ONE ingredient appears to have been understated in the raging discussions about food frenzy and wastage during Ramadan. And, this concerns basic economics.
About spinning money. If we talk about possibly billions of ringgit being “wasted” as a result of greed that comes with the lamentable growling appetite, it is also about billions that goes spiralling into the economy. It is about consumer spending, which stimulates economic growth.
I came across an advertisement promoting a buka puasa buffet at a hotel in Kuala Lumpur, going for RM178 per head. That, to me, is downright crazy. But, I heard the place is fully booked throughout the week and, most likely, till the end of the fasting month. It means there is demand. It also means there is spending power.
It is understood that it is the same with most hotels and major restaurants in the city. In fact, the whispers going around is that these hotels look forward to the fasting month, as the revenue accrued from these buffets for just one month can cover their food and beverage costs for the entire year.
A foreign tourist, who was here for the first time during the fasting month last year, was aghast at the daily feast-like atmosphere at the coffee house of the five-star hotel where he was staying, and remarked that Malaysia was indeed full of rich people.
Let’s do a simple calculation and take RM120 as the average price per head, and that each restaurant can take in 500 people. It adds up to RM60,000 per day. For 30 days, it is RM1.8 million. And, that is the takings for just one outlet.
If there’s a hundred, it already comes up to RM180 million in one month. Imagine the ripple effect — how many tonnes of meat consumed, how many chickens slaughtered; the vegetable delivery folk would smile broadly and so would the suppliers of traditional kuih to the hotels.
This is not to mention the overtime earned by the cooks, waiters, dishwashers, cleaners and supervisors. Consumer spending would skyrocket, as all of them would most probably use the extra money earned on festive needs. Buy clothes. Even cars. And, the spiral continues.
Extend that to other cities, such as Johor Baru, Penang, Ipoh, Kuching and Kota Kinabalu. Extend that to the thousands of Ramadan bazaar traders all across the country. And, you get a flourish of economic wellbeing.
But that, to me, is as far as it goes because the sheer lavishness of blusters, such as the “100 kinds of selera kampung dishes”, is sure to bring with it the indignity of ending up with food wastage of the highest order.
Solid Waste and Public Cleansing Management Corporation chief executive officer Datuk Ab Rahim Md Noor put the figure at 9,000 tonnes daily, and the Muslim Consumers Association of Malaysia has expressed deep concern over the matter.
We seem to have forgotten the days when the elders taught us to waste none, saying rice left uneaten on our plates would weep to the heavens and it was a sin not to finish it. Well, I wonder what 9,000 tonnes of leftovers would do, then.
The Ramadan buffet and bazaar, which have become a culture in urban Malaysia, are a new phenomena, actually. The bazaars, often dishing out low-quality and overpriced food, also leave a trail of plastics and styrofoam.
Not too long ago, the only conspicuous casual trading by the side of the road was the selling of ice blocks (perhaps, in the absence of refrigerators in most homes) and, sometimes, firecrackers, which were not banned then. And, the common practice on food was for households to dispatch a sample of what had been cooked for the day’s buka puasa to neighbours.
What took place was more than the spirit of sharing. It was a big, daily neighbourhood food exchange, Home A giving Home B roti jala and getting popiah in return, and so on. It was fun and exciting for many to look forward to what the neighbours were cooking for the day.
It reminds me of a story often repeated by former cabinet minister Tan Sri Sanusi Junid, who recounted his days of growing up in Yan and Sungai Petani in Kedah.
He said the food exchanges during Ramadan used to be so intense that the entire neighbourhood would be sending dishes to one another.
Sometimes, out of pressure to be part of the community, a less-prepared Home B would discreetly send to Home C what they had received from Home A. A re-export.
“Therefore, it was not uncommon to find the cucur kodok we had earlier sent out finding its way back into our kitchen through the neighbour from the far end.”
The freelance writer is an award-winning columnist