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In Indonesia, most people eschew the use of western-style
cutlery, preferring to use their right hands to eat. To cutlery culture
folks this, with all its splashings, dribblings and spillings is very
alarming to behold at first. But one does become used to it, and believe
me when I tell you, the Indonesian eating style is a darned sight less alarming
to behold than the 2-meter radius fall-out zone of Indians on the nosh.
If you’re in any way connected to the Indonesian community, sooner
or later you will have to strut your “uncutlered” stuff, and
you may even enjoy the odd trip back to your unskilled childhood.
However, in the circles most western expats move in, their friends, the
restaurants they go to and most locals they might eat with, will offer
a version of western-style cutlery when one is served food. But it won’t
take you long to realize that in Indonesia dwells an insidious beast that
travels far and wide in the land buggering up forks.
In every house and warung I’ve eaten in that has cutlery, the beast
hasn’t left its mark. Pick any of the 3, 4 and 5 star hotels in
Jakarta and you will eventually see this entity’s leavings. Even
at my favourite hotel in the whole world, the Mandarin Oriental Hotel
Majapahit in Surabaya, this fiend has sculpted tines.
The latest word from Singapore is that with the huge numbers of Indonesian
”guest workers” and fugitives from Indonesian “justice”,
even Raffles and the Goodwood Park Hotels are being similarly afflicted.
Imagine the Special Lunch menu: Fillet mignon, French Wine Sauce and Fork
Sculpture, Magic Wine (no corkscrew used).
The problem is costing the hospitality industry so much that there have
been extensive studies commissioned throughout the land to ascertain what
the problem is. No sensible conclusion can be reached. Kitchen staff say
they ordinarily would never use forks at all, but if ever they did need
to use them in conjunction with their work or play they would never, ever,
use them to prize the lids off jam jars, open soda or beer bottles, tune
or repair their Honda Astreas, unscrew rusted-in screws, unstick stuck
windows, unblock blocked drains, scrape old grout or mortar from between
tiles or bricks, dig small holes in the garden in which to bury their
stash, dig big holes with them to for building foundations or swimming
pools, pick locks with them, bend them to steal phone calls from phones
with anti-call-theft devices, trawl vending machines with them for small
change, sharpen them for DIY tattooing, change tires with them, use them
in conjunction with a bit of wire as temporary repairs to broken Astrea
brake levers or jam them in their Nokias to try and improve signal reception.
So there it is. The mystery remains. There is no human involvement in
the destruction of the forks of Indonesia. If we accept that it’s
not Yuri/Uri (?) What’s his name, who only performs for cash, that
leaves us with having to accept, as do many of the apparently equally
perplexed locals, that in this land resides an invisible, but very destructive
force that can only be called “The Fork Bandit”.
© Held by Author
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