Black Tie, White Lie

Rotorua - The Unofficial Final Stop

2012-01-26T23:18:00.011+08:00

The Champagne Pool is one of the major attractions at Wai-O-Tapu Geothermal Wonderland, which is located near Rotorua. When I came across a photo of the multicoloured pool in the travel guide, I knew that I had to somehow include this in my compressed itinerary. So, just a day after visiting Milford Sound, I took the earliest flight back to the north island and drove about 300 km from Auckland, passing orchards and farms, to arrive at Rotorua on the same day. Just another mad, exciting day in New Zealand for me.

I could have driven through the quaint town of Rotorua to reach Wai-O-Tapu that late afternoon, as it was just over 20 km away. But I would only have a few hours to complete the trail and less time for photography. That wouldn't do justice to the wonderland. So, I decided to do that the next morning instead. I stayed in Rotorua for the night and managed to visit the beautifully restored Elizabethan museum of Rotorua, which used to be a bathhouse. Here, I'd learned quite a bit about Rotorua and the Maoris. The award-winning Polynesian Spa was just a few steps away, so I thought I should treat my worn body to a dip in the alkaline rock thermal pool. Sitting in the minerals-rich water, enjoying the serenity around the lake spa, with a pretty sunset view of Lake Rotorua and the cool breeze of late spring was most relaxing...until a large group of noisy tourists entered the compound. I ended the day with a dinner at the popular Capers Epicurean cafe. I had one of the day's specials - a creamy, citrus-scented dish of fettuccine with smoked salmon and prawns. It was a brilliant combination, I must say. So was the dessert of coconut and passion fruit cake crusted with almost flakes and served with a dollop of yoghurt. What an enjoyable night it was. Perhaps I should have more slow-paced, relaxing days like this when I'm on vacation ...... Nah.

The next morning, I reached Wai-O-Tapu just minutes before the doors were opened. Yes, I was really excited.

Walking around the living geothermal spot was like revisiting a science class. Though unpleasant, the first smell of hydrogen sulfide had me chuckling as I recalled the day when our science teacher, Mrs Yong, tricked us into inhaling that strange, resultant gas emitted from a test tube. The colours of the rocks represent the different compounds spewed from the earth's core. It's amazing how the deadly, violent movements of the earth had shaped such unique formation of pools, craters and geysers. They were magical. It's no wonder that they'd inspired the locals to christen them with imaginative names such as the Devil's Ink Pot, Artist's Palatte, Oyster Pool and Bridal Veil Falls.

It was nearing noon when I'd watched Lady Knox Geyser erupted and visited the nearby boiling Mud Pool. I had only a few more hours in Rotorua before driving back to Auckland. Tomorrow, I'd be returning to Singapore. There was only enough time, barely, to visit one more attraction in Rotorua. It was between a Maori village and the Waimangu Volcanic Valley.

Unlike Wai-O-Tapu, there was much less visitors at Waimangu. I’m guessing that it’s due to the more challenging trail, which may not attract certain groups of visitors. Eco-tourists, however, will fall in love with this relatively untouched, young geothermal valley. I had two hours to complete the easy-walking trail, in order for me to reach Auckland before nightfall. But I couldn’t resist the longer, tougher Mount Hazard trail. So, I had to move really fast.

Waimangu was a teaser. With every step of the trail, there’s something interesting that’s worth one’s attention. The climb to the top of the first hill was rewarded with a clear view of a black-water pool covered almost completely with red algae. Descending the hill, the ethereal Echo Crater and Frying Pan Lake await. The steam arising from the lake was such a spectacular fairyland-like sight. I wished to have spent more time here, to enjoy this view, but I was still far from the end of the trail. I had to move faster. The steep climb along the Mount Hazard trail is not fun – when one’s in a hurry. Patches of sweat began to appear on my shirt and I was gasping for breath as I’d reluctantly overtaken the slower climbers. But I was thankful for two things – my trusty pair of trekking shoes and good signage. There must be a reason for the creation of this difficult trail. Indeed, it’d led me to the steaming, azure Inferno Crater Lake. Seeing this beautiful lake for the first time was unforgettable. The vastness of the lake was not meant to be captured on my limited lens. So, instead of trying hard to get a good shot of the lake, I just stood there for awhile and enjoyed the view. The few German photographers standing next to me must have had better luck shooting the lake with their telescopic lens. Descending Mount Hazard to return to the main road was easy. I’d doubled my speed and finished the trail, passing the stunning Marble Terrace, Buttresses and Warbrick Terrace, within my targeted time. Waimangu was a living fantasy and it certainly looked better than in the guide books. I was glad that I’d chosen to come to here.

A collision of two sedans had slowed the traffic along the highway tremendously. It took me more than 4 hours to reach Auckland. The number of cars increased as I entered the city center. At the major shopping belt of Auckland where my hostel was located, neon signs and headlights filled the night. Streams of locals and tourists were gallivanting around the main streets. Restaurants and shops were buzzing. I had returned to familiar grounds.

Auckland was very different from the small towns that I’ve visited in the past 8 days. The noise and chaos made me miss the more peaceful and beautiful side of New Zealand. I returned to the hostel after having a hot bowl of chili from Wendy’s that kept me warm for a few hours. I decided to sleep earlier as I had to return the rental car before catching my flight back to Singapore the next morning. But before that, like every night throughout this vacation, I would lie in bed to recall and view all the beautiful sights of New Zealand on my camera’s LCD. The only difference was, tonight, I had no new adventure to look forward to the next morning. But I still slept with a big smile on my face as I reminded myself that I’d gained some incredible experiences in this journey across the land of the long white cloud - bungy jumping in Queenstown, walking on ice at Fox Glacier, cruising the majestic Milford Sound and living a fantasy at Wai-O-Tapu and Waimangu.

Here’s the link to my set of photos of New Zealand.

Surviving Queenstown

2012-01-19T22:26:00.000+08:00

When you’re in the adventure capital of the world, you live it.

Sometimes, when travelling, the mind is best left at home. Until the day I jumped, I was still assessing the risks of this crazy thing called bungy jumping. It was disturbing and had affected the first two days of my holiday.

Returning from Fox Glacier, I made my way to the jump base, the Kawarau River Bridge. I was feeling a little nervous but excited at the same time. The radio was playing a string of ballads, which did nothing to pump up the excitement. In fact, it was rather annoying. I turned it off, but the silence encouraged negative thoughts. I drove faster.

At the base, I quickly made my way to the registration counter, paid the fee and headed straight for the jumping platform. The efficient staff got me strapped with a few harnesses in a matter of seconds, while a group of Japanese tourists looked on. They thought I was Japanese and gave me some encouragement. A few of them seemed worried. I stood up, hopped to the edge of the wooden platform and looked down. If not for the strong current, the beautiful emerald Kawarau River below would have calmed me a little. The late afternoon began to feel cold too, as the rain got heavier.

Almost immediately, the staff signaled for my jump. Dive well, bro, he said. It was time to take a leap of faith.

Much earlier before the jump, I’d decided on a Superman dive. But in the end, it turned out to be a typical, instinctive dive instead, which lacked style.

The first few seconds of the free fall were the best. I felt light; like one with the wind. It was surreal. This joy, this adrenaline rush was unexplainable. As I dipped into the river, the rubberized rope, upon reaching the limit of its stretch, contracted and I was pulled up slightly. The jump was over.

A boat rowed by to transport me to the river bank. From here, it was a long walk back to the jump base. I’d guessed that this distance was designed to help traumatized jumpers to relax and recover. I was just happily singing along the way, striking off another action item on my bucket list.

It was only when I’d watched another person jumping off the same platform that I realized what I’d done just minutes ago. Indeed, I’d left my mind, and acrophobia, in the car.

FergBurger is a fantastic place to fill the stomach after an adventurous day in Queenstown; provided one gets a seat, of course. The display of MTV-style sports programmes and upbeat music made the small restaurant cool and lively. But of course, it’s the long list of mouth-watering burgers accompanied by sides of fries and beer that makes FergBurger a must-try for every visitor to Queenstown.

I could have just ordered any other burger but decided to go all out for the biggest burger there was at Ferg’s. Afterall, that’s what living in the adventure capital of the world is all about, isn’t it? I'd like to think of it as my Man Versus Food moment.

It’s called the Big Al. I equated its monstrous size to 2 Big Macs. I wasn’t able to count the number of prime New Zealand beef patties in the burger but the menu stated a double serving. There were also layers and layers of fried bacon, cheese, beetroot, tomatoes, onions and lettuce. Extra flavours were provided by the generous amount of relish and aioli. Biting into the thick Big Al itself was a challenge. Then, I had to deal with the layers that kept falling out with every bite…because it’s just too much to handle. It’s interesting to have the egg yolk flowing out on one side of the burger and the pinkish beetroot/aioli mixture squirting from the other. It was a mess, a delicious mess of course. I’d returned a few days later to try the smartly named The Codfather; a burger that consists of beer-battered blue cod, dressed with dill tartar. The fried cod came exceptionally aromatic and paired wonderfully with the tartar sauce. It was perhaps the best fried cod I’ve ever had so far.

Just next to Ferg was a dessert bar called Lick. With an overstuffed stomach, I should have just walked pass the bar and continued on for a few miles more around Lake Wakatipu to help ease digestion. But instead, I stopped by for some gelato. I’m glad I did (sorry, stomach). I had two very smooth and refined scoops at Lick; boysenberry and feijoa flavours. In fact, I’ve never had mediocre gelatos or any dairy product in New Zealand.

It was only at night, when I laid in bed recollecting my day, that I realized how exhausted I was. It began with a 5-hour drive from Fox Glacier to Queenstown, followed by the bungy jump, an accidental visit to Arrowtown and window-shopping around central Queenstown. The next morning, I would be joining a day-tour to Milford Sound. The thought of taking the backseat for once was very much relaxing. I looked forward to the breathtaking fiorland, which was my final stop on the south island of Aotearoa.

Nakhon Kitchen

2012-01-12T23:39:00.003+08:00

The thought of Nakhon Kitchen whets up my appetite easily. And I've only been there once.

When I order pineapple fried rice, I often (if not always) find myself asking - where's the taste of pineapple? It's usually just yellowed, dry (or oily, take a pick) rice stirred with prawns and green peas, and served in a halved, hollowed pineapple. Here, my first spoonful of rice came with a burst of sweet/sour juice from the pineapple cubes (be it canned or fresh) adding both taste and moistness. That's pineapple rice, literally. A good one at that.

I've learnt that the favourite meat among the female patrons here is not necessarily a dish, but for me, I've got my eyes set on the spicy minced pork with basil leaves. It's a simple stir-fry, perfumed with a handful of Thai basil leaves and sufficiently dressed in a mixture of savoury sauces. This is a dish that's compatible with any form of carbohydrate; rice, bread or noodles.

Perhaps it's the contrast between the colour of the plates and the food that....no, let me take that back. It's still their technique of the getting right fillet texture and the formulation of sauce that made the fried fish with sweet chilli sauce a winning dish. Of course, as mentioned, it was visually appetizing as well.

The small shoplot was atmospherically Thai; from the utensils to the decorations to the music. One can tell that the owner made an effort to impress the customers with these details. With food so good, that's not required. I think the neverending queue will agree.

Nakhon Kitchen
Blk 212, Hougang Street 21
#01-341
Singapore 530212

The Last and First

2012-01-05T23:26:00.007+08:00

4 December 2011 (Standard Chartered Marathon Singapore)

Once again, I’d followed a high, good fats and potassium-rich diet of salmon, avocado and potatoes in preparation for race day.

I was stuck in the human jam along Orchard Road. Under the bright Christmas lights, I was bewildered, frustrated and upset. My pace was negligible. It was painful to look at my stopwatch. Come on, compressing 20,000 marathoners on the compact city roads has got to be a bad idea. And to have just 8 baggage deposit counters was an obvious sign of mismanagement. Still walk-running somewhere between South Bridge Road and Cecil Street (that's 4 km from the starting point), I had a thought that followed me a long, slow distance. Was I missing the point? Shouldn't I be enjoying the run instead of eagerly wanting to better my personal best time for a full marathon? NO! I didn't come untrained. I wanted to hit a new PB. I wanted to cap off this amazing year with a PB. My response made me even more upset. For me, this was the most anticipated run of 2011. After completing the 10 km and 21 km categories in 2009 and 2010 respectively, I'd plucked enough courage to challenge myself to run the marathon distance. The Putrajaya Night Marathon and months of training boosted my confidence further.

The human traffic eased towards the 8th km. So did my mind. Now, I decided, was the time to recover, to compensate for lost time. I began to accelerate.

By the 13th km, I'd entered East Coast Park - the longest stretch (about 20 km) of the full marathon course. Despite the narrow lanes, runners were more dispersed now. The 5-hour pacers were now in sight. I quickened my pace. As I overtook them, I was once again filled with optimism. Earlier disturbances were washed away with the endless flow of sweat. Observing my average pace, I estimated the time needed to reach the 4.30-hour pacers. It wouldn't take too long.

Indeed, I managed to catch up with the pacers and later, overtook them. To achieve a new PB, I must always stay ahead of them until I reach the finish line. As a bonus, the 4:15-hour pacers were not too far in front too!

Besides achieving a PB, I wanted to finish the race injury-free as well. However, I didn't manage to do any pre-race stretching due to the delay at the bag deposit counter. That got me worried. There was nothing that I could do, but to listen to my body with every stride.

At the 34th km, before crossing the bridge to Marina Barrage, I felt a prickle on my right inner thigh (there must be some Latin name for the specific muscle, I'm sure). It's the familiar sensation I get when I do longer runs. Sometimes, it would disappear but unfortunately, on that day, the pain worsened. Who would have thought that a tiny piece of cramped meat like that could affect one's performance? Well, it did. Running, from that point on, felt like driving a car with one locked wheel. I had no choice but to slow down, constantly and rhythmically swinging my right leg to reduce the pain. I gulped two packs of energy gels and had cups of isotonic drinks, hoping to level the amount of potassium in my body, which may (or may not) ease the cramp.

As I was thinking of ways to minimize the pain, I didn't realise that the 4:30-hour pacers had caught up with me. The sight of their bright yellow singlets and grey balloons was unwelcome and alarming. I can't let them overtake me, not at this point. Like a prey running for its life, I pushed on…hard. There was no turning back to check on the pacers or treating the thigh now. I just ran - up the Heartbreak bridge, zig-zagging through the congested Republic Boulevard (I had almost given up there) and struggled through the last 2 km to reach the finish line at the Padang. The pacers reached minutes later.

There was much to be celebrated that morning. Firstly, I'd achieved a new marathon PB by shaving 18 minutes off my previous timing at the Putrajaya Night Marathon. Also, I'd completed all the 10, 21, 42 km categories of the Standard Chartered Marathon Singapore, which begs the question - should I participate again in 2012? My elder cousin, who suffered a major cramp during the race, managed to complete his marathon within the time limit while the younger cousin made his half-marathon debut and finished the equally congested run in a respectable time. Personally, and most importantly, I'd learned to not give excuses. Could I have done better at the SCMS if I had the whole route to myself? I don't know. But I do know that despite being caught in the human traffic, I'd seized every opportunity to catch up, by running faster and smarter. And that's another life lesson learnt....through running.

As I sat on the pavement to rest, I saw many runners, with their finisher's T-shirt in hand, limping their way out of the Padang. I was one of them, of course. It's a funny sight, really.

For me, 2011 was mostly about running (as in the sport, of course). In the last 7 months, I'd done 4 half marathons, 2 King of the Road runs and 2 full marathons. Hey, that's slightly more than 1 official race per month! And that exclude the amount of training poured into improving each run. Ending the last run of the year on a happy note did put me in a cheerful, holiday mood. Two days after the marathon, I visited Beijing. Then, I was back in KL for a week, celebrating Christmas with friends before heading to Ipoh for some really good food. As for the New Year celebration.....

1 January 2012 (Newton New Year Challenge 2012)

This year, I'd observed new year's eve countdown parties being held everywhere in KL; from shopping malls to famous streets to public squares to residential areas! Even the football field in my neighbourhood was used by the current administration to usher in the new year with some stage performances (targeting mainly the older folks), lucky draws and fireworks display. But instead of joining this party (or any other, for that matter), I chose to sleep at 10:00 pm, after a sumptuous pre-race dinner of stir-fried potatoes with pork, fried chicken and ayam masak merah. Understandably, it's unwise to consume oily and spicy food before a race but I was curious to see how my body would react to moderate, not excessive, portions of such food. My friends were unhappy with my decision to sleep early instead of joining them for the countdown. But they've come to terms with my obsession and agreed to celebrate the arrival of 2012 on new year's day instead. And we had a good time enduring a torturous foot massage followed by a dinner of Moroccan lamb shank, among other dishes.

I chose to participate in the Newton Challenge because it's a run that's like no other. And I thought, completing this 25 km course of multiple, erratic elevations would be good motivation to start the brand new year. I’ve read a lot about the Ammah Hills and I still don’t understand the reason behind this moniker. Regardless, this was one steep, fierce mama. Looking at the race map, I was also slightly intimidated by the names of some major points along the route as well, like PUNCAK Jalil and Paragon HEIGHTS. They do sound high. So, the Newton Challenge is not just about conquering the distance, but more significantly, it’s about one’s ability to defy gravity.

Given the distance of 25 km, I didn’t device any special training sessions as I assumed my weekly mileage was sufficient to prepare me for this run, in terms of stamina. As for the elevations, I was just mentally prepared for some tough climbs.

As expected, at midnight, I was awakened by the explosions of fireworks from the football field. But I managed to fall asleep again soon after (surprisingly) and woke up at 3:00 am, all geared up for my first ever new year’s day run. Years ago, this was the time I’d returned home from the clubs.

At the start point, I saw many famous running bloggers and also bumped into my cousin, who took part in the 12 km run. It was as if the whole running community was there! The race started at 5:30 am along the relatively mild (flat) Kinrara Golf Club. A few minutes into the race, my MP3 player died…right after Moves Like Jagger. I didn’t feel right having the mute headphones stuck to my ears and decided to slow down to remove them before resuming my first silent race. But that was okay, really. Throughout the race, I’d seen runners waving and wishing each other a happy new year. I even heard someone saying Gong Hei Fatt Choi. That’s the reason why I like small-scale races like this. They are more intimate and enjoyable.

The first challenge came as we reached the T-junction of Persiaran Puncak Jalil. Turning left, we faced the introductory hill that left many breathless. I also found it a struggle but still launched ahead, body bent forward slightly, with my arms semi-folded, like a praying mantis. I realized that this position works well for me. Ascending one steep slope that measured almost 700 m in length after another was extremely taxing on the heart and legs. At times, I felt my heart was about to pound out of my chest. Runners began distancing from one another. Elites were spearheading at an envious speed, leaving the rest huffing and puffing, wishing the peak was within the next step. I tried to distract myself with trivial thoughts…of Sin Eng Heong’s delicious, crispy kaya puffs and wondering why the streetlights would turn off every time I pass them by. I could still go on, I convinced myself.

Descending the first major hill wasn’t easy too, for me. I didn’t want to switch to free gear, which I assumed would make the next climb more difficult, if I wanted to keep the momentum. I had to control my pace. Returning to the T-junction, we ran straight ahead towards the other direction of the Persiaran, which would ultimately lead us to Puncak Jalil. Here was THE killer slope, which looked frightening, even if one was driving. This was the absolute challenge, I thought. I tried not to look up, and focused on the dividing white lines on the road instead. The killer slope actually consists of a few smaller slopes, which made the climb even more difficult. Reaching the end of the first slope, we had a couple of seconds to catch our breath before continuing to ascend the second slope. And this vicious cycle would continue. After a while, one would lose interest in counting the number of slopes and just wished the race would end soon.

Without the distance markers, runners relied on each other and the traffic marshals for guidance. The marshals were very encouraging. When some runners asked one of the marshals for the distance, the friendly marshal replied, in Cantonese, Aiya, a few kilometers more only. Don’t think too much lah. Just continue to run! I thought that was rather entertaining.

I knew the end was near when I saw the last (and first) Petronas station. The ground was very much flat again, thank goodness. Crossing the finish line, I was still feeling fresh, although the legs were badly stretched, no thanks to Ammah and her children. I didn’t set any goal for this race because there are no other races of the same distance to compare it with. To my understanding, 25 km is a rather unusual distance. But my average pace had improved, in comparison with my best half marathon pace. So, that was an achievement, I thought. Also, I’d completed the course injury-free and without consuming any energy gels.

I lingered around the race site and had a few cups of isotonic drinks and Milo before heading home for a hearty and well-deserved breakfast of fried arrowhead chips and assam laksa. Despite the tough course, I’d enjoyed the race very much.

Many have predicted that 2012 will be a year of slower economy and increased natural disasters. I was also told that the new year would be disastrous for those born under my Chinese zodiac sign. If it’s true, that 2012 will be a struggle as suggested, I hope it’ll still be as fun as the Ammah Hills challenge. Bring it on!

Here’s wishing everyone a happy and healthy 2012.

The Nimble Fox

2011-12-21T22:51:00.006+08:00

Seated next to me was Joseph. He was returning to Hamilton, south of Auckland. The music from his headphones was so loud, I could easily recognize the tunes. They were mostly modern rock songs from the 90s (and an Air Supply number). As I immersed in the Lonely Planet guide most of time, there wasn't much interaction between us...until the last hour before the plane landed at Auckland when he sprung a question. Here for a holiday?, he asked. In that hour, we talked about my itinerary and driving in New Zealand. I was mostly worried about the weather because November is a wet month. I asked if I should be concerned about the rain. A redundant question, I know. But I was hoping for an optimistic answer; an assurance. Well, this is the Land of the Long White Cloud, he said. I couldn't make out that remark. Later, when I checked into the hostel at Queenstown, the warm receptionist asked of my plan for the next day. Happily, I told her that I'd be leaving for Fox Glacier and asked if rain was to be expected. She smiled, then shrugged. Puzzled yet again, I'd finally given up asking about the weather for the rest of my trip.

Waking up to Queenstown's Lake Wakatipu on a sunny morning was one of the best moments I had this year. What's more when the air was cool and crisp. A light breakfast later, I began my scenic drive to Fox Glacier.

From Arrowtown, I trailed the winding, steep Crown Range Road (on a basic 1.3L automatic car, this proved to be a challenge) to reach the golden plains of Cardrona and later, the shimmering blue twin lakes of Wanaka and Hawea. For a few hours, I'd completely forgotten about the rain.

The sky rendered grey as I entered the village of Fox Glacier. The road turned misty, forcing me to slow down and turn on the windscreen wipers. Soon, it began to drizzle.

It was my intention to reach in the late afternoon. With a few hours of sunlight to spare, I was able to make an excursion to Lake Matheson - where on a clear day, promises a mirage of Mount Cook and Mount Tasman. Not on that day, unfortunately. The light rain had washed out the reflection. Even if the rain had stopped, Mount Cook would still be blanketed by thick, low-hanging clouds. Clearly, it wasn't my day. I was disappointed and solaced in the car munching a large bag of salt and vinegar potato chips.

The rain got heavier later that night. And my glacier walk was just a few hours away. I was terribly worried that the walk would be cancelled.

In the morning, the sky was bright again. Excellent, excellent! I took a look at my watch. It was 9:07 am. My walk would begin in 3 minutes! There was no time for a bath or brushing my teeth. I scrambled to wear my pants, put on my jacket and dashed for the door. I'd even forgotten about my passport and daypack. As I ran, I took a look at my watch again.

This time, the watch showed 7:00 am. I still had on my thermal pants and jacket. Outside, it was raining. I was obviously dreaming but I couldn't figure out which part of it was a dream. More importantly, in reality, the rain got heavier and there was no sign of it stopping in the next 2 hours. I envisioned a large WALK CANCELLED notice hanging outside the guide station. It wasn't about the money gone wasted that got me upset but the thought of having travelled thousands of miles to get here to fulfill one of my life dreams; just to be ruined by the rain.

There was no more optimism left in me. I dragged myself to the station, in the rain, for reporting. The station (which also functions as a souvenir shop and cafe) was warm and crowded. Before I could approach the receptionist, a staff instructed the full-day walkers to proceed to the left side for check-in. Yes, that's me! The walk would proceed despite the rain! I can't really describe how happy that announcement had made me.

Because it was raining, we were provided with raincoats and more serious-looking crampons. There were about 20 full-day walkers that morning. Later, we were divided into two groups. I went with a Brazilian couple (they were on their second honeymoon), two Taiwanese girls (who wanted to skydive in Queenstown), and the newlyweds from America. Our main guide was Megan from Canada. She was accompanied by a more experienced guide, Jono from Tasmania. Besides giving Megan a masterclass in guiding, Jono was also tasked to pave new routes for the coming walks.

They have a name for the full-day walk. It’s called the Nimble Fox. Given the slippery surfaces, I guess we weren’t as nimble as we would have wanted to. Slowly, we ascended the glacier in the heavy rain.

The science of the formation of glaciers is not difficult to understand but the visual effects that these compacted snows create are often magical. And they are always embellished with a spectrum of blue hues. Glaciers only appear blue because of the colour’s short wavelength, which can be reflected faster and not absorbed, as with colours of longer wavelengths; like red or green. To experience and understand better the science of this rare, natural phenomenon are the reasons that made me come to Fox Glacier.

The course was not easy to complete. And if unguided, proves to be extremely dangerous. Megan and Jono did most of the hard work; axing the ice to sculpt flights of stairs to make our climb easier and safer. It’s also important to be aware of the crevasses. One slip is all it takes to have one fall into the bottomless depth. And it’s easy to forget about safety, especially one is distracted by the beautiful ice pinnacles and seracs. That’s why we walked in a line, so that we can look out for each other.

We found a good spot for lunch and obviously hungry, I chomped my Jimmy’s meat pie fast. Apparently, Jimmy’s is one of the most well-known pies in New Zealand. And it was tasty, with the gravy mixed with a good amount of cheese. I only realized that the rain had stopped when the strong reflection of sunlight on the ice pained my eyes. I told Megan that I’d expected the walk to be cancelled due to the rain. She explained that in the case of showers like this, walks usually proceed. I’d continued to say how worried I was about the weather throughout the trip. Sometimes, we just got to have some faith, Jono interjected, while peeling his orange.

