Merlion

I spent seven years of my life in Singapore, the island-state just south of the Malay Peninsula and just north of the equator. Singapore is separated from Malaysia by a thin strip of ocean called the Johore Strait, a mere tributary off one of the busiest shipping lanes on the planet, The Straits of Malacca. Prior to living in Singapore if you asked me to define the Straits of Malacca, I would have responded that it was a part of the brain that, along with the Fissure of Orlando, separates Mickey Mouse from Mickey Spillane. But now I know it’s a small sliver of ocean spanned by two mighty causeways filled with modern vehicles hurdling toward commercial nirvana.

I moved to Singapore in 1991, and by the time I left in 1998 I had developed a deep respect for the hard working, intelligent, professional and proud people of Singapore. I had at the same time developed a healthy respect for Sol, our sun, the center of our solar system, the bringer of light and warmth about which we whirl tethered by nothing more than the scary invisible forces of nature. Somehow Singapore has struck a Faustian bargain with Sol to place itself actually within the corona, elbowing aside lesser nations in the process. Such radiant proximity makes for a great tropical environment but forces ill-equipped westerners to carry large sweat-absorbing towels at all times, creating shambling crowds of expatriate Linuses seeking relief from thermal excess. The first four months on the island my family and I attempted to gut it out without air-conditioning, but abandoned the effort the day our lawn chairs melted. Years of exposure to such cosmic radiation diluted our blood to a thin, watery gruel, causing our scrawny red cells to huddle in clumps under arterial overpasses. Now the mere mention of temperatures below 65 raises the twin specters of permafrost and tundra, and sends us careening toward racks of brightly-colored sweaters and mukluks.

Solar flares aside, by far my most enduring memory of Singapore is the food. If you enjoy fruit it is quite possible to go mad choosing between mangosteen, salak, rambutan and the amazing durian – the king of fruit. The unique blend of cultures on the island has created in its wake a veritable food paradise where Thai, Chinese, Malay and Indonesian flavors can be found in every venue in astonishing variations. Add to that the fact that Singapore also offers its own unique Nonya cuisine, passed down through generations of the Peranakan culture, and I believe you have a food experience unequaled anywhere.

After a short adventure in Seoul (a story for another time), my family and I moved to Chapel Hill in June of 2000. I do not believe it took the entire six degrees of separation to meet several local expatriate Singaporean families we had known in Singapore. One evening as we reminisced over our shared lives, an idea was borne; why not bring the food of Singapore to Chapel Hill? Thus the reality of Merlion Restaurant began in earnest. The Merlion (half lion, half fish – not a mer-maid but a mer-lion) is the national symbol of Singapore.

On travel, Benjamin Disraeli is reported to have said, “I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.”

I can remember back to a time in Singapore when my office mates and I decided to make a night of it. My brother was in town from Jakarta so we loaded up the lorry and headed off for the Punggol Seafood Centre at the extreme northeast tip of the island. We arrived as the sun was setting and the lights of Malaysia were winking on across the Straits of Johore. Sitting outside we arranged red plastic chairs around a large circular table. Black pepper crab was ordered by the bucketful, great flagons of Tiger Beer were consumed and the mysterious durian appeared. Little did I know that on this dark equatorial night, the Fates began to stir.

Merlion Restaurant opened in summer 2005 and brings with it a small part, and remembrance, of Singapore.

Sometimes you go out into the world and sometimes the world comes to you.