Tell-A-Tale (Part 60): Se7en...*burp*

Unlike the David Fincher film, this was a good se7en. The past week in KL (too long or too short, I still can't decide) was all about the reunions and the familiar food that came with it. Prior to the new year, I had mentally prepared a list of new restaurants and menus to explore. Instead, we revisited, among others - Reunion, steamed free-range chicken, Din Tai Fung, waxed meat, Lemon Garden Cafe and Oriental Pavilion. Dad insisted on Porto Romano (Mont Kiara branch) too, but we couldn't fit it into any of the 7 days.

Milo Dinosaur at PappaRich, Bangsar.

The discovery of PappaRich at Bangsar with The Girl From Abu Dhabi and Lyrical Lemongrass on reunion day was perhaps one of the best surprises this festive season, for me. I returned the next two consecutive days. It was mostly about the convenience of the location, the fixed prices (an important factor in the first 15 days of the new lunar calendar) and the extensive selection of drinks. In less than 3 hours, it was time for the official reunion dinner at Sin Kar Hee. After that night, it was clear to us that the next reunion dinner should be held here as well. I remember saying that I don't succumb to the exorbitant prices of Chinese restaurants and here at Sin Kar Hee, not only were the prices reasonable, the portions were huge. For about RM450 per table of 10 pax, we were served 10 dishes including a steamed chicken, fresh patin, tom yam prawns in 2 whole coconuts, greens, a roast duck, braised pork knuckle and what I assumed to be honeyed ribs. And if reservation is made earlier, one can secure a table in the air-conditioned room. It was fuss-free, high-speed (they had to manage 2 seatings that night) dining that required only the simple distinction of tasty or not. Nothing too analytical here, please. In the case of Sin Kar Hee, it was tasty. A reunion dinner should be like this - substantial, cheerful and slightly chaotic.

Going vegetarian on the first day of the lunar new year.

At home, the first day of the lunar new year is usually greeted with the smell of a pot of well-simmered soup of dried oysters and daikon. This year was no exception. The fibrous, stir-fried dish of assorted vegetables, black moss, beancurd skin and fu yu (fermented beancurd) and braised arrowroot slices are for breakfast - reheated later for lunch, tea, dinner and supper. No complaints because anything with fu yu is appetizing and goes well with rice. Following a purging of what's left of the reunion dinner (thanks to the vegetarian first day), the second day started again with a reunion filled with meats. Another new discovery this year was the usage of fresh lotus seeds in salads, which became part of our yue sang. Absolutely crunchy, sweet and slightly bitter, it was refreshing and went interestingly well with toasted sesame seeds and poached yellow garlic chives.

Steamed waxed meat on the second day of the lunar new year.

Char yuk with crunchy wood ear fungus - perfect for all celebrations.

Nutritious homemade yue sang sans a good name.

Back on the outside, it was suggested that Reunion at Bangsar Village II is a good place to bring tourists and friends/relatives returning from abroad to sample better KL-style Hokkien Mee, simply because it's similar to the real thing, more hygienic and has good ambiance. I'm rather neutral on this because at the moment, I really don't see any potential authentic Hokkien Mee in town that I can proudly introduce to my foreign friends. For me, Hokkien Mee at Reunion is about the slices of liver (it was almost compulsory in the old days), the amazing lard, the good stock but lacking in wok hei. It still delivered when we visited last Thursday but sadly, they ran out of belacan chilli paste. Eating it with Hong Kong style chilli oil is just sacrilegious, if I must say. We found 2 gems at Reunion that day - the char siew polo bun that came soft and sweetly glazed (I'm thinking of honey) and the captivating smoky aroma of good quality waxed meat cooked in a claypot of rice.

Reunion at Reunion.

New year celebrations are about drinking as well. Accidental or not, a gathering of some of my dear blogging friends at The Smokehouse at Bangsar turned out to be a drinking session (at 3 pm) that was really fun. And at another gathering of a larger scale, drinking was upgraded from beers to whiskeys and wines. Thanks FatBoyBakes for the great time! In another session, drinking was almost detox-like as we downed pints of fruit juices at OM, Jalan Genting Kelang. I had celery juice...with syrup. This is a Thai restaurant that offers quite an interesting menu. I'll be back to try.

It's also interesting that we tend to think of fast food come the lunar new year. Understandably, these are the few places that are open for business in the first few days of the new year. But that was the 80s. Now, many restaurants (Chinese or not) are open throughout the year and yet, we still find ourselves thinking of KFC and McD. I guess it has become part of the new year celebration - like how we find ourselves watching movies (usually Hong Kong productions) in cinemas on the first day, even if it's the first row from the screen and the fact that we have cable channels at home. Oh, I watched that 72 Tenants movie this year and it was hilarious. Within the first 4 days, we've already had doses of burgers, fries, fried chicken and pizzas.

Hours before leaving KL, we had lunch at Lemon Garden Cafe, Shangri-La. The buffet spread was similar to what I had a few years back except that now, they'd extended the salad section to include yue sang. After a quick browse of the spread, I decided that I should mostly focus on the Malay and Italian sections. The last dish I had there, and for this new year trip, was a bowl of wanton mee topped with slices of abalone that I stole from the yue sang section.