The glacier terrain is dynamic. It moves a considerable distance daily and therefore, there’s never an exactly same route, only similar. And that day, we were lucky. As we made our way to the highest point of our walk, Jono found a new path that led us down a fresh crevasse of perhaps just three meters deep. To reach this spot, we had to climb over another pinnacle, at an almost right-angled slope. We left our daypacks behind (to reduce weight) and began the climb; one at a time.

The view of the newly cracked glacier was amazing. We were allowed to land ourselves at the bottom of the crevasse to take some photos. Surrounded by the blue walls, I imagined myself walking on a frozen seabed. The few minutes spent down there were priceless. So was the taste of pure water dripping off the melting glacier.

Towards the end of our journey, the sky was grey again. And it started to drizzle when we neared the shuttle bus station. It’d been such an eventful day; from the dream to the rain to the spectacular glaciers to the newfound friends. Now, I felt that my Aotearoa journey had finally begun. I was looking forward to my next adventure. Was I still worried about the weather? Sometimes, we just got to have some faith. Sometimes, we just got to have some faith.

Home of Middle Earth

2011-12-07T02:19:00.003+08:00

Fantasy adventures, be it in form of books or movies, do not interest me much. I did watch Peter Jackson's The Lord of the Rings trilogy though, but for the special effects and hype. After my visit to New Zealand, I wanted to watch them again, not because I have a newfound love for fantasies but just to be awed once more by the spellbinding, surreal sceneries. For me, it's not easy to describe the natural beauty that is New Zealand, so I thought I should begin my journey with a selection of photos taken as I made my way across this magical land; the home of Middle Earth.

NZ 647

Lake Matheson, Fox Glacier

Fox Glacier

Milford Sound

Wai-O-Tapu, Rotorua

Waimangu, Rotorua

Fukuharu

2011-11-24T22:27:00.005+08:00

A worthy, value-for-money Japanese set lunch. The last time I was impressed by such a deal was back in 2008, when Lyrical Lemongrass, FatBoyBakes and I met for an eight-course kaiseki lunch at Fukuya, Bangsar One. I did find out later that Fukuharu also belongs to the owner(s) of Fukuya. That explains the similar minimalist interior, warm hospitality and affordable, homey Japanese food.

If not for FBB's dive wife (she's an admirable runner too), who'd highly recommended the set lunch, I wouldn't have travelled the distance to come to the TERRACE, given how horrendous the traffic can be like along Jalan Ampang. But more importantly, I wanted to catch up with her and share my recent running experiences.

After a run earlier in the morning, I was certain that one set lunch (Japanese, especially) wouldn't be enough for me. But I was assured that the portions here are huge. The dishes rolled out one after another, starting with the salad, chawan mushi, choice of main dish (I chose the saba shioyaki, or grilled mackerel sprinkled with salt) and a bowl of hot soba (one can choose rice instead). The selection was J-typical but the ingredients remained fresh. Especially at only RM38+, there was nothing left to complain about, really. But of course, the stomach was only half filled, at best. But that's not their fault.

Somewhere between deploring the erratic slopes along the Putrajaya Night Marathon route and planning for the insane Western State 100 Mile Endurance Run (it will not materialise, believe me), we were served the mini kaiseki appetizer platter, which I'd absolutely forgotten. It was surprisingly a plateful. And of relatively good quality too. Among others, the salmon sashimi slices (and cubes - with a wafu-style dressing and served in a shot glass) were considerably fresh, the riceball-coated deep-fried prawn came à la minute crispy and there was even a cut of well-seasoned roast duck. Now that's what I call worthy.

Our fervent discussion on running went on for some time (covering Asics/Saucony shoes versus the world, introversion of runners, strategic locations to hide hydration bottles while running, etc), paused only for dessert (part of the set). It was a simple, flavourful scoop of vanilla ice cream, interestingly drizzled with black sesame sauce.

Fukuharu brought back good memories of Fukuya at Bangsar One. Both restaurants offer unbeatable set lunches in a relaxed setting. Personally, I think that this is a better option for a weekend gathering of few friends than to splurge on a chic restaurant where just the appetizer of colourful foams and a deconstructed iced lemon tea cost more this set lunch.

Fukuharu
TERRACE at Hock Choon
241-B, Lorong Nibong off Jalan Ampang
50450 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Yut Kee, finally.

2011-11-17T00:05:00.002+08:00

Dad said that he used to despatch chicken to Yut Kee from his employer's stall in the old Central Market. He would get a free meal every time he's there. People were more sincerely generous in the old days, weren't they? According to dad, the pork chop and egg roll were really good. All these years, he had never mentioned about Yut Kee (and I never asked why), until I suggested that we have lunch there a month ago. I took the family to Yut Kee a week after my first visit with a couple of friends. Having learnt that the best time to avoid is around the lunch hours, we took a slow ride to reach at 2 pm. Surprisingly, the famous pork belly roll was still available. What luck!

It's a very typical coffee shop but while many would see a more slowed and relaxed tea time, Yut Kee was still very much a high speed production line, churning out dish after dish. Despite the overflowing crowd waiting at the shop's front, I thought they operated efficiently; from allocation of seats to taking orders to the payment process. This system (which seems intuitive but nonetheless requires sufficient manpower and good coordination to work) that they've adopted shortens the waiting time significantly and puts the customers at ease. It's a major plus, really. I can't remember how many times I'd sworn that I'd be damned if I had to revisit some badly managed but prideful eateries in town.

As we sat down, Dad began observing the surrounding, obviously looking for familiar faces but couldn't recognize anyone. He said the workforce had been replaced by, perhaps the next generation. There were four of us at the table, with eight dishes to share; including the westernized roast pork belly, which I thought was very good. It's all in bite - the crispy crackling, the aroma of lard melt bursting in the mouth and a nutty taste of the filling. The apple sauce gave an interesting sweetness to the salty meat. Of course, when one's at Yut Kee for the first time, one has to try the perennial favourites such as roti babi, Hailam mee and belacan fried rice. I didn't think much of the roti babi filling (which could do with more filling and seasoning) but the soft, encapsulating bread coated with a thin layer of egg was nice. I thought the roti was skillfully prepared. The taste is to be enhanced with a dip of the Worcestershire sauce.

On this second visit, I'd decided to try other less popular dishes on the board. Less because they were not seen on every table, unlike the roti babi and pork chop. I'd ordered the beef noodles served with a generous amount of meat and tripe, soft radish and a clear stock, and the Cantonese-style fried noodles with enough wok hei to keep me intoxicated and happy.

Let's talk a bit about the all-time favourite pork chop. The first bite unravelled a well-marinated piece of tenderized pork. The construction was traditional. From my (limited) pork chop experiences, the brown sauce is usually mild, bordering tasteless, even. That's not the case at Yut Kee though. The caramelized gravy was rich and flavourful, and went really well with the otherwise bland potato wedges and assorted boiled vegetables. Oh, not to forget a sprinkling of the appetizing Worcestershire sauce too. However, Dad did mention that the pork used to be crispier, but perhaps due to higher demand, were pre-cooked, hence the softness.

Growing up, I was privileged enough to have eaten quite a fair amount of Hainanese noodles cooked by an aunt of mine. It's quiet different from my usual Cantonese and Hokkien mee with the noodles simmered over a longer duration and served soupy but less starchy than loh mee. Yut Kee's Hailam mee was different. The soup was reduced to an almost stir-fried consistency. Still, it was a tasty treat, especially when eaten with the topping of some fragrant, crunchy fried shallots.

The extensive menu at Yut Kee is posted on a larger than life whiteboard hung on the sidewall. So far, I've only tried a small fraction of it. For me, every visit is to try something new, and to discover something old but gold as well. Here, especially when dining alone or in a small group, chances are that one would be sharing a table with older loyal customers that are happy to share their tales of Yut Kee or recommend some dishes. Tourists also flock this coffee shop, which I think is a good choice. It's definitely a more identifiable Malaysian experience. Truly Asia what?

I didn't ask Dad what he thought of today's Yut Kee. He seemed pleased though, whopping one dish after another. Perhaps for him, there was a taste of nostalgia in the food too.

Take away the hype, the rustic interior (which is one of the attractions of this coffee shop) and endless free publicity, I will still be back at Yut Kee, simply because the food is good and affordable (especially in this part of the city). Not many good old coffee shops like this survive the test of time so I really hope that they'll stay for long time. And I'm confident of that, unless of course, there's a forced, unwise plan to demolish this row of shophouses in the name of development.

Yut Kee
35, Jalan Dang Wangi
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Chinese mitten crabs at Capital Restaurant

2011-11-04T01:49:00.004+08:00

...or hairy crabs, as they are usually known as.

I knew I'd be late, given the rush hour madness at the MRT stations. The heavy wooden toy set (it must have been at least 6 kg) that I'd lugged all the way from Paragon wasn't very helpful in increasing my pace. So I decided to take the good old bus to get to Capital Restaurant instead. Not a bad idea. In fact, it was brilliant. Not only was the bus relatively spacious (as compared to the over-packed trains), the ride was also smooth and fast. I reached much earlier than expected and could afford to withdraw some cash, try a bowl of fishball (the stall called it fish bakso) noodles from the People's Park food center and identify some of the most competitive money changers in the adjacent complex. It was a very good start to the dinner ahead.

The name Capital (首都) itself has already given an impression that it's been around for decades. New restaurants don't bank on names like this. They prefer something, anything that catches your attention or raises an eyebrow. I'm sure one who's reading this can instantly name a few. Well, I happen to think that there's a certain rustic charm to a name like Capital. And to have survived so long in this dynamic F&B business on this little red dot means something.

This is at the fringe of Chinatown, an area that I'd only passed by, but never took notice of the shoplots. If not for wanting to try hairy crabs, I wouldn't have known the existence of Capital. Some hotels in town offer hairy crabs too, but I don't think the prices are as affordable as here.

What's the correct procedure to dissect the crab to fully savour its taste? Do we taste the fur on the claws? Is there a particular sequence to eating the legs, claws or roe first? I came absolutely unprepared and tried to do some last-minute research online but the mobile broadband service was down. So many burning questions unanswered! The shameless stomach was growling. I had to get started. It was me, a pick and a pair of scissors against steamed hairy crab number XXXXXXXXX from the Tai Lake in China. I strategized by digging the remains of my secondary school biology knowledge and mostly logic.

Firstly, I cut the hairy legs. Followed by the mitten claws. Now, I was left with the body. Gosh, this sounds like Natsuo Kirino's Out already! I separated the shells by gripping the upper half and pulled the lower half. It was easier this way as there was a dent on the lower half that could fit the tip of my index finger. With one gentle pull followed by a crack, a molten, golden mass of roe was revealed.

We, the hairy crab virgins, decided that the roe was as rich as a salted egg yolk. I even suggested that it's a crustacean version of the steamed salted egg bun. The flesh was sweet, subtly. The dip of ginger and black vinegar provided a refreshing contrast. A small Chinese cup of ginger tea was served after we were done with the crabs. The Chinese believe that ginger will dissipate the wind accumulated from consuming the cooling hairy crabs. It was one fiery cup of tea, for sure. On average, it took us about 30 minutes to devour the fist-sized crab, which weighed about 200 g, if I recall correctly. The neighbouring table sat a couple attempting 3 (or 4) crabs each. I wonder how long it took them to finish all the crabs.

I think we made the right choice of having the crabs as our first dish. Some prefer to have it last. I'm sure, if served last, we would have been full and less enthusiastic about spending 30 minutes digging for crab meat and roe. And inevitably, some precious parts would have been ignored and wasted.

The rest of the recommended dishes were mostly Cantonese fare. My favourite was the roast duck, which must have been showered with boiling oil, post-roasting, for that extra crisp on the skin. Coupled with well-seasoned and succulent meat, I thought it was fantastic. I wouldn't say that pork cutlets in coffee sauce, sizzling venison with scallion and spinach soup with 3 types of eggs are representative of classic dishes served at Capital but they were still delicious. Perhaps the captain thought that young people like us (how much more shameless can I get?) would prefer more familiar, modern dishes.

With a full and now, quiet stomach, I left Capital with the 6 kg toy set still in tow. I didn't mention earlier that the toy was purchased for work purpose and unrelated to the dinner. I just had to bring it along since I was already in town. The next morning, I carried it through a 500 m walk, 1 MRT and bus ride each before reaching the office. Along the way, I'd also reminisced about the golden roe and roast duck. And that really made the journey less exhausting. You may call me cheesy now.

Capital Restaurant
323 New Bridge Road
Singapore 088759

Putrajaya Night Marathon 2011

2011-10-24T01:42:00.004+08:00

MAKE THAT CHANGE is an online reality show (there must be a more appropriate word than show) held in conjunction with the recent Putrajaya Night Marathon. Every runner participating in this programme aims to win the prize money to make a difference in someone's life. The runner who garners the most support for his/her cause, as quantified by the highest number of online votes, will walk away with RM6000.

Grace Tabitha Lim Clark ran in hope to win RM6000 to help manage the medical expenses of her friend who is suffering from lupus; a cannibalistic, autoimmune disease that attacks, among others, the lungs, kidneys, blood and brain. Grace herself is suffering from a similar disease. Jiana Jimain joined the race for her orphan friend who has cancer, in stage 4 now. The effect of chemotherapy has deprived her friend the chance of attending the convocation for her diploma. Despite the hardship, she continues to pursue her degree and Jiana hoped that the prize money would assist in settling her medical and study fees. By winning the RM6000, Christine Lim would be able to fund her friend Jet, an aspiring business coach, to enroll in a course in Singapore, which would enable him to improve his skills and use them to guide others in achieving their goals. Karen Loh and Yim are two celebrity runners. I've read a lot about them in the local running blogs. They participated in this programme to contribute to the development of the Orang Asli's welfare. Both Karen and Yim ran the full marathon. Prior to that, they'd completed the 100 km North Face duo (each ran 50 km) challenge in Singapore, an ultra endurance trail race, in the morning, before returning to Malaysia for the night marathon. You can say that they've each run almost 100 km in one day. I have great respect for all of them.

Everyone has a reason to run. Mine's frivolous, almost selfish, as compared to these runners. I just wanted to have a full marathon practice before the Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon in December. This, the Putrajaya Night Marathon 2011, was my first attempt at 42.195 km.

I did what I could to train for this race. I was inspired by Haruki Murakami, one of my favourite authors. Like him, I would run 10 km almost daily and sometimes more, but never less. After a few weeks, I increased my mileage to around 14 km per run. I started picking up running tips from the internet and friends. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I was so engrossed in something. Especially after a hard day's work, training seems like a chore. Most of the time, really! But when I step out and start pounding the pavement, there's a sense of rejuvenation and that's always exciting. I have my favourite routes. The best (and most torturous) are those are lined with restaurants, where the roads are filled with delicious aromas of Chinese stir-fries and smoking barbecued meat. At a certain time, I would pass by a construction site and be greeted by an invigorating smell of curry cooked by the foreign workers. I bet the curry tastes as good as it smells. These days, I listen to simple, relaxing tunes on the radio as I run. Upbeat songs are for shorter distances, like 10 km. I tried listening to symphonies too (totally dig Bach's Air) but unfamiliar concertos in all sorts of majors and minors make the runs uncomfortable. And I would lose pace. So, sing-a-long ballads work for me, for now.

The night marathon was to be flagged off at 8.00 pm that Saturday. I came early, as I always do for every run, to check out the facilities. There's not been an affinity between me and this administrative city but I must say it looked stunning. I imagined the night scene, filled with colourful lights as I cross the finish line in front of the Palace of Justice (if I finish, that is). The weather was cooling, thanks to a shower a few hours ago. After applying the usual anti-chaffing gel, talcum powder and blister patches, I had a few sips of water, stretched and walked to the starting line.

In the first 10 km, many runners, young and old, overtook me but that's fine. A marathon is about consistency. There's still an awful distance of 32 km ahead, so it's good to start slow and steady. I was happy to have stayed within my targeted pace. By the way, the cut off time for this marathon is 6 hours. I'd hoped to finish within this period. Of course, a sub 5 hours will be sweet.

21 km. The half marathon distance. And the farthest that I've run in my life so far. Some resorted to walking by now. I lost count of the slopes. There must have been 5 or 6. The atrocious inclines had greatly impeded my pace. But that's just part of the test. Or fun, some might say. Just take a deep breath, loosen your hands, bend forward slightly and launch ahead with a smile. The street performers, traffic marshals and cheerleaders helped to ease the pain. Thank you!

22 km. I had to be careful and listen to my body more from this point onwards. As my body was facing a new, longer, unknown distance, I wouldn't know how it would react. Maybe my legs would cramp. Or I might just have the dreaded runner's diarrhea. Worse, the old painful side stitches would return to kill me. I switched on my MP3 player for some distraction.

During the training months, I had to pay special attention to my diet. It's not as serious as it sounds, really. I just had to eat more regularly and carbo-load myself before each evening run. Tea breaks in the office would be my dinner. To chomp down a big plate of fried meehoon and kway teow with eggs (or radish cake, occasionally) and sambal while all your colleagues sip a tiny paper cup of coffee did feel odd. Running tonight, eh?, they'd ask. During the last 3 days of the tapering week before this marathon, I thought about consuming more good fats for fueling and protein to build muscles. Salmon and avocado sprang to mind instantly. I made some sort of guacamole as a dressing for my salmon flakes, which I'd cooked with lots of onions and garlic. This was the filling for my sandwich. Sides were simply some lettuces, tomatoes and 2 eggs. A few hours before the night marathon, we had a family dinner...that's at 3 pm! At my request, mum had prepared a delicious potato and pork stew, and steamed pomfret to go with rice. I had specifically wanted potatoes for its carbohydrate, sodium and potassium. It was one nutrients-packed and filling dinner!

25 km. My pace was still decent. My legs felt lighter. I was excited and anxious at the same time. Soon, I would cross the 30th km. For many, this is the point when they hit the wall because the amount of carbohydrate, in form of glycogen, stored in the body depletes almost completely. Fats will then be the main source of energy. And fat burning causes fatigue. It would feel like running with bricks tied to the feet. More had stopped running and walked from this point onwards. The next rehydration point was not far ahead. I tore my first pack of PowerGel (strawberry and banana flavour) and slided it down my throat as I continued to run....in anticipation of the wall.

The expressways were hazy at certain points. Humidity was high, but that's to be expected in a night marathon. Since sponges are not offered at every rehydration point, I had kept one in hand and dipped it into the cups before squeezing it on my head. Especially when the water was cold, this was very refreshing.

31 km. Runners were more distant from one another now. I could only see 2 runners in front of me. I didn't want turn behind to check. It's not important. To my surprise, I'd overtaken at least 10 runners in the last 6 km. My breathing was still slow and regulated, so that's a good sign. I told myself that the training had somehow yielded some positive results. My legs were even lighter now.

I didn't know if the lightness was an early sign of cramps, so I was slightly worried. I did learn that cramps can be prevented (or at least minimized) by hydrating oneself with water, to dilute the amount of lactic acid produced. At the same time, the body also needs to maintain a healthy level of minerals such as sodium, so isotonic drinks are essential. At every hydration point after the 10th km, I would take 2 cups of water and 100 Plus each. It may sound too much for seasoned runners but I'd rather bloat than cramp. The organizers had also prepared bananas (peeled!) and watermelon, which was very thoughtful of them.

When I saw the Falun Dafa band, I knew we'd looped and that the finish line was not too far away. Thank goodness the second half of the route was relatively kinder and not as erratic as the first. Pain had kicked in. It's a sign that the body has started to complain. I slowed down a little but trudged on. I began to lose interest in the distance. Instead, I concentrated on finishing the race.

Running is a lonely sport, which may be the reason why I enjoy it so much, especially at night. We all pace differently. No two runners will finish at the same time. So, no matter how many friends you run with, at one point, you will find yourself running alone. That's life.

The last few rehydration points seemed deserted. Many elite runners had passed these stations long ago. The remaining cups were still filled with water and isotonic drinks. I had the whole table to myself. Great! Just when I thought that things would be fine, that I'd have a smooth run to the finish line, I saw a steep slope ahead. There were two more behind it.

It's precisely because of this pain, precisely because we want to overcome that pain, that we can get the feeling, through this process, of really being alive - or at least a partial sense of it. Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

As I descended the last slope, my watch showed 4:20. I still had approximately 2.5 km to go. A small part of me was disappointed. I had, secretly, hoped for a 4:30 finish. With my current pace, this was definitely unachievable. But a sub 5 finish was guaranteed.

To reach the finish line, runners have to make a full turn from Lebuh Sentosa to the main road that leads directly to the Palace of Justice. This was the final and longest km. Here, the atmosphere was not as energetic as before. The cheerleaders and performers were gone now. But each step was greeted by cheers from those who stayed. It felt good, although the body was starting to hurt again. I dashed towards the finish line, hoping the electronic counter would freeze.

There was no outpour of emotion, no kissing the ground, no out of body experience and no high jumps as I crossed the finish line. I don't know if I'd underacted on my part, but I was thankful to have completed my first marathon injury-free. The official congratulated me as she hung the finisher's medal on my neck. This was followed by more congratulations when I received the snack pack, water and finisher's t-shirt. Thank you, officials.

I walked away from the crowd and sat, for the first time since 6 pm, on the curb. Now, my legs felt really heavy. I called a few friends for drinks at our usual Mamak stall at Hartamas and dragged my heavy body to the car.

The simple, primitive act of running has nurtured me. I've become more tolerant, more patient, and more giving than I ever thought I could be....This is what running has taught me, making me-I hope-a better man. Dean Karnazes, Ultramarathon Man.

They say that running a marathon is a life-changing experience. To a certain extent, I think it's true. For me, it's not solely about completing a 42.195 km race but more importantly, the preparation that has been put in until the start of the race. Throughout the training, despite having to sacrifice a part of my social life, I'd understood myself better, both physically and mentally.

This post serves as a reminder to myself, that nothing's easy in life. But if you respect the distance and make enough effort to overcome the challenge, the reward, be it in any form, is often, almost assured.

Thanks FC, for your guidance, the miraculous anti-chaffing gel and Dean Karnazes' Ultramarathon Man. And to S, the speedy litigator, thanks for sharing your inspiring running experiences.

Restoran O & S

2011-10-14T00:55:00.003+08:00

Since the last post, I've been running (what's new, HairyBerry?) and more importantly, training for a few races in the coming months. I've progressively increased my mileage and discovered some new running routes around the neighbourhood. The cool evening breeze during this rainy season has been a great motivator too.

September and October mark the most auspicious period for Chinese couples to tie the knot. Besides the wedding invitation, I was also roped into becoming a best man, performer and emcee for a good friend's wedding just two weeks ago. Stressful, well, a bit. And that's because I had to memorise a Bublé number, which was something new to me. But it was really good meeting my primary and secondary school classmates there.

So, despite the inactivity here, no, I'm not dead. In fact, I've never felt more alive.

At the recent pool party, Sushi said that I'm now 1/3 of my previous size. Some friends and colleagues even asked if I've contracted any fatal disease that has caused the shrinkage. Definitely not. I'm just running longer and farther.

Therefore, I need to eat a lot too, to refuel. Weekdays are pretty much the same - bread, fried noodles, soups, savoury cakes, cookies, fruits and a few cups of good old Milo. I look forward to the weekends, usually after a Saturday morning run, when I would spend time catching up with family and friends over brunch. Big brunches, mostly. There was nothing atas about these eateries but that's cool. These are some of the most common hawker centers and coffee shops in KL that serve good food. I'm excited to blog about them all.

For a start, there's Restoran O&S. The main reason that has kept me away from this coffee shop is the crowd. But this time, the parents insisted on revisiting. Arriving at the unGodly late hour of 10 am (because I had to complete my weekend run earlier), I thought we'd have to shed blood and tears to secure a table. Well, we did have to wait but the patrons have been very considerate. They would leave after finishing their meal and not stay put to chat. Or was I just plain lucky that Saturday?

I had to try the infamous assam laksa. Beneath the golden broth were chunks of mackerel and that, to me, was worth waiting for. The more expensive versions served at the local coffee chains don't come close to offering this much of meat, really. I was expecting intense sourness but it turned out rather sweet, perhaps due to the generous loading of ripe pineapple. I like mine sour and hot, but that's just me. We've also had, among others; popiah, beef noodles and char kway teow. Nothing mind-blowing, but they were all good.

Perhaps quality is more definitive, as compared to good. The ingredients used were fresh, the portions seemed consistent and reasonable, and most of all, tasty. The sellers were very friendly too. For less than RM10 (or RM5, even), what more can you ask for these days?

I'd observed other stalls at O&S that had also attracted a stream of patient customers. The food must be good. Hmmm, looks like I'll have to return to try them all. And to beat the crowd, I guess I'll just have to run earlier...or faster.

Restoran O & S
1, Jalan 20/14
Paramound Garden
Petaling Jaya, Selangor.

Pangat @ Suntec City

2011-09-21T00:28:00.003+08:00

It was my first time here. At the counter, I'd ordered, firstly, curd rice. The attendant smiled but I couldn't understand it. Was it an approval of my choice? Or did I just order something regrettable? Next, a side dish. There were a few rare, interesting titles but I wanted comfort food that evening, so I asked for saag panir. None of those smiles or nods this time. In fact, I could feel her slight reluctance to input my order. She did, eventually.

I sat at a nearby table and waited eagerly for my curd rice. I really can't remember the last time I had it. It must have been a year ago. Or longer, even. On a hot and humid evening, the thought of creamy, cold, sourish rice spiced with mustard seeds, ginger, coriander leaves, onions and chillies was very, very enticing.

A smartly dressed man, perhaps in his early sixties, approached my table and introduced himself as the cook. He asked to confirm my order of both the curd rice and saag panir. Politely, he suggested that the combination might be too heavy and proposed that I consider replacing the saag panir with gobi Manchurian.

Blasphemy!

I've always prided myself for being knowledgeable in Indian cuisine and never had I been challenged this way. My credibility was at stake. I imagined my friends and neighbours from Sentul looking really disappointed with some gesturing the loser sign. And by recommending something with a Manchurian sauce was definitely rubbing salt to the wound. Here's the funny part - momentarily stunned AND confused, I'd somehow agreed to that change.

