THERE is a row of new coffeeshop makan joints operated by China nationals in New Bridge Road, offering grub like pigs' ears fried with cucumbers.

TNP PICTURE: CHOO CHWEE HUA

The choice is easy for people like me, suckers for a grandfather story anyday.

One outlet has two old emperors' legends poster-plastered on the wall, so of course I homed in there.

The Legend of Yunnan-style Steamed Chicken dates from the Qin dynasty and tells of a Chinese emperor - no! - who derived great pleasure from delicious food cooked in an air pot.

He would reward, with 80 taels of silver, whoever could produce such culinary delectations.

As is common in these tales of yore, one day someone stole the air pot (or maybe a wuxia student broke it) and so a new method of preparing dishes had to be found.

Voila (or its Chinese equivalent) the chicken was steamed and the emperor was chuffed.

The Legend of Cross-Bridge Rice Noodles features another Chinese emperor, another dynasty, a scholar who had to study hard to pass his imperial exams and his good wife who would daily make noodles from rice flour for him.

One day, tired from her chores, she fell asleep while crossing a bridge. When she woke, the noodles were still hot, warmed by her body, and tasted even better (a drop of sweat worked as enhancement in those pre-Tabasco days).

Countries with long histories have licence to invent romantic legends willy-nilly - like who among you chicken rice eaters is going to check for authenticity, ha, name the bridge.

For a young 'un Singapore, especially with no history of literature, who's to prevent us from concocting our own terrible tall tales surrounding our own icons and foods?

If you have the stomach for yet another chapter in the Newton giant udang saga, then why not make up some spicy story about How The Tiger Became A Prawn Which Turned Tourists (Sometimes) Into Pawns?

Chart the tiger prawn tale, including burly bodyguards, in comicbook panels and stick up the poster at seafood stalls, and I'm there.

'Is it called stingray because the price is the sting?'

The stall selling satay could boast a similar board recounting how the meat on a stick came to be.

The jury is still out on whether the word 'satay' is derived from the Hokien for 'three pieces' (sar teh) or the French for 'saute' (cook in fat). Come on, you can weave something out of that. With a prince from Indonesia and a little Dutch girl playing with bamboo splinters.

(In truth it is from the Javanese 'sate' but why you so spoilsport like that?)

Flash of inspiration

Take our mascot the Merlion.

The mane attraction got struck by a shear of lightning so forceful it rendered an undignified hole in its concrete head.

Alamak, tell people that in Singapore no one is above the law. The Merlion was rapped on the head, unfortunately overly hard, because it was defiantly spitting in public.

Every other year the legendary Katong laksa stirs debate: Who was first, whose is better. Sudah-lah, can someone just fabricate some fairy-tale round it, say an old gardener of daun kesum in Assam accidentally tipped sand into a pot of curry?

(Some Chinese say 'laksa' is 'lat sa' - chilli hot sand - now that is pure anecdotal fiddlesticks, this grafted nyonya can vouch.)

Apply the imagination and there'll be anecdotes aplenty. Scissor Cut Rice is obviously rich in violence, yew char kueh (translated into 'deep fried devils' for non-Chinese expats and visitors) full of horror, meepok a recession-proof dish because it literally says I-am-broke (me pok!).

Of course hanyu-pinyin would have to surface on signages and throw a wet towel over it all.

How do you tell a fun story with qi and zhi and dou?

Xiao only!

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