Lemon Garden Cafe, Shangri-La.

Abundance of food is good omen for the coming year. What's more important is that all good things should be shared and that nothing should go wasted. I hope everyone had a wonderful, yummy new year and are fully recharged for work. Yes, that's today!

Tell-A-Tale (Part 59): Yogya On My Mind

Somewhat trivial, I was informed that most of the names of the places I’ve been to in Indonesia begin with the letter B. The first of the Bs was Batam. Yes, this is an industrial island that, as far as I know, is not in anyway a preferred destination for interesting Indonesian food. Nevertheless, my 1 year stint there (circa 2004-2005) had given me good exposure to staples like ayam kalasan, bakso, bak mie, ayam penyet and pecel lele, that despite the commonness of these dishes in other parts of the country, were hearty and delicious. I shouldn’t forget the affordable thirst quenchers like Teh Botol and Bintang as well. Oh, and the sweet and rich apokat. Post-Batam holidays in some other Bs of world’s largest archipelago had never failed to rekindle my fondness for them, for the comfort they brought after the long hours at work and at the same time, had introduced me to local specialties like babi guling, betutu, bakpia and recently, gudeg, which I must admit was quite intimidating a dish for me in the beginning.

It was our second and final day in Yogya. I knew we shouldn’t have stopped by the museum at Prambanan, 18 km from town and instead, head straight for our car after visiting the Trimurti temples. Halfway between the museum and the car park, the rain poured again, forcing us to dash out of the open compound of the temple to get to our car, passing a semi-sheltered tourist market and a row of warongs. The car was nowhere to be found and by then, we were already mostly wet. The next most sensible thing to do was to storm into a nearby warong for shelter. And for lunch too, an important agenda we'd neglected as we I needed more time to get some good shots of the temples. As expected, the pouring rain didn’t last long and the sky was bright again before we could finish the last dish. The stalls at the market reopened, tour buses started appearing again and it was time to get some souvenirs. Then, we realized that our car had been waiting for us at the promised spot all along. We just ran to the wrong side of the car park.

The warong that we stormed into was well-stocked with cigarettes, drinks and snacks. The food menu boosted an impressive array of ubiquitous street food, ranging from mie godok to bakso and more. Memories of Batam surfaced once again. I urged XLB to try the Teh Botol as it is consumed as much as the real thing in this part of the world. Moreover, how often does one get to drink teh-O from a glass bottle? One of the items we had was the nasi rames, a dish consisted of steamed rice mixed with a selection of sides ala mixed rice. The general description of nasi rames itself is nothing more than ordinary but to have white rice mixed with fried noodles is something else. Especially for the Chinese, rice and noodles, as we were taught by our parents, should be eaten separately. It's only appropriate that way. I guess one man’s bisa is another man’s boleh. I’m the type who likes variety and despite it being enthusiactically MSG-ed and as with all other goreng dishes, stirred with an overdose of kicap manis, I cleaned the plate within minutes.

Nasi rames

The ride back to town was very much peaceful and quiet. Maybe we were just exhausted from the sunrise tour, the Trimurti temples and the rain. A familiar song was playing on the radio – Ten2Five’s I Will Fly. This was one of the Indonesian songs that hit me instantly back in 2004. Got to love the wonderful combination acoustics, Imel’s voice and infectious melodies. What are the chances of hearing a song one used to like on a radio in a foreign land that has not been heard for 5 years while on a vacation? That was indeed, a cool moment.

Gudeg

With less than 12 hours to go before flying back to Singapore, we really had to make our last night in Yogya a memorable one. And what better way to it than by trying the most definitive dish of them all – gudeg. To make it even more memorable, we had it lesehan-style.

Be it young or ripe, I am not a nangka (jackfruit) fan. There's something about that plasticky smell that drives me away. But how could I not have a taste of it, at least? It was a historical moment for me. I asked XLB to snap a picture of me attempting my first bite of jackfruit in a long time. I survived. Basically, gudeg is a spiced stew consisting of young jackfruit, palm sugar, coconut milk and a generous portion of spices including coriander, galangal and interestingly, teak leaves for colouring. To have that many types of spices in the stew meant that the smell of the jackfruit was minimize, hence my survival. The sweetness of the jackfruit did accentuate the flavour of the dish though. I can’t help but to draw a comparison between this dish and our ayam kurma (chicken stew cooked with dates and coconut milk). Of course, gudeg is of a more viscous texture. A complete gudeg experience comes with a hard-boiled egg, fried chicken and the exotic sambal goreng krecek or stewed, fried beef skin. I could have had another portion of the krecek as a side dish. Another must-try is the ayam goreng Yogya. The first bite of the free-range chicken revealed a marinade that was rather new to me and faintly resembled a certain brand of hair cream for men. I found out later that it consisted of coconut water, palm sugar and a simple coating of bumbu or ground spices. Apparently, the crispy bits of the bumbu detached from the chicken during the frying process is strained and collectively used as a topping for the fried chicken. Not the version served at this stall though. Nevertheless, a tasty piece of chicken that was.