There's a lesson to be learnt here - that the ego has to be bruised to gravitate one down to earth again. The gobi Manchurian worked really well the curd rice. A sweet sauce like that provides a wonderful balance to the sourness of the curd. Such common sense that I'd failed to see! Imagine if I'd insisted on my saag panir. The richness of both sauces would have been too much to handle. So, thank you, uncle, for making the effort to enlighten this lost child. I shall be back to seek more wisdom and of course, your delicious vegetarian food.

http://www.pangat.com/index.htm

The Long DUO Weekend

2011-09-16T00:05:00.001+08:00

This time, I knew the words to most of his new songs and sang along happily. That's a Chinese pop concert for you. It's an extended karaoke session that I usually think twice before attending since I can do the same in a private room (with 2 drinks) for less than RM30. But how can one say no to Eason Chan's concert? Call me a conservative but I do feel that the Cantopop scene is declining to a stage where voices are faint, some forced and mostly indistinguishable. The catchy melodies and profound lyrics (well, sometimes) stay but often tailored, these are not representative of the quality of the singer. Eason's gifted voice is one of the very few that I still listen to ardently. He started strong that Saturday night at Stadium Merdeka with 今天等我来, a befitting opening number, which we thought was a new song. In fact, it was sort of a B-side from his early days. I'm definitely attempting this at K next time! There were a few covers that night too, like 好歌獻給你, 寂寞夜晚 and 破曉, which may be unfamiliar to the younger crowd. He did include a few of my personal favourites into the repertoire like 落花流水 and 裙下之臣 BUT where are the other hits like 葡萄成熟时, 大開眼戒, 不来也不去, 岁月如歌, Shall We Talk, 十面埋伏, 淘汰, 於心有愧, 七百年後 and K歌之王? The banters could have been shortened to make way for more of these songs. The atmosphere, despite the humidity, was great throughout the 25 songs set. The KL crowd, to me, has always been enthusiastic, responsive and supportive. The singers themselves acknowledged this as well. Honestly, I was expecting a 3-hour concert packed with more than 30 songs but I forgot that this was not a Jacky Cheung show. So, I left the stadium slightly disappointed. The company of old schoolmates made up for that. To think that we first heard Eason when we sat for our SPM examination. We've definitely come a long way. Maybe I should now stop laughing at my elders who travel to the Arena of Stars in Genting to watch their favourite singers from the 70s perform.

The concert marked the beginning of my long weekend in KL since the lunar new year. There was no preplanned eat list but that turned out fine. For a change, we lunched at Dubrovnik (finally) and found the recommended dishes, mostly dairy products-based, commendable. And for a change to that change, it was Klang bak kut teh for breakfast at Hock Kien, Bandar Manjalara. The famous braised claypot pork belly, to me, could have been more harmonized a dish. The ingredients seemed unevenly proportioned. The aroma of the sesame oil was strong, that's good. But the soy sauce based reduction was bland with some flavours clearly lacking, like ginger, cinnamon and peppercorn. On the positive side, the pork ribs served in the claypot bak kut teh were succulent and huge.

Of all the food that I'd tried over the long weekend, it was the wan tan mee from an obscure 壹记 at Taman Usahawan Kepong that had been most remarkable. The influx of customers was not high that Monday afternoon, which was good. Well, for us at least. 壹记 serves handmade, whole-egg noodles with a couple of toppings to choose from. The simplicity of their menu may not be attractive to many but they've done well with the noodles being refined, springy and without a hint of lye. For getting the fundamentals right, 壹记 deserves a revisit.

What's homecoming without a homecooked meal, right? I had a couple of those, including a large plate of steamed yam cake for tea, prepared by mum. Always generous, she filled the yam cake with a copious amount of steamed yam cubes that gave each cut a nice bite. The cake itself tasted rather plain, so a sprinkling of chopped waxed sausages provided some sweetness and colour. It's incomplete without a dollop of mum's dried shrimp chilli paste. It's a basic, versatile condiment that can be used to cook curry, sambal for nasi lemak, etc. For the yam cake, she added more salt and doubled the chilli. Let's see, I might have consumed more of the chilli paste than the yam cake.

Over the long weekend, I'd also experienced a pleasant, almost seamless passport renewal process at the immigration department in KL. And in between food and meetings with friends, I managed to hit a good running mileage. At the end of this short getaway, I felt recharged. What a difference a day makes, eh? I'm beginning to understand the lament of most employees now....YES, I do need more leave days!

壹记
74, Jalan Metro Perdana Barat 3
Taman Usahawan Kepong
52100 Kuala Lumpur

Steamed Threadfin

2011-09-09T00:44:00.011+08:00

I ran the fastest 21 km of my life last Sunday at the Army Half Marathon. As with some of the other recent races in Singapore, the actual distance remains controversial. The fact that some of these routes are not IAAF certified questions the standard of professionalism of the organizers. On the other hand, typical GPS watches worn by the runners do not correspond well with elevations. So, who's right and who's wrong? As the blame game continues, I'm just glad that I ended the last of my half marathons this year with a sub 2-hour finish. Although, I am still considering the PJ Half Marathon in October. We'll see. The Army run was the best half marathon that I had participated this year. Rehydration points were aplenty, the cheerleading squads were energetic and there were even street performances along the way! My new Garmin Forerunner 210 (I got it at a good price at Comex just 2 days before the run!) had kept me running at a steady, consistent pace. But darn that killer slope at Fort Canning that had greatly reduced my speed! Towards the last 5 km, I thought I wouldn't be able to achieve a new personal best but I kept going. My mind, thoughtless.

The run started at 5.15 am and by 8.30 am, after gulping a few cans of isotonic drinks and getting a free massage at the Salonpas booth, I was back at home. Surprisingly, I wasn't as tired as I thought and decided to make a quick brunch before sleeping the afternoon away. Ahhh, just the thought of the sound sleep I had that afternoon feels good. There were 2 pieces of threadfin left and I decided to steam them. I know, I should be rewarding myself with something more sinful like char kway teow, KFC or bak chor mee. But I had to clear the fridge before the arrival of a new week, so I settled for a healthier brunch. Dinner was, yes, char kway teow. And Hokkien mee!

I went with the usual Cantonese-style steaming; minced ginger and garlic as topping, with a drizzle of sugared soy sauce. When the fish was cooked, I turned off the heat, added some hua diao wine and sesame oil before spreading the dish with a generous amount of chopped coriander and scallion. And covered the dish for a few minutes.

Threadfins bring back some childhood memories. As a kid, I was fed with a lot of threadfin porridge. The bones are hard and deathly, so I had learnt the art of simultaneously munching the meat and separating the bones in the mouth with my teeth and tongue before swallowing. And after some time, one will also be able to judge if it's an aged fish, from the texture of the thick skin. Back then, this was an upper-class fish. But I didn't have to buy them because I would get a good, unsold supply from my late grandfather. He was a fishmonger in a wet market. Mum being Hakka, would sometimes steam it with some sweet preserved vegetable and ginger. To be honest, I prefer this style because of the slight sweetness that gives a more interesting palate.

Back to my steamed fish, I vaguely remember reading some online articles on steamed fish served with rice noodle. It's a Teochew-style of cooking, I believe. Coincidentally, I'd frozen 2 stacks of carrot noodle that I made the day before. It was an experiment, by adding carrot puree to the dough, to inject some colour and sweetness to my usual handmade noodle. So, I cooked a handful of the carrot noodles and curled them into the steamed dish. By now, the soy sauce was infused with the spiciness of the ginger and garlic, and sweetness of threadfin, making it a tasty dressing for the noodles.

That was truly an enjoyable Sunday. So much so that I'd absolutely forgotten about the 4th anniversary of my blog. Looking at the amount of posts that I'd written this year, it seems like I'm bastardizing my blog. I'm not. I did mention, in one of my anniversary posts, that a blog is like one's child. Because you love it, you'll put in effort to ensure that it's taken care of. I believe my child has grown up. We've reached a level of understanding that infrequent postings do not equate to a love lost. In fact, I enjoy writing more now than, say 2008, because I begin to understand my priorities. So, I spend, whenever I can, more quality time in collecting and expressing my thoughts here rather than churning posts that mean nothing to me. Happy belated 4th anniversary, Black Tie White Lie.

Cooked And Shared A Pot Of Curry

2011-08-25T00:47:00.003+08:00

I ran to the Lower Peirce reservoir last Sunday. Nothing unusual of course, except that I’ve not been running in this direction since the beginning of the Hungry Ghost Festival. My friend, a runner and triathlete, had advised me to avoid this route; the winding Old Upper Thomson Road, to be specific, because it’s dark and quiet. Yes, the perfect setting for a ghostly encounter. He’s an experienced sportsman, so I’d decided to take his advice. But it’s also for its tranquility, coupled with the green, natural surrounding and the company of unobtrusive monkeys (and the occasional wildboar) that make this my favourite running route in Singapore so far. At night, especially.

My run began at 8 am (ahah, so this is not a ghost story!) that Sunday, so I completed 14 km around 9.30 am. Brunch at Paradise Pavilion was to start at 1 pm, so I had ample time to shop for ingredients for my curry dish at the neighbourhood wet market. I decided to stop by a tiny shop manned by a middle-aged lady. To be honest, I was rather disappointed with the garam masala that she offered as it came pre-packed. But the cost was only a micro fraction of the Masterfoods version on the supermarket shelf, so it was a compromise.

The lady looked at me curiously as I handed over the plastic basket of mostly spices to be checked out. Boy, what do you want to cook? she asked. I told her of my plan to cook a pot of vegetable curry with yoghurt. She gave me a few cooking tips and seemed pleased that I’m taking on an Indian-style curry. She just didn’t know that that’s the only style that I know of.

Why vegetable curry? I thought a mélange of colourful vegetables would make the dish more photogenic and this post more attractive. This plan of mine was laid out a few days earlier, after reading about the unofficial Cook And Share A Pot Of Curry campaign and receiving an invitation from Keropokman on Facebook.

There were five types of vegetables in my curry – brinjal, cauliflower, long bean, carrot, corn. There were pureed tomatoes too, for a creamy texture; a tip I’d picked up from the lovely Anjum Anand. I’d initially thought of including tamarind paste for a bit of tang and savouriness but replaced that with yoghurt and a light touch of cider vinegar instead. A handful of chopped coriander was mixed into the curry as I left the curry to cool. It’s obviously a simple dish to prepare but the combination of spices like cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, pepper and coriander was really aromatic and appetizing. Soon, version 2.0 will include more fried spices, tamarind paste, curry leaves, chilli paste and definitely more of the full fat yoghurt from the same stall. The yoghurt was so smooth and rich that I’d selfishly saved some to top my own serving.

Coincidentally, I had lunch with a colleague from Bangalore the next day and shared some of my vegetable curry with him. I almost burst into laughter when he said it was very tasty. I’m sure he was just being courteous. He then shared his lunch of more vegetarian curries cooked by his maid (what a lucky man) that made mine tasted like an elementary school science project. Over lunch, we discussed many issues including the curry campaign (of course) and the presidential election. It was an enjoyable lunch, one that I’ll gladly have regularly.

So that’s my Cook And Share A Pot Of Curry story. I had fun that Sunday.

It’s amazing how a Facebook page of such triviality can spice up our lives. As I welcome Cook A Bowl Of Bak Chor Mee Saturday or Fry A Plate Of Hokkien Mee Friday in the future, I should still exercise good judgement before clicking “ATTENDING”, so to not be misinformed and subsequently, misinterpreting and tarnishing the campaign.

Anyway, I don’t see such socio-culinary events taking place in this week. Everyone’s busy choosing their next President. So, happy voting, my Singaporean friends!

Mostly about Chinese fastfood restaurants...

2011-08-18T00:03:00.001+08:00

Unlike the previous business trips to China, there were no lavish banquets to occupy the nights. It didn’t matter. Alone, I had a good time roaming about central Chang’an and Shenzhen on foot and tasted some, by corporate standard, cheap food along the way. Rechecking my trip's reimbursement claim, I realize that I am potentially the most (willingly) spendthrift employee of the year.

Chang’an may be just a small town but is well-known for being populous within the industrial city of Dongguan. That’s according to my Chinese colleague. I must explore Chang’an, I promised myself. During the day, I worked mostly from the hotel room and in the evening, I would hit the streets. No hotel food for dinner, thank you.

I would walk about 2 kilometers to central Chang’an. Into the first 500 meters, my shirt would soak in sweat. July in the Guangdong province is hot and humid, so don’t be alarmed to see shirtless local men everywhere, be it on the streets, in restaurants and even in shopping malls. I would have gladly taken off my shirt too, had this not been an official visit. Another observation is the group of line dancers that I passed by daily. Despite the heat, they seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously.

In general, I am all for streetfood but here, I was mostly disinterested because they were all provincial cuisines that are readily available back in Chinatown. Also, hygiene was of a concern. I had to constantly remind myself that this was an official visit, so I had to stay healthy. I decided on something less adventurous but still fun – tackling as many Chinese fastfood chains as I could, starting with 真功夫. Its trademark, a Bruce Lee-like figure, can be found all across China. The food is, as they claim, steamed to retain the nutrients. I think some dishes, like soups, are boiled, then steamed. Anyway, the staff recommended the herbal chicken soup set meal, which included some broccoli and steamed rice topped with minced pork. There’s nothing extraordinary about the soup that came perfumed with the usual Chinese angelica but it was a filling set.

The types of food that these fastfood restaurants offer do not differ much from each other, as I’d learnt in a week. All the menus have a similar listing of soups and steamed rice served with a variety of ingredients including braised pork ribs, stir-fried vegetables, beef slices and chicken cubes. However, I did find some rather noteworthy dishes like the Vitamin C noodle (with a reddish broth loaded with lots of tomatoes and pickled cabbage) at 永和大王 in Shenzhen and lean pork balls with 石解 (Radix Aristolochiae Fangchi, a rope-like herb) soup at 添添聚源味 in Chang’an.

I’d dined mostly at 活力旺, a local fastfood chain in Chang’an. It’s slightly cheaper than the competition and unlike its more glitzy rivals, 活力旺 does not thrive on a formula of modern (and clean) interior, bright displays and creative marketing but simply serves hearty dishes on worn plates and bowls. I really enjoyed the sour and spicy pork ribs soup noodle, served with peanuts, lettuce and dried daylilies. What an explosion of flavours in the mouth! Not numbingly spicy, but it made me sweat a bucket. The rice sets come with a good selection of toppings including bittergourd, yellow chive and some undetermined exotic vegetables. All walks of life dine here; elders, students, couples in factory uniforms, small families, etc. They made my dinners more interesting as I observed their eating habits and overheard conversations that were not too heavily accented.

Being in southern Guangdong, Hong Kong seems like just a few steps away. At Shenzhen, I found some Hong Kong bakeries and cafés, including Maxim’s and Café de Coral. On a sweltering Saturday afternoon, after hours of frenzy shopping at 华强北, Shenzhen’s mega electronics market, I replenished at Café de Coral with some generously herbed, tender roast duck and pork belly. It was a random but good choice.

Since we’re on the topic of Hong Kong, I did, after trying so much oriental fastfood in China, plan to lunch differently at the Landmark’s l’Atelier de Joel Robuchon, before catching my evening flight back to Singapore. A check on the airline’s schedule later, I’d decided to forgo Robuchon to catch an earlier flight on the A380. It was my virginal boarding this aviation wonder, so I was quite excited. With some time to spare at the Hong Kong airport, I headed to the reputable (and rather expensive) Maxim’s Chinese Restaurant for their signature roast goose and some dim sum before started shopping for confectionaries and mooncakes at Kee Wah and Wing Wah.

Back to Guangdong. If I were to choose the most memorable food-related experience during this trip, I think it has to be enjoying the pack of mini wife’s biscuits from a local supermarket that cost only RMB5. Considering the price, the biscuits were good. Perhaps freshly baked, the skin was crispy and the filling of glutinous rice flour paste was soft and just nicely sweet. Oh, there were bits of winter melon too! Best deal of the trip, definitely.

Besides exploring Chang’an and Shenzhen, I spent the rest of my free time watching the cable news channels. It was during that week that we were horrified and saddened by the Norway twin attacks, Wenzhou trains collision and Amy Winehouse’s death. Reports on the devastating Horn of Africa famine didn’t making the week any easier. But instead of ending this rather lengthy post with obvious, neutral comments or even suggesting unintelligent remedies to these issues, I just want to be thankful for this safe trip. And a healthy and peaceful life so far. Once too often, I do take these blessings for granted.

Ippudo (and Ippudo X Tao)

2011-08-05T00:08:00.004+08:00

We arrived late in Osaka from the Tottori prefecture, exhausted, but our Japanese colleague insisted that we still head to this shop for a taste of Hakata-style ramen. This colleague of mine is a foodie and so far, his recommendations had not been disappointing. In fact, they were excellent. Despite the late hour, the restaurant was still packed to the brim, a contrast to the quiet, dark street where it’s located. We were fortunate to have found seats at the communal dining table that resembled an old, big tree trunk. There were jars of condiments on that table – preserved vegetables, pickled ginger, soy sauce and chilli powder. On that cold, early autumn night, I waited eagerly and hungrily for my bowl of ramen, unknowing and uninformed of the ingredients and taste.

When I had my first taste of the tonkotsu broth there, at 一風堂 in 2003, I knew my life would be changed forever. The broth was white, but it was not from evaporated milk that we so conveniently pour into our fish soup noodle to enrich the flavour. Instead, the tonkotsu, in general, is the result of long simmering of pork bones and fatty cuts of meat. Served hot, the aroma from a combination of lard in the broth and garlic oil was heavenly. Topping the ramen were some crunchy slices of wood ear and melting soft pork belly. I said this exceptional noodle dish changed my life forever because until today, the aroma and taste still linger in my mind and I’ve never stopped craving for it. For me, the choice of broth is quite obvious whenever I drop by a ramen shop.

Perhaps too indulged in my first bowl of tonkotsu ramen, I’d forgotten to inquire how the kanji words of 一風堂 are pronounced. It has, for a long time, remained as the nameless, excellent ramen chain that I’ve been ~~proselytizing~~ recommending to my friends and family back home.

一風堂 is pronounced as Ippudo, as I’d discovered recently when I visited their first shop at the Mandarin Gallery. By now, I’d tried more than a dozen tonkotsu broths in town; some better, mostly not. I was interested to compare the tastes; between now and my first experience in Osaka, eight years ago. The condiments offered in Osaka back then were not found here. And instead of the rustic, rather unkempt interior, this branch seemed to have been jazzed up with a touch of contemporary zen. I prefer the rustic design, actually. One thing remained – the required snaking queue.

I’ve been revisiting the Ippudo branches in Singapore rather frequently, not because of my now tamed addiction to their tonkotsu, but of requests from visiting friends from abroad. The perpetual queue at Mandarin Gallery is repulsive and at times, almost drove me to turn to Ootoya at Orchard Central, which could possibly guarantee a crowd as well. I’ve been enlightened by some websites to visit the UE Square branch. And since then, snaking queues were never again a problem for me.

Ippudo Shiro, which means white in Japanese, refers to the tonkotsu broth. Despite the difference in presentation (the bowls look strange but ergonomic now), essentially, the flavours and aroma were very much similar to what I had years ago. It was a good taste down memory lane. The strands of ramen were cooked to my desired texture - springy, but on the soft side. I guess in Ippudo, that kind of texture is termed medium.

What's new to me was the incorporation of Tao in the UE Square branch's name. Previously, I thought Tao was the name of another famous Japanese ramen joint and that this branch serves both ramen from Ippudo and Tao. And I've been telling my dining companions (all of them!) of this too, partially to impress them with my ramen knowledge.

Actually, Tao refers to a famous Japanese drum group! According to the website, IPPUDO TAO is a synergy of two Japanese traditions: ramen and drum performance and At IPPUDO TAO, one can enjoy TAO’s live performances via a huge screen while having ramen that have been created exclusively in the spirit of TAO. I'm still digesting the concept while burying my embarrassment in misinterpreting the restaurant's name.

I tried the Tao Aka (red in Japanese), which consisted of curlier egg noodles in a tonkotsu broth with the addition of spicy miso paste. Previous dining experiences had taught me to take spicy lightly (and sweetly) in Japanese restaurants but this particular paste was, though far from a habanero chilli, rather spicy. Although I still prefer the shiro, this serves as an interesting alternative, especially on a cold, rainy night, like now.

For me, it's hard to explain how good is a tonkotsu broth. It's a measure of density, richness, lightness, aroma, flavours, patience and skills. Although the last few years have seen ramen shops sprouting across the island, I've not had one version of tonkotsu that embodies all the said characteristics. I won't be surprised if some shops use powdered tonkotsu flavouring too.

I can't and won't say that Ippudo serves the best tonkotsu or Hakata-style ramen in town but this is definitely one of the very few outstanding ones.

Ippudo Singapore's website

A New Attempt and Rediscovery

2011-07-27T02:17:00.003+08:00

Unknowingly, I’d spent more than 3 hours in the kitchen that late Saturday afternoon preparing dinner while listening to the limited, repetitive coverage of the Bersih rally on Channel NewsAsia. My menu was a progressive build, which started from my purchase of a bottle of white truffle oil (that made up a third of the dinner’s cost) at noon. The rest of the ingredients were picked up at a hypermarket, mindfully and economically, as to not exceed my personal budget (truffle oil included) comparable to a main course at most starred restaurants in town and yet, are able to be used to create dishes that are much more interesting than most weekday dinners of stir-fried leftovers from the refrigerator with soy sauce, dark or light.

Cream of Carrot, Dried Shrimps and Pumpkin with Truffle Oil

I have been using a lot of carrots and pumpkins for my regimented weekday dinners. Apart from being a rich source of vitamin A, I begin to discover the immense natural sweetness of these two ingredients and have been planning to create a dish to just showcase this character, hence the cream of carrot and pumpkin. I used a stock of sun-dried local anchovies and pork bones, which were simmered for almost an hour. It’s an easy starter to prepare – just pureeing the softened mirepoix of carrots, onions, garlic and pumpkin with toasted dried shrimps and stock. No cream of any kind was used. I topped the dish with a crack of black pepper and a drizzle of truffle oil. I should have omitted the latter as its scent was overshadowed by the pungency of the dried shrimps. The sweetness of the cream was expectedly intense. The dried shrimps gave the starter an Asian twist, which I thought was interesting. This was served with slices of dark rye sourdough.

Spread of Spinach and Anchovies

The chilled spread of spinach and Spanish anchovies in a yoghurt/chilli powder dressing, believe it or not, was supposedly a two-dish of palak paneer and fish/vegetable curry! I’d decided to scrap the idea of preparing two dishes as it was laborious and of course, more expensive. I toyed with the idea of canapés for the spread as well, but ended up conveniently smacking a thick layer of the green paste on the sourdough. I thought the combination of savouriness of the anchovies, sourness of the yoghurt and tinge of heat from the chilli powder worked well with the bland, finely chopped spinach. The remaining spread was sandwiched between multi-grain toasts for breakfast on Monday.

Angel Hair Carbonara, Truffle Oil, Assorted Mushrooms in Balsamic/Muscovado Reduction

One of the reasons why I bought the bottle of truffle oil is to improve my carbonara recipe. Previously, I’d used truffle salsa and the scent was consistently mild, despite my pouring of almost half a bottle to approximately half a pack of spaghetti. Perhaps I should have made some truffle butter for the mix but I guess I’m just too lazy for that. So, this time, with three raw eggs, a pack of grated parmesan cheese, some truffle oil and another generous pouring of truffle oil to every individual serving, the scent was much more prevalent. Instead of the usual bacon strips, I’d incorporated a medley of mushrooms (white, porcini and portobello) into the carbonara mixture. The sliced mushrooms were flavoured with a reduction of balsamic vinegar and a dash of muscovado for a sweet contrast against the rich carbonara sauce.

Not every dish that I make turned out edible like any of the above, I must note. And embarrassingly, I still haven’t been able to grasp the fundamentals of cooking plain white rice. Desserts? I’m definitely a goner. In my last attempt at something sweet, I’d wasted a few eggs, cubes of cheddar, sugar, dried longan flesh, beancurd skin and some wolfberries. Among other memorable sweet failures include a carrot cake that ended up dark brown lumps of carrot shreds, crushed walnuts and pineapple cubes that resemble...I shall not elaborate further. I did consider restarting with simpler desserts like a trifle or crepe. But I’m not really interested in either, so why waste time and effort constructing such dishes, right? I’d decided that I should just stick to what I enjoy making the most – savouries. :D

Ah Kow and Tai Wah Bak Chor Mee - Hong Lim Complex

2011-07-12T00:23:00.005+08:00

There's no doubt that my favourite Singaporean dish is bak chor mee (bcm) or minced pork noodles. I'm always impressed by the strong memory of these bcm sellers in remembering each customer's order because, as simple as a serving may look, the combination of ingredients is endless - from the types of noodles to the optional liver to the addition of chilli paste to a choice of either dry-tossed or soup, etc. Oh, and eat-in or takeaway ar?

I was rather contemplative that morning, deeply affected and concerned about the chaos that would take place in my hometown later in the afternoon. As trifling as it may seem, I related the bowls of bcm in front of me to life itself. You see, the Chinese believe that life is a combination of tastes, more specifically (and in no particular order) - sweet, sour, bitter and spicy. I can't think of many dishes that represent this philosophy. BCM is one of the very few. Sour comes from the black vinegar that, to me, gives the dressing it's distinctive character. Spicy is the dollop of chilli paste coating the noodles. Slivers of liver provide a tinge of bitterness while sweetness is in the broth simmered with pork bones, among other flavourful ingredients. Let's not forget the savoury taste of braised shitake slices and a piece of flatfish crisp. Of course, there's the quintessential, aromatic, crunchy fried lard bits. Imagine mixing all the above. Then imagine taking a bite. Now that's a taste of good life there. I had two bowls that morning but this pleasurable calm before the storm was not that much of a comfort, that's for sure.

I come to Hong Lim Complex whenever I can, to savour Ah Kow's (#02-42) version of bcm, which to me, is a complete bcm experience. Complete means a combination of springy noodles, optimal tang and appetizing aroma of the black vinegar, immensely soaked, soft shitake, sizable serving of minced pork, unlimited offering of fried crunchy fried lard cubes, a dumpling filled with pork, chives and flatfish powder (it's a very simple but thoughtful touch, it is) and a bowl of broth topped with seaweed and coriander. Surmounting all the accolades and respectable ratings that Ah Kow has garnered over the decades, it is this package, the complete, delectable bcm experience, that had me (and many others) returning over and over again.

