Mum looks me in the eye. ‘Let me get this straight, Albert Lengviriyakul,’ she says. ‘We’ve travelled over 7000 kilometres from Sydney to Macau, and you want to eat a burger?’
Two things you need to know about Mum. She just learned how to use Google Maps. And she loves her food. Some people go travelling for the sightseeing. Mum’s more into sighteating. She doesn’t collect postcards or magnets – she collects menus instead. Mum plans her days according to how many main meals we can have. We’re only here for five main meals – two days – before we fly over to Bangkok to meet up with my little brother Kitchai, Dad and my fifty-something cousins.
I feel like Mum’s bodyguard, because I’m taller than her even though I’m only twelve years old. It’s nice to spend time with Mum. It’s been fun tagging along with her to Shanghai and Hong Kong so I could try their local food. When I say local, I mean trying out their McDonald’s. It’s my goal to eat McDonald’s in fifty different countries. Either that, or have a heart attack, whatever comes first.
We drop our bags at our hotel before we catch a taxi into the historical centre of town, to visit the famous Ruins of St Paul’s, with plenty of chances to fill our tummies. Mum’s hands are magnets for anything with the word ‘tourist’ on them. She’s grabbed a bunch of maps and brochures from the hotel lobby.
She flicks through a Macau Eats brochure. ‘Wow, Macau is known for its fusion dishes, a mixture of European and Asian,’ she says in her best tour guide voice.
I stare out the window. ‘Yeah, Portuguese and Chinese, right?’
‘It’s said to be the oldest fusion Asian cuisine in the world.’
I laugh. I bet the first time someone fused two foods together was an accident. Or maybe it was an experiment.
I’m hoping that there will be a McDonald’s close to the ruins. I can’t wait to show my best friend Rajiv back in Australia.
Mum’s bouncing in her seat. ‘Oh, we have to try their Portuguese tarts.’
I don’t know if my tummy can handle some food after the rocky ferry ride from Hong Kong. But nothing gets between Mum and food.
The taxi drops us off at the Old Court House. ‘It’s only three-thirty in the afternoon,’ I say. ‘Maybe we can have some snacks before dinnertime.’
Mum stuffs the brochures and maps in her handbag. ‘Good idea, Albert.’
I rub my hands. A burger can be a snack. That’s the best thing about burgers: they can be anything – a meal, snack, or challenge. I still remember my first burger, when my parents took me out to McDonald’s to get a Happy Meal. When your parents own a Thai restaurant and 99 per cent of the food you eat is Thai food, you’d be over the moon too. The best part of my Happy Meal was not the toy, but the actual burger itself. It was love at first bite, and I’ve been wanting to taste different burgers ever since. We get to Senado Square and I’m following the signposts to the Ruins of St Paul’s. Mum’s following her nose and takes us to the Kam Wai Beef Offal store.
‘We have to try a bowl of beef offal,’ Mum says. ‘Do you want one?’
I look at the picture on the sign above me. ‘I think I’ll pass.’
‘It’s just like the beef in one of your burgers,’ Mum says.
‘Yeah, but they probably use the beef that McDonald’s rejects,’ I say.
‘Are you sure?’ She buys a bowl, along with a skewer of fish balls. She holds the bowl to my nose. It’s more like beef awful to me.
‘Can you help me carry the skewer?’ Mum says. ‘Maybe you can have one.’
‘Nah, it’s okay Mum.’ I only have eyes and a mouth for a burger.
Mum scoops the beef offal into her mouth. ‘Mmmm, the spice really gives it a kick,’ she says.
We slowly head down a narrow laneway and Mum spots a long queue. ‘If the line’s this long, then it’s got to be good.’
‘It could be for the toilet,’ I say. I wouldn’t be surprised if she needs to go after that bowl of beef offal.
Mum squeezes my shoulders. ‘Stay in line.’ She wanders up to the front of the queue. She comes back and squeals, ‘It’s a bakery selling Portuguese egg tarts.’
‘Is that all?’ I take one step out of the queue. ‘They sell those things everywhere.’
Mum squawks. ‘We have to wait!’
‘Why?’
‘It’s Lord Stow’s Bakery,’ Mum says. ‘I read online that they have the best ones in Macau.’
I look at my watch. ‘We could be here for hours.’
‘It’s moving pretty quickly,’ Mum says. ‘When else are we ever going to get this chance?’
The tart’s scent tickles my nose. They do smell awesome. We get closer and we can see a whole army of them behind the glass doors. People are marching away with a large box or two. ‘Should we get a dozen?’ Mum says.
‘Are you joking?’ I say.
‘You’re right, maybe we should get two dozen,’ Mum says. ‘I wonder if they’ll stay fresh for our trip back to Thailand.’
‘I’ll probably eat them all on the plane.’
We finally make it to the front of the queue and Mum orders a dozen tarts. She’s all smiles as she holds the box. ‘If only your dad and brother could be here.’
‘Don’t worry Mum, I’m sure you can torture Dad with your pictures,’ I say.
We move off the street to eat our tarts. Mum takes a photo of me as I take my first bite. The tart melts in my mouth. ‘Wow,’ I say.
Mum nods. ‘I told you it was good.’
We stop ourselves at three tarts each and follow the crowds towards the ruins. I catch a glimpse of the golden arches. ‘McDonald’s!’ I point to the sign in the far distance.
‘Albert,’ Mum says. ‘We are not here to eat—’
I rush off with my arms out, like a hungry zombie. What burger should I try? Maybe they’ll have a special burger, like the GCB burger that I had in Hong Kong. Or should I just go for the classic Big Mac to tell all my friends that they taste the same around Asia too?
I’m blocked by a tour group. They move as slow as tortoises, and they look like ones too, with their heavy backpacks. I try to get around them when I spot a stall on the side of the street. There’s a sign with a pork bun at the front.
Mum catches up to me. ‘Pork Chop Buns are one of Macau’s specialities.’
I walk up for a closer look at the pork chops. I smile at the man behind the stall and hold up one finger. He smiles back at me and makes me the bun. He places it in a paper tray. I give him the money and take the paper tray. I weigh the bun on my hand. ‘Mum, can you take a picture for me?’
Mum grabs my phone. ‘Is it a burger?’
‘Hang on …’ I get Mum to hold my pork bun and take a tart out from the box. I open up the bun and place the tart inside.
Mum gasps. ‘Are you sure?’
I lick my lips. ‘When else am I ever going to have this chance?’
Mum smiles and takes a few photos. I take a giant bite, watching the egg tart filling squirt out a little. The pork chop wins the battle for the sweetest thing inside the bun, but the tart comes a close second. It all slides down my throat. I can’t wait to tell Rajiv and my friends about my Pork Chop Egg Tart Bun Burger. This is the perfect fusion. It was no accident. It was a delicious experiment.