Ayam goreng Yogya

Literally translated as fried virgin bird, the burung dara goreng was served as a whole. Tearing up the pigeon before your very eyes can be traumatic but once you overcome that, you'll be treated to some well-seasoned, crispy skin and succulent meat. At a fraction of the celebrated ones from Hong Kong as well. We tried many other dishes too (the boss looked happy, of course) but there’s just one more dish that I would like to highlight – soup buntut or oxtail soup. Unlike the usual, heavily spiced version, this was much lighter in taste. The undistracted beefiness of the broth was appreciated and the most amazing part of it all was the presence of a strong buttery taste that probably came from the fat. Since it’s not for daily consumption, I happily gulped every single drop of it. Some bread at that point would have been great.

Burung dara goreng

Sup buntut

Generally, a lesehan setting comprises of solely tables, shortened to about 1 foot, not unlike the traditional way of dining in Japan. There is an endless stretch of lesehans along the upper part of Jalan Malioboro, with most offering a similar menu. To have dined among the locals and some adventurous tourists on my last night in Yogyakarta was satisfying. Street artistes and salesmen crowd at every table to offer songs, portraits and decorative products to the diners. A polite decline will do the trick, if one is not interested.

There's something more to Yogyakarta than Borobudur and gudeg. Despite being a tourist spot, I find it less chaotic here as compared to its more popular counterpart. I should not forget the wonderful and friendly people we met as well - from the helpful hotel staff at Manohara to the smiling security guards to the generous market vendors at Jalan Malioboro.

Before dinner, we walked around town and surveyed for prices to another destination in the island of Java. Pretty reasonable, I thought. And guess what, the name of that place also begins with the letter B.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 58): Wishing You A Speedy Recovery

Like Vanuatu, Easter Island and Marrakesh, Port-Au-Prince is one of those places with an interesting name that piqued my interest. It's a shame that we've been introduced this way.

On 12 January 2010, an earthquake of 7 on the moment magnitude scale struck Haiti, near the capital city of Port-Au-Prince. The Presidential Palace, along with the main prison, the disaster relief offices and the main airport were all destroyed. Countless homes were lost and people had to live on the streets, not too far from the hundreds of thousands of bodies scattered around the city. From what I read, the first 24 hours of the aftermath were spent in confusion and helplessness as no immediate assistance was made available to the victims.

Into the sixth day of the aftermath, despite the growing global relief efforts, essentials like food are now slowly and painfully reaching the affected Haitians. One of the causes, as I understood from the news, was that chaos has spread throughout the affected areas. In one particular report, it was shown an aid truck turning away from a massive crowd fighting for distributions handed out by the aid workers. A father who was at the incident to get food for his 7 children spoke to one of the reporters and questioned why the truck has to turn away when he, as a sensible adult, was not involved in the fight and therefore should not be punished for it. Looters were seen carrying machetes and one can imagine the level of security there with thousands of prosecuted criminals from the broken prison now living at large. The stench of decomposing corpses in the heat are not making things any better.

And here we are, fussing shamelessly on an issue that was not even an problem to begin with.

Haiti, my thoughts are with you.

Check out the following links, if you are interested in making a donation for the victims of the earthquake:

Singapore Red Cross Society

Malaysian Red Crescent

Some reports on the earthquake:

Link 1

Link 2

Link 3

Link 4

Tell-A-Tale (Part 57): Happy New Year?

There are just so many things that I’ve been meaning to share in the past 2 weeks - the temples of Prambanan, gudeg, Alexandria, Saqqara, Luxor and of course the good food I had, leading to the new year. After each great experience, I just couldn’t wait to get my photos done and blog about it. Sad to say, fatigue has gotten the better of me. I’m tired, really tired - physically and mentally. Perhaps 2010 may not a good year for me, as I’ve observed so far. There are, among others - a failed module (the simplest one, at that), backlogs, delays and disputes. On average, I get 4 hours of sleep. I started consuming coffee again to perk myself up and had diarrhoea for that, seriously. The only thing I want to do when I open that bedroom door is to just die on the floor. But of course, there are reports to read and chores to be done.

I re-read the above.

Funny. There I was, the cynical one who would roll eyes reading posts of people bemoaning their allegedly f-ed up lives/jobs/girlfriends/boyfriends/etc.

Let me just come back to the point, which is to talk about the one particular incident that had left me really beaten. That day, I’d slept for merely an hour before hitting the office.

For the past 13 years, I’ve developed this love-hate relationship with the Puduraya bus terminal. What can I say, this is one of the very few places where one can get affordable coach tickets to other states and beyond. Where else in the world can you get relatively comfortable express buses to Johor Bahru and Singapore for mere RM31 and RM50 respectively? And it’s always the first sighting of the terminal that makes me feel that, yes, I’m home.

Besides the standardization of counter sizes, a few LCD screens and a layer of new paint, nothing much has changed, I feel. There’s the overwhelming amount of carbon monoxide emission at the platforms, the perpetual congestion that causes delays and the countless ulat (touts), which I must admit, are pretty helpful at times.

I was waiting for my bus to return to Singapore at 11.15 pm on the first Sunday night of 2010. To have to anticipate the late arrival of buses here is of no surprise. So, around midnight, the bus made a grand entrance into the boarding area. It was 30 minutes late. Not too bad, really. I’ve experienced delays of more than 2 hours on several occasions.

