follow-up questions: we're from America (say 'US' and most people don't know what you're talking about - in Asia, the United States is 'America') but we live in Kuala Lumpur we've been here a little over two years how do we like Malaysia? well we love it.

I like American music, he says. I play trombone. My brother-in-law, he's from the Philippines but he's dead now, he played saxaphone. We had a band, played in Kuala Lumpur. Long, long time ago.

Do you know 'Blue Moon'?

He brings one hand - the hand not burdened by a bulging bag of vegetables - up in front of his face, cradling a trombone only he can see. And begins to play, moving his fingers up and down, manipulating the keys.

Dah.... dah dah dah dah dah.... dah dah dah...

Softly half-huming, half-dah dah dahing 'Blue Moon', he hits every note pitch perfect. He's on stage with his Filipino brother-in-law, in a smoky club in mid-twentieth century Kuala Lumpur.

He draws out the end of the song long and sweet.

Wonderful!! we say. And mean it.

He's a little bit nutty, the vendor seems to want to tell us. We're not so sure.

OK, gotta go! he says. Nice to meet you. And walks, purposefully, out to his motorbike.

We'll be looking for him, next time we're in Bidor.

Comments

[Kevin]

Those are moments where cameras are not normally clicking - a big regret of mine when traveling. Cool to have captured a moment like that.

[Robyn]

Kevin - the advantage of being a writer who's never far from a photographer. Division of duties. ;-)

[bayi]

I wonder if the helmeted man was referring to the Equatorial Hotel's Blue Moon, a place frequented by the well-heeled middle class with a penchant for jazzy music.

[Nate]

Robyn,

wow, two great finds in one place. Actually, the trombone player is much more interesting than the lemongrass-like herb. You can see him transported back to that club in KL. His smile as he finishes is priceless.

Thanks for taking us along with you to Bidor!

[economy rice]

that's my mum's hometown!! my family used to travel up to Bidor from Singapore almost every year, until my grand parents passed away. mum loves petai, but i hated shelling them cos every so often there's a worm inside :S i'm overseas now, this entry really brings on a tsunami of homesickness plus childhood memories. the helmeted trombone player completes the picture. thank you for the vivid sketch of Bidor..

[Jennifer]

Oh Robyn -- your last two posts brought a lump to my throat. You and Dave not only convey the deliciousness of the foods you encounter, but depth of human feeling as well. Thank you.

[Robyn]

bayi - could be. I would love to somehow have a glimpse of KL back then....

Nate - I agree .. but, being always on the lookout for new ingredients, we had to include the mystery herb!

economy rice - you're welcome. glad we could transport you back to Bidor, even if only for a moment.

Jennifer - you're welcome, and thanks for 'getting it'.

[Jess]

you make me want to pack up and meet you in the market with strange men.

[Lisa]

The photos on your blog are always of superb quality, but the petai photo in Bidor, the colour, the framing, everything, can't find enough superlatives to describe it. I was mesmerised - could stare at it all day.

Voted for this blog - was sorry to hear you say it didn't stand a chance of winning, am sure you know best, but I think it is the best blog I have ever seen, and not just in terms of food blogs either.

And thank you for keeping the std so high, both in text and photos, and for always managing that perfect balance between incredible warmth, and great professionalism.

Lisa.

[Robyn]

Jess - hmmm. I don't think that quite comes out how you meant it. But thank you!

Lisa - your comment makes our day. Thank you. RE: my observation about our chances - what I mean is, fans of blogs tend to vote for the blogs they love, so the outcome is usually predictable. So if one of our 'competitors' draws 15,000 visits a day to our measly low thousands, they are likely to win. In that sense, some of these contests are really little more than popularity contests. What makes this one different though, is that nominations are by a panel of judges who (presumably) choosed based on the merits, rather than popularity, of the blog. So, in that sense, the nomination is the real reward for us. Winning isn't really important - esp. if the nomination has introduced our blog to new readers.
Thanks again for your kind words.