As mentioned earlier, I had two bowls of bcm. One was Ah Kow's and the other was Tai Wah's (#02-42), from High Street. I had failed to notice this stall until now, thanks to a noticeable queue. And the buzzing Outram Park Char Kway Teow located just opposite Tai Wah. Initially, I thought it was a branch of my other favourite bcm stall, Tai Hwa from Hill Street, now residing at Crawford Lane. Apparently, they are somehow related, as I'd read from some websites. Their dressing was sweeter and lighter as compared to Ah Kow's while the noodles were skillfully cooked to a springy texture. The taste and choice of toppings (pork balls included) did remind me of Tai Hwa's, so that's good.

Approximately two hours after I'd left Chinatown, a group of fellow countrymen were having a picnic at the nearby Hong Lim Park. A much quieter affair compared to the other cities that joined in the call for a fair and clean election back home. I don't believe that it's an impetuous act, but one that is rational, responsible and noble. Had I been informed, I would have dropped by to say hi, at least. Seriously, to oppress, in the most distasteful way, the articulation of national issues and reformation for the better is utterly foolish.

Snowflake

2011-06-30T00:21:00.002+08:00

The Japan! Combo. I don’t know why I like it so much. Or how did I end up choosing this over the bestseller - taroballs with whatever. Or what the heck was I doing in a shaved ice dessert shop in the first place? I don’t know. But I really like it. Maybe it’s the soy ice crush. Soy milk is one of my favourite drinks - warm, iced or frozen. Or maybe it’s the chewy green tea balls. Or the slight bitter aftertaste and artificial chlorophyll scent that work wonders with sweetened soy milk. Like Starbucks’ costly, classy soy milk green tea latte - my only choice there. I don’t know. It just tastes good. I have a loyalty card, by the way. The words Dessert Lover Club fill 1/3 of the card. Sickening, I know. And I'm just five stamps away from redeeming any item from the menu. But the Japan! Combo is no longer listed on their website. Instead, a new monthly special has been introduced. Sesame Sensation. Peanut ice with sesame balls. Great, just great.

http://snowflake.com.my/

Lunches along Sin Ming Road

2011-06-23T00:08:00.000+08:00

Courses and talks are effective tools in improving one's field of work or study. So, it’s only right to pay attention and absorb as much information from the trainer or speaker as possible throughout the duration. I’m amazed at the constant display of immense concentration of some participants. I admit that I can’t last a full hour without drifting to la-la land. It worsens in the final hour before lunch, when I usually proceed to guessing the menu (if the meal’s catered for) or start searching for nearby eateries on the web. I do very much look forward to this breather, lunch, but would attain torpor state by the first post-lunch hour. It’s an embarrassing vicious cycle that I repent but could never break. It doesn’t help when the lunch is deliciously heavy.

Fried bee hoon at Block 22

If not for the interactive nature of this recent course, I would have easily drowsed after each good meal at the nearby Sin Ming Road.

Silkie soup at Earth Jar Treasure

The ground level of Block 22 along Sin Ming Road is a bustling lunch spot and it’s not difficult to recognize the more celebrated stalls – the endless queue at Hup Seng Duck Rice, the large lacquered jars from Earth Jar Treasure and the speedy, battalion-armed workforce of Rong Chen Bak Kut Teh. In a week, I'd tried almost every stall that's worth a queue.

Yam rice at Earth Jar Treasure

At Earth Jar, I had the black chicken (silkie) soup, which is a traditional Chinese concoction to cultivate red blood cells, and some yam rice to go with it. I'm not anaemic, but it's been quite a while since I had some silkie, which I really like, especially the smooth greyed meat and thin dark skin that melts (and sometimes, sticks to the mouth!) - the result of sufficient simmering. It's served in a typical Chinese claypot and the herbs-to-soup ratio was almost 1:3. I tore the large herbal pack and nibbled some of the more common types...because I was still hungry. And there was Rong Chen with their premium pork ribs cooked tender in a clear peppery stock that's evidently Teochew.

An individual set from Rong Chen Bak Kut Teh

Stir-fried white rice vermicelli from a tze char unit at Block 22

Down the road, there's another stretch of coffeeshops at Block 24 that I couldn't resist dropping by. Here, I only managed to try the briyani and roti prata from Sin Ming Roti Prata/Faisal & Aziz Curry. Their prata is well-known but it was the miniature version called the coin set that I found more interesting. These coins (almost half the size of a Roti Bom, hence the name) came with crispy fried skin but relatively less fluffy (due to the compressive dough-flattening process to achieve the shape) than the typical prata. Pretty addictive, these.

Briyani rice with mutton curry at Sin Ming Roti Prata/Faisal & Aziz Curry

The salted vegetable soup with duck leg at Hup Seng is easily the most memorable dish for me. The queue was long but flowed steadily. To me, it was worth the wait. The blend of saltiness from the preserved vegetable, the aromatic peppercorns, slight tang from the small plums and savouriness of the duck produced a very, very robust and sensate taste. Every sip was a delight. My small (or individual) portion came with a duck leg that was tender and flaky. I observed a customer showing the young lady manning the front (the owner's daughter, I presume) an emptied bowl and she refilled it with more of the boiling hot, glorious stock. I followed suit. Such joy, itellyou!

Salted vegetable soup with duck leg at Hup Seng Duck Rice

Oh, I'd gained so much from this course, I did. When is the next one?

Nasi Lemak at Medan Selera 223 (among other things)

2011-06-10T01:38:00.004+08:00

Domestication, albeit reluctantly, has reminded me of how expensive groceries are these days. Every cent counts, really. But I'm determined to only lose old habits, not interests, with my now frugal financial management system - something that I'd learnt from some multinational corporations. It's doomed to fail but I guess it'll be a good learning curve.

Frugality has led me to shop at discounted gift certificate or coupon websites. Most, if not all, of the products and services offered are of a leisurely nature than necessity. And I’ve been a stalker cum customer for a month now. Hear me being foolishly paradoxical here.

One of the coupons that I'd redeemed was for a few hair treatment sessions. My friends and relatives can attest to my evident hair loss problem and I must say, are more concerned than myself. With a significant, shocking discount, I thought it’s worth a try. Miraculous treatment or not, at the very least, I'll be able to get a diagnosis from the package, I thought.

Session 1 was a psychological war field in the consultation room. I understood the severity of my receding hairline from the scans and their explanation but to inject every consolation and solution with a special, promising treatment and its obvious advantages was too much to bear. These customized treatments are not cheap. I bargained hard, just to know their cheapest offer. Throughout the process, I've been approached by two very persistent consultants. Their marketing skills were good, no doubt. One empathetic-looking consultant said it's a pity if I continue to neglect my oily scalp and start balding at such (flipped and studied my customer profile) a young age. I must admit that I was slightly, just slightly sold at that point. Regained sensibility, I reminded myself that I came to redeem my coupon, got a diagnosis and understood my situation, unconvinced of the procedures and therefore, unwilling to pay the exorbitant amount. That's that. They'd done their best and I tried to be understanding. For courtesy sake, I'd informed them that I can't make a decision at that point as I won't be available for treatment due to my tight travelling schedule. And that I'll return when I can afford the time. They restrategized. Apparently, I can even be treated abroad as well - by purchasing their DIY treatment kits. There were many, many points worth debating there including the effectiveness of DIY kits versus in-house treatments and the content of the kit. But they are running a business and it's only right for them to sell. Unfortunately for them, I wasn’t convinced.

In the 1.5 hours of Session 1, I wondered if appearance should hold such importance in one's life. And if it's worth the cost. I'd only say yes if it's related to one's profession or that it affects one's health condition. Why bother when my family, good friends and (ex) girlfriends have been accepting of my different shapes, sizes and looks throughout the years? No one seems to think less of famous figures like Bruce Willis, Prince William and Vladimir Putin just because they are balding, right? With my head wrapped under the steamer, I felt ashamed. But at least I now know that my scalp's ridiculously oily. So, I should perhaps wash my hair 21 times a week to unclog and prevent more blockages.

Speaking of good friends (I've digressed too far and wide in this post, haven’t I?), we were at Medan Selera 223, another uncharted territory for me, much like the hair treatment center. At night, it’s a busy and crowded al fresco foodcourt that tests one’s vigilance in securing a seat. Reward comes in small packs of nasi lemak with savoury, mildly spicy sambal that’s best smoothened and flavoured with a couple of soft-boiled eggs. And there’s the list of usual beverages like teh tarik and Horlicks to keep the conversations going. Here, affordability means that it’s able to attract people from all walks of life. Regardless of the buckets of dripping sweat (it’s quite hot and humid here), worn out clothes AND receding hairline, everyone’s having a good time. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Medan Selera 223
Jalan 223,
Petaling Jaya
Selangor, Malaysia

Sundown 2011

2011-06-03T12:01:00.002+08:00

At Sundown 2011, I'd recorded a personal best timing in the 21 km category. I must admit that this would have been impossible if not for the wider roads (as compared to Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon 2010 at Sentosa) and the relatively flat route. The Deaf One's sound advice on pacing was a great help too.

My last meal before the run was a pack of mixed rice (with sweet and sour pork, and some greens) at 3 pm to carbo-load ahead of the 8 pm run. By the time I'd crossed the finish line, I was famished. The smiling attendants handed each finisher a medal, a can of 100 Plus, a bottle of mineral water and a banana. It was one of the tastiest bananas I'd ever eaten - the usual Del Monte-sized kind that you can get anywhere, only sweetened with a sense of accomplishment and pride. One banana was obviously insufficient. Not five, even. Then came the announcement of free candy floss and popcorn for all runners. I opted for the popcorn, despite the queue. It was very, very good. How good? Popcorn good - crunchy, caramel sweet, buttery, aromatic. It puts those soft, overpriced cinema ones to shame. I'm inclined to place Garrett's next to the cinemas' but I've only had it once, so....anyway, Sundown 2011's popcorn rocked.

Post race activities were aplenty, mostly involved food, naturally. I liked the performing bands that night too and must have stayed for a good 5 songs before boarding the shuttle bus back home, which was delayed for 30 mins. Traffic was congested as half marathoners began departing from the venue. Had I known earlier, I would have just chilled and stayed to watch the most talked-about (and unfortunate) match between Barça and the Red Devils.

I reached home around 1 am, did my laundry and decided to have a quiet celebration of my achievement with a bowl of Prime Taste la mian laksa endorsed by Olivia Ong. I'm not much of a laksa (or Olivia Ong) fan but this is one of the very few instant noodles that's sold in individual packs (no more buying in bulk as I'm trying to reduce my instant noodle intake) and inexpensive. Predictably bland, I added whatever I could find in the fridge - a bag of coriander and an egg. They were definitely not taste enhancers but at least the stomach's filled at 4 am.

Kafe An Nasuha Beverages

2011-05-27T01:05:00.004+08:00

The Masjid India vicinity is especially stark and quiet pass the midnight hour. It’s the absolute contrast to the thriving, colourful daytime when mercantile activities are in full swing. I felt like an abductee, blindfold removed as I was led to a strip of old shoplots along Lorong Bunus 1, after crossing a few dark lanes. Here, it was bright and lively. Who would have thought? A few Mamak (Indian-Muslim) restaurants were hiving, particularly one with stools and tables spilt to the adjacent units. That’s where we ate.

We found a communal table and shared it with a few others that seemed hurried. It’s not strange, but a courteous act as they observed the influx that increased by the minute. Naturally, we followed suit.

There’s no need for any recommendation when every table is piled with the same servings of roti banjir spesial and pre-packed pyramidal nasi lemak.

One can probably find similar, rather mechanical food at any Mamak stall across the city but sipping teh halia or masala tea and downing chunks of fried bread drenched in dhal curry with sambal and runny eggs by the Klang River in a historical quarter...now that's something special. And that's why we keep coming back to An Nasuha.

Fine Palate Café (and the Singapore Art Museum)

2011-05-20T01:06:00.007+08:00

Part of Quiet Rooms (2009), an installation of charcoal drawings on paper collage by Malaysian artist Nadiah Bamadhaj.

Art is something that strikes me as beautiful. Like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But modern art, to me, is rather a case of nebulosity. During my travels to some of the major cities in the world, I try to fulfill my obligation as a (shamelessly) savvy tourist by visiting some of their infamous, quintessential modern art galleries/museums. From the video of a progressively rotting plate of fruits at the Tate Modern to the haunting, ghostly images and installations at the Guggenheim, the artistes’ expressions have exponentially expanded my conservative outlook of the arts itself. I begin to question the complexity of modern thinking and if that does us more good than bad. And like it or not, I often leave these places feeling more confused, but relieved. Does that make any sense at all?

I might not have understood or appreciated some of the exhibits at the Singapore Art Museum (SAM) but solely for showcasing contemporary pieces of some of the renowned artistes in this region, its effort should be applauded. Also, the architecture and facilities are, in my opinion, of world-class standard.

Truth be told, it was neither the love of art nor the Biennale hype that brought us here. SAM was a side trip after a visit to the nearby Fine Palate Café.

It’s really rare of us to brunch at cafés, mainly because of the expected typical offerings - toasts, bacon, poached eggs, pancakes, etc. But there were some interesting dishes on the menu that caught our attention - sesame buckwheat noodles and tuna with capellini. The buckwheat noodles (soba), with its natural tinge of salt, were dressed with an aromatic goma (sesame) oil. A curl of the soba with the seared, crunchy prawn (although I do question the size of the described “tiger prawn”) was simplistically a delight. I also enjoyed the tuna with capellini very much. The tuna chunks were succulent and fresh while the mixture of shoyu and mayonnaise was tasty without being confusing. Unlike some of the art pieces. I should also mention the complimentary fluffy, toasted bread and slightly tangy dip that I assume to consist mainly of tomatoes and bell peppers.

The arts didn’t just end at SAM. At the nearby SAM at 8Q, in conjunction with the Singapore Biennale 2011 Open House campaign, a few more exhibitions were offered to the public for free that day. At the mini theatre, an independent film was being shown. It was about death. By then, I knew I had enough for the day and dragged myself out to the adjacent lounge where a few modern chairs were placed. It was cool and quiet. I found myself the most comfortable spot and napped.

Singapore Art Museum
71 Bras Basah Road
Singapore 189555
Tel: (+65) 6332 3222

Fine Palate Café
51 Waterloo Street
#01-04/05 Singapore 187969
Tel: (+65) 6336 5120

Indomee Burger @ Bestari

2011-05-12T23:54:00.001+08:00

A few years back, when a good friend said that Bestari's where the best Indomee Goreng can be found, I was intrigued. How much more can one do with a simple pack of dry-tossed instant mee (noodle)? As I'd suspected, they'd merely added minced beef and a sunny side up. But this Indomee Goreng, they call it Indomee Burger, was tasty. When you have all the seasonings from the sachets and beef patty, it has to be. Bestari, like many nasi kandar chains conglomerating the city, offers an extensive menu that's beyond common culinary vocabulary. For example, what the heck is Mee Kahwin? I'd discovered later that it's a combination of mee rebus and Mamak-style rojak. However, another friend said that it's nothing more than a mixture or bee hoon (rice vermicelli) and egg noodles. I’d yet to give it a try.

My friends really, really enjoy the Indomee Burger here. They like it so much to declare this the best version of Indomee Goreng in the world. And just like that, we’ve been hanging out here for the longest time. At this branch in Desa Hartamas, we’d shared many interesting, ambitious conversations and recovered from extreme inebriation with the cups of hot kopi O and teh halia (ginger tea). For me, it’s more of the company than anything else.

We’ve been taking a hiatus from Bestari to make way for exams, business trips and conferences. Yes, the more important but less fun things in life. So, when we met up here two weeks ago, you can imagine how long we’d actually stayed to catch up on one another. They had their favourite Indomee Burger (of course), while I had myself some hot beverages to take away the tipsiness from consuming way too much wine at a fantastic party that took place just a few hours earlier.

We must have stayed until 2 in the morning that day before deciding to drive around KL to enjoy the vibrancy of the city’s nightlife. A few hours later, I was on my way back to Singapore, bringing with me a weekend that many would call wasted, unconstructive and unhealthy. Well, I had fun.

Magma

2011-04-17T22:41:00.000+08:00

If not for the picture of a purple potato mash that got my previous TimeOutSingapore (and Istanbul) donor salivating, I wouldn’t have paid much attention to Magma, a German bistro located at Bukit Pasoh. Not that German cuisine is uncreative or boring, of course. Or that German restaurants are now as populous and common as their French counterparts. My first Deutsche meal was certainly exhilarating. The selection of beers, pork knuckles, sausages (lots of them!) and sauerkraut – they were all I dreamtsch about for awhile. A few Oktoberfests later, I was no longer the curious, excited virgin I used to be. I’m sure it’s just me settling with equivalents (well, sort of) that I feel resonate best with my tastebuds; like a pint of Guinness, siow bak (Chinese roast pork belly), lap cheong (Chinese waxed sausages) and kimchi. Magma was my first proper German meal since my birthday a few years back, if I correctly recall. And it was a good one, no doubt.

You'd think that business was brisk on a Saturday evening, since it's good. Throughout the night, only 5 tables were occupied. We're not complaining, for the ambiance was excellent; a relieving contrast to the chaotic, congested restaurants in town. This called for a celebration. We had a bottle of sparkling "Secco Festival" Riesling with a touch of peach that came at just S$33. For that pleasant price and taste, it made us really happy. I should thank the attentive and cheerful staff (and The Local Nose) for the recommendation.

As for the dishes, I can't decide if I liked the flammkuchen or the pork knuckle more. The thin, crispy flatbread with a sour cream base (appetizing!) and sprinkled generously with apples, onions, tomatoes, chicken and cheese was a plethora of textures and tastes. Perhaps it's a norm in some regions to combine apples and onions in their recipes, but it did seem strange to me, initially. Now, I think this combination works deliciously well. To add apples to curries, burgers and stir-fries...now that's an idea! The pork knuckle was exemplary, I thought. A bite unravelled 3 distinctive layers that blended perfectly right - savoury, pink, flaky meat beneath golden, crackling roasted skin glazed with honey. Condiments like beer gravy and German mustard provided an extra kick to the meat.

In the midst of such pleasures, the purple potato mash had completely slipped off our minds. That's okay. The dinner itself was a privilege, for not only was the food good and relatively affordable, we'd also enjoyed a really rare, serene weekend dinner with affordable bubbly and wonderful smiles. We must have done something right to deserve this.

Magma
2-4 Bukit Pasoh Road
Singapore 089816
Tel: (+65) 6221 0634
Website: http://www.magmatc.com/

Hokkien Mee Me!

2011-04-06T00:05:00.000+08:00

Back in the 80s, there was a TV commercial selling cornflakes that I thought was misleading. Well, to me, at least. It started off by comparing a young kid’s reaction to two types of breakfast. On the right (yes, I even remember the layout!), he had a bowl of cornflakes and looked really happy. On the left, he was served some dark, fried noodles that resembled very much like Hokkien Mee. And guess what, he looked terribly disappointed. Every time that commercial was aired, I’d say (to the TV screen), ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I’m not against those tiny golden crisps fortified with dozens of nutrients but if the marketer decides to force supremacy against Hokkien Mee (or any stir-fried noodle, for that matter), it gets personal.

My affection towards this calorific, deathly dish is obvious, if you’d read my previous Hokkien Mee posts. Time and again, I'd mentioned that in the last decade or so, I’d never been wholeheartedly satisfied, even with some of the more established stalls in KL/Selangor. I was told that perhaps my ideal Hokkien Mee had never existed, that it’s all in an idea of perfection that I’m indulging. Definitely not. I remember how it tasted back in the older days – a savoury stock and slightly sweet dark soy sauce reduction done to a sticky consistency, coating every strand of thick egg noodle, sprinkled with the quintessential dried, pounded flounder, glistened and aromatized with a layer of hot lard oil. Sometimes, there's the additional fried shallot oil too. Let’s not forget a sharp, pungent cili boh/belacan dip that cuts through the sweet/savoury reduction, adding a new dimension to already exciting taste. Jaded that I am, with my ceasing torch, I continue to find that taste, good taste, long lost.

On an accidental night after a light shower, a few of us old kids decided to finally visit the two infamous Hokkien Mee stalls, located at the opposing ends of a stretch along Jalan 222, Section 14 in Petaling Jaya. Both were equipped with fast-paced and knowledgeable, mostly foreign staff. Ahwa’s version had a matte finish – an emphasis on dark soy sauce that ensued a sweeter aftertaste. What lacked, I thought, was the compulsory aroma (wok hei) of hot lard oil. Hence the missing shine as well. Peng Yuan, on the other hand, was glossy and aromatic. The sauce was less reduced and leaned towards the savoury side. Despite the loose consistency of the sauce, as a fan of all things savoury, I’d personally liked Peng Yuan’s more.

Ahwa's Hokkien Mee

Ahwa's What-Darn-Whore

So far in this blog, I’ve rambled ~~too~~ much about Hokkien Mee but not so on the other definitive Chinese noodle dish, Cantonese-style. I must say that I’m a big fan of its more popular variant - the (90% phonetically correct) what-darn-whore or thick rice flour noodles (whore fun) topped with an egg-starch sauce. The browning of whore fun is important to provide wok hei and separate the stacked strands. Ahwa did a good job at that. Their assembly with a smooth, sufficiently gelatinous egg-starch topping sealed the deal for me. I would have been more enthusiastic about Peng Yuan’s version if not for finding a broken toothpick (let’s hope it was unused) in the sauce.

Peng Yuan's Hokkien Mee

Peng Yuan's What-Darn-Whore

On a different occasion, the old kids decided to explore Sunway Giza on a Saturday night. The main complex didn’t excite us much but the young and fashionable seem to enjoy thronging here on weekends. Nearby, at an extended shoplot, we found a branch of yet another infamous Hokkien Mee institution, Restoran Damansara. This one offers a menu and additional fried lard bits. Perhaps due to an overwhelming amount of oil insulating the sauce and noodles, it turned out rather bland. But the shine and colour did look sinfully appetizing though. The Cantonese version fared better with a crispy web of fried rice vermicelli (bee hoon) and whore fun soaked in a subtlely flavoured egg sauce.

Restoran Damansara's Hokkien Mee

Restoran Damansara's Cantonese Stir-Fried Ying Yang Noodles

There are a few Hokkien Mee stalls left on our list but to be honest, I’m not too optimistic looking at the names. One of which I had frequented some years ago, way before they decided to go big with mediocre and expensive Hokkien Mee. I’d never been back since. Although the long lost taste may not be found in the near future (not never, hopefully), every outing with the old kids was fun, as we reminisced the days of being wild, young and free. Now, I wonder if they remember the cornflake commercial.

Restoran Ahwa and Peng Yuan Hokkien Mee
off Jalan 222 Petaling Jaya
Selangor, Malaysia

Restoran Damansara Hokkien Mee
35, Jalan PJU 5/9 Kota Damansara
Selangor, Malaysia

Goto

2011-03-31T19:59:00.004+08:00

A nap spanning 13 train stops later, I was ready for some serious kaiseki. I managed to avoid the rush hour and even arrived earlier than expected. As I alighted at the Chinatown station, I reached for my workbag's side pocket. The iPhone was gone.

Firstly, let me just say that I should have expected this day to come. I mean, losing the iPhone, not the 9-course, S$180++ per pax kaiseki dinner. Who in the right frame of mind carries his/her iPhone in those loosely netted pockets, all exposed, screaming take me, stranger, take me! the fool won't notice a bit! The truth was, I did that for the sake of convenience and health. Another theory suggested that the phone fell off my bag while I napped. Clever, but waking up with my bag positioned on my lap just the way it was before I fell asleep, there was no way that my bag be subjected to any form of motion causing my iPhone to drop from the pocket. Regardless, I take the blame for my loss. I was just thankful that it was not my wallet that had gone missing.

We almost cancelled the dinner at Goto. Immediately, I used XLB's BlackBerry to call up the service provider and got my line barred. After reporting the loss at both SMRT and SBS control stations at Dhoby Ghaut (I didn't realise that the North East line is managed by SBS, not SMRT), I got my SIM card replaced at Plaza Singapura...after a long wait. In front of me was this ~~deranged~~ distressed woman complaining about her allegedly faulty TV box. She seemed keen on getting a replacement set (and some freebies), killing the service staff AND burning down the whole unit. Tough luck. All she got was a card of the department's manager. That much I understood. I was given a new SIM card within minutes and we had about 20 minutes left to go to Goto (cheap pun intended).

Goto was dim, contemporary zen. It calmed us down a bit. The very hospitable hostess and her staff, all in kimonos, put us at ease. It was disheartening each time the hostess described a mouth-watering course as I thought of my iPhone, now being violated by a stranger. That bastard had better be gentle with my iPhone. I wonder if he'd managed to break my lock code. *Sniggers*

The first course was visually stunning, almost confusing. I couldn't catch half of the ingredients but the highlights were definitely the gold-leavened sweetened black beans, shirako in ponzu shoyu, roast duck slice and fishball. Not any ordinary surimi fishball, of course. It was made of fugu.

The simple course of red snapper, skin scored and glazed sweet, was very much appealing to the senses. Cooked just right, the flesh was moist, pairing the sticky, slightly savoury glaze really well. If this was offered in an a la carte menu, I would have had this with some of the steamed chestnut rice - one of the dishes served towards the end.

When served with a covered regal yellow bowl, engraved with classic Chinese/Japanese motifs, I'd expected some exotic, expensive ingredients...like sea cucumber. Instead, the bowl was filled with steamed vegetables - yam, daikon, bamboo shoot and asparagus. I was slightly disappointed with the ingredients but they were nicely arranged though. The vegetables came with a creamy karashi. Instead of providing a sharp taste to the mustard sauce for contrast, it was surprisingly mild. And blended in finely with the vegetables. A subtle, interesting combination that even a spice fan like me appreciated.

Tempuras never excite me as much as KFC's Hot 'n Spicy. Goto's version didn't change my mind but I must say that the chef should be praised for his creative selection of ingredients. There was no use of panko - the prawn was coated with crispy rice balls instead. There was also a tiny fried sandwich of fishcake slices and sweet plum marmalade. For best effect, we wetted the pieces with a squeeze of lemon before dipping them into some refined salt. You can imagine that combustion of flavours in the mouth, I'm sure.

There were 2 desserts - one was a trio of ice cream, jelly and fruits, and the other was a warabimochi. Of all the desserts, the quartered orange jelly was the most intriguing with the jelly replacing the orange's flesh. It could fool anyone into believing that it was a normal cut of orange from afar.

