THE repulsive smell of exhaust fumes from the passing cars outside mingle with the aroma of cooking, creating a sharp, contrasting scent that is neither pleasant nor repugnant. I've just arrived at the doorstep of Sek Yuen, a renowned Chinese restaurant near the tail-end of Jalan Pudu in Kuala Lumpur, celebrated for its Cantonese cuisine for 76 years.
For many, this time-honoured restaurant is a place where memories are preserved through its nostalgic, mouth-watering dishes. Being so close to the road, the sound of cars roaring past often accompanies patrons as they enjoy their meals.
The grill door stretches open like two wide arms that have been pushed side to side. A shaft of light slides right in, bathing the once shiny floor in a muted yellow hue. Tiny specks of dust motes dance in the air and briefly settle on a nearby chair.
A hushed silence falls over the restaurant as a few of the older patrons focus intently on their meals. The quiet is occasionally interrupted by the clink of chopsticks against porcelain bowls and their soft conversation.
PROUSTIAN MOMENT
I am one of those individuals whose life's details can be vividly conjured by the sight and smell of certain foods or specific places.
While family and close friends know I struggle to remember their phone numbers, a particular scent can trigger the most detailed recollections with frightening clarity.
This restaurant evokes a sense of nostalgia reminiscent of Marcel Proust's madeleine. It brings back warm memories of my grandparents fussing over the extensive menu, selecting their favourites: steamed chicken in soy sauce with kailan, stir-fried pork in sweet and sour sauce, and sliced fish with ginger and scallions.
Like being caught in time's deep embrace, I find myself savouring the moment just as I pick out some of the dishes that my grandparents used to order. Even the sight of the workers in their Pagoda shirts and the rickety wooden chairs is enough to induce reveries.
The windows with the same old steel bars exude an old-world charm from the British colonial era. Even the tables and chairs haven't changed, their surfaces polished smooth from years or fuse.
In the kitchen, I attempt to take a photo of the cook in action, only to be met with an angry stare. With a slight shake of his head, I immediately understood that my presence here isn't welcomed. After all, the kitchen is a sacred place for the cooks to work their magic.
PRESERVING MEMORIES
Like food, a restaurant is a vessel for memories, a journey through time where history, culture and the people we hold dear intertwine. People often ask why I keep visiting a certain restaurant, even though the food quality has declined and the service is nearly non-existent.
Sometimes it's not the food, but the memories created in that place that transcend the physical act of eating. It might be the workers in their plain Pagoda shirts or the old furniture — both have a remarkable ability to evoke nostalgia and transport us back to our childhood.
Every dish, every bite, has the power to trigger vivid memories. It makes us reminisce about those who are no longer with us and times that have passed.
I find it a bit of a mystery how a certain memory you've completely forgotten can come rushing back with one bite of that succulent steamed chicken. I'd completely forgotten how my grandfather used to teach us about table etiquette until I picked up that big, juicy piece of chicken thigh. Wait, am I hearing his voice, too?
These sights and sounds help us cherish the memories of our loved ones and find solace in those poignant moments. They provide something tangible to hold on to, however fleeting those experiences may be. Even just a whiff of that sweet soy sauce is enough to bring a sense of homecoming.
The Sek Yuen restaurant is more than just a place to eat; it's a sanctuary where every dish, every aroma, and every familiar face come together to evoke cherished memories and foster enduring connections — a place where the past is preserved and the heart finds solace.