The interior of the bus was well-furbished, colourful and hooray, I’ve gotten an individual seat! I was really looking forward to a good sleep after an exhausting week in Egypt. Just as I reclined my seat, this girl in her mid-twenties asked to confirm my seat number. Our seat numbers were identical and both tickets were issued by the same bus company. There must have been a mistake somewhere. We questioned each other and decided that the best way to settle this was to ask the conductor. By the way, several other duplicates were found too. At that moment, you could see many of the victims getting restless. They must be first timers. Or tourists.

The conductor, the great judge himself graced the bus with a smile. He must have not been informed of the happenings in the bus. The driver, sitting comfortably with a packet of kopi-o in hand, refused to assist the anxious passengers. Saya tak tau. Lu tanya sama itu koyak tiket punya orang. (I don’t know. Ask the conductor later.)

After checking the tickets, the conductor would ask one of the two passengers with the identical pair of tickets to get off the bus and proceed to wait for the next in schedule. Schedule? Dah nak sampai dah. Kat Sungai Besi tol dah. (The next bus will arrive soon. It’s now at the Sungai Besi toll). This was repeated to others facing the same problem. I saw some people retaliating to that by not giving up their seats. They were not wrong. Why should anyone with an official ticket be told to get off the bus? Was that the best answer he could give? It certainly sounded more like an instruction to me. Came our turn and his honour, again, churned out his little number. I tried to reason. I told him that it’s unfair for me to leave my seat. Afterall, I’m not the problem here. He then announced, kalau macam itu, bas tak payah jalan lah! (if that’s the case, the bus will not move!). I can’t help but feel threatened. Why should I just give up my seat when ultimately, what's in my hand was a legitimate ticket issued by the staff of the bus company?

The girl in her twenties was joined by her elderly mother and a younger sister. They had bought all the seats in that particular row. Some of the passengers had given up and only a few more were still defending their seats. I had to decide. Someone must leave and I had to make a choice, unwillingly.

As I picked up my heavily loaded backpack, a young man was still arguing with the judge. The girl in her twenties saw me leaving and said, hah, dah settle dah! with a victorious look on her face, as if she had proven that I was the guilty one in this case and had been given the sentence I deserve. You could have, at the very least, thanked me.

On one hand, I felt that I've made a stupid decision. It did appear as if I’ve shamelessly given up my right to the world and proclaimed, nah, take it away from me, please! with a smile. Conscience - that was all I had at that point. I could have argued on with the judge but the thought of the elderly mother having to wait for the next bus in the humid and intoxicating condition at the platform or to leave without one of her children had me surrendering to an erroneous system. This is the very same system that had victimized many for the longest time. I know, for I’ve seen it happening for more than 10 years. A good kakak from another bus company, who later became a friend, had told me countless sad tales like this one.

Knowing that the next bus will be late as well, I ran upstairs to question the person-in-charge of the bus company’s counter. He looked more confused than I was and simply brushed off my complaint by saying, ah….ya ya. You ikut cakap itu konductor saja lah. (Yes, yes. You just follow what the conductor says). Amazing.

The next bus did come, around 1 am. The losers from the earlier episode had inevitably created some chaos in the bus again, due to the mismatching of seat numbers.

Obviously, the problem lies in the company’s governance. More specifically, the ticketing system. Being a well-received bus company specializing in this niche and lucrative route, it’s only wise to invest in a computerized system that will greatly reduce the amount of human errors like this. If other bus companies can do it, why can't they? Some might say that one shouldn’t expect much from a cheap ride, so take it or leave it. Of course, we are not asking for meals on board or personalized mobile entertainment. I'm sure efficiency is included in the price of the ticket, right? They are obviously not looking at the bigger picture as well. In my opinion, this is an important issue that should have been studied years ago. A good public transport system ensures progress in many other industries, including tourism. You should have seen that frustrated look of the tourists due to the delays and unclear details scribbled onto their tickets. Not a pretty face, I can assure you. I don't see them returning anytime soon too. And what's even sadder? That we are swarmed by frivolous matters that have been blown out of proportions instead. One seat, two tickets – that’s REAL confusion and a matter of fact. Now do something about it!

I reached Singapore later in the morning feeling completely exhausted and mentally beaten. The next few days were not any better but I survived. By planning my schedule and meals well, I'm sure I'll recover fast.

However, reading the bad news surrounding us these days has proven to be detrimental. I was, again, haunted by the lack of conscience and understanding among us. Believe in the truth, my friends. Believe that there are better ways to things. Believe that it'll take nothing but impossibility to divide us. And we shall emerge stronger and wiser than ever before.

In the process of writing this post, I felt that perhaps I should start another blog. HairyBerry's Tell-A-Bus-Tale, anyone?

Tell-A-Tale (Part 56): Sunrise, Sunset...and Borobudur

November marks the second month of the monsoon season in Borobudur. I knew that before clicking on the "CONTINUE" icon on the budget airline's website in May. What I didn't know was that I'd missed an e-mail notifying us on the change of date of last year's Deepavali celebration. And that the first of a few exams was just weeks away. So, I had to take leave and my examination result, as I was informed recently, was far from desirable. But did I ever regret going to Borobudur? Absolutely not.

