Noodles on Prada

Noodles on Prada

It's definitely one of the great mysteries of life when everything comes together, literally, in a haphazard whirlwind of localised flavours and foreign brands. Yes, the combination is not good, not even in a Warhol fantasy. Andy would turn over in his grave knowing that such sacrilegious acts were happening in sunny island set in the sea Singapore.

Alright maybe you would disagree. Maybe if he knew about it, he might turn a blind eye to it in the name of art. But I bet he would pity the lady who wore the Prada privately under his breath. Some believe he was a closet bad art sympathiser.

So was the noodles even tasty or nice? Hmm.. I honestly don't know. I was too busy whacking the satay and maybe four sambal prawns. A cup of cold Cheng tng later, I am off to the last station which was the Momolato salted caramel – very nice. Yes, I totally had no capacity left for noodles.

So here I was chit-chatting with some old buddies and we were just deep in conversation, talking about how pervasive social media has become and how one wrong message shared unintentionally could become viral wildfire the next hour. And then this happened.

It was all about hurt feelings at the end of the day, how we hurt each other with the words we say (sounds like a line from George Michael's "Careless Whisper"). So we just have to muster up courage and say sorry and hopefully we can all move on.

And just as we agreed and nodded our heads at that statement, a girl holding a plate of the lovely noodles walked past us and before we knew it, the oscillating blades of the mobile air cooler swivelled and turned in our direction and let out a blast of cold air, flipped her noodles ala fireworks style (it was very powerful) and all the strands fell sluggishly and unglamorously on some other lady's turquoise Prada sling shoulder bag.

I could almost hear the girl gasp as she screamed with her inner voice. She must have known the price of the limited edition Prada. The lady was needless to say mortified beyond belief. She gawked at the noodle strands hanging precariously on her bag and stood helplessly, as if immobilised. And I muttered silently under my breath, "quick say sorry.." I could almost hear Bruno screaming Versace on the floor albeit this was Noodles on Prada. It was a crick crick moment.

So was the noodles nice? I think it was.