As per tradition, we were presented with whisked, frothy warm matcha to end the kaiseki dinner. Secretly, I was hoping that they would prepare the matcha in front of us. Some sort of after-meal performance, like a mini tea ceremony, I thought. I can only dream.

I'd lived without an iPhone for the whole of January. It was a time for reflection, on the need for excessive social networking, Apps downloading and Youtubing. Yes, all the things that make life busier - but for what? That month, I'd read a couple of books, enjoyed more real conversations with friends and was not at all distracted by WIFI spots.

By chance, I got hold of an iPhone 4 by February. These days, I keep it in my pants' pocket, no matter how the waveforms will have (allegedly) detrimental effect on male fertility. And I'm still reading. But of course, when I have to choose between a politician's biography and StreetFighter IV (I got it for only US$0.99 from the AppsStore!), the choice is almosthadokenalwaysshoryukenobvious. Such is life.

Goto
14 Ang Siang Road
#01-01 Singapore
Tel: (+65) 6438 1553

Green Valley Vegetarian Restaurant

2011-03-03T00:32:00.004+08:00

There seemed to be a lot to choose from, including chicken rice. Wait a minute, isn’t this a vegetarian restaurant? But I was here mainly for the thunder rice, so it really didn’t matter. I can’t remember the last time I stepped into a Chinese vegetarian restaurant. It must have been decades ago, when I was first introduced to faux meat made of wheat gluten. My interest lasted only a couple of meals, mainly affected by the overwhelming use of artificial flavourings and oil. Of course, I'm still speaking in the context of Chinese vegetarian cuisine.

Over the years, my circle of friends extended. One of the ways to know them better is to understand their diets. I’m usually piqued by the vegetarians, especially when there’s a story involved. Some refrain from meat for health reasons but most regard it as part of their religion. One that I know did it out of love and respect for his religious wife. I do have many questions on this practice, from both mythical and scientific perspectives, but I must agree that underlying the different beliefs is the fact that this diet is essentially a healthy way of life.

Green Valley was quiet that Saturday. Not surprising as it was way past lunch time. This choice of lunch venue was late and most arbitral. But a good one, no doubt. Coming into a vegetarian restaurant with a stomach full of pork (from breakfast), I did feel slightly sinful, so we had another fibrous, green dish, in hope of minimizing the guilt. Joking lah.

The thunder tea and rice - instantly noticeable was the missing component of anchovies, but with a good variety of vegetables, black-eyed peas (that's new), tofu cubes and peanuts thrown in, I was not missing much. As for the green (literally) tea, all I can say is, thank goodness! It was what I expected - a healthy blend of basil/coriander/pepper/mint/etc paste thinned in hot water. Now, I'm not sure if anyone noticed but more and more thunder tea sellers are substituting plain hot water with superior stocks. Sure, it makes the tea umami but that's just wrong. Not authentic. It's not fusion but funny. A farce, even. I shudder at the thought of my past superior stock-thunder tea experiences at some major foodcourts in Singapore. And another stall in Senai, Johor. So, in conclusion, I really enjoyed Green Valley's thunder tea for being as original as I remembered, sans meat.

I'm not sure if one of my favourite colours has influenced my decision on the fried spinach noodles with a lightly starched bittergourd, wolfberries and oyster mushroom topping, but it sure was a good choice. Simple, healthy, tasty and affordable, the dish basically left no room for critiques.

Looking at the tedious preparation, amount of ingredients used, its acquired taste and selling price, I am in view that thunder tea is not a lucrative business. That makes me appreciate the dish and the sellers even more, especially when it's good. So, the faux meats may not guarantee my return to Green Valley, but the thunder tea definitely will.

Green Valley Vegetarian Restaurant
84-1, 2 ¼ Miles
Jalan Sungai Besi
57100 Kuala Lumpur
Malaysia

Linda's Home Kitchen

2011-02-21T00:18:00.002+08:00

I've heard of Area 51 but not the Tianluokeng tulou cluster. It's a shame, really. The former being absolutely geographically unrelated to my origin while the latter represents a cultural heritage of a Chinese clan that I belong to. Partially, to be exact, as I'm also half Cantonese. I'd survived from being a completely lost half Hakka by my fundamental knowledge of Hakka food, thanks to a maternal family that requires, among other delicacies, char zhu yuk (fried pork braised with fermented red beancurd and earwood fungus) and radish/dried oyster soup on those significant Chinese celebrations.

At the table, as we gazed at the beautiful photograph of the tulou cluster hung near the entrance, Sook told Ivan and I about her previous visit there. To be honest, that was the first time I'd ever heard of this extraordinary settlement. The photogragh showed houses with terracotta roofs joined to form a circular enclosure. They were behemoth. That's when UFOs, Area 51 and unexplained crop circles came to mind. It was definitely a good conversation piece.

The food at Linda's reminded me of the Hakka dishes that my mother would make daily - simple, delicious stir-fries using preserved ingredients like dace and vegetables. Of course, here, these dishes are given a more refined and visually-appetizing interpretation, without compromising, by my own standard, the taste and authenticity.

To replace the usual fu yu or fermented beancurd with dace to pair the romaine lettuce was nostalgic. And tasty. This, to go with just a bowl of plain congee would have been great as well. The preserved vegetables we get these days are salty, just. I miss the slightly sweet type, which really adds a flavourful dimension to the dish. Sourced from China, that's the type that Linda's using for the stewed pork trotter. Good stuff! I shouldn't forget the flaky pork trotter with the collagen dissolving into a gelatinous sauce, which goes to show how well-cooked the trotter was. Interestingly, I've never been familiar with the yam gnoochi (or abacus), despite it being a Hakka signature. Perhaps I was more of a turnip/shitake mushroom dumpling kind of Hakka. Linda's version, I have to say, was special. Instead of bandwagoning the typical springy texture, it came soft, almost melting. A classy act that didn't come too oily but equally aromatic and flavourful. There was also a sambal bee hoon presented with a layer of burnt crispy contrast to the smooth, soft strands of the right choice of rice vermicelli. Seriously, you'll be surprised to know that there are many out there misusing the different types of bee hoon. Oh, I should also mention the velvety serving of almond pudding to end the meal.

This was supposedly a planned Korean dinner but I'm sure glad we headed here instead. I'd learned quite a bit that evening, including the names of some infamous Australian restaurants from the company of wonderful food enthusiasts, that there is a cosy restaurant in town that's passionate about Hakka food and the Tianluokeng tulous.

Hakka cuisine is not as celebrated as its Cantonse and Hokkien counterparts. The truth is, there is much more than thunder tea, yong tau fu and salt. And you'll see it in Linda's menu.

Linda's Home Kitchen
206, Telok Ayer Street
Singapore 068641
Tel: (+65) 6284 7272

Lunch at Sek Yuen

2011-02-11T01:36:00.000+08:00

The aluminium plates were each a piece of art, characteristically malled by the years they'd served. So impressive as well were the steaming hot rolls of colourful towels offered to the customers at the end of the meal. The cheerful and attentive hosts, especially the uncle in a Hawaiian shirt with loud hibiscus print, looked like they enjoyed their roles very much. A rarity these days, don't you think? In the background, Christmas songs sung in Mandarin where played. All these, and the food, made my first Sek Yuen experience on Christmas day a most satisfying one.

Dad recounted his few banquet attendances here some 30 years ago and praised their signature creations, including the chilled bowl of meat and jelly. Some of these dishes are long lost, he said. According to dad, the sweet and sour pork here is an all-time favourite. I must agree. Everyone can make sweet and sour pork, of course. But to take it beyond a high school science project of combining plain bottled ketchup and deep-fried pork requires some techniques. Or what we Cantonese call kung fu. At first glance, the blistering nuggets appeared to be the result of deep-frying in overheated oil, which usually causes the meat to be undercooked. Not at all, thankfully. In fact, each piece was cooked tender, pink to the core. Kung fu! Coat the crunchy golden fried batter with a balanced sauce of syrup, tomatoes and starch, and it's a colourful and appetizing dish.

I reported my menu to dad after that lunch and he seemed pleased that I had the pei pa duck, which was air-dried then deep-fried and yet, came just minimally greasy. This is a dish that has been with the restaurant for the longest time and it's really not difficult to understand its longevity. Addiction was that crack of the crispy skin followed by the taste of well-salted, succulent meat. If I'd proceeded with my plan for a bottle of affordable bubbly, nothing too fancy and difficult to pronounce, for this occasion, it would have paired this duck nicely, I'm sure.

My folks have been telling me that Sek Yuen is exemplary of classic Cantonese fare. But what is classic? I'm not sure if my limited knowledge and young tastebuds, furthermore marred by all these new fusion/confusion cuisines, grant me the ability to recognize such complexities - a skill that comes only with age and a long love for food. But I do know that good taste is always here to stay. And that's how I'll remember Sek Yuen.

The Last Kathmandu Post: Colourful Nepali Cuisine

2011-01-31T23:55:00.001+08:00

A main course at Thamel House Restaurant

Every Nepali meal that I had was a feast of colours and flavours. The fact that these restaurants are frequented by mostly locals made each experience even more interesting. Thakali Kitchen is a no-frills restaurant that serves affordable staples like daal bhaat and momo. It was here that I had my first Nepali dinner and a surprisingly good chilli relish to go with the steamed momos. Unlike Thakali, Thamel House Restaurant is grand, complete with a stage in the courtyard, which provides entertainment to the evening crowd, I think. I had the full-course lunch here and it was amazing. I love the rich Kalo Daal (lentil cooked in iron pot with heated purified butter and herbs). Just that and some sada bhuja (boiled basmati rice) will do for me. With side dishes like Khasi Ko Ledo (stewed mutton), Bandhel Tareko (boiled and sauteed wild boar with gelatinous layers of skin!) and Khukura ko Sekuwa (skewered, grilled chicken over charcoal) kept pouring into my large bronze plate, it was definitely worth the slightly more expensive pricetag. Oh, not forgetting the warm dessert of Shikarni (whipped yoghurt with nuts and cinnamon powder). Lunching at the family-run Mustang Thakal was an intimate affair. The kitchen was bustling, helmed by an old lady. I had the Mustang Thakali Chulo Special, which came with rice, daal bhaat, saag (boiled, sauteed mustard greens) and stewed pork, complete with cuts of the knuckle. The smiling staff made sure that everyone was well-fed and kept refilling the empty plates. Two full servings later, I had to decline a third. It was a challenge walking back to the hotel after that.

Fantastic chilli relish for the momos at Thakali Kitchen.

Tender pieces of stewed pork at Mustang Thakal.

Saag - mustard green appearing in every Nepali meal.

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This is my last post on Kathmandu. It feels like I've not said enough about my short stay in this colourful city. There's still a story about a patriotic taxi driver, the impossible untangling of traffic congestion come the peak hours, getting lost in the maze of lanes and of course, food tales. But there's only so much that I can fit into January. Hopefully I'll do a better job the next time, when I visit the sacred lake of Gosainkund.

The sun sets in Thamel, Kathmandu.

Tibetan Food @ Yangling (Thamel) and Yak (Kwa Bahal)

2011-01-27T23:50:00.002+08:00

Thukpa from Yangling

A few years back, I spent a night in Di Qing, a Tibetan County in the Yunnan Province, China. It's also known locally as the shangri-la, which I thought was quite befitting. There, the air was crisp and clear, the plains in shades of green and gold, and the lakes were pristine. Time basically stood still there, in 2006. It was still cold towards summer and we kept warm drinking butter tea, served with bowls of ground roasted barley. Before leaving, we had an enjoyable local lunch but the cooking seemed rather Chinese than Tibetan.

Momos from Yangling

This time, I promised myself to make time for some real Tibetan food in Kathmandu. And that's not easy, considering that I haven't had a good gauge of what's really real and also, when distraction was the many different, fascinating cuisines to choose from in this melting pot. A few general observations of the Tibetan food I had in Kathmandu - the menu goes way beyond the wide range of momos, which are indiscriminately served in all restaurants here, and between Nepali and Tibetan cuisines, the most obvious distinction is the subtler, more natural taste in the latter.

Tungba from Yak

At Yangling, I had my first of many thukpas, a noodle soup. It was cooked a la minute, and I'd discovered this while nibbling the finely chopped garlic, which must have been sauteed with the assorted vegetables before the pouring of chicken stock. Pre-cooking (or constant simmering) would have dissolved both the vegetables and garlic. I liked the slight tang from the tomatoes in the stock, which was appetising. The noodles reminded me of our la mian, only smoother and, for the lack of a better word, al dente. And it's never a one-dish meal because, like everyone else, I'd want a plate of momo or kothey (fried momo) as on the side. It's only right, I think. Yangling's version had a clean, minimally seasoned taste with the savouriness coming right from the meat.

Fermented millet for the tungba

There are many good restaurants in Kathmandu, especially in the Thamel district, yet I'd decided to return to Yak Restaurant on my last night, to reminisce a fantastic dinner I had there previously. It's an aged, cosy restaurant with dim lights and where tables are partitioned like in those old cafes. Yak exudes a rustic charm that lets the imagination runs wild. At one point, I'd imagined this being a place where trekkers and hunters would dine and share their close encounters with the yeti. Here, it's a full house come dinner time and on my last night, I had shared my table with a French couple in dreadlocks. They were vegetarians.

Buff kotheys from Yak

I started both nights with the tungba, an alcoholic beverage that tasted like beer, served hot and gasless. Hot water is poured into the fermented millet and a straw is used to suck into the simple mixture. The straw is heat-sealed at the tip to ensure that only liquid is permitted to flow through. A simple and smart idea, I must say. Mildly intoxicating and sweet, it's an interesting change from hot ciders...and beers. With a drink like that, some fried food is almost compulsory. The choice of kothey (fried momo) was good. I went for the buffalo meat filling that was juicy, with the dumpling skin nicely browned with a crunch. The chilli dip was fiery hot, but not at all sour. And it had a faint, familiar scent that reminded me of nutmeg. It's a good feeling when you see both locals and visitors packing a restaurant because you know that the food will be good, usually affordable and that you've successfully avoided a tourist trap. Back to the buffalo, I had the buff tsampa as well, which was basically barley porridge with buffalo meat and some greens. Except for the sprinkling of salt, I failed to detect the usage of other seasonings. On the last visit, when most of the favourites were sold out (even the suja tea), I resorted to the pakhora to go with my tungba. Although this is essentially a sub-continental dish, Yak's version was still very much satisfying. Not to be deceived by the burnt colour of the shell, the vegetable patties were sufficiently moist. With food so good, it's no wonder that I finished a plate each of kothey and pakhora, a bowl of thukpa and a tub of tungba within an hour. I must have impressed the French vegetarian couple. Or traumatised them.

Pakhoras from Yak

I don't see myself landing in Tibet in the next few years for there are still a few places on my list that I've yet to visit. So, until I have an opportunity to understand what is real, Yak Restaurant and Yangling Tibetan Restaurant will remain as my gauge for delicious, authentic and affordable Tibetan food. For all I know, this might just be as close as it gets outside Tibet.

Pashupatinath, Kathmandu

2011-01-26T00:27:00.002+08:00

Smoke engulfs the ghats behind the temple. At the riverbank, a deceased burns in the wooden pyre. A few steps away, the cremains of another and the charred, smoking logs are swept easily into the holy river of Bagmati. The logs, more of coal now, are collected at the lower stream and reused for the next cremation. Nearby, a mother rubs the forehead of her child with the blessed water of the same river. The far quiet end of the temple finds an ancient yogis' cave while on the opposing ghat, colourful sadhus are posing for the visitors' cameras, for a fee. At the top of the the temple that admits only the Hindus, marigold garlands offered to Lord Shiva are thrown into the same bend of the Bagmati.

One by one, her lifeless limbs fall off the swaying stretcher. This pale old woman in red is being carried to her transition, covered by a piece of long, white cloth. Mourners walk behind her. A burly man in a clean, white shirt wearing a gold watch lowers her gently onto the burning ground at the riverbank. He wraps her with layers of white and yellow fabrics as he chants. He's the ceremony conductor, perhaps. Crowds, young and old, gather around the ghat to witness the ritual, expressionless. Cremation at the upper stream is more expensive, someone said. Soon, the pyre will form, set on fire and the transition shall begin.

Divine. Pensive. Haunting....just another day at Pashupatinath.

Dechenling @ Thamel, Kathmandu

2011-01-21T06:36:00.001+08:00

One of the issues that I'd observed in Kathmandu was electricity rationing or load shedding, as they call it. As the demand for electricity increases, this is important for distribution to all parts of Nepal without having to face a meltdown at the hydropower plants. A commentary in one of Nepal's English newspapers debated on the need for such deprivation when a better solution may be as simple as building more hydropower generators or investing in alternative energies. Reading this at the cosy Pumpernickel Cafe on a lazy afternoon had me thinking of how much I was affected by the shedding. During my short stay here, most of the time, blackouts would begin in the evening and continue until midnight. On some days, it extended to the next morning. The hotel did provide lighting powered by their own generators but I'd say that it was minimal and insufficient. The bathroom, for example, was still dark. So, I'd hung my torchlight on the shower curtain's rail to enhance visibility. The water heater had to be turned on 15 minutes in advance, a lesson that I'd learned the hard, freezing way. It still brings a smile whenever I think of the mishaps related to the shedding, but it may not be so funny for the people enduring this problem on a daily basis.

Reaching here after a 15 minutes walk out in the cold, the warmth of Dechenling was welcoming. Somewhere between the soup and main course, we'd had a blackout. The shedding had begun. But that didn't last long because the established restaurant had a power generator. Luxuries like the background music were gone though, like how Windows would operate on Safe Mode. Only two tables were occupied that night - the long table at the center and me at a corner next to the coal-fueled heater. At the long table sat a few well-dressed locals that spoke a mixture of English and I guess, Nepali. They seemed oblivious to the blackout.

Although Dechenling offers an extensive menu ranging from Nepali to Tibetan to Western dishes, I was here mainly for a taste of Bhutanese food. My knowledge of this country nears zero. I'm only aware that it's mountainous, clean and where Wong Kar Wai choreographed Tony Leung and Carina Lau's wedding.

The set consisted of a soup, 2 main dishes and a dessert. The soup was a tsampa or ground roasted barley flavoured with bits of meat and vegetable. Served thick, it reminded me of the Cantonese peanut congee. It has a sublty earthy aroma that grew on me in Kathmandu. The wait staff asked if I wanted my mains served just spicy or very spicy and I chose the latter, unknowing of the Bhutanese definition of what's (hot and) spicy. The two mains in the set were phaksha paa (pork stew with chilli and radish) and kewa datse (potato curry with cheese). Both came piping hot, so that was good. The pork cuts were surprisingly tender, despite the half centimetre range thickness, and the radish slices were still crunchy - not overcooked. The stew itself was well-seasoned. It didn't take long before the tongue numbed and beads of sweat began forming around the forehead. I thought the kewa datse would be able to mellow down the burn but it didn't. Instead, it added to the intensity, thanks to the loads of local green chillies, akin to our cili padi. At that point, the nearby heater seemed more like a curse than a blessing. The sweatman, in a sweater, unleashed. The folks from the long table each stared my way for a while, as I wiped the continuous flow of sweat off my face. If I could use the whole tablecloth, believe me, I would. Things got better after gulping half a bottle of the Everest beer. Back to the kewa datse, it was a stunner. Usually gratinated, never had I thought that chillies, cream cheese and potato could be curried and taste so wonderfully. And to think that it's a staple, not a special dish, that Bhutanese have been enjoying all their lives! The cream cheese, with its richness and slight tang, was the force majeure here, and to me, tasted even better when lumped with the stew and white rice. I downed the rest of the Everest Beer before dessert was served. The beer was a limited edition, dedicated to the legendary mountain climber, Mr. Nima Gombu Sherpa, who scaled the Everest 12 times. The words were definitely more interesting than the taste, I must say. Dessert came as...a dessert, as the menu simply stated without any description. I believe it was a parfait of sweetened semolina with cubes of fruits (peach, perhaps) and topped with yoghurt...in a plastic cup.

The few streetlights were still out as I made my way back to the hotel from Dechenling. That must have lasted until the next day. The dropping temperature made the walk even more challenging. Thank goodness I was now loaded with some heat from the dinner.

The introduction to Bhutanese food was both interesting and delicious. I fondly remember the newfound kewa datse and am looking forward to tasting it again. In Bhutan, hopefully.

Do click on this link for some words on Dechenling the restaurant.

Swayambhunath, Kathmandu

2011-01-18T22:59:00.003+08:00

There was a signpost at a corner of the southwestern part of Kathmandu's Durbar Square, near the Kasthamandap, that pointed towards Maru Tole. That name, Maru Tole, sounded really familiar. It was one of the starting points leading to Swayambuhnath from the square. For convenience, most opt for the taxi to get there but this time, with the rest of the morning and afternoon in hand, I'd decided to go on foot.

It's a 3 km walk, crossing the Vishnumati river and a highway, passing through villages and exploring the less commercialised side of Kathmandu. As I ventured deeper into the quiet suburb, the signposts reduced. Not that it mattered, really, as the map itself was no more than a few unnamed white lines. There was no clear indication that I was on the right track but since the holy stupa sits on a hill, I was only reassured by the fact that I was still ascending the uphill path. I looked up constantly, anticipating a golden arc or any feature of the stupa.

The steep, endless eastern stairway seems to serve as a test of faith of the believers. At the top, panting, I was rewarded with one of the most spectacular views of Kathmandu, only lower than the view from the eyes of the Buddha, drawn on the stupa, guarding the city. I retreated to a nearby bench to enjoy more of the view, accompanied by the familiar chants supplied by the nearby CD vendor. I must have stayed there for a good 30 minutes.

A Tibetan Buddhism site, the rituals observed were similar to those at Bodhnath, except that here, there were more deities and chaityas, an indication of the marriage of Buddhism and Hinduism that is quite uniquely Nepal.

Not forgetting the macaques...lots of them. But they were never a nuisance.

Worshippers upon reaching the hill and before turning to leave were seen touching the gilded vajra (a celestial thunderbolt representing enlightenment that stands at the eastern stairway entrance) as they muttered words of prayers, eyes closed. I followed suit, not so much for wanting to attain nirvana but to express gratefulness for an enlightening journey thus far.

Do click here for more photos of Swayambuhnath.

Scribblings: The medieval kingdoms of Nepal

2011-01-13T23:21:00.008+08:00

Bhaktapur Durbar Square

Great, I was nowhere on the map! My first instinct was to follow the stream of people. It may sound like a great idea but in a foreign land, it takes a little more courage to do so.

Even at the square's entrance, I was still finding my bearings. The complimentary booklet did a better job at explaining the city's history than as a map. I took my Lonely Planet Tour Guide from my bag and the ~~touts~~ voluntary tour guides started swarming my way.

I ran for dear life, entered Lion's Gate and found myself surrounded by temples and shrines. Unlike Kathmandu, the colours were more natural, almost in shades of sandstone. Under King Bhupantindra Malla's column, I studied my position thoroughly and found my way to Taumadhi Tole, where the soaring Nyatapola Temple was located. And it didn't take long before I made it to the Dattatreya, a temple carved with erotic scenes at Tachupal Tole. Here as well, two dance platforms were constructed on opposing ends but instead of dancers, small batches of harvested grains were left to dry.

The spread of drying clayware at Potter's Square was, on the other hand, massive and with the kilns located within the square, the complete process can be observed, if one stays long enough.

Perhaps it was due to my visit in the afternoon that this City of Devotees was a much quieter affair compared to bustling morning at Kathmandu.

I glimpsed at my watch and realized that I didn't have much time left to wander. And I rushed to Sunny Cafe for a taste of samay baji.

Kathmandu Durbar Square

My friend, don't read Lonely Planet. They make you lonely.

That has got to be one of the most interesting marketing lines that I've heard in a long time. A solo traveler with a book in hand that looked rather Japanese, I was an easy target for them, especially in the morning when most tourists were still busy breakfasting in their hotels. The durbar square was at its busiest and most colourful in the morning as the market began its short operation and devotees arrived to pray to their respective Gods, so there's no way that I'd want to miss this experience. And inevitably, dealing with touts comes with the package.

You have to give credit to this particular friend for such a creative line and for his persistence - unknowingly, he had followed me to the top tier of Maju Dega, a towering Hindu shrine. While I acknowledged his efforts, I had to decline his offer because I'm a total Lonely Planet Tour Guide junkie. By 11 am, I think I'd ignored a dozen of them and I was getting restless.

But I was held back by the incredible sights of the square - smoke emitted from the various temples (especially at Kasthamandap or the Pavilion of Wood), the regal gold and red paints of the historic buildings and the vegetables and fruits hawkers in action.

I must have returned to my reference point, the stunning Kal Bahirav (the manifestation of Lord Shiva in his most fearsome, where people were made to swear the truth in the past) a few times, and yet, I'd still missed the Kumari-ghar or the House of the Kumari Devi, the incarnation of goddess Taleju. I was just not fortunate enough to meet her that day, I guess. I left while the durbar was still buzzing. By now, I'd located most of the touts and I believe they'd known me as the lonely guy. I exited the chaos, headed towards Maru Tole, northwest of Kathmandu, where life took a much slower pace, and began a peaceful 3 km walk towards the holy Swayambhunath.

Patan Durbar Square

The Sun Dhoka (Golden Gate) opened and I was in the Patan Museum, a hidden gem in the busy square where an impressive collection of religious art awaits. At 11 am, I had the privilege of having the whole museum to myself.

I sat by the window on the top level of the former palace and had an aerial view of the durbar square. In ancient times, the Malla Kings used to live here and perhaps, had sat at the same position as I did.

Directly in front of me was the Garuda statue, facing the Krishna Mandir or the Temple of Vishnu. In front of the Krishna Mandir, flocks of pigeons were fed and a young girl dressed in a red, traditional costume was posing for her parents' camera. Her grandmother looked pleased. On my far left was the octagonal Krishna Temple, an outstanding construction at the entrance of the square to greet the visitors. Below, porters were carrying water from the Manga Hiti (a water conduit) to the nearby stalls. To my right, men in traditional Nepali hats and women in colourful dresses sat in the wooden pavilion of Mani Mandap, watching the world go by, just like me. The square appeared to be the smallest of the 3 medieval kingdoms but its Newari architecture was stunning. In Sanskrit, Patan is called Lalitpur or the City of Beauty. I can't agree more.