The pouring rain greeted us as soon as we stepped out of the Adisucipto International Airport in Yogyakarta. Luckily, the pre-booked car to the Manohara Hotel was already waiting for us. The hotel itself was fantastic. Perfectly located within the compound of the Borobudur Park, it's just 300 metres away from the stunning Borobudur Temple. As we'd discovered later, rain doesn't last long in this part of the world. When we exited the town of Yogya and onto Magelang and Muntilan, the sky was bright again. The journey of approximately 40 km took an hour to reach the entrance to Borobudur. Here, the landscape transformed from dusty towns connected by wide and well-kept roads to lush green paddy fields (the fertile land is a gift from the nearby volcanoes) with endless humps and potholes. Accessorizing the view were historical candis that looked like miniatures of the ancient temple.

When in Borobudur, one must witness the amazing sunrise. That's what I was told. At 4 in the morning, the park was dark and humid. The temple, with just a few spotlights guarding the walls, looked as if it was still asleep from afar. With a group of other enthusiasts, we made our way towards the temple. The guide left us at the gate and basically, it was just us, the temple and our complimentary torchlights from that moment on. The steep stairway leading to the top of the temple (about 120 metres tall) was not a challenge, but to do it in the dark meant that speed was greatly reduced.

According to Buddhist cosmology, the way to go about the temple is by ascending the 9 levels that form a mandala in the clockwise direction. Each level represents a different state, with the highest being the state of attaining nirvana. The figures of Lord Buddha on the top level being isolated by the stupas from the rest of the world speak clearly of this. Most of the statutes have been disfigured by earthquakes, rain and terrorism. The sights of headless, armless Buddhas meditating might not be aesthetically pleasing but I feel that perhaps it's more significant this way - that the perfect peace of the state of mind is one that's free from all forms and desires.

Nearing 5 in the morning, the crowd gathered towards the east. As light began to shine upon the misty land below us, so awoke the figures of the 2 most majestic volcanoes in Central Java; Gunung Merapi and Gunung Merbau. However, the sky still looked gray and I overheard a tour guide telling an old Singaporean couple that it might take a while longer for the sun to rise that day. But he was wrong. The sun did rise at the usual time, but the thick monsoon clouds had hidden its majestic rays from us. What's not told to us was the beautiful sunset. Not as grand but definitely worth the experience, especially with a thinner crowd.

When asked of my trip to the Borobudur temple, I would tell my friends that I felt like I've revisited a chapter in our history textbook. The one with the kingdoms of Srivijaya, Majapahit, Langkasuka and Sailendra. Except that this infamous temple was never part of the syllabus.

It's only at quieter times that one can appreciate what lies beyond the extensive structure and intricate details. The Borobudur temple has an unexplained story to tell. A mysterious one, at that. Was it forsaken due to a change of belief? Or perhaps superstitions had caused the people to abandon the temple? Or was it simply covered by ashes and forests through a series of volcanic activities?

Only they will know.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 52): Sunday Morning

What I miss the most on a Sunday morning? A bowl of noodles, a cup of tea, an hour or two reading the Sunday papers and JUMBLE - followed by a few more hours of sleep before systemically deciding on how to enjoy the best day of the week. I long to be able to do that with no deadline, no bus schedule and no shit from anyone on my mind.

We all need a break from competing with ourselves and trying to make every minute more constructive than the one before. Let's just make some time to be away from it all and enjoy the things that used to make us happy. That's what you are all about.

I'll learn to get there again.

...Sunday morning and I'm falling
I've got a feeling I don't want to know
Early dawning, Sunday morning
It's all the streets you crossed not so long ago
Watch out, the world's behind you
There's always someone around you
Who will call, it's nothing at all...

(Sunday Morning by The Velvet Underground & Nico)

Photo:
Simple prawn mee from a stall a few doors away from the Kung Fu Smooth Ban Mee shop in Taman OUG.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 51): One Great Herb

http://www.awhiffoflemongrass.com/

You’ve shown us that it’s not always about the food or the photos or the words. It’s what you honestly believe in that makes it all real and beautiful. I think for that, you are already a winner.

Congratulations on your success and I’m looking forward to meeting you in Singapore.

The above cool badge is designed by the multi-talented QwazyMonkey.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 50): Kuala Selangor

There’s nothing tranquil about this place. In fact, I don’t think it ever was, since my first visit about 25 years ago. But one thing’s for sure. The roads are now wider and the number of shops multiplied. Cars piled by the road and restaurants seemed to be in full swing. I observed more foreign tourists too. That’s good news.

It was a hot afternoon when we reached the fishing village of Pasir Penampang. Here, it’s all about seafood, mostly dried. The busiest area is always at the junction or concourse as I like to call it, where the two most prominent restaurants are located. Sans proper traffic system, congestion is inevitable and it’s always entertaining for diners at the restaurants to see how drivers untangle themselves.

The few rows of shophouses, where most businesses take place, stretched thinner as we moved away from the restaurants. Some say that it’s along the narrower lanes that better bargains can be found. I left that to my momma and aunties to decide.

