It was mid summer in the tropics and the day was heating up quickly. I had decided to check on a mate of mine, he had been pretty crook for a few days and since I was on leave I had time. Entering the cool of the home I found my mate, let’s call him Phil for now, with his computer in pieces. He was in the middle of a rebuild so I pulled up a chair and we proceeded to discuss how we would get this thing back up and running. Obviously he was feeling not too shabby or maybe he was taking it all out on his computer.
Time passed and without warning his lovely wife came in and said lunch was ready. I tried to excuse myself from staying but was quickly told otherwise. Phil's wife, we will call her Maria, was Malay born and bred and as such was one of the best Malaysian cooks I knew. She had set the lunch up on the side verandah in the cool since the sun had moved over the house by now. Being from a small village where the men ate alone and discussed what ever it was they discussed we were left to it by Maria.
We sat at opposite ends of the table and I looked over what was on offer. It was a small feast, rice dishes, noodle dishes, curry lamb chops, steak fingers, chicken pieces, salads and of course the ever present sources of all kinds. Now Maria made a special for the men, well at least for Phil and I.
She would put a kilogram of birdseye chillies into a blender with 2 small brown onions and 2 table spoons of olive oil. She would then turn on the blender and walk away ….. for about 20 minutes. The end result was something that looked identical to tomato source or as many would know it, ketchup. You could remove dried paint from your driveway with this stuff. The concoction was dutifully placed in a small stainless steel jug on the table.
The gardens were a picture that day with their lush lawns, ever present palm trees and many coloured Hibiscus bushes in full flower along with some beautiful orchids and of course the birds. Some time back Phil had added a lovely water fall feature and it all added to a very pleasant place to eat. We were about half way through our meal when the door bell rang, Maria shouted she would get it. A couple of minutes later she appeared with a place setting and the local Pastor, Lorry, in tow. He had come to check on Phil's recovery progress and was told to sit down and join us in our meal. He did just that, he too knew what was in store, well at least he thought he did.
After the usual pleasantries we noticed that the Pastor had filled his plate, he knew well the reputation of our hostess as far as good food was concerned. Steak fingers featured in the middle of the rice, noodles, chicken and salad. Looking round the table he saw the little stainless jug and asked “Could you please pass the source Phil?”. On receiving the requested condiment he began to pour it over his steak fingers and a little on the noodles. Without a thought he plunged the fork into the steak and just as it entered his mouth Phil and I just looked at each other, too late to warn our dinner guest. So what else does a bloke do but continue with the conversation. About 30 seconds later, Phil thinks it might be a good idea to ask the Pastor how he is enjoying his lunch.
I looked up at to see something I had never seen before, it was in fact quite mesmerising . The Pastor’s face had several bands of colour rising from his starched shirt collar. They were all shades of purple, red, orange as well as a strange blue, and sweat was pouring from his brow. Not game to admit he was in extreme pain he managed to get out something that sounded like “Great” or maybe it was his dying last words. What ever it was it sounded very high pitched to me. It was about that time he decided he would just stop breathing because he wasn't getting any oxygen anyway.
Suddenly I felt a slap on the back of my head and Phil suffered the same experience, followed by a string of Malay words, never did ask what they were. Then Maria proceeded to pull the Pastor’s head back and pour half a bottle of cold milk down his throat and shirt, followed by more Malay words, I think directed at Phil and I again. By this time the poor bloke had saliva pouring from his mouth and nose down the front of his nicely starched shirt and his eyes were a red watering mess.
When the dust settled and the poor bloke got his voice back in some sort of fashion he asked us how we could eat that stuff. He made comments like, “Did you get this from an acid spill?” and “I felt something scraping across my tongue but could not taste a thing”. Chilli is a favourite for Phil and I and we never gave it a thought that others may not like it, after all we did, why didn’t everyone else?
A new place setting arrived and after Maria had checked on the Pastor he was told which foods were safe for him to eat. An hour or so later he left, funny thing, he muttered something along the lines of “I’ll never eat with you 2 again”.
I recall the day was a Wednesday when all this happened. I stayed around and we did manage to get Phil’s computer running again, mission completed. We quickly forgot the events of the hours before and went on with life ……….. until Sunday.
Sunday evening we were off to church as usual, my wife with me, and Phil’s family with him. We all sat in the usual place, about the middle of the church. After the usual hymns and event announcements and what ever, Pastor Lorry stood behind the pulpit and placed both hands firmly either side and leaned over just staring for a minute or so, his face glazed over. The congregation were a little perplexed and wondered what was going on. Suddenly he looked straight at both Phil and I and asked us to please stand. We looked at each other as we stood and we just knew we were in some sort of trouble, like two unruly school kids in a headmaster’s office.
We were then asked to turn around so the whole church, all 600+ of them, could get a very good look at us. We still didn’t know why he had asked to do this. Just maybe he was going to praise us for something we had done, oh how wrong we were.
The Pastor introduced us to those who did not know us and told all present to remember our faces well. He then said very clearly and with determination that “Should either of these 2 clowns ever invite you to lunch, for your own health ….. don’t go.”
For the next 45 minutes he gave a very embellished version of the events of “Lunch on the veranda with a good friend”.
Phil and I were to get into many more such incidents over the years, never our fault of course, like the night we cooked “Roosoles” for the bucks party held for Pastor Lorry’s future son-in-law, but that's a story for another day. The years have passed but the memory of that lunch has never dimmed in my mind. I still enjoy my chilli today, even in my advanced years. Such memories last a lifetime.