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Click here for more photos of the Bhaktapur Durbar Square

Click here for more photos of the Kathmandu Durbar Square

Click here for more photos of the Patan Durbar Square

Samay Baji @ Sunny Café, Bhaktapur

2011-01-11T23:09:00.002+08:00

Most of the time, I’m proud of my self-planned itineraries, which are both practical and comprehensive. But not in Bhaktapur, no. At Sunny Café, where the balcony overlooks the crowded durbar, if I’d known, I’d have allocated an extra hour to chew my samay baji. This was my first Newari dish in Nepal and it certainly left a lasting impression.

To be honest, I didn’t know what samay baji was until that very afternoon. When I saw the rather exotic name on the menu, I just knew that I had to give it a try. It was a whole new universe on a plate for me. By now, I can tell that samay baji is a ritual dish, an assembly of, among others - spiced potatoes, black-eyed peas, scrambled eggs, buffalo jerky, fried julienned ginger, black soy bean, and hard, beaten rice placed at the center of the dish.

Upon ordering, the kitchen got busy and it didn’t take long before the different aromas of fried spices started permeating the air in the dining hall. Because it took more than 30 minutes to prepare, I’d almost turned to leave thinking that Sudip had probably gone to the guards to report a missing tourist. I’m glad I’d stayed and was served a dish with everything freshly cooked, which explained the lengthy preparation time. Somehow, nothing was fiery hot, but just well-spiced. While I finished every other side within seconds, the jerky and cereal-like beaten rice greatly impeded my speed and had me testing the strength of my jaw and my patience. Despite the tiring exercise, I must say that it’s a great option for dieters as the more you chew, the lesser you’ll want to eat. There’s some psycho-physiological truth there but I’ll just leave it at that, for now.

I was told that Bhaktapur is famous for its yoghurt. It’s called juju dhau or king of curds. Indeed, the king was rich, smooth, creamy and sweet, making it a good end to the samay baji lunch. Before I left, the owner offered me a shot of raksi, a local distilled rice wine. It certainly brought some warmth to the cold winter’s day. But this raksi was a monster and had me dazed as I left the Lion’s Gate. And was I glad that I made it back to the parking lot...despite being already late for more than 2 hours.

Nagarkot and a view of the Langtang Himalayan Range

2011-01-07T20:19:00.004+08:00

The old Toyota Corolla that Sudip drove looked surprisingly clean in a city constantly plagued by layers of dust and smoke. The interior, however, was unkempt and the suspension seemed fatigued. Still, this was the car that took us safely to the peak of Nagarkot, a village at an elevation of about 2000 m and one that promises an excellent view of the Langtang Himalayan Range. Despite his age (I think he must be in his early 20s), it appeared to me that Sudip had held this job for the longest time, judging from his impressive tackling of the sharp bends and narrow lanes, and cognitive cursing the intolerant road users, which I'd found rather amusing. What I'd learnt from him and some of the taxi drivers in Nepal is that, the most important part of the car is not the brakes....but the horn. To a certain extent, I think it’s true.

Nagarkot is located roughly 30 km from the city of Kathmandu, but it took us more than 2 hours to reach the peak. And that's expected when the highways are no more than a pair of uneven roads with vehicles merging from all directions. There were not much to see along the way until we started ascending the mountain. Terraced plantations, trekkers, villagers going about their daily chores and the occasional foreign cyclists were just some of the sights that caught my attention. I checked into a room on the second highest floor of Hotel View Point that, as the name suggested, offered a good view of the Himalayan range. And it was not until the next morning that I came to know that I had a direct view of the rising sun, backing the highest peak in the world, the Everest.

Almost 12 hours earlier, I nearly missed the flight to Kathmandu as I overslept from an exhausting final day at the old workplace and a 10 km run on that very same morning. In a couple of minutes, I managed to stuff the essentials into my knapsack except for the winter jacket, which I'd only discovered while transiting in Bangkok. At the hotel's rooftop, with a panoramic view of the mountains, I shivered under my thinning sweater as the strong wind blew. It must have been below 10 deg C at that time. The thick clouds had reduced the visibility of many peaks, except for the snowcapped Langtang (7246 m) and the 1st (7406 m), 2nd (7150 m), 4th (7102 m) and 5th ( 6950 m) Ganesh peaks. I survived sunset and the only thing that kept me warm was the thought of a Nepali buffet to be served later that evening.

The next morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn when the other tourists were already positioning themselves around the balcony and rooftop for the best view of sunrise. The temperature dropped even lower in the early hours of the morning but it was less torturous now as the body had adjusted itself to the environment. The 3 helpings of rice and curry from the buffet helped too, I guess. Heat from the rising sun progressively evaporated the eastern clouds, increasing visibility of the mountains as if bringing them to life. The lush green of the terraced plantations below us and the chirping of the birds completed this amazing experience.

From the breakfast table, I saw a couple of men washing their cars with much enthusiasm and diligence. Sudip was one of them. Ah, that explained the sparkling clean car. We left Nagarkot for Kathmandu at noon but not before stopping by one of the 3 medieval kingdoms of Nepal - Bhaktapur.

Bodhnath, Kathmandu

2011-01-04T23:01:00.005+08:00

Santaman was waiting in the arrival hall of the Tribhuvan International Airport with a garland of fresh marigold and a big piece of paper with my name printed on it when I stepped out of the gate. As you might have correctly guessed, with such hospitality, that I'd splurged a little and arranged for a personal driver through a local tour agent (thanks for the good recommendation, FBB's Dive Wife!) prior to my departure. With only a few days in the Kathmandu Valley, I thought it was a sensible decision as I didn't want to waste time haggling with the taxi touts.

A short exchange later, Santaman led me to Sudip, my driver for the next 2 days. The initial plan was to head directly to Nagarkot for a view of the Himalayan sunset (and sunrise) but we still had some time to spare, I thought. I'd decided to stretch my dollars and asked to visit another site before leaving for Nagarkot. It was between the sacred temple of Pashupatinath and the Great Stupa of Bodhnath. Santaman suggested the latter and I'm glad he did. In ancient times, Bodhnath was on the trade route between Tibet and Nepal. Travelers would come here to seek blessing for a safe journey ahead.

I'd never seen a stupa of this magnitude and architecture before. Standing before it, I was humbled and in awe. But certainly, there's more to the gilded tower, saffron paint and whitewashed dome that makes Bodhnath a World Heritage Site.

In the late afternoon, there were fewer tourists than pilgrims circumambulating the mandala - in the clockwise direction. While performing the Kora, these Tibetan Buddhists also turned the Mani (prayer) wheels, counted Mala (prayer beads) and/or chanted mantras of the deity of compassion. It was this, the practising of the faith of these pilgrims, that had been most unforgettable.

Two hours later, I rushed to find Sudip at the parking lot across the road. I was late. When we met, he just smiled, perhaps relieved that I had returned safely. Nagarkot now?

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Do click here for more photos of Bodhnath.

Skinny Pizza

2010-12-31T05:28:00.002+08:00

Two months ago, I'd decided on a new career path. This job may not be as cool as Anthony Bourdain's but it does appear to be more exciting than the previous one. To celebrate this occasion, we headed to Skinny Pizza after I officially contracted myself to this new institution. I should be happy, for I'd finally plucked enough courage to venture into the unknown after all these years. However, at the table, there was also this melancholic tinge that stemmed mostly from the thought of missing my old colleagues that had taught me so much, on both professional and personal levels. Perhaps I've still not lived long enough to understand that changes are inevitable but it does appear breezy for some.

For the reasonable price, I shouldn't be complaining about the truffle fries that seemed to be a little shitake-scented. It was the other side dish, the grilled prawns with cauliflower couscous, that had me all perked up. The combination of juicy prawns and couscous cooked with garlic, herbs, nuts and raisins was a delight. It came greasier than usual but that was easily overlooked by the smoky aroma of the prawns and combustion of flavours in the couscous mixture. Talk about smokiness, the stir-fried lobster linguine with crab meat, black pepper and a variety of roes was certainly full of it. Just another sprinkling of salt would have made it even tastier, I thought. Lastly, there was the signature squid ink pizza topped with calamari, prawns, tomato salsa, arugula and red onion rings. To me, it wasn't a pizza because the base was a crust, just. There wasn't even a slight chewy fill that defines a pizza base. In fact, I thought it was a pappadam more than anything else. But that's not to say that it was bad. As a dish in general, I enjoyed its novelty and the layer of creamy sweet sauce that reminded me of the mayonnaise used in those chicken floss buns.

It's intentional that I make this my final post for 2010 because this move to a new working environment is certainly the most significant (and hardest) decision that I'd made in recent years. And while I don't usually go all gooey and cheesy in retrospecting the last 365 days, I must say that 2010 has been exceptionally kind and generous. In the past year, I'd crossed 3 of the 10 countries that I'd planned to visit in this lifetime, experienced driving on the other side of the road, ran my first half marathon, discovered laundry detergent powder, finally gotten myself a law certificate after much struggle, reconnected with some old friends, had some of KL's most famous Hokkien Mee and, for the better, had a change of mindset that some people call maturity. I call it a miracle.

Folks, have a happy and healthy 2011!

Skinny Pizza
3 Temasek Boulevard
#01-002 Suntec City Galleria Singapore
Tel: (+65) 6333 9774

Old Naples Italian Restaurant, Doc's Saloon and Grill, John's Diner and a Shoofly Pie.....

2010-12-28T23:56:00.009+08:00

I used to joke that in this town of Pennsylvania, you can defy the law and park your car perpendicular to the allocated parking space, and it won’t make a difference simply because land is aplenty here. Houses are big and far from one another, and supermarkets as well as restaurants are located miles away from the residential areas. I’m really glad that I managed to get my international driving licence prior to my departure. Or else, it would have been solely Irish food in the hotel or the limited number of restaurants nearby for 7 weeks. And when I say nearby, it’s still at least 1/4 mile away.

But I’m not complaining about the food in those restaurants, of course. In fact, in this last installment of my trip to the USA, I’m dedicating it to them - our regular afterwork spots to dine, relax and rant.

Old Naples Italian Restaurant

It’s quiet in here. I hope their business had picked up since, because it’ll be a pity if they decide to close for good. Their complimentary Country Salad is a simple recipe that works - parmesan emulsified in Italian dressing to give a creamy texture that goes well with the vegetables, peperoncini (!) and crostinis.

What made us return again and again, however, was the Seafood Spaghettini. I was skeptical at first, knowing that pomodoro will always be, well, just a light tomato sauce. And I was wrong. Perhaps it has been American-ized (like Western Chinese cuisine?) because the sauce was thick, robust in taste and hot. As the picture depicts, the variety and amount of seafood thrown in was amazing too.

The selection of dolci’s pretty good, with the raspberry cheesecake topping the list. The sourish sauce cuts through nicely that rich taste of cheese. Keep doing what you do and best of luck, Old Naples!

Doc’s Saloon and Grill

The previous visitors highly recommended the signature grilled baby back ribs but I wasn’t paying attention when they mentioned it. And I’d mistakenly ordered the prime rib instead. Doc’s Famous Prime Rib, which was roasted for 17 hours, was a good mistake though. A 3/4 pound of succulent piece of meat that was savoury ‘til the last bite. As for the French onion soup, I think the ratio of mozzarella to soup was approximately 1:1. Seriously.

John’s Diner

I get a tug at my heartstrings as I recall the countless dinners I had here. It’s more than just the delicious pickled roasted beetroot at the salad bar, seafood chowder, orange duck, ham with bone, spaghetti marsala, Philly cheesesteak, chocolate bomb cake, etc. The owners and staff (well, most of them) made us feel at home. It was just the courteous how are we doin’ today? at first and soon, conversations extended to include the weather, weekend activities and better choice of desserts. You can tell that this diner, despite the simple interior and menu, is a favourite among the locals when it still packs in a crowd even at those odd afterhours.

On my last visit in a late evening, I had a piece of Shoofly Pie, not knowing that it's actually a Pennsylvania Dutch classic dessert. The base and top usually consist mainly of brown sugar while the filling is of molasses. Despite the saccharine ingredients, the pie was surprisingly just aptly sweet. Very interesting!

And this certainly was, the perfect ending to my stint here in the USA.

Old Naples Italian Restaurant
110 Limekiln Road, PA 17070
Tel: (+1) 717 920 3627

Doc's Saloon and Grill
110 Limekiln Road, PA 17070
Tel: (+1) 717 920 3627

John's Diner
146 Sheraton Drive
New Cumberland, PA 17070
Tel: (+1) 717 774 5004

Some of the stuff I ate in NYC....

2010-12-24T04:37:00.004+08:00

With just 2 weekends in New York, I'd decided to concentrate on visiting as many interesting sights as possible, instead of turning to the stacks of colourful city guides for a gastronomic tour. Afterall, how much can one really eat in 48 hours, right? Take it from this big eater, really.

Weekend No. 1's meals were mostly what we could find along the way - burritos, pizzas, burgers and noodles. Despite the presentation, the below bowl of ramen really tasted more Chinese than Japanese.

By the second weekend, the shutterbug died a lethargic death while the appetite grew.

Weekend No. 2 started at Momofuku Noodle Bar. Despite the modest size and simplicity of the facade, it was still easy to find, thanks to the hordes of customers gathering in and out of the restaurant. Having read David Chang's NO PHOTOGRAPHY policy at Ko (one of his many other restaurants), I asked the staff if I could take some photos of my sexy, hot plate of steamed buns. The friendly dude said, Of course!. Cool.

The thick slabs of pork belly lived up to my expectation - soft, slightly sticky thick layer of fat atop the flaky meat. It has a cleaner taste than our usual Dongbo pork. And it's not complete without their chilli sauce that's only slightly sour but (surprisingly) hot. A slice of the pork belly was included in the Momofuku Ramen too, which was great. It was more of a chicken (and perhaps pork bones too) stock than the usual tonkotsu, miso, etc. I liked the taste and named it a bowl of thinking ramen, not because it had me contemplating on the soup base but the ideas that went into making this version of ramen. Not an expert here but I've not seen ramen served with poached egg (except for the chilli pan mee in our part of the world) and shredded pork shoulder (which reminded me of the usage of minced pork in our clear soup noodles) that was pretty flavourful. I was looking forward to their soft serve of the day - snow pea (!) but the machine was down, so I settled for the chocolate chips cake truffles.

It was only on my last day here that I had my first New York bagel at the historic cafe called Zabar's on Broadway. The window seats provide a good view of the busy streets, especially in the morning when runners are seen crossing this part of upper Manhattan as parents and their kids in strollers head to their usual restaurants for brunch, and locals (I presume) returning from their morning shopping at the nearby markets or grocery stores, carrying large brown paper bags filled with fruits, vegetables and baguettes. I had their signature bagel with cream cheese and nova salmon (lightly cured and smoked), apple crumble and orange juice for breakfast that Sunday, before starting my strenuous (but fun) day at the museums along the Museum Avenue. Zabar's had an amazing display of golden bakes, which most looked rather appetizing. Ah, if only I was able to sample everything.

I was at Flor de Mayo, just a few hours before returning to Harrisburg. What attracted me to this restaurant was the description - Chino Latino cuisine. What!? Looking at the menu, I realised that there's nothing fusion, just one that offers both Chinese and Peruvian food. The Chinese menu does seem highly exotic when read in Latin but I should have known better than to order the Chow Mein de Carne Ahumada, Arroz Frito y Egg Roll, which really means roast pork chow mein, fried rice and egg roll. (-___-). On the other hand, the starter of Aquadito Chicken (a Peruvian cilantro rice soup) was bold on flavours. I found some recipes on the web that include beer in the stock. Sounds good, doesn't it?

A brief moment at Wall Street later, I was back at the Port Authority bus terminal, awaiting to board my bus to return to Harrisburg. Into the first hour of the journey, while searching for some reading materials in my bag, I found the remaining half of my apple crumble from Zabar's. And I happily munched away, reminiscing the short but fantastic weekends in New York. It'll be more about the food next time, I promised myself.

Momofuku Noodle Bar
171 First Avenue (Between 10th and 11th St.)

Zabar's
2245 Broadway, 80th St.

Flor de Mayo
484, Amsterdam Avenue

Central Park, New York City

2010-12-16T23:07:00.005+08:00

Perhaps I was the only one in the group that wanted to visit Strawberry Fields at Central Park, where a memorial was built for John Lennon. I’m glad I did. It’s veered westward from Sheep Meadow and some climbing is required. A round mosaic, decorated with the word “Imagine” in the center, basically defines the memorial. That late afternoon, as we ascended the rather hilly path, a group was gathering around the mosaic, strumming and singing to the tunes of Imagine, Hey Jude, Let It Be and other timeless songs from the Beatles.

You might find this unbelievable, but the truth is, I had a feeling that I’d meet Yoko Ono at Strawberry Fields that day. We were walking down the hill, making our way to the Lake and the Great Lawn when we crossed paths with this woman in a striking white suit, donning one of those funky hats spotted on celebrities and clubbers these days. We met face to face and naturally, gave each other a smile. Unmistakably, it was Yoko Ono. Not intimidated, but rather out of respect for one’s privacy, I’d decided not ask for a photo with her. But seeing how willing she was with an American couple, I went up to her and politely requested for one. And she obliged.

I guess my colleagues were confused as to why I wanted to have a photo taken with Yoko Ono. It was nothing about being starstruck but really, to capture this significant moment in Central Park celebrating the music and life of a great musical talent, mourning his tragic death at the nearby Dakota Apartments and meeting his wife, Yoko Ono.

And this is just one of the many fond memories of Central Park, including.....

.....resting on one of the many benches around the Bethesda Fountain

.....seeing another ancient Egyptian obelisk, Cleopatra’s Needle, after Paris and Luxor

.....soaking in the sun, just like them New Yorkers

.....the beautiful view of the Lake

.....being mesmerized by the music and passion, the joie de vivre

.....wishing I can do my regular 10 km runs here in the future

.....and meeting a fairy in the park.

For me, Central Park is New York, where life is fun, exciting and full of possibilities. To cover this area in a day seems difficult, if you plan to include the nearby Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Guggenheim along Fifth Avenue, and the American Museum of Natural History on 79th Street, Central Park West. And these upper Manhattan museum.....

.....are worthy of a brand new post.

Lunch at Iggy’s

2010-12-15T06:22:00.003+08:00

Ikura, yuzu jelly and hojisho.

This took place roughly 12 hours after returning from Kathmandu, 30 hours before my half marathon attempt and 54 hours to my first day in a new working environment. What a week it had been!

Hirame with burrata, tomato and pomelo.

Of course, I was looking forward to this meal at Iggy’s (reservation was made 2 weeks in advance) but fresh memories of Kathmandu’s sights and sounds were distracting. I guess that had indirectly lowered my expectation of this highly praised restaurant. As we sat down, I quickly browsed through the December menu, decided on our orders and starting talking frantically about my trip. If I was at Kathmandu that particular hour (we’re 2.15 hours ahead of Nepal), I would have already visited a temple/durbar and had started looking for an interesting Nepali or Newari lunch spot.

Wagyu carpaccio with rocket, parmesan and truffle mayonnaise.

Off the menu was a complimentary amuse bouche. The fragrance of yuzu had tricked me into expecting a sugary taste of jelly, which naturally, should provide a nice contrast to the savouriness of ikura. But it was not! Tasting like light soy sauce, the jelly was a surprise and went down delightfully with the bursting ikura. The pairing was lightly perfumed with what I believe to be hojisho buds since it tasted very much similar to the Japanese perilla. A brilliant combination.

Tagliatelle with seasonal mushrooms and egg.

Cappellini with tomato and basil.

Lamb with ratatouille risotto.

The rest of the courses didn’t disappoint. Both the tagliatelle and capellini were exemplarily al dente. My soft piece of wagyu carpaccio came laurel-wreathed with arugula, parmesan and, my favourite part – truffle mayonnaise. I’m now inspired to make some truffle aioli to go with my fries or salads, even. Be it the execution or just pure bad luck, I’ve never had good duck dishes in non-Chinese restaurants. The meats were usually too hard and/or bland. Iggy’s pinkish duck piece that afternoon was soft, flaky and came with crispy skin that was lightly sprinkled with coarse salt to enhance the taste. The side of potato mash and chips (and mesclun mix) complemented the duck well, both in flavour and texture.

Duck with Yukon Gold potato and meslun.

Perhaps I’d made the wrong decision of selecting two rich-tasting desserts. In the end, both tasted rather similar. Having said that, to combine chocolate, cinnamon, mandarin and vanilla custard (quite unique a component, I think) was smart. Same goes for the pain d’epices. If only I’d replaced one of these with the soursop served with cherry, baby tomato and mascarpone, it would be even more fantastic, given the polarizing tastes of the main ingredients of these desserts.

Pain d'epices with bourbon, caramelized banana, nutmeg and toffee.

It was just one lunch, so I shouldn’t deduce as if I’d tasted the full-blown degustation dinner menu or like I’m a regular here. But from the menu that Friday afternoon, I feel that it’s not just about the freshest, most expensive imported ingredients. A lot of brainwork was involved in creating these exquisite, though simple-looking dishes. I’ll gladly return for more when I can afford it. Serving portions aside, if I may suggest, tea or coffee should have been included in the menu. That’s not too much to ask for a lunch tagged at S$85++, isn’t it?

Chocolate with cinnamon, mandarin and vanilla.

Just like Kathmandu and Iggy’s, I’m happy to report that both the half-marathon and first day at work went well. Now, if only every week can be just as fun and exciting...

Iggy's
The Hilton, Level Three
Orchard Road, Singapore
Tel: (+65) 6732 2234

Manhattan, New York City

2010-12-08T00:12:00.008+08:00

The journey to New York City from Harrisburg isn't that different from my weekly return trips to Kuala Lumpur from Singapore. Both take about 5 hours, with monotonous sights along the way. Passengers consist of many ethnics, mostly looking minutely into their watches, sighing and hoping that the journey will end soon. And there are those that, like me, doze off into the first hour of the ride.

We were at New Jersey, about to cross the Lincoln Tunnel when I was awakened by the blinding sun. And Manhattan looked stunning from across the Hudson River. I could just imagine the fun weekend there - circling in the maze of famous skyscrapers, in the company of colourful New Yorkers (and visitors).

The crossing was slowed down by the many vehicles making their way into Manhattan. The good thing was that the Port Authority Bus Terminal, along the Eight Avenue, was not too far from the tunnel's exit.

New York has an interesting coordinate system in locating a particular address. Seventh Avenue, 42nd Street (pretty cool, isn't it?) for example, is where the perpetually crowded Times Square is located. This is a happy place, where tourists come to immerse in the vibrancy that is New York. Not forgetting other icons such as Central Park, the Rockefeller Center, Grand Central Station, Wall street, Fifth Avenue, Broadway, Chinatown, Radio City Hall, Madison Square Garden, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, etc. Stretching further, we find the Ellis and Liberty Islands. I'm sure we've heard about at least a dozen of these names from the movies.

Many sang about NYC - Frank Sinatra, Christopher Cross, Jay-Z & Alicia Keys, Billy Joel, John Mayer, Tom Waits, Fleetwood Mac, The Strokes, Bruce Springsteen, etc. There must be something that makes this place so incredibly inspiring, right?

New York City, such a beautiful disease (New York City, Norah Jones).

At the hotel's frontdesk, I asked of the subway's schedule. The subways run 24 hours, said the kind receptionist.

Coming from my part of the world, diversity is nothing new but here in NYC, I've met more Hispanic and African Americans than I had in the last 30 years. Diversity is a gift and I can't think of a better way to celebrate that than to laugh at ourselves (and others) at the many stand-up comedy clubs, a staple entertainment here. Many had cautioned me of the rowdiness of certain groups and high crime rate but I guess the trend is similar given any big city in the world. In fact, I felt safer here than in some European cities that I'd visited in the past.

On a Saturday night, at the 86th floor of the Empire State Building, I witnessed the spectacular, quiet skyline. After a while at the observatory, a saxophonist (a weekend special) began rendering soothing melodies that best accompany the night and that, to me, represents the sophisticated Manhattan that I'd always imagined...complete with the cooling summer breeze.

It's not easy to summarize NYC in mere few words. There's always something worth mentioning as you walk down the street; the quirky people, the latest gadgets, the food, the towering buildings, the music and the enclaves of different ethnics that form this city. And all these reminded me that anything's possible in this delicious big apple.

You can never take away the resilience and determination of the New Yorkers. Despite the melancholy that surrounds Ground Zero, there brims hope that NYC will once again, emerge stronger than ever.

I came to NYC to just have a moment in one of the best cities in the world and left energized and inspired. There are only a few cities that I wish to be a part of. This is definitely one of them. New York, you rock!

Subak

2010-11-22T22:50:00.003+08:00

Many visitors will enjoy walking up the green, serene, steep slope leading to Subak’s reception. I would try too, if only I knew. With hip-hop music blasting from the car stereo, we sped up the slope, to the horror of Subak’s staff. They stopped us immediately and politely explained that vehicles are prohibited from entering the restaurant, which is located on a hill. We definitely made an impression that afternoon.

Subak's NZ Lamb Shank Masala (with sweet potato mash)

Subak reminded me of Naili’s, one of the earliest cafes with a tropical setting that comes with lighted mosquito coils under every table. A decade ago, it was one of THE places to be in and had definitely made Sentul more appealing and cool. As much as I applaud their back-to-nature theme, I never understood the ambiance, which many would describe as unique. I call it humid and stuffy. As for the menu, I would give up the overpriced fries and chops for some fiery, colourful, tamarind-loaded fish head curry from Kari Kepala Ikan Sentul. The last time I checked, that's 10 minutes ago, Naili’s has now expanded to Ampang, Damansara Uptown and Taipan. Us urbanites are just so nature-deprived these days, aren’t we?

Ibu Yati's Gado-Gado

Subak's Balinese Fried Rice with a Grilled Chicken Skewer

Pan-Fried Medallion of Cod Fish and Butterfly Prawns (with tomato and ginger flower reduction)

Subak, with its contemporary landscaping and sort of exotic interior, was welcoming. But still humid lah. It was easy selecting the dishes as the signatures were already widely introduced on the web. Funnily enough, it was that sweet potato mash pillowing the lamb shank masala that I remembered the most. Subtly sweet, it was a brilliant alternative to the usual bland kind.

It started to rain heavily when we were ready to leave. And so, we ordered desserts.