Playing tourists, we were very much anticipating the food that would be laid upon us. The restaurant did deliver, in terms of freshness of the seafood. However, the execution, be it intentional or not, left much to be desired. The oyster omelette was basically a thick, tough pancake (where’s the cornstarch?) with the slightest amount of oysters. Among other flops were the soggy fried calamari and greasy stir-fried snow pea sprouts. As for the visually delectable stir-fried bee hoon with crab, well, let’s just say that perhaps the only seasoning used was soy sauce. The sweet crabs and the springy rice vermicelli were cooked in vain. An addition of hotplate cockles saved the day with a flavourful sauce, which consisted of sweet beanpaste, onions, dried shrimps and chillies. Again, playing tourist, I’m sure the view from the restaurant’s amazing come sunset.

Restoran Makanan Laut Jeti
No. T26, Jalan Pasir Penampang
45000 Kuala Selangor
Tel : (+603) 3289 2917/ 3289 4917

Here, shopping for dried seafood after a meal seems obligatory. And why not? The briny smell and colourful local produce are invigorating. Crispy, amber dried shrimps, large dried oysters and gorgonzola-like salted fish were just part of the display that got me salivating. Let’s not forget the snack that’s synonymous with fishing villages - prawn crackers. As strange and even ludicrous as it may sound, I actually found one of the best heong pehng (fragrant biscuit) right here. Hot from the oven, the fresh bake, coupled with the sound of crispy crust against the steel tray got my imagination running wild. The simple filling of maltose syrup and fried onion oil was really delicious. The dozen that I bought stayed fresh for about a week. If I were to return, this will definitely be on top of my shopping list.

I remember the photo of a very young HairyBerry, in his little cartoon sweatshirt, standing beside one of the ancient cannons on top of Bukit Melawati or Monkey Hill, as my parents would call it. Among us were historical structures (mainly in white), silver leaf monkeys and long-tailed macaques. To a kid, this was definitely more memorable than the fishing village. So we decided to revisit the hill after stocking up at Pasir Penampang. Unbeknownst to us, visitors are prohibited from driving up the hill on certain dates and since the elders were reluctant to climb, we abandoned the idea and headed for some cooling coconut drink before leaving the old royal capital of Selangor.

It may not be every urbanite’s idea of escaping the hectic, bustling life but to absorb in a timeless town that promises everything from fresh seafood to history to lush greeneries and (to a certain extent) fireflies sounds like a fun weekend getaway to me.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 49): So Far So Food

Today marks the second year of my ten cents blog. This is usually the time when one recollects his or her blog-related experiences in the past 12 months. Yawns, I hear? I feel that blogging is very much like children. The older they get, the less adorable they are and the more you have things to say or complain about them. There are days when taking care of them feel like a chore. But deep down, you still love them. And as the years go by, you tend to understand them a little better. That’s when you’ll chill and just let nature takes it course, for better or worse. I find myself wanting to write more this year and because my Piscean thoughts work in a mostly arbitrary manner, I thought it would be good to generalize them into a few ideas.


1) Evolution

There’s no way in denying change. You just have to come to the terms and try appreciating the new discoveries and facts. As I blog, I understand that perhaps it’s not a food blog that I wanted. Ask a random person on the street and most probably, they’ll tell you that a food blogger is an online food critic/expert (scary isn’t it?), which I don’t think I’ll fit in. I’m more comfortable with just eating (which is easier to understand) and share my experience. It’s more fun this way. The food blogging scene, to me, has changed quite a bit since I’ve come to know of its existence. It has gained credible acceptance and popularity for its connection with netizens. The drawing factors are that food blogs are real, honest, educational, informative and collocates with simple words like delicious, yummy and nice that the yous and mes can relate to. With acceptance and trust come opportunities and interests in other aspects. It’s industrious and/or fun, in my opinion. But I have this to say; that with each action, it should subsist of integrity and good nature as to not mislead. And when I hear of my food blogging friends gaining recognitions through their honest talents and efforts, I am truly, truly happy for them.

2) Humble pie is delicious

This year, I was lucky enough to have met a few new friends who blew my mind with their knowledge in food. Just give them 10 minutes, a food topic and be mesmerized by their sharing of food thoughts. Not being masochistic but to be slammed by them for my inadequate and often, senseless food ideas is humbling. And there were my cooking and baking whimsicals. I like to deconstruct recipes, just to make a statement. Sounds good but the fact is, it’s crap. There was a time when my supposedly pecan/yoghurt cake turned into some sort of baked porridge. Once, my banana bread was so hard, I could have easily used it as a brick. Basics, my friends, are important. For a beginner like me, at least. So, I started all over again, with a basic butter cake. Over a few months of practice and equipped with some dependable recipes, I think I’ve started to understand the science and art of things. I’m still sticking to cakes and dishes I know best, and trying out some new, practical recipes once in a while. Hopefully this time next year, I’ll be able to present a better report card.

3) *Chik Chak*

Seriously, I think there were times when I would choose photography over blogging, as a hobby. Simply because results are almost instantaneous, with the same amount of creative work being put in. I update my photography archive more often than my blog! But then again, the ideal hobby should combine all the elements of one’s best interests, hence the blog. There are usually complaints that food turns cold as pictures are being taken. I am guilty of that. But hey, I’ll try to improve on my speed lah, ok? We’ll request for reheating if we have to. Joke.

