I can't remember the last time I was so overwhelmed by something I ate, I had to put up a post about it. Guess there's a first time for everything!
This isn't a Michelin-starred culinary experience. It isn't even a Maa-ke-haathon-se-bana home-made delight. Au contraire, it's something warmly unassuming.
I claim to be a foodie of sorts. Love tasting food from all over, esp outside India. No hang ups about anything, except for the fact that I'm still mustering up courage to eat insects, century eggs, animal genitalia and reptiles!
My first trip to Macau, I must confess, hasn't been very impressive. It was just a tick off the list. I'm more of a nature-history-architecture-loving traveller. I don't gamble either. So the casinos are merely a visual splendour to me. Ornately decorated money-sucking establishments that provide hope and escape bundled together at the push of a button or the flick of a playing card.
Casinos don't even come close to the generous dose of uncertainty my chosen career in Entertainment showers me with each day. I'm gambling enough in real life as it is, with a better win-rate.
But I did hope to bungee jump off the Macau Tower. Unfortunately bad weather and an incessant drizzle reduced my adventurous expectations to naught. I had planned out just one night and two days in Macau before heading to Hong Kong. So I walked in and out of casino lobbies on the first day, staring at the very Vegas-esque grandeur that Macau has quite remarkably managed to ape. Thus ended my day last night. Dry.. figuratively speaking of course!
Apart from noodle-bars and Chinese soup kitchens, almost everyone I had spoken with, about Macau, mentioned tasting the egg tart, a Portuguese delicacy, available here.
Google reviews about Macau's food scene directed me to blogs describing a tiny little bakery called Margaret's Cafe (Cafe รจ Nata) in the back alleys in the vicinity of The Grand Lisboa. A place so popular, you apparently encounter long queues just to get your hands on their famous, yet humble little tart.
Google also mentions Lord Stow's Bakery, that claims to be the creator of this egg tart. However my hotel was closer to Margaret's Cafe.
So, post breakfast, armed with Google Maps, I strolled along Macau's back alleys, littered with delightful Portuguese buildings, smiling right back at you with their colonial windows, striped awnings and rain-washed pastel-coloured walls.
No sign boards. No advertisements. But this is the kind of place everyone knows about. Ask and you shall be directed to Margaret's egg tarts.
I'm not surprised. Just about every major city in the world has small yet world-famous eateries like these. Hidden in plain sight, swarming with crowds waiting with bated breath, parched lips, eager taste-buds and open wallets to savour the delights beyond their humble doors.
Couple of rights and lefts later, I arrive at a quiet little lane, just off a commercial street, that allegedly leads to Margaret's Cafe. And that's when you see the crowd. 10am on a rainy morning. I can't even imagine what this queue would look like in good weather, on a peak touristy day. Phew!
The bakery is a really tiny one with a few benches and stools placed under a small awning. That's about it. There's nothing else to it. There aren't any glass walls too, showcasing their goods. I take my place behind 20 other people and patiently move towards the counter.
A few eager minutes later, I walk out with two pieces of warm egg tart (HK$ 10 each). I knew I would want to taste a second piece and wouldn't get another chance this morning.
It looked like nothing, really. A warm round puff pastry with some egg inside. Browned on top in the oven. I've grown up on India's oval egg puffs. Crisp puff with a hard-boiled half-egg within. What could be different?
That's when I bit into it.
The world around me, shut down for a few seconds.
The taste exploded in my mouth, as a shy tear welled up in my eye, ready to roll out as the flavours and textures of this piece of heaven stormed right through my taste buds, confusing the hell out of my brain.
Crisp golden pastry, perfectly crunchy and in the heart of it, a deliciously warm-salty-sweet-creamy-half-scrambled egg, baked to perfection that just dissolved right there on my tongue.
I stared back at this egg tart I had just taken a bite out of, not knowing whether to bite in further or just sit there and marvel at this divine creation.
Slowly, I bit in again, savouring every moment it made contact with my palate, until it became a part of me. It brought in happy memories from a far-off place, took me to a beautiful space that I'm still in, three hours later.
I've left for Hong Kong. Nothing else could be allowed to dilute this experience. This high. Was it the rain outside that enhanced the warmth of this tart? Was it an otherwise not-so-exciting experience in Macau? I will never know. All I know is that this is something I tasted and it made me write this excruciatingly long essay. All over an egg tart.
Oh Margaret!