Tapai Pulut with Vanilla Ice Cream

A conservative (or stereotype) sometimes, I came here secretly wishing that I would find some hidden gems of authentic, traditional Malay food amidst the creative menu but that surely just wouldn’t do with such grandeur of a restaurant on a hill now, would it?

Subak
Lot 3213 Jalan Penchala Indah
Bukit Lanjan 60000
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Tel: (+603) 7729 9030
Check out their new menu here: http://www.subak.com.my/

Japan, Marina Square's foodcourt and Keisuke

2010-11-18T22:36:00.001+08:00

Where can you dine with a view of the Marina Bay Sands, the towering CBD, the grand Fullerton Hotel and the Esplanade without burning a hole in the wallet? The Marina Square foodcourt, of course! The night skyline, illuminated by some of the most identifiable skyscrapers in Singapore, is especially beautiful.

A few year ago, I came to this foodcourt in search of the legendary bak chor mee stall that some claim to rank among the best this island has to offer. The taste was average at best but it was later that I learned of a change in ownership that led to deterioration in quality and taste. Nevertheless, I'd found a great view.

Two months back, XLB returned from her solo trip to the land of the rising sun, bringing along indispensable memories of the Tsukiji market and some food; ranging from extravagant Western desserts (no Sadaharu Aoki or Pierre Hermé though) to local delicacies to unknowingly affordable compressed, dehydrated cubes of soup, which I had uncontrollably walloped all 9 packs within a short span of 24 hours. Hey, that's 1 cube in every 2.67 hours!

Earlier that evening, before I was presented with a bundle of souvenirs (mostly food, naturally), we were at Keisuke. For me, it was all about the Ebi Ramen Special that features a special prawn stock. This is one brave but controversial dish, I'd say, especially when you can get approximately 3 bowls (or more) of the local version of prawn noodles for the price of a bowl of this. I could do without the additional plate of side consisting of boiled pork/long beans and ajitsuke eggs. Instead, more of the crispy strands of saffron garnishing would have been great. Keisuke's ebi stock is not the usual Singaporean prawn noodles stock that's flavoured with prawns, pork bones (murkier) and rock sugar. This was refreshingly lighter. I enjoyed Keisuke's ebi stock but still favour a stronger taste. A matter of personal preference, really. Like how some prefer the lighter Teochew-style bak kut teh over the stronger herbal taste of the Hokkien version. It also came with some dumplings, which was a nice touch. Hmmm, how about some saffron in the minced filling next, eh? The juicy prawn gyoza with crispy skin is worth a mention too.

What in the world is a Kyo-Machiya cake? Literally deconstructing the phrase, it could mean a cake made in a green tea house in Kyoto. Whatever it means, the cake rocks. Yes, the skeptic has spoken. It's always that first tingling bittertaste that makes the best first impression, soothed only later by the sweet, smooth azuki paste. There were layers of green tea gelatin as well, adding to a more interesting texture.

The attentive staff asked if we would like to have some desserts but we'd made plans. At the Marina Square foodcourt, we finished a delicious-looking log of baumkuchen from Juchheim (a well-known pastry shop in Japan). Well, I did most of the eating, actually. I used to like Muji's (regardless of the flavour) but they seem to be harder now. Juchheim's was definitely more refined while sparing the excessive sweetness of caramel, which to be honest, added to the addiction.

With some time to burn before returning home tonight (as in Thursday night), I'd decided to grab a quick dinner of sliced fish soup at Marina Square's foodcourt again. Later, I had a cup of Teh-C and penned down this post while watching the sun set between the halved durians of the Esplanade. Ah, nice.

Keisuke Tokyo
9 Raffles Boulevard
#P3-02 Parco Marina Bay
Millenia Walk Singapore
Tel: (+65) 6337 7919

-----

Note:

Apparently, Keisuke's menu has changed.

Amish Village, Lancaster County

2010-11-12T19:11:00.003+08:00

The morning shower did dampen my spirit as we traveled along Route 30. And the pour didn’t get any lighter when we turned into 340 (the Old Philadelphia Pike). I remember a guide book advising visitors to avoid this route for it is constantly congested and being, well, touristy. I guess at 8 am with the rain showing no sign of resentment, it didn’t really matter to us.

On my itinerary was a cruise along the Scenic Drive, a spot on the map that got my attention immediately. At Bird-In-Hand, we took a left turn into Harvest Road leading to Highway 772. The surrounding progressively transformed from rows of shops to fields of corn and wheat. A scattering of Amish houses, agricultural plants and towering power generators decorated the otherwise monochromatic plains.

I proceeded to turn off my GPS navigator (how fun) and drove aimlessly deep into the area, reminding myself to just observe and never trespass. It was still drizzling when I had my first encounter with an Amish on a buggy. Being the driver, I only managed to catch a glimpse of him. The man donning a black coat and a hat had a beard, a signature of every married Amish man.

The rain stopped for a while. We parked beside a river and walked about half a mile to observe a nearby farm. What I feared at this point was not the Amish but potential presence of Dobermanns and German Shepherds barking us off their property. Or worse, tearing us apart for breakfast. Then, it started to rain again and we’re forced to dash for the car.

Finally, the sky spared our humble lives and decided to open up that late morning. Shops started operation and we found ourselves at the Amish Village in Strasburg, a souvenir shop that doubled as a faux Amish house (complete with a guided tour). For only US$8, I must say that it’s worth every penny and that it’s cheaper than most of the other exhibitors around. The tour of the house by an informative elderly lady started at the living room, where most of the communal activities take place, followed by the bedrooms and kitchen. In between, we also learned about their history and traditions.

The Amish (and the Amish Mennonites) place great importance on family and the community, with God being the core of their very existence. They resist materialism, which basically cut them off from what modernity has to offer. A young adult decides if he/she wants to be baptized and will be accepted as part of the community, regardless of his/her decision.

Over the few weeks leading to this visit, I’ve been reading a bit on the Amish. As a visitor, there are certain etiquettes that I should note. For one, I shouldn’t be photographing the Amish. Nor do they want to be photographed as well. There are a few explanations (that I know of) to this. Some said that photographs are a symbol of vanity, a contradiction to their belief. As Christians, allowing themselves to be photographed is to disobey one of the Ten Commandments – Thou shalt not make unto thyself a graven image. The most interesting that I’ve heard implies that it snatches the soul from the Amish.

In the kitchen, we were told that the Amish use portable fuel such as propane cartridges for cooking. Electricity is not used in any way. A fellow colleague asked if electricity is considered materialistic. I was dumbfounded. In the weeks to come, I came to understand that electricity indirectly connects the Amish to the ways of the material world via electrical appliances such as the television, hence the prohibition.

The fact that these few European descendants hold up to their belief until today is admirable, considering how dependent we are on technology, which in general does related to materialism in today’s capitalist world. They are a testament to what life is like without mobile phones, the internet, and computers, a question we perpetually ask ourselves. This was quite an experience, especially in a technology-driven country like America. An enriching one, no doubt.

A few hours later, we were on our way to a nearby Chinese buffet restaurant before a frenzy shopping spree at the factory outlets next to it. Yes, all peculiarly located not too far from the Amish neighbourhood. This is Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Stir It Up...at Lexington Market

2010-11-09T05:33:00.008+08:00

Baltimore. From the walk to the Owing Mills subway station, I could tell that the demographics had changed significantly relative to where I’d been staying for the past 5 weeks. It was an interesting change.

Inner Harbor is a must-see, said most of my helpful colleagues. That too, I reminded myself.

Primarily, it was the centuries-old Lexington Market that I’d been looking forward to, here in Baltimore. Well, for the seafood, of course. The market gets packed during lunch. Stepping into the market in the morning, I shouldn’t be too excited just yet. Vendors were still busy preparing for the lunch crowd, although some displays were already filled with fried chicken, hotdogs and some Asian stuff. From afar, I managed to locate Faidley’s, the infamous big lump crabcake shop. Unlit, but rightfully so since it was only 10 am. There’s still a sizeable selection of breakfast to choose from. Ignoring the sushis and chow meins, I was left with some hotdog stalls and the Harbor City Bake Shop, where the longest queue was. I couldn't even catch a glimpse of the food as the display was blocked by the massive crowd. Certainly, I just had to join in the fun.

I surprised myself with the selection - a glazed donut (the first in my 7 weeks here, can you believe it!), a cinnamon twist and a large (almost a quarter, I believe) piece of carrot cake. There’s a good reason why Harbor City is an attraction here. The food's decent and they come really affordable. The soft carrot cake was heavy on the cinnamon, brown sugar and cream. In other words, very American. That's nice.

It’s easy to get around with the day-pass in Baltimore, although I must say that the Inner Harbor is still some distance from the nearest subway station. But it’s not a confusing walk. Just go towards I.M. Pei’s pentagonal World Trade Centre, which is placed right at the centre of the harbor.

The day must have hit a high of 38 deg C (yet again). There were 2 ways to cool it off – jump into the Chesapeake Bay (I'm not even sure if that's allowed) or just grab a cooling cup of Italian Ice from Rita's. I chose the passion fruit flavour.

As kids, we used to play baseball back in our kampung. The bat’s made of a broken broomstick while the baseball was an almost worn-out tennis ball that we’d picked up somewhere. A homerun’s fine but it was the pleasure of hitting your opponents hard with the ball that was most gratifying.

We were so close to experiencing a real (and professional) baseball game at Camden Yards, where the Baltimore Orioles (a Major League Baseball team) was to play later in the evening. Sadly, we couldn’t afford the time. Streams of stalls selling souvenirs (mostly in shades of orange – the Orioles’ colour) and grills and beers were beginning to form as we left the stadium. Ah, next time!

The Baltimore Light Rail took us back to Lexington Market for lunch, where the locals and tourists had just started thronging.

And there was Bob Marley's Stir It Up.

A jam session was taking place at the center court. The predominantly American-Caribbean crowd was having a good time swaying to the cool reggae beats. If I must choose, this was the most memorable moment for me, here in Baltimore.

Faidley's crabcake shop was still not up. What?! A closer inspection showed a notice that it was closed for (I believe) the current owners' 52nd wedding anniversary. Bless them but my life was over at this point.

That thought didn't last long, surely. Look, I've driven more than 200 km to get here, got baked in the sun for hours and STILL haven't had any Maryland crab yet. Absurd, isn't it? I had to make sure that I don't leave the market feeling like a loser. Or hungry. And just like that, the beast unleashed.

Smacked right in the middle of the Faidley enclave is the iconic Raw Bar. I had half a dozen of their premium-sized, shucked oysters. Sublimely fresh, these. And they were great with a Bud Light. I got myself some Baltimore steamed crabs too. Cooked in vinegar and beer, you can imagine the combustion of flavours in the meat. But that's not all. It's actually the Old Bay seasoning that gives it the punch. Fortified with loads of herbs and spices (including bay leaf, peppers, paprika, 5-spice), the taste was complex, aromatic and appetizing. There was no hint of sugar in the mix but it worked wonderfully with the natural sweetness of the crabs.

There's more than one big lump crabcake stall in Lexington Market, of course. As we headed for the subway station, I spotted a couple and decided to have one for the road. And it was good. A simple squeeze of lemon provided a nice cut to the rich taste of baked sweet chunks crab meat. Just to confirm, I asked the bouffant-capped owner with fine upper lip hair if this was a jumbo lump crabcake. That's right, dear, she said. Cool.

Restoran Chat Masala

2010-11-03T05:28:00.003+08:00

I’ve decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and look forward to more developments in Brickfields. Finally, this colourful neighbourhood is getting an overhaul.

Jalan Tun Sambanthan is now a one-way street. It reminds me a lot of my hometown, Sentul, where the once two-way Jalan Sentul now loops at Sentul Raya. Logically speaking, wider roads do ease traffic flow but here’s the question – where has the opposite side of the road been relocated? I’ve asked a few friends but no one could give me an answer. If there’s one suggestion that I may provide, to help smoothen traffic at this neighbourhood, is to build multilevel carparks. Double-parking is a concern here and it’s unfair to penalize just the drivers. I see this idea being more pragmatic than to fuglify a historical site with another ~~self-indulging~~ Malaysia Boleh skyscraper.

Back at Brickfields, parking was impossible as we studied the new Jalan Tun Sambanthan. Fortunately for us, a car was leaving right in front of us and we swerved into the parking space with much relief. Think of the buckets of sweat that I might have disposed off if I had to walk from KL Sentral on a hot afternoon.

Chat Masala sounded rather familiar and we decided to give it a try. It wasn’t until I made my payment at the cashier that I noticed the TOKL Food 40 2008 token. Not that it would change my perception, of course.

The self-service spread was very much the same as with many Indian restaurants. We opted for banana leaf rice, so everything was served to us instead. I look forward to my moru and rasam every time I go for blr. When well-prepared, the sourish liquids, rich with the pungent onion/coriander (moru) and spices (rasam), serve to open up the senses and in many ways, enhance the whole blr experience. Let’s not forget their medicinal properties as well. Unfortunately, both came much milder than I’d hoped for. The curried vegetables of okra, long beans, lentils and potatoes, on the other hand, were surprisingly flavoursome and nicely softened.

Meat analogue is such a sophisticated name for faux meat, isn’t it? Not a fan myself, but the lava tones were so inviting that I had to give it a try. Befittingly, the chicken and mutton were hot and spicy. There was an unmistakable sugary hint that comes with many vegetarian dishes. Truth be told, I actually liked both dishes for the explosion of spices in my mouth.

I was back in this Little India on a Saturday night, just to bask in the Deepavali mood and to see if there are any new and exciting festive snacks on sale. As expected, cars began piling from Jalan Travers. Decorating Little India were colourful lights, energetic drumbeats blasting from every corner, street performances and posters of Dr. Manmohan Singh and Malaysia’s current prime minister. Especially with the posters, my cynical mind couldn’t decide if the theme of the day was a celebration of existing bilateral ties or the triumph of good over evil. There are now Indian culture-inspired art installations at the center of Brickfields too. These must be from the same people behind that whateverthingtheycallit fountain at the Pavilion, Bukit Bintang, I told myself.

Personally, nothing from the previous description reminded me of Deepavali. Well, for this non-Hindu living in an Indian neighbourhood for over 17 years, at least. It’s only when I pushed my way into the tents and shops that I started to remember what this Festival of Lights was like - the tranquiling scent of incense, colourful garlands and families gallivanting down the street in traditional clothing. Oh, and the stacks of halwa, barfi, murukku and laddu.

I just hope that I’ll be receiving a large container of these snacks again from my neighbour this year.

Happy Deepavali and enjoy the long weekend, everyone.

Chat Masala
259G, Jalan Tun Sambanthan
Brickfields, Kuala Lumpur
Malaysia
Tel: (+603) 2260 3244

Marufuku Udon

2010-10-27T06:20:00.003+08:00

2003 was exceptional. It was the year I stayed in Japan for work. During the long breaks, I would travel to different parts of the Honshu island. These exciting trips don't come cheap, of course. Nothing's cheap in Japan, anyway. To ensure that I have enough money to travel, I've devised a plan - economical lunches at work.

Unlike other colleagues, my lunch at the canteen cost a mere 600 yen. Yet, they were filling and rather decent. There were no fancy sides like hijiki or edamame or fried tofu; just a plate of plain curry rice and some udon. In the summer, udon was served cold and topped with chopped scallion and fried tempura bits. During the cold winter days, they came with piping hot shoyu broth and a slice or two of surimi-based ingredients.

Udons come from many different prefectures in Japan. The Sanuki type (from Kagawa) is probably one of the more familiar ones to us in this region. My favourite is the slithery, thin Inaniwa from Akita, which unfortunately is only available at more well-established Japanese restaurants.

I try not to pay too much for noodles like udon because I feel that it's something that I can make at home. Just throw in some bonito flakes and konbu into a pot of hot water and a stock's ready in minutes. The zaru version is even easier to make! And that is why I like Marufuku.

The menu has an element of fusion in it. Okay, so fusion may be too controversial a word, especially in terms of food. Integration then. Instead of chikuwa or crabsticks (shudders) or Hello Kitty-shaped kamaboko (faints), local ingredients like wanton and taufupok (fried beancurd skin) are used. If you ask me, blanched mustard greens sound more practical in udons than to be served with chee cheong fan (flat rice skin rolls) in those fancy dim sum restaurants. A cha (zha) cheong (minced meat stew with vegetables and fermented soy bean paste) topping should work too, and I believe is a hit with the local tastebuds.

For lunch that afternoon, we had the House Special, Curry, Salada and Nabeyaki (Claypot) Udon, along with sides like Kakiage - both the original and pumpkin versions. I should also note that green tea is refillable here. The House Special had the udon pre-mixed with soy sauce and when combined with the broken poached egg, was nice. The curry version came with lots of ingredients like minced meat, onions and diced carrot. Personally, I would have liked the curry sauce more robust in taste, and with a thicker, stickier texture. The ensemble of local ingredients used in the Salada (salad in Japanese) reminded me of a rojak, which is original and interesting. The sesame dressing was not as sweet as those bottled ones sold at the supermarkets, so that's good. Instead of the usual claypot yee mee or chicken rice, give the Nabeyaki a try. For the same price at some foodcourts, this is a refreshing change. A kakiage should be light and not overly soaked in oil. Marufuku's a good reference.

I had 2.5 bowls of udon at Marufuku that afternoon. That says a lot, doesn't it?

On a different note, I'm rediscovering Jaya One. Besides Marufuku, there's also a cafe at another block called The Bee, which looks rather pretty. With delicious cakes (I can be certain of that), ice cream from The Last Polka and a good crowd, I think I'll be visiting again. Soon.

Marufuku Udon
Blk L, Unit 18, Level G, Phase 1
Jaya One
Tel: (+603) 7957 6368

The Bee
Blk K, Unit 2A, Level G, Phase 1
Jaya One
Tel: (+603) 7960 1557

They call it Bawlmer...

2010-10-20T22:41:00.004+08:00

On a sweltering summer's day at Inner Harbor, Baltimore.

Next up, Lexington Market. For food, of course.

Noodles @ Ban Lee

2010-10-14T21:59:00.002+08:00

They said I must give it a try. Afterall, it’s only a short drive from home. And I did. Thank you, eager relatives.

As we approached Taman Ehsan, I still had no idea what exactly we would be having for breakfast that Sunday. Pork noodle, I was told. That’s a tricky one. This is KL, so it'll be either the liver sausage and pork balls type or those served with everything porky - intestine, liver, blood cubes, minced meat, etc. I asked no further and assumed that it’s the former. I wanted it to be! However, amidst the excitement generated along the journey, I was not informed of the one important feature of this coffeeshop - the erratic business hours. True enough, it was closed that day…and on our subsequent visit.

Some things are worth the wait, I guess. This is one of them. The gorn low (Cantonese for dry-tossed) dressing consisting of light and sweet soy sauces and sesame oil was quintessentially what I would have been able to formulate at home but of course, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. At Ban Lee, it was the really good noodle that had me. How would I describe it? Most probably a cross between yee and pan mee. So, on one hand, there’s the smooth, non-sticky texture of yee mee (sans the ubiquitous process of blanching in hot oil) and on the other, a hint of floury scent of pan mee. I’ve seen similar types sold at wet markets before but thought that they would not be any different from pan mee. Looks like it’s time to get a kilogram and make myself some gorn low mee. Or some mushroom ragout to go with it! The other ingredients complementing the noodles seemed pan mee-inspired; deep-fried beancurd skin and pork balls.

Don’t start eating yet! HairyBerry needs to shoot the food, said the relatives, almost in unison. Sweet.

Here’s a good plan for a Sunday morning – start the day with a workout at the nearby Forest Research Institute of Malaysia (FRIM), replenish with some pork noodles at Ban Lee and head home for a peaceful afternoon nap. If Ban Lee’s closed, there are always other coffeeshops around Taman Ehsan. Good ones at that.

Kedai Makan Ban Lee
Jalan E 3/6
Taman Ehsan, 52100 Kuala Lumpur
Malaysia

Hup Choon Eating House

2010-10-06T23:27:00.009+08:00

Stir-fried pork with scallion and ginger - could have been more flavourful and the sauce further reduced.

够两个人吃了啦!
(The order’s enough for two already!)

We get this all the time from the wait staff or captain. Most said it with a smile while some looked suspicious, perhaps thinking that we’re just fooling around. We’re not embarrassed about ordering more than what is expected of us. The rule is to not waste, and I can proudly say that unless the food has been contaminated or belongs to another table or if I’d mistakenly ordered the durian, we'll wipe the plates clean, every time. Take our last dinner on Monday at Crystal Jade Kitchen, for example. We had the ala carte steamboat buffet and ticked close to 30 dishes on the list. Oh, PLUS an extra bowl of congee with preserved eggs for the sick one. What’s left in the pot as we asked for the bill were the boiling stocks, disintegrated bits of unidentifiable ingredients and a plate of diseased cabbage. That's all.

Sweet and sour pork - I like.

Honestly, it makes perfect sense to go overboard at tze chars. You need your meat, vegetables, egg, noodles and soup. And perhaps the stall’s specialty too. That’s more than five dishes already, right?

Fried hor fun - wok hei-deprived.

How did we end up at Hup Choon? It all started when I saw the photo of a promising plate of sweet and sour pork on LiquidShaDow's blog and alerted XLB, who would sacrifice anything (except Flor's Waguri Millefeuille and the Kyo-Machiya cake) for the perfect sweet and sour pork. What we've gotten that evening was not any offset from that photo that got us all excited. The result of sufficient heat for deep-frying was easily recognized - a lightly battered, crispy, golden skin with moisture inside the meat well-retained. We liked it but Moonstone Cafe's take still remains as her favourite. I think it was the fruity sauce there that scored the extra point for her.

Stir-fried sweet potato leaves - a CHORE to peel the fibrous outer layers of the stem at home, so have it at a tze char.

Hotplate tofu - pleasant but we should have asked for a signature instead.

As the evening went on, the turnout at Hup Choon grew to a suffocating number. Expatriates (I would assume, considering that they must have lived here long enough to learn the art of reserving a table by standing really close to one that has just settled the bill) and locals were eagerly trying to catch the attention of the wait staff to be seated. Some were seen carrying boxes of takeouts that perhaps were ordered in advance. Besides the decent dishes, we wondered what makes Hup Choon a hive. The reasonable prices must be a major attraction here. I vaguely remember receiving enough change to buy ourselves a large cup of those ice cream/yoghurt thingy at Sogurt, Coronation Plaza. The extensive menu and good service must be part of the winning formula too, I'm sure.

Hup Choon Eating House
1 Binjai Park
Singapore
Tel: (+65) 64684081

LP Noodle Station

2010-09-30T22:11:00.005+08:00

Ah, a blissful week. Just like slurping one steaming hot cup of instant kim chi ramyun after another. Perhaps attending a happy event like a wedding ceremony has brought back some good luck (I’m Chinese – the semi-superstitious kind). Work aside, life in the past 5 days involved enjoying a bunch of new songs, interesting reads and good food. By the way, does anyone know that in a traditional Chinese wedding, when a bridegroom ushers his bride into his house straight from the typically ~~horribl~~ interestingly decorated car, everyone has to literally turn their backs on them? Apparently, in failing to do so will have the luck of the guests be forced out of their system by the strong qi discharged from the newly wedded couple. It's only when they rejoin the guests after the bedroom ceremony (nothing sexually-inclined, unless potties are your thang) that they are allowed to meet face to face. Some valuable notes from the resourceful aunties there.

The weekend is here again but there’s no wedding or tea-ceremony to attend. Darn it. Let’s just hope that good luck from the previous week hasn't expired and will continue to run through the weekend (at least) and may there be more pork noodles too. The gorn low (dry-tossed) kway teow and bee hoon combination’s my favourite. Densely flavoured, moist ground pork is a must. A generous scoop of lard or fried shallots oil is almost necessary. Some thick slices of sweet liver sausage complete the universe.

I thought of LP (some Hokkien friends out there must be tickled by this acronym) Noodle Station as I had my gorn low meen for breakfast at a wet market in Cheras, a few hours before the wedding. Coincidentally, Qianli Xiang (the loh mee restaurant in my previous post is located just some lots away from LP. The universe has spoken. I had to, at the very least, flash this LP on my blog.

Rubbish aside, LP is a fine, modern kopitiam. There are the usual nasi lemak, condensed milk-based beverages and kaya toast. What’s interesting is that, in between, there’s pork noodle. And from my observation, there’s at least a bowl on every table. I’m not going to exaggerate and claim this to be whatever bestestestest thing ever because it isn’t. But in all honesty, it’s a bowl of satisfying comfort food. The ground pork's well-seasoned and the sausage's sweet and smoky. A more daring splash of aromatic oil would have been appreciated. On the other hand, I wished the curry chicken was less oily. Oh, or was it designed to have the floating layer of oil be applied to the noodle? The curry chicken here relates to the Chinese version – less spicy and somehow dilute. In general, I think the pairing of chicken curry and gorn lou meen is a champion. Imagine the explosion of flavours when soy sauce meets curry leaves meet pork meets coconut milk meets shallot oil meets sesame oil and tell me it's not worth drooling over.

As mentioned earlier, I've been enjoying some new songs that I've discovered while mindlessly surfing the web. One of them is Melody Gardot's If The Stars Were Mine, which the unripe words seem like a cross between The Sound Of Music and Disneyland. But that's just old cynical HairyBerry babbling. It's a great string-backed, bossanova track laced with MG's sultry voice. So, while I'm still all chirpy and enjoying this rather peculiarly lucky week, here's wishing everyone a good weekend ahead. :)

LP Noodle Station
Jalan SJ 1
Taman Selayang Jaya
Selangor, Malaysia

Restoran Qianli Xiang

2010-09-28T23:07:00.002+08:00

That was an unfortunate Saturday at The Gardens, Mid Valley City. Despite the pleasant surprise of bumping into LifeforBeginners, the Devil and the Diva, I had to keep a distance from the happy, healthy trio. In my hand was a bag of flu medicines (soluble tablets, pills, etc). The signs of a virus attack were clear as I returned home from a run in the drizzle that morning. I needed heat! A hot bowl of tau fu fah, some sweet horse legs and crispy yau char kway from the noteworthy I LOVE YOO! would turn things around, I thought. It didn’t take long before I started sneezing incessantly in front of the snacks and had to dash to the nearest pharmacy.