4) Work hard, eat hard

Over the past year, I’ve heard of family and friends falling sick for the simple reason of negligence. And being a food fan, I guess I’m more susceptible to health issues like diabetes and heart diseases. Oh, eating disorder too. Inspired by my friends, I started running again. Don’t expect much because I’m slow. My aim is always to finish than to finish in time. The last few months saw me eating healthier on weekdays and indulging on weekends. So, the 4 stomachs rule only applies on weekends and special occasions. There’s no secret to good health, I guess. Just a wiser choice and sensible amount of food. It doesn’t mean that I don’t take lard anymore lah, kan? I’m still very much a babitarian. Just run more to burn off the excess lah.

5) Food, friends and foes

A relative once told me that a good person is one who enjoys food and music. I find that quite true. Through the interactions on this blog and beyond, I’ve made some really good friends. Friends who appreciate all kinds of food and are silly, cool, honest and fun. Our gatherings have been greatly misunderstood as a reason to get drunk. Really, it merely adds some sparks to our already crazy parties. And there were food crawls and makan sessions. I remember many times when the food was so good, we all smiled almost simultaneously. That’s cool. And real. I’m not skeptical but there are times when I find hosts on tv shows rather fake with their oishi or orgasmic expressions. Then again, it’s partially commercial and that’s how it works.


Wow, that’s quite a load of s*_^ that I’ve said. I wonder how long the third anniversary post will be like.

Tale-A-Tale (Part 48): Of Family And A Blissful Oreo Cheesecake

The box of Oreo cookies was screaming rip me, master! since I received it as part of this year’s Eat With Your Family Day campaign. A wonderful gesture, I must say. On that day, employees are encouraged to leave work on time and have dinner with their respective families. So, I guess the cookies will come in as dessert? This annual campaign aims at creating awareness on the importance of bonding between family members and I agree that there’s no better way to it than by sharing a meal together.

It didn’t mean that much to me though, as my meetings with my family have been limited to the weekends when I travel back to Kuala Lumpur from Singapore. But of course, without having to serve overtime on a workday meant that I had some free time to call the folks back home.

Okay, this is getting all too Hallmark-ish.

So, I did rip off the box, two months later. And baked an Oreo cheesecake to share with my family and friends. I guess technically, I did celebrate EWYFD afterall!

Yeah, I know. Many would say that baking an Oreo cheesecake is like a secondary school project because it’s rather simple. But a beginner like me will beg to differ. My objective was simple; to just bake an edible cake. In fact, that’s the question I've always asked my victims as they taste my science projects; whether my stuff was edible or not. I’m not being pretentious but you should try some of my totally-cannot-make-it cakes. Think mud.

I got my recipe from here, Kraft’s official website. Can I just say that the website is amazingly full of simple yet interesting recipes (despite most being repetitious with only the slightest of alteration in ingredients). Searching for the word Oreo alone will generate a result of over 600 recipes! Okay, now I feel commercial. At this point, let me just mention that this is NOT a sponsored post.

The original plan was to bake a Chocolate Bliss Cheesecake but I discovered that the bag of chocolate buttons I intended to use had passed its shelf life. So, only Bliss Cheesecake it’d be then. Using the mortar and pestle pair to grind the cookies for the base was fun but energy-consuming. With that, I’ve excused myself from running that evening. About a cup of sour cream was added, an idea that spurred from the few related recipes I gathered via the search result. I’ve also omitted the vanilla extract, for it was to be served to some Muslim friends also. Extra cookies were quartered and thrown into the cheese mixture, for extra crunch.

We all know and appreciate the fact that size does matter. So, when a 9 inch springform pan was specified in the recipe, anything smaller will result in catastrophe that is not unlike volcanic eruption. Mine was an unfortunate 8 inch. I contemplated for a good minute while the mixer was still running and decided to pour everything into the smaller cavity. The reason being the non-presence of baking/raising flour. It did fill nicely, to about 0.5 cm below the rim. And I felt confident and proud of my logical hypothesis.

You know, sometimes, the ego needs to be bruised in order for us to grow. And grew it did, my cake. Half of the circumference spilt and the cake, despite its rather golden complexion, looked like a mess. Some parts fell onto the heater and generated some smoke as they burned. Bring on the duck or salmon already! But that was not the worst part. After baking in the oven for an hour, it was still wobbly. And I was already late for a karaoke session. I had to prioritize. So, I immediately took the cake out from the oven (hey, I'm just following the recipe) and asked my dad to put it in the fridge after an hour of cooling in room temperature. And off I went to sing my lungs out.

A good 4 hours of frolicking with the microphone over some old and new Cantopop tunes (loved Eason Chan's songs from his H3M album), I was back in the house, hoping to see a chillin', settled cheesecake. In the aftermath of the spill earlier on, it looked rather unpleasant with the broken edges but was now much firmer. Releasing the latch of the pan, I found the cheese mixture bonded well with the cookie base. Cool.

The taste was not too rich and aptly sweet. Rather light too, perhaps due to the inclusion of (sour) cream. My parents liked it, so did my friends.

