STORY 1114 A Bowl of Lontong in a Foreign Land

I had been living away from home for almost half a year before I finally found the courage to have breakfast at a small roadside stall just next to my house.

Every morning, at around 6:30 a.m., a husband and wife would arrive on a small three-wheeled cart. They would set up their modest stall and begin selling their specialty: lontong with pakis and young jackfruit curry.

A little later, several suppliers would arrive, delivering various traditional cakes and kuih to be sold at the stall.

There were only four small tables.

Yet, somehow, their food was always gone by around 10:00 a.m.

Every morning, I watched motorcycles and cars stopping in front of the stall. Some people would sit down for breakfast, while others would buy food to take home or bring to work. Many of them were clearly regular customers.

After getting ready for work, I would lock the gate of my house and walk over to the stall for breakfast. My usual order was simple: a plate of lontong with pakis curry, one boiled egg, and a cup of black coffee without sugar.

I have always liked pakis, especially here, where wild ferns grow almost everywhere. The curry can be quite spicy, but the combination of compressed rice cakes, pakis curry and crackers makes a satisfying breakfast. Add a boiled egg and a cup of unsweetened coffee, and it is enough to keep me going until lunchtime.

One morning, I finally started a conversation with the couple.

I discovered that they were Minangkabau, originally from Batu Sangkar, the town famous for the magnificent Istano Basa Pagaruyung.

Suddenly, my simple breakfast felt a little different.

As I enjoyed my lontong, I occasionally watched the customers come and go. Some were old customers who seemed to know the couple well. There was a certain warmth in the way they greeted one another—a small community gathering around four little tables and a humble breakfast stall.

Meanwhile, I sat quietly, waiting for the vehicle that would pick me up and take me to work.

There was nothing extraordinary about that morning.

Just a bowl of lontong, a boiled egg, a cup of black coffee, two hardworking people from Batu Sangkar, and a small roadside stall that came alive every morning.

But sometimes, when you are far from home, the simplest things are the ones that make a foreign place slowly begin to feel like home.

That is my little story today.