Scallops Snippets and Sentiment

These are snippets of memories of the scallops I recently devoured during my travels.

Warmest Scallop – OTO – Iceland

The scallop was an appetiser; we ordered it because the waiter suggested we get two to three dishes per person. We succumbed to the peer pressure of ordering appetizer when dining in a fancy place.

It was the first time we went to a proper restaurant in Iceland, and even my accountant brain struggled to convert Icelandic Krona to Euro to AUD to Rupiah.

Fafa once asked me whether I think in English or Bahasa. I gave an answer that surprised him. Wait till he finds out I still do our grocery bills—and tonight’s dinner bill—in Rupiah.

But he doesn’t need to know that. I kept it to myself because we were having such a good day. (He didn’t know it yet, but later, he said it was his favourite day of the trip.)

Back to the scallop—it was exquisite. Warm, buttery, cheesy. Warm scallop, when done right, always scores high in my list.

A memory came to mind as I savored it: I once demolished two dozen Kilpatrick oysters during a Tassie trip. That was eight years ago, before we were married. He wasn’t into oysters then, but he was willing to try. I remember he ate one before letting me finish the rest. I always assumed it was because he didn’t like the taste of it—but what if it was because he liked me more and wanted me to be happy by letting me eat the rest oysters, stopping just before I crossed the seafood poisoning line.

Painting-like Scallop – Skal! – Downtown Reykjavik

It was our last night in Iceland. We were at Skal! seated at a tall table—we didn’t make a booking.

Our mood was a bit sombre.

Fafa was still annoyed with our tour guide, who had a historian vibe (not the good kind — he behaved like a historian forced into being a tour guide, rather than a guide who picked up bits of history to entertain tourists).

Choosing Skal! over a bag of fried seafood takeaway from the fisherman’s shop across the road was a spontaneous decision. We decided that being dropped off at a random spot by a weird tour guide couldn’t be our final memory of Iceland.

I was also feeling low —about leaving Iceland, I wanted more. Like three Summer months in Iceland more.

We were talking about plans to return when the scallops arrived.

It was the most beautifully presented scallop I had ever seen. I would’ve happily slurped it like a cocktail if they’d added a splash of liqueur.

It was served at room temperature, but I think if it had been ice-cold—I mean Iceland-cold (see what I did there?)—it would’ve been perfect: a hit of sweet, sour, and ocean.

I could’ve gone for a few more. But I didn’t—because, well, Icelandic Krona.

That night, I dreamt I was floating on that tiny green dots.

Floating Asian Scallop – Sea Palace – Amsterdam

I was feeling lucky after two amazing scallop experiences in the same week that when I saw garlic noodle scallops on the Sea Palace menu on our last night in Amsterdam, I ordered them.

A robot swiftly delivered the dish to our table in the middle of a floating Cantonese restaurant on a canal in Amsterdam.

Ding ding ding I was right. My scallop good luck continues. Warm, garlicky, topped with lightly fried vermicili noodles that tied it all together. Delish!

My accountant brain also noted that it was the cheapest of the three scallops I had during this trip.

In the spirit of eating nice things, I put an additional order of a black bean oyster. All I can say is that I would’ve preferred not to swallow it.

—

After the last feast, Fafa asked me which one I liked best.

I don’t know—I need to think about it.

That’s what inspired me to write this. I think more clearly when I write—but even now, after putting it all down, I still don’t know.

Please don’t make me choose between my scallop memories Fa. I love them all equally, like my own children. Children I don’t have.

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