When I was doing my pupillage at a law firm in Bugis, this legendary curry mee was a guilty indulgence I’d revisit over and over again for that chilli so intensely and deeply smoky, chimneys wave white flags in surrender. The uncle who manned the cashier and took my orders (and is still there til this very day) spoke not a word of Mandarin, and whenever I placed my order he would repeat it in dialect, and I would feebly use whatever bits and bobs of dialect I learnt from my parents to confirm the order. He would always ask if I wanted hiamjio, and would insist I scoop it myself as I should be the one determining my own Vulcanian destiny. The chilli means serious business – my female colleague would always take the teensiest scoop and still force back tears, whilst one of the cheeky, laddish , “I love soccer”-esque guys would whack the chilli with grand machismo…and sweat through his white shirt while constantly drying himself with three-ply tissue. #Hawkerpedia
