Offshore in the Cold

Some of the cosmonauts, heh heh, would like to remain anonymous, Zaki, Me, Amin and Azlan lah, heh heh heh.... You can see all three legs of the jack-up rig and the derrick in the background.

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One fine weekend recently saw me taking a flight to our supply base and the local airport for the trip offshore during this time of the year. This time of the year is not good to go offshore - because of the cold weather, we have to put on immersion suits. I hate immersion suits. You know, immersion suits, suits that prevent you from dying in the freezing water, because in water below or near the freezing point, humans have this bad habit of staying alive for only three or four minutes. I guess the suits adds another hour or so. Or maybe two.

Putting on the suit is a saga by itself. First the left leg goes in. Check for the head cover in the compartment on the suit's left leg. Then the right leg. Check for the gloves in the compartment on the suit's right leg. The suit's legs end in socks like thingys at the end of each leg. Then the hands go in and each suit's arms end in thick elastic bands which grips the wrists. Then the head goes in through the elastic band and this band was meant to grip the neck. Then you zip it up, and the zip goes from the left of your waist up to your right shoulder. Heavy, water proof, industrial zip that leaves you grunting and puffing. Then you squat down while holding the elastic at the neck open to expel air from within the suit. Then you put on the life vest, taking care not to put it inside out or upside down. Only then you put on your shoes, hoping that there is enough space to accomodate the additional socks like thingys that comes with the suit.

Then, when you have reached your destination, you have to take the darned thing off.

I need a new drug....

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The Cookerers

Some head scratching with regards to the saga facing Aziz and Syamsul.

Three, not one but three pots of curry!!!

Syamsul, Mior and Aziz doing what we do best - being confused together!!

What was to become the most mouth-watering dish this side of the Ussuri River, the beef, the cili bo, the potatoes, the everything lah!

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A few weeks ago, some company VIP’s were on their way to our location. As usual, detailed preparations were made to receive them. Accommodations, transport, meetings, things to do, some sight seeing, maybe some shopping and meals.

Meals. Anyone who has travelled long distance must agree that after the check-ins, the infernal plane ride, the inflight meals, the customs, the immigrations, the crowds, the delays, the transits, the queues and not to mention prayers said for checked-in luggage, finding familiar food in an unfamiliar place is a heart-warming experience.

With that in mind, some of us set out to provide some genuine 24-carat Malaysian food. We didn’t want to bother some of the spouses as they have been good at periodically feeding us bachelors (many holding that status in-country only). We tried to get the cook from the camp but it was too late in the day. Zairul was already going bonkers thinking about it, as he was tasked to make sure some sort of Malaysian food was available for our guests. That Friday, in our Bangla van on the way to lunch and solat Jumaat, after hearing Zairul ‘s laments, I had to say,

“Aziz, kita masak kari daging for them nak?”

And Aziz had to agree,

“Boleh jugak…”

Alamaaaakk.... Aziz had to agree with me pulak..... How I wish I had bitten my tongue then. We didn’t know what we had gotten ourselves into. Must be the lack of oxygen in the van, but all the same we set out who is to do what and where. My apartment was picked as place to do the cooking. Aziz and Mior were to buy the beef and whatever else is needed. Wan Shariff volunteered his valuable cache of santan. He didn’t show up but we got the santan from Syamsul, our IT guy on assignment from KL, who showed up and volunteered his neck, adding another hand in addition to Mior and Aziz and Azam. Someone offered a pint of blood, another, his right arm. We then voted to secure Azam’s wife as our consultant. Victory was in the air. We could smell it.

That night, we worked our way through 6 kgs beef, 4 kgs of potaoes. 2 kgs onions. 2 kgs of onions!!!??? One and a half bottles of cooking oil. One and a half bottles of cooking oil!!!??? I never thought we'd need that much onions and cooking oil!

Azam’s wife asked us,

“Halia ada?” “Serai ada?” “Halba ada?” “Daun kari ada?”

“Tak ada.” “Tak ada.” “Tak ada.” “Tak ada.”

“Tak apa, saya ada….”

Talk about a knight in shining armour. Well, maybe a Joan of Arc this particular instance.

Laut dalam nak dijangkau dengan perahu bocor…. Ciiiiissss. Apa punya kari lah yang nak dimasak kalau tak ada halia, serai, halba and of course, daun kari? Well, coffee has been brewed from the soot from a wok’s bottom….. At least in P. Ramlee's movies it had been done.

We started out with a big pot to fit all 6 kgs of the beef, oil, curry, potatoes, santan and everything in between. Then we found out that the pot was too big for the convection stove that I have. We split the concoction into three and went on happily playing the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. At one point Mior had a senduk in each hand stirring all three pots. Cinderella’s step-mother would have been proud.

We ended up crawling into our beds at 1.30 am. Later we heard that our visitors and our bosses ate nothing else but our beef curry. Siap ada yang tapau lagi. Siap ada yang simpan dalam freezer and makan the next weekend lagi. Sejuk rasanya hati ni.... Tak sia-sia ibu mengandung.

Good thing I did not bite my tongue. I wonder if Maxim of Paris is hiring…

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