It has only been the third day of puasa and I am already counting the days to go back to Terengganu. Even with the 'situation' I have with Mama, I miss going back. It being the fasting month is making it worse. Don't get me wrong, I am loving this whole new experience of fasting as a couple, but sometimes you get homesick.
When we were growing up (and when everyone was still at home), we simply loved Ramadhan because of the food. Everyday, Wan would whip up some kuihs for iftar, and cook anything our hearts desired. My all-time favourite is Wan's
Bekang Ubi and
Puding Gula Anguh (more famously known as
Creme Caramel). Abang would always ask for
kuih bekang or
tuppat sutung, and T? Well, we told him he couldn't demand anything since he didn't fast
*snicker*.Our daily routine after school during Ramadhan would be mengaji and finishing our homework before Mama and Aboh got home. About half-past five, we would pester Aboh to bring us to
Pasor Chabang Tiga or
Jalan Panji Alam for our dosage of side dishes. I just loooove the market during puasa. Everything smelled so good, there were so many colours - the people, the stalls, even the food. We would never fail to get at least a dozen
ttupat goreng (deep fried
ketupat pulut) to be eaten with
sambal daging @ serunding. Oh, and either
cendol, cincau or
biji selasih (although we call it
telo kattok) to drench our throats. A stop by the mercun stall is also a must to stock up on our ammunition!
By the time we get home, it would be about half an hour or so to countdown. I would be in charge of setting the table and help with the food we brought back (and T tasting them). Abang would distribute food to our closest neighbours. On the days where we are blessed with
nyor muda (young coconuts) from Mama's staff, we would all three flock at the back to help Aboh. I love scooping the soft, succulent coconut that was to be combined with the juice.
Ten minutes to countdown, Aboh would start preparing our drinks. Our must-have drink was (and still is) homemade
air sirap in a big mug, together with either
cincau/telo kattok/cendol we bought. Mama would switch on the radio, and sounds of the holy Quran being read would fill our kitchen. We would know when the time for berbuka is near when the radio started playing some middle-eastern music..and would take our seats.
The faint sound of cannon blast marks the time for iftar. Followed by the azaan from our neighbourhood surau. Without fail, Abang and I would finish our first mug of sirap even before we touch any food - much to the elders dismay.
'Kembong perut kekgi'.
After filling our tummies and performing our prayers, we would get ready for out Tarawikh prayers. But that's another story for another day.
