Historic lanes and lots and lots of noodles.
In Penang, life revolves around makan—the Malay word for “eating” or “food.” Every week, my mother would save 20 cents to buy a bowl of wonton noodles from the tok tok mee vendor when he pushed his cart by her school, making a “tok tok” sound by striking a wooden block.
These days, tok tok mee is a rarity. George Town’s lanes are filled with cocktail bars and plush cafés selling 17 ringgit (US$4) iced Milo, a chocolate malt beverage sold far more cheaply at open-air hawker stalls. As my mother likes to say, “That’s extortion!” But beyond the artsy cafés, the older layers of George Town are alive and well. Gazing out at the ferry terminal on the Malacca Strait, I can imagine it’s the turn of the 20th century. My great-great-grandfather disembarks with other sailors, carrying a wooden suitcase full of spices from another voyage to Sumatra. When I hear the Malayan Railway clock chime, I can picture the 1950s, and my grandfather packaging pills at the nearby George Town Dispensary.
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