A Saturday That Behaved Itself

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoFor once, the Saturday round had the decency to be brief. I went in braced for the usual open-ended morning and was pleasantly disarmed to find it wrapped up sooner than expected — one of those rare occasions when the work and the clock cooperate rather than conspire. I was home early enough to have lunch at the table, an ordinary thing made faintly luxurious by how seldom the timing allows it.

The afternoon was kept deliberately loose, the day's real business reserved for the evening. There is a particular pleasure in a weekend with a dinner pencilled in and nothing much before it — the gentle anticipation of an outing, with hours to spare before it arrives.

Idlan, ever attentive to the finer details, slipped off for a haircut first, then met us at Pavilion looking suitably tidied. We had booked RasaNya, a nyonya-themed steamboat place, which is precisely the sort of inventive idea that could go either way and, happily, went the right one. Idlan committed fully to a mala broth, the kind of decision that announces a young man's confidence in his own heat tolerance. Our own tom yam, ordered with the modest expectation of mild, turned out considerably fiercer than advertised — a reminder that one should never quite trust a broth that looks innocent. We ate well, and warmly, in every sense.

Afterwards we drifted over to Bangunan Sultan Abdul Samad to walk off the meal, the evening air doing its part to cool the lingering tingle of the broth. Idlan, with the unhurried instincts of his generation, steered us to Niko Neko for a matcha, while I opted for ice cream — the sweeter, simpler choice, and one I have no intention of apologising for. There is something companionable about each of us choosing our own indulgence and ambling along with it in hand.

We took our time with the stroll along the River of Life, that stretch where the old city wears its best lighting and the water is made briefly theatrical. By night it has a quiet grandeur, the historic façades softened and the river itself behaving as though it has always been this picturesque, conveniently forgetting its more workaday character by day. The place was still buzzing — couples, families, the usual evening crowd out enjoying the cool of it — and there is an easy contentment in being one small part of that, neither hurrying nor lingering, simply present.

It was the sort of Saturday that asks for nothing in particular and gives back a great deal. A short morning, a meal at home, an evening out with one of the boys, good food, a gentle walk, and a city looking its best. No grand events, no fireworks — only the steady accumulation of small, good things that, taken together, make for a thoroughly satisfying day.

We came home unhurried and well-fed, the broth still faintly making its presence known. Some Saturdays simply get it right. This was one of them.