Favorite Restaurant

Yesterday, I went to The Old Café again. My father and I stopped by the iron gate leading to a short drive and it was like coming home.

Chattering sparrows welcomed us.   The driveway was lined with scarlet hibiscus blooms, sweet-smelling jasmine and bright butter-yellow allemande flowers.   We turned a corner and in front of us was the restaurant. The old timber and concrete structure’s white-washed walls had mellowed with age.   The roof had red tiles. As I pushed the main door open, we stepped inside a red and white dominated room.   Yes, Joe was a Liverpool fan and was proud about it.

There were rows and rows of tables covered with red and white chequered tablecloths.   All kinds of football memorabilia made up the décor of the room. On the right wall were photographs of the great football players through the years.   Under them were the jerseys of the Reds.   Dominating the left wall was a huge television to show the latest game.

The football team’s colours were very obvious.   The walls were red and lamps from Malacca hung from the high ceiling which was painted white.   Sunlight filtered in from the white flimsy curtains.   The room certainly had a bright and cheerful air.   Two big pots of banana plants at the back corner added a touch of green to the surroundings.

My family’s table was the second one on the right, near a window.   As I walked to our usual table, I noticed everything was spick and span.   The day’s menu was written on a board. It had not changed since I was there, three years ago. The selection of food was limited but the lamb and chicken were so succulent and tender that I felt my mouth watering. I peeped through the window- neat rows of tomato plants and herbs could be seen.

A waft of mouth-watering curry made me turn to my father. The aroma seemed to pervade the whole room. I was glad when my father said, “Let’s order. The usual?”
Before I could nod my head, Joe came forward with his wife. “Ah, you are home. Now, we’ve got...