Two things drove my late grandfather crazy: free-flowing water and bare-chested men. No, he didn’t hang out at all-male pool parties. He just had fixed rules about his cafe. No tap water and no nipples.
His rules were considered rather archaic at the time, back in the 1980s, when his grandchildren spent their Saturday mornings washing dishes in his East London café, which immediately conjures images of handsome baristas selling espressos and handmade cupcakes dipped in salted caramel and gold bullion to justify their prices.
But this was East London before gentrification. Our café sold fried things and vats of milky tea, all of which were consumed amidst clouds of nicotine. I used to finish my shift and head off for a weekly colonoscopy.
And the clientele were not tourists looking for a slice of Ye Olde London, but construction workers and truck drivers. Real men who wore low-slung jeans not because they were fashionable, but to allow their bare bottoms to spill over the sides of our chairs.
They could smoke. They could swear. They could abuse the teenage dishwasher (me). They could do just about anything in my grandfather’s café.
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Except ask for tap water. Or eat with no shirt on.
Either could make my grandfather self-combust. Either could make him send out his formidable café security – his malnourished 13-year-old dishwasher.
On a 30 degree day, have you ever looked up at a half-naked, sweaty Irish labourer and told him to put his shirt back on? I have. There’s no laxative like it.
But that only happened on those balmy summer’s day in London, so about twice a year. The tap water was a more regular nightmare. I could hand over a kidney before I’d hand over a glass of tap water to a customer.
And believe me, the customers tried everything to avoid buying one of our overpriced cans of drink. They’d say they needed the water to take medication. Or they were feeling faint. Or they were having a dizzy spell, which was understandable, considering the prices we charged.
But my grandfather held firm. Customers bought tea or coffee or canned drinks. And this was the 1980s, long before bottled water companies had convinced pretentious types to only consume “natural” water wrung from the pyjamas of elfish children living under an Icelandic spa.
There was no bottled water for sale. There was tea and coffee. Or canned drinks. Or the juice from leftover baked beans. There was no compromise on tap water. Ever.
Tapping on tap water
So I must pause for a moment to absorb the faint strains of my late grandfather screaming. Because I’m in favour of Workers’ Party Member of Parliament Gerald Giam’s recent petition, which called for eateries in Singapore to offer low-cost drinking water or even a free flow of tap water at high-end establishments.
It’s not about squeezing already squeezed F&B proprietors of a few extra cents. It’s about messaging. Put simply, do we want the option of being a healthier nation or not?
Let’s deal with the high-end establishments first. At the risk of overplaying my working class shtick, if you’re charging $10 for a plate of garlic bread, essentially a couple of thick slices of fancy toast, you can offer tap water for free or, at the very least, at cost.
While the slender profit margins of F&B venues are well known – a good month could be between 10% to 20% – it’s that other percentage that rankles: the inglorious service tax. That 10% used to be a reasonable price to pay for the personalised approach, dealing with the kid who doesn’t want sliced tomato on his pizza, or the auntie who wants less salt, or the uncle who keeps leering at the female staff.
In that situation, 10% feels like a bargain.
But now, we are often handed an iPad and essentially told to serve ourselves. Why am I being thrown an iPad at eateries? I came to order food, not play Minecraft.
If I’m serving myself, I’ll add a free glass of tap water, thanks. Or charge a dollar for a recyclable bottle of tap water, if necessary. Cover the cost. Just provide a healthy option on the drinks menu that doesn’t involve adding to the plastic catastrophe. Because that should be the underlying issue.
I’m not keen on consuming excessive sugar, I’m teetotal, and I avoid purchasing single-use plastics whenever possible.
Yes, I know I’m only one hippy proclamation away from pulling out the acoustic guitar and singing Kumbaya around the campfire, but I really don’t want to be strong-armed into buying a sugary drink for my kid and a plastic bottle for Pulau Semakau.
And here’s the irony. While Gerald Giam’s petition to serve low-cost, if not free, drinking water at Singaporean eateries has triggered a robust debate, it’s interesting to note that most of the naysayers are operating restaurants at the higher end of the scale. And their concerns are valid.
Yet there were fewer complaints from hawkers, who maintain a hellish working schedule, serve every customer individually, and do not benefit from a 10% service tax. But they are suffering too.
Walk around any hawker centre and you’ll see reusable water bottles brought from home – including my own. And I genuinely empathise with the drinks stall proprietors on this one. So what can we do? Buy fruits or an ice kachang or a plate of kaya toast instead. Their stalls can still be patronised.
It’s the freedom to choose that’s critical, rather than being guilt-tripped into buying sugary drinks or plastic bottles we don’t want in order to pacify business owners not willing to recognise the evolving demands of the more health-conscious consumer. That’s all.
Unlike my late grandfather, I believe in the power of compromise. I’m optimistic. Moving forward, that restaurant glass should always be half full – with tap water.
