In another life of
mine, I volunteer with PEN International, which advocates for the responsible
freedom of expression and the release of wrongfully imprisoned writers. Although
we are a worldwide organisation, it gets a little tricky being critical of some
governments and it is not always easy to be a journalist, poet, playwright,
novelist, or writer under some regimes. It can get you in trouble. What that
means being where I am is a certain responsibility to call out human rights
abuses at home from refugee detention to media freedom, data retention, mass
surveillance, all of which are increasingly important in our digital era. The
other night, the Perth chapter brought over a high profile journalist who was
imprisoned, and, after listening to his talk, we went out for dinner, as you
do.
He was staying at the
Alex Hotel, just a short walk from the State Library, and we decided it would
be best to keep it local. That meant the whole of Northbridge was in our
backyard and so there was a world of choice on our doorstep. Would we go sushi
at nearby Aisuru? Would we go modern Lebanese at Hummus Club? Would we opt for
pizza at Comet? In my humble, food blogging opinion, these were all worthy
choices. The only request from our guest was that no tripe or okra was served. Keeping
this in mind and not wanting to disappoint, we decided to find the place that
was most likely to serve these slimy specialities. We were hoping, of course,
to trigger his memory of being in jail. Alas, no one would come to the table
and we settled for a curry instead, down the road at Sauma.
There were 8 of us and
we needed a good feed. We left it to mum to order for us, not on account of
racial profiling though she certainly has the expertise, but rather because she
knows how to handle a group situation and balance the flavours that make a meal
more than the sum of its dishes. And so, after a short wait, the curries
arrived – mushroom and pea, roast eggplant, fish in banana leaf, legumes. You
might be thinking, what is a legume curry. I thought that myself, legumes after
all, being a kind of catch all from beans to peas and everything in between.
This was red kidney beans, some black lentils, and some unknown ingredients,
all of which would suggest that ‘legume curry’ was, in actual fact, an apt
description.
And so, we munched on
curry and talked the night away, spending time thinking aloud about the war on
terror, the state of security, why everyone is exhausted by Israel-Palestine,
what matters more than being at home, and why we had not ordered enough naan
and why there was no dum aloo on the menu at all. I knocked back a few beers,
but kept it in order. I was with the white haired brigade and I had driving
duties in the morning.
In between, I managed
to have a good conversation about poetry with someone at the table, who, to my
absolute amazement, kept her white silk shirt completely clean as we made our
way through thick gravy. There was no safety net and this was a high wire act,
and yet, she did admirably well.
I thought about what it
was to got out for curry, something I rarely do, and though it will never be as
good as mum’s, there was enough to like at Sauma that I would return for. My
only regret was that I did not get pani puri, but that might be for another
time, when PEN brings over another guest, who wants to get their feet wet in
Indian street cuisine’s tamarind glory. And that might be all we can hope for,
that we get another chance to host someone else, that they can find in life
after prison a little good taste in a restaurant that does not put on airs but
simply puts on a few good curries and a pleasant atmosphere.
