Page 40 - Our Hawker Stories

As I stepped into my heavenly sanctuary of food, my
mouth watered. My nose was blasted with fragrant
smells. I felt like ascending. As I took sight of the vast
array of dishes — of course — I bolted towards my
favourite stall, Local Delights. “One soup wanton mee
please,” I asked, laying my hard-earned money on the
counter.

The old, seasoned hawker grunted in return. He took
out a large, azure bright bowl and used a rusty metal
ladle to spoon out heaps of tangy, savoury broth, which
made you drool endlessly. He scooped out a spoonful
of springy yellow noodles. It floated gloriously in my
empyrean bowl. Finally, my precious, meaty wantons!

I rushed the dish to my table, adrenaline pumping
through my veins.

“Time to eat!” I exclaimed. I crunched into the decadent,
meaty wantons. They were perfectly plump and “Every bite of those plump wantons and
pleasant. I greedily consumed each morsel relentlessly, slurps of hot broth felt like heaven — the
my stomach growling in utmost satisfaction. Once my hawker is amazing!”
wanton feast was over, I scooped up my noodles. I stuffed
them in my mouth, wolfing them like a gluttonous pig.
Slurping on my delectable, scalding hot broth soothed Abdon Francine Raphaelle Franco
my dry throat instantly! “The hawker is amazing!” My P5.2
voice was muffled as my mouth was stuffed with food. North Spring Primary School

As I returned my bowl, I slipped a $2 note into the
hawker’s tip jar and walked back home with a stomach
full and content.

“That,” I said to myself, “was worth every penny.”

36 Our Hawker Stories