Makan siang - restoran lokal

Most days I lunch (makan siang) at the my local restaurant, the student cafe, open at the front, but roofed to keep the smoke in. In Indonesia, no choice but to take up passive smoking. The sign on the angkota door - Terima kasih Anda tidak merokok di dalam Angkot ini (Thank you, You cannot smoke inside this angkota) is, like other things here, FDPO (for display purposes only).

Inside, six different eateries can be chosen from. Up to eight students can sit at the small number of tables, 14 or so, most with their protective plate glass cover broken, the glass itself sticky. Ashtrays are mandatory, but if not, one of the advantages of a tiled floor is that cigarettes can be stubbed anywhere. My favourite cafe is Cafe Satya, the one I was first introduced to, is where I learnt to say my stock phrase "Buah-buahan saja!" (Just fruit!). Sometimes I drop by in the morning, when it's especially warm, to grab a couple of bottles of water. At the front counter is Bu (Mrs) Yapie, always with a friendly face.

I order my fruit (mango, honeydew, guava, sometimes bananas if they have any), which is dipotong (cut up) out the back of the shop. Bu Yapie adds it up, shows me the sum on the calculator, which, because I'm a creature of habit, generally comes to 13.000 rupiah. Usually while I wait at the counter and engage in small talk, students come up and buy their cigarettes, either by packet or by the small handful.

Compared to the other ones, this cafe seems quite professional , because on three days of the week the staff wear a uniform (this is Wednesday's outfit, the one on Tuesday was blue). Here are Bu Yapie and Bu Supri.

Yesterday I lunched at the warung outside the campus, taking Duncan with me and introducing him to tahu campur (mixed tofu). As I've mentioned previously, the warung is a shed, a very old shed, one you might find on a heritage farm. Health inspectors would have a field day here; it'd take weeks to do the paperwork, as so many by-laws are breached. Pak Min, for instance, wasn't there when we arrived. On a smoko. Returned, cigarette in hand, took his seat behind his cutting and preparation board, and then stubbed on his ciggie on the side of the bench. Meanwhile, Duncan pointed out a plump rat scurrying overhead. Rats, here, are fatter than the cats. But if I refused to eat in an establishment that had the odd rat or two, then I'd most likely starve! Or so it seems. Food, however, was excellent, as was the lime juice with ice.