You don’t disappoint your family by cutting short a weekend outing. I survived MVC by wanton-wrapping by the dozen and napping at the public benches placed along the way as they shopped. Then, came lunchtime and the sick one was asked to decide. Remembering mum’s mention of an Ulu Yam loh mee restaurant in Kepong Baru, I suggested that we give it a try. Why loh mee? Because it’s soupy, hot and served with black vinegar - an appetizing, cleansing potion that I believe can prevent (and hopefully, cure) any ailment. I’ve read a report on a family in China that consumes black vinegar everyday and that portrait of them literally defines living in the pink of health. Inspiring!

My suggestion was not well-received. Apparently, there’s a better option in Taman Selayang Utama. Qianli Xiang or fragrance traveling a thousand miles in Mandarin (how paradoxical, considering my now reddened, stuffed nose!) has been around for a few years and is quite a favourite among the locals. I was told that the noodles are homemade.

There’s always this scene in family-run, small Chinese restaurants during the busy lunch hours - sweaty parents heaving and shouting in the kitchen, the young children reluctantly fill up your empty teapots while the grandmother calmly cuts the vegetables at a corner of the restaurant. But in the late afternoon, activities are minimized to a gathering of generations at a table as the kids take a short nap, in preparation for the maddening dinner crowd. The calmness in the restaurant at that hour was soothing for a patient like me.

When it comes to loh mee (be it Penang, KL or Singapore style), I prefer the sauce to be minimally starched (I'm disturbed by the sight of a gooey, translucent dark sauce). A good reduction with some whisked eggs will just do for me. What I liked about Qianli Xiang’s loh mee was the noodle. The inconsistency in size may not be visually pleasing and perhaps, even border on being amateurish but that’s what makes homemade food unique, I guess. Slightly chewy, smooth and with just a hint of floury taste, it was nothing like the typically bland, tough and thick yellow noodles that usually come with a lye aftertaste. Ingredients like greens and pork were aplenty too, here.

My deteriorating condition was no excuse to not try the homemade noodles, fried…Hokkien mee style, of course! Given my rather insensitive tastebuds that day, I still found their take pretty darn good. Noticeably different was the drier coating of soy sauce-based stock, perhaps due to the absorbing nature of the homemade noodles, unlike the usual oil-sealed thick yellow type. And that’s how I like my Hokkien mee, as compared to the watery version. What’s missing was that extra dash of fried lard bits, which would have added some crunch and aroma to the dish.

Besides black vinegar, minced garlic is another proven therapeutic condiment served at most Chinese restaurants. I must have had a few tablespoons of it that day. The nose didn’t dry up as I hoped but man, there sure was a serious windy issue going on later that day. It was only a week later that I’d fully recovered from that bad flu. Lesson learnt – do not run when it’s drizzling on a sunny day because the immune system, perhaps confused with the high/low temperature, is greatly weakened. So, run only on a clear day or...when it really pours!

Restoran Qianli Xiang
27, Jalan SJ 1
Taman Selayang Jaya
Selangor , Malaysia

Yaleju - Dong Bei Ho Guo

2010-09-24T04:14:00.005+08:00

The only thing that differentiated us from the rest of the customers was our local accent. Appearance-wise, we weren't that different. On a Sunday night, this seems like a preferred place for the workforce and students from the many provinces of China to gather and feast.

Our visit was unintended. It was one of those evenings when we were looking for good tze char (a rather impossible task since we were at Dhoby Ghaut) yet the tired feet were begging to rest. Strangely enough, the compromise was the few blocks of shophouses located nearby the Kallang MRT station. WtF, right?

The lanes separating the rows were dark and quiet - a contrast to the vibrant food streets of Geylang not too far from here. Was I at the other side of Geylang?

Further down the front (or back) row, we observed a single, well-lit lot. A restaurant! It didn't take long for us to make a choice.

Yaleju offers just 2 types of soup - clear or ma la (numbing hot, literally). I guess it has to do with the Dong Bei (northeast China) palate. Tom yum is not a staple stock there, I'm sure. The varieties of meat, seafood and vegetable were not unlike the many steamboat restaurants scattered around the island. The selection of pre-cooked dishes that night, despite looking abandoned and unkempt, were more interesting - braised pork ribs, trotters and chicken feet. They served these by the large plastic containers. However, I didn't find any of these interesting-looking dishes delicious. In fact, the bland trotters were a mix between a clean-shaven Monday morning and a Wednesday stubble. A few rare condiments are worth a mention though - fermented (red) soy bean paste, garlic/coriander/scallion/sesame oil paste (or what I called a Chinese pesto) and the simple black vinegar to go with some of the other dips.

Even at the late hour of ten, the restaurant was still packed to the brim. Tables were filled with glasses of beer (with ice) and plentiful crabs, prawns, beef and pork. Some looked serious while dipping their meats into the piping hot pot but most were just happily chatting the night away, intoxicated or not.

We left the restaurant with full stomachs and a feeling that we've just returned from a trip to China. That was fun.

Yaleju - Dong Bei Ho Guo
12, Jalan Ayer
(Near Kallang MRT Station)
Singapore
Tel: (+65) 6746 6619

Summer Splash at Hersheypark

2010-09-16T12:59:00.005+08:00

We arrived very early that Saturday. That's good because the rides were just opening and there was basically no queue, except for the newest addition, the Fahrenheit. In less than 2 hours (and on an empty stomach), we’ve been to heaven and hell, and survived the most thrilling rides Hersheypark has to offer.

It’s no wonder that the Fahrenheit attracts the most visitors. The best part is the slow, suspenseful 121 feet vertical (yes!) ascend that plunges, again, vertically to just a few feet above the ground. The rush was intense and I think it’s a great stress buster. I would have gone for it again had the queue been any shorter. The Great Bear roars as it speeds through the track at about 100 kmph...hanging. Awesomest! When I saw the complex formation of the Storm Runner, I told myself that this was going be one helluva freakin’ long and exciting ride. The website described the ride best - ...one-of-a-kind coaster will launch you from 0-72 mph in 2 seconds flat. 18 stories straight up, straight down. And that's just the beginning. The Sidewinder’s route may be shorter, but that’s just because it moves backwards too! A boomerang motion, they call it. Perhaps physiologically impossible but the reversal at top speed did, in a way, untangle the (ahem, slight) dizziness the previous few rides caused. One of the very last rides we had before leaving was The Claw. Oh, I like the sound of it…because it makes me hungry thinking about crabcakes. As the hand swung to about 64 feet in the air, the view, which included glimpses of the blinding evening sun and enthralled riders sitting on the opposite side, was beautiful. My mind began to wander and for a while, the world slowed. And the music of Sigur Rós came to life.

At The Boardwalk, summery songs blasted from the speakers. California Gurls, Don’t Worry Baby, Soak Up The Sun, the massive splashes and baking sunbathers – it was what I’d always imagined a fun summer day would be like in America.

And just to be sure, we’re still talking about central Pennsylvania.

And there was Dippin’ Dots, an ice cream that defies all conventions by being made into tiny frozen droplets. My first impression of this marvel is the resemblance to certain pellet-form rodenticides. A read on the web revealed that liquid nitrogen is used in the manufacturing process. Molecular gastronomy stuff comes to mind. Deep freezing means that it’s more resistive to heat and that’s perfect for a day that peaked at about 36 deg C. I had the tasty Banana Split flavour and enjoyed tonguing the spheres. No spoon required.

I came to this century old amusement park thinking that it's a fun place for kids, only kids. And I was right. For that whole Saturday, I was a kid again.

Mixed Rice and Examination Days

2010-09-09T06:32:00.006+08:00

This post could have gone either direction – a lament of failing yet another examination or a dedication to an exhilarating end to a course of study that was, in the beginning, as remote to me as Kyrgyz cuisine. It all began in January when I came home from Cairo to find that I’d failed one of the papers from the last round of examinations. The thought of seeing an “F” on the result slip again haunted me throughout the next semester. I registered for the supplementary paper in July and was all motivated to better my previous grade. Alas, as time went by, work started piling to the roof. I had no choice but to rush through deadlines and subsequently isolated myself from the world to study for a few days prior to the examination. Preparation is not just about immersing oneself in the notes but also taking care of one’s health by eating well and working out. All too dramatic, perhaps. Some may even argue that I should have adopted a more relaxed approach. Yes, I would…if I was still 21.

Anyway, yes, eating well. There’s nothing more balanced than a polystyrene box of mixed rice. It does get oily and MSG-ed most of the time but I believe it’s all about choosing the dishes wisely. Kindly decline that extra scoop of shiny, happy gravy and you’ll keep your heart beating for another minute. And maybe keep that strand of hair intact for a couple more years too. So, for the next few days leading to the examination, it was solely chye png (mixed rice) and lots of hot green tea.

Stir-fried pork with black pepper, long beans, bok choy, sardine.

Sweet and sour pork, sambal brinjal and okra, stir-fried bittergourd with fermented bean paste.

Honeyed pork ribs, stewed pork belly, sambal kangkung, lettuce.

Sweet and sour pork, Kong Po chicken (with lots of onion), mustard green leaves, celery.

The night before the examination - mustard green leaves, bok choy, Kong Po chicken and braised pork slices.

Mixed rice is something that I had enjoyed growing up with. I like the sight of having a colourful spread right in front of me and to be able to choose whichever dish that pleases my appetite du jour. I must admit that in the past few years, I had started seeking other, usually more expensive, options. Of course, I do enjoy each experience but I guess, in a way, I've turned into this person that is obsessed with discoveries than to really enjoy the food itself. I had succumbed to all celebrations and overhyping of the latest, the best and whatever superlative that is within my limited vocabulary. Now, I find them creepy. The way I see it, simple pleasures like eating have been overly commercialised and dramatized on the web. I am cynical that way. As much as I like photography, I'm starting to realise that sometimes, the camera is not the best company to a dinner, especially when it should be about the conversation and food. Whatever lah. As this tak apa, laissez faire blog celebrates its third (belated) anniversary, I hope to eat well, spend more time with my friends, travel further and stay healthy.

The supplementary examination result slip was sitting on my desk when I returned home a few days ago. A "P" is visually not very much different from an "F" and so, I had to magnify the print to confirm. It was a "P". I haven't made myself a totem but I believe that it's not a dream. So, yay.

National Mall, Washington D.C.

2010-09-02T13:14:00.006+08:00

As the afternoon reached a sweltering 95 deg F, the mile along the National Mall seemed eternal. After passing by the White House and the Washington Memorial, it'd crossed my mind that perhaps I should leave the Mall and retreat to the much more comfortable interior of the Smithsonians. But I remembered the massive statue of Abraham Lincoln seated inside the Lincoln Memorial (thanks to the Night At The Museum) located at the other end of the Mall. To give up on this for some shade would be absolutely ridiculous.

As we descended the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, I told a fellow colleague that I was impressed and inspired by Lincoln's Gettysburg and Second Inaugural Addresses, which were both inscribed on the north and south walls respectively. It means a lot for a person like me (who knows nothing about the history of America other than 4th of July being the Independence Day) to be able to appreciate the wise words of the 16th President of United States.

I wish a few quotes are sufficient to exemplify the righteousness and intelligence of the 16th President of the United States of America but seriously, it's best to read the Addresses in whole.

In my few weeks here, I've been asked this question a few times..."What do you like about America?". Freedom, I said. Perhaps the expectation was for a more obvious and fun answer like convenience or superior technology, I believe the fundamental key to success is having the freedom to be creative. Freedom stems from equality, and that had been fought for in the USA, time and again in the past.

In 1963, more than a century after President Lincoln delivered his Second Inaugural Address, a man by the name of Martin Luther King delivered his infamous "I Have A Dream" speech to hundreds of thousands of Americans, right here on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial that we'd just descended. His intention was to break the racial barrier that plagued the country and to restore freedom and equality promised by their forefathers.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

In the past month, workload and the excitement of adapting to a new territory had me drifting away from news back home. But of course, one can never be completely disconnected, thanks to the advancement in information technology and concerned friends. I've read of distasteful, radical comments and speeches, mostly in relation to irrelevant racial bias that made me wonder if this is what the world perceived of us - racists.

The National Mall was more than just blocks of famous landmarks to me. It had inspired and reignited that spark of hope that freedom and equality are possible, with the power of the people. It must be.

Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum, Washington D.C.

2010-08-26T12:57:00.002+08:00

Harrisburg and the Appalachian Brewing Company

2010-08-24T11:38:00.008+08:00

First weekend in the USofA.

Things would have been so much different had Salunga been Selangor instead. After spiralling aimlessly here and the borough of Elizabethtown for an hour, I’d finally declared that I was lost in the suburb of Central Pennsylvania that Saturday, which started mighty well, actually - sunny skies, The-B52s’ Love Shack in the background, a clear highway and the leisurely mindless drive with the guide of a GPS navigator…that died halfway through the journey towards Lancaster. It was partially my fault for assuming that the battery would last at least 3 hours. Where was the charger, you might ask. Oh yes, I'd brilliantly kept it in the office. Suddenly, the anxiety I had of driving on the opposite of the road seemed minuscule. I had no choice but to push on, to stretch my wits in finding the right exit in this quiet piece of foreign land, to reconnect with the Capital Beltway of Harrisburg.

You should have seen that relieved look on my face when I'd finally made it back to the hotel, thanks to a familiar McDonald’s signpost. On that expression as well was a slight beam of pride, for I felt that it was a personal success, achieved only with the help of a pair of yielding, middle-aging brains. Interestingly, another one of The-B52s’ songs came to mind, almost acting as the perfect ending to this misadventure – Roam.

Sunday was a different affair - a pleasurably formal introduction to downtown Harrisburg, where the State Capital building is located. Worth mentioning as well at the heart of the capital of Pennsylvania is Second Street, with it's sizeable number of eateries and bars. To get here, we crossed the Susquehanna River via the South Bridge (which was to be our artery when travelling north) from the Cumberland County on Interstate 83.

This is a very livable town where there's a right amount convenience, cleanliness and greenery. I can picture myself doing a 6-mile run at the Riverfront Park before a meal at Second Street and beyond. The pairing of the Appalachian Mountains and the longest river on the east coast, the Susquehanna, provides the ideal feng shui for longevity, prosperity and happiness...well, to those who believe, at least.

From the Whitaker Centre where we caught an IMAX show called Titanica, we moved on to the State Capital Building, which was modelled after the basilica of Saint Peter in the Vatican. The funky lime cupola was a nice touch, I thought. Last Friday, over lunch, I was told that the gilded statue topping the dome was a certain Miss Penn.

The introduction to downtown Harrisburg ended with, of course, a meal. We had an early dinner at the iconic Appalachian Brewing Company (ABC), where there are enough beverages to try for a good few weeks, including some in-season beers. I'm a dark beer fan, so the Susquehanna Stout seemed to be the obvious choice. A black ale with a hint of espresso; it had me thinking of kahlua, only denser and bitterer. Good stuff. I wonder if a few spoonfuls of coffee will provide the same effect when combined with my usual Guinness. It was suggested that I have my stout with the Mile High Meatloaf. Another good choice, I must say. If I was to rename this dish, it would be Mile High AND Long Meatloaf. Measuring 1.5 times of my hand, this monstrous piece of Black Angus meatloaf scored with its juicy mince and adequate seasonings. Nothing too flavourful here. And that's a good thing. Underlying the meatloaf was a piece of crispy, thick Texas toast while topping was mashed red bliss potatoes. The gravy came flavoured with the Susquehanna Stout (aha!) and garnishing the dish were fried onion straws. A well-thought-of ensemble, this.

Appalachian Brewing Company
50 N. Cameron St. Harrisburg, PA

Locals often lament the congestion on the 6 lanes wide South Bridge during peak hours. For me, even as my car's crawling across the river, there's always the majestic view of the Susquehanna River to keep me occupied. It had never failed to awe.

Well, I'll be leaving Harrisburg soon. And I'm glad that I'll be crossing this river one more time, as I make my way to the airport.

Lunchtime: Postcards from Central Pennsylvania

2010-08-17T12:45:00.006+08:00

Hello!

Here I am, still digesting a succulent piece of prime rib roast from Doc Holliday's at 12:30 am...and thought of sending you some postcards of lunches I had since arriving here 4 weeks ago. Has it been that long?

Thanks to the very hospitable colleagues, lunches have been great - subs, strombolis, (gigantic) burritos, pastas, salads, pizzas, Chinese buffets, crab cakes, etc. With such good food and company on a daily basis, it's no wonder that previous visitors unawarely brought back a few pounds with them. Resistance is futile, especially when the menus are larger than life. So just EAT, I'd say.

Recently, the rain and breeze had brought comfort to the hot summer days. And of course, there are the bottomless unsweetened iced tea and lemonade for some instant cooling.

I've also been to a couple of awesome cities and will write more about them when I can. In the meantime, take care and I'll see you soon.

Wish you were here...

<3, HairyBerry

Butter and Cinammon Rolls

Grilled Chicken and Cheese Sandwich

Grilled Cuban Sandwich with Ham and Pulled Pork

"Big Smokie" Hot Sausage

Chicken Pot Pie with Homemade Pasta

Grilled Pork Tenderloin Salad with Honey, Vanilla and Balsamic Vinegar Glaze and Champagne Vinaigrette

Jumbo Crab Cake

An old claypot chicken rice story and the anticipated dinner of 2010.

2010-08-11T11:18:00.009+08:00

New Lucky Claypot Chicken Rice

The claypot rice here was pretty good. I'm guessing it's the way they'd mastered the technique of getting every grain of rice cooked to perfection, retaining just the right amount of moisture and fluffiness. Basic were the toppings of waxed pork and liver sausages, salted fish, chicken meat, oil and sweet soy sauce.

This casual makan event was significant to some of us because we'd been talking about it for a long time. Not only is New Lucky famous for its delicious claypot chicken rice, the waiting time is quite the test of one's patience too. So, making a reservation via telephone a few hours before turning up seems to be a good idea. And they're friendly on the phone too, so that's cool.

Steamy.

After the steam's gone, unleash the Pollock within.

Fair and lovely but...

Once you go black, you'll never go back. And that's what I call real claypot rice.

New Lucky Claypot Chicken Rice
Blk 328, #01-220
Rong Li Eating House
Clementi Ave 2
Tel: (+65) 6778 7808

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The Annual Food Bloggers Dinner 2010

I'm not glorifying this in any way but meeting food bloggers is always good fun. To me, it's really about getting to know people who share the same passion (and appetite) as you. Like at New Lucky that evening, we must have chatted for more than 2 hours on food (and iPhone) while chomping down the bowls of claypot rice! And that was just a few of us. Imagine what a night of congregation of food bloggers across the island will be like!

The Annual Food Bloggers Dinner 2010 will be held on 25 August 2010, from 7.30 to 11 pm at Michelangelo’s, Block44/1- Jalan Merah Saga, Singapore 278116. Price is fixed at S$50 nett. Ivan being the organizer had me convinced that the menu's going to be one tasteful construction.

Food bloggers out there, click here for more details on the dinner. And click here to sign up.

It's going to be a blast, I'm sure.

Studio Misr

2010-08-05T11:54:00.002+08:00

I thought I could impress the Egyptians with my ferocious appetite, like I did back home. I failed miserably. There was never a time when my dishes were stacked higher than the locals’ in restaurants. And no wait staff had ever stopped me from ordering more than I thought I could handle. While I struggled to finish my stuffed pigeon, others were already onto their second entrée – grilled lamb shank. When a roast chicken seemed like a challenge, our habibi at the next table had extra sides of meat cutlets and bread. It was a humbling revelation. With a loud belch, I accepted defeat.

Studio Misr was where I had my last dinner here in Cairo. And Egypt. Our order was simple – a starter of rice stuffed vine leaves with olive oil and a main of assorted grilled meats and vegetables.

Stuffed vine leaves - this came with a lemon wedge and tomato salsa, which brought a more refreshing taste and some zest to the otherwise usual rolls.

To quote my friend Toni, Egypt is about the extravagance. Quite right. Just look at our golden charcoal stove. Smoking lightly on top was a myriad of colours and aromas - a piece of culinary art it sure was. Kebab, fofta, ribs, chicken breast, shish tawouk, and served with grilled vegetables and halaby bread. Now, what did I start with?

Studio Misr
Zamalek, Cairo
Egypt

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An hour later, still awing at the sight of tables covered with countless dishes and Cairenes with an enviably healthy appetite, we had to drag our glutted selves back to the apartment, before leaving for the airport.

Dear old Khaleed drove me to the airport that night. Traffic could get ugly, so we left earlier. I was still as fascinated with the surrounding as the time when Khaleed fetched me from the airport.

Funny that when friends asked me about my trip to Egypt, it was not the trinity of glorious Giza pyramids or the innumerable temples of Luxor that I instantly recalled. Instead, I was reminded of the lively streets, the stuffed pigeons, the curious yet fun people and a life that is unfamiliarly similar to mine. It all added up to an unforgettable trip to a North African country that I've been wanting to visit for the longest time. So, Egypt - checked...gladly.

7 days in Egypt:

Pyramids and Mandarins
Kababgy Al Azhar Farahat
Azure, Alexandria
Nowhere and Al-Omda
Coptic Cairo
HairyBerry and The Temples of Luxor
Islamic Cairo
Fishawy's Coffeehouse @ Khan al-Khalili

Islamic Cairo

2010-07-28T18:00:00.007+08:00

When lost, do you safely backtrack or risk the path ahead, in hope that it will lead you to your destination?

No matter how experienced a traveller you may be, chances are that one day, your ignorance to details will have you paying more than you budgeted for.

Midan Hussein, I confidently directed the taxi driver. We were approaching the heart of the medieval Islamic quarter on a Friday afternoon. I should have known better than to choose a Friday to pay a visit. In front of us was a huge mosque surrounded by a battalion of armed men in black uniform. Luxury cars with heavily tinted screens piled up in front of the mosque. Quite rightly, some dignitaries must have been performing their Friday prayer at the important Al-Azhar mosque.

The main road was blocked. The traffic officer instructed our driver to take the alternative route. Trouble. Mister taxi driver's reluctant expression showed that he could only bring us that far. More trouble. Where is Midan Hussein?, I asked. And he answered in Arabic...

In fact, Midan Hussein was only steps away had we turned right from where we got off. And we would have arrived at Khan al-Khalili, Cairo's most famous souk, in a matter of minutes. But we didn't. The Christopher Columbus in us believed that the lane exploding with textiles on the left was one of the many entrances to the souk. We excitedly entered the noisy, colourful lane. Into a gate and out, we were now surrounded by poultry-slaughtering activities, followed by stalls stacked with delicious-looking fruits. We were now more convinced that we made the right decision.

I can't decide if I'd failed the map or had it failed me instead. I could have used my compass to confirm our bearing but on the other hand, the map should have been more generous with the ink. Minutes down the lane, we expected to see some copperware, jewelleries and spice shops. Instead, there were more fruits and bread stalls while the number of foreigners (or tourists) came down to only the two of us. Clearly, we had entered another neighbourhood.

How many ways are there to say Khan al-Khalili? Why couldn't the locals at the market understand our pronunciation was beyond me. But interacting with them was fun, of course. Despite the language barrier, the locals tried hard to understand and help us. At almost noon, we started feeling hungry. The aroma of freshly baked bread was really appetising. At another stall, cups of parfait-like cut fruits with cream looked good too. Let's not get me started with the enticing assorted skewered meats.

You know that you've walked far enough when you see the grand Citadel, about 1.5 km south of Khan al-Khalili. To get to the Citadel, take a taxi from Khan al-Khalili, wrote one of the guide books.

And that's what we finally did. Of course, we weren't sure if the taxi driver understood us at first. But we did arrive at the same blockage and this time, turned right into an obviously more touristy path. Late lunch was devouring a whole stuffed pigeon, cucumber salad and bread with hummus.

The amazing souk was built in the 13th century. Amazing because it had a complex maze of shops and places of worship, was surrounded by beautiful, often symmetry-inspired Islamic architecture and had this nostalgic charm that I'd only seen in television previously. Be it the well-conserved mausoleums or the broken gateways, every corner seemed to have an interesting story to tell.

Days ago, while flipping through my guide book, I came across sufi whirling and was intrigued by the ritual. Of course, with only a few days to cover the whole of Cairo, it would be impossible to include that in my itinerary.

We observed some sort of carnival taking place at one of the concourses near the Madraset AL Zaher Bebers AL Bandakdary and Mausoleum Of As-Saleh Nagm Ad-din Ayyub. The centre of attraction was a man in a red costume who began to whirl to the music. I believe that it was a public sufi whirling performance! I was really impressed by the artiste's composure and consistency. I would have fumbled after the second whirl.

I had to pay a visit to the infamous Fishawy's Coffeehouse before I leave. But not without a struggle in the confusing maze, of course. Circling the same blocks a few time without success of finding the coffeehouse, we almost gave up. I'm glad we found it eventually, thanks to the familiar faces of tourists crowding the lane of El-Fishawy.

As an independent visitor, every day promised a new adventure in Cairo. Every journey to a new destination was an unforgettable experience. I might not want to get lost again in other parts of this city but to Islamic Cairo, I'll gladly say yes.

Fishawy's Coffeehouse @ Khan al-Khalili

2010-07-21T15:01:00.006+08:00

We almost gave up looking for the coffeeshouse. It was daunting to walk through the maze of Khan al-Khalili in Islamic Cairo, especially when the past few hours were spent searching for the khan (market) in the first place. But that itself was an unforgettable and priceless experience, one of which I should dedicate another post to.

Along the narrow lane of El-Fishawy, the faces of obvious tourists crowding both sides of the lane were a clear indication that we've finally found the centuries-old coffeehouse that has been mentioned in almost every guide book there is. It'll take some time to fully appreciate the coffeehouse's charm, which over the years, had inspired many artistic elite. The ensemble of intricate mashrabiya design, colourful tiles and paints is, to me, everything an Egyptian coffeehouse should be. Only more opulent, this.

Except for the month of Ramadan, the coffeehouse opens daily throughout the day and night. It must have been much quieter and relaxing here decades ago. I imagine shoppers and traders from the khan stopping by for some refreshment and rest. It's far from quiet these days, given the high influx of both foreign and local visitors. We also observed a few vigilant security officers around the coffeehouse, which I think is a good safety measure.

There was nothing distinctively different in the shai (tea) and ahwa (coffee) but the Egyptian tea culture is one experience that all visitors should include in their itinerary, I feel. And El-Fishawy is a good introduction, before venturing into the more local coffeehouses.

Fishawy's Coffeehouse
El-Fishawy
Khan al-Khalili, Cairo