Self-indulging karaoke session aside, I guess my late EWYFD was well-spent. We should do this more often. And if the economy does recover next year, perhaps we’ll be given something more luxurious. Like roast duck?

On another note, I am both thrilled and sad to announce that MY BAKING IDOL, FatBoyBakes will be conducting his first baking class on 22 August 2009 (Saturday) at The Cooking House, Desa Sri Hartamas. Well, mostly thrilled lah because I believe he's going to bring the house down with his brand of humour and more importantly, practical tips in perfecting bakes. I must say I've learnt quite a lot from his online recipes. And sad because I won't be able to attend his class as I will be in Singapore this weekend. So, if you are game for some educational fun on baking this Saturday (10 am to 2 pm), go sign up for his class now! Click here for more details.

All the best, FatBoyBakes! You'll do more than well, I'm sure.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 44): HIStory

Over the past week, I've been catching up with old friends, really old friends and the one inevitable topic that we discussed was the departure of Michael Jackson.

Circa 1983-84 was a great time for pop music. What would a pre-school kid like me know about music back then, you might ask. Well, for one, I remember the choruses of some songs that were nominated for a Grammy that year (1984). There was a show on public television that played the videos of those songs and a relative actually recorded it on an audio cassette which later became a prized possession of mine. Back then, I would play the tape on what we called a mini-compo that worked on power of less than 15 watts. It was a lightweight, flat, mono-stereo Sanyo. So, you can imagine how fascinated I was when I first heard of a 1000 watts sound system from Sharp back in the early 90s. But the Sanyo was good enough for someone who couldn't differentiate the treble from the bass until he started keeping sideburns.

I can't remember the sequence of the recorded songs now but there was the mellow Every Breath You Take by The Police. And Billy Joel's Uptown Girl from his An Innocent Man album. It was also the year of Flashdance, which I believe I'd watched at the Rex cinema along Jalan Sultan, Chinatown. The smash introduced Irene Cara's What A Feeling and Michael Sembello's Maniac to the world. And for some strange reasons, the sight of those sweat socks that girls wear these days reminded me of the two songs a lot. It was also the year when I couldn't decide who was scarier-looking; Annie Lennox from the Eurythmics or Boy George. But of course, one can't deny the catchy, synthesizing beats of Sweet Dreams (remember the cows in the video?) and the slightly reggae-influenced Karma Chameleon. Lionel Richie had it big too, that year, with All Night Long. David Bowie said Let's Dance, remember?

And there was Beat It by Michael Jackson.

Who could forget the simple phrase that took the world by storm. I really thought it was about beating each other up (the video was suggestive of that). You can't blame me. I was only an innocent kid who knew of nothing but good hokkien mee from the Pekeliling flats back then. It was later in life that I understood the meaning of that song. Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo only made the song more powerful, with a rock edge. Who was Billie Jean? It was another song that I didn't understand as well. But the soundscape of it all, including the funky bass line, was just too amazing that one can't help but groove along. And that moonwalk! A perfect blend of pop and R&B, it remained as one of my favourite Michael Jackson songs (remixed or not).

We were in primary school when Bad was released. While Smooth Criminal, Bad and Dirty Diana were the most popular singles from that album, it was Man In The Mirror that had an impact on many of us. The poignant song had traveled with us to leadership camps and other school functions. In my list of cool, uplifting songs, I placed it only slightly below U2's awesome One. If the melodies of the song (got to love the electronic keyboard-led intro) doesn't hit you, the words will.

If You Wanna Make The World A Better Place
Take A Look At Yourself
And Then Make A Change

While his subsequent albums were deemed to be less successful than Thriller and Bad, I thought there was progressive maturity in song choices. Gone were the mainstream pop tunes and came urbanized beats that were rather cool. My personal favourites were Stranger In Moscow (which I thought had a slight trip-hop element in it), You Rock My World and Blood On The Dancefloor.

The King Of Pop will be missed for there will only be one who can dance, sing and be Michael Jackson. But I guess on the positive side, we should believe that his legacy will continue to evolve with time through artists whom were inspired by him; like Ne-Yo, Justin Timberlake and Usher.

In our conversations, we confessed that we were not big fans of The Gloved One but it was through music icons like him that we had memories, good and bad memories that reminded us of the friendship we shared.

So, thank you Michael Jackson, for adding to the unforgettable moments of our lives.

We shall celebrate your legacy soon with a karaoke session of nothing but your songs. And we hope to do you proud!

Tell-A-Tale (Part 39): The Season Of Love (For Bak Zhang)

Without fail, a colleague would place a bak zhang or rice dumpling on my desk come a few days before the Duan Wu Festival. For those of us who feed on the Gregorian calendar, her bak zhangs serve as a reminder of yet another approaching Chinese celebration.

This year, there was none. I guess the weather must have taken a toll on her health. And for obvious reasons, I didn’t approach her on this matter. Therefore, the arrival of my favourite Chinese festival came almost unnoticed. At the time of realization, I was already ten bak zhangs late, according to my calendar of gluttony.

So, what did I do to make it up to myself? I rushed to get a foie gras rice dumpling from Pine Court, Meritus Mandarin Hotel. Alas, despite my willingness to splurge and clog my arteries with fat, they were sold out for the day. At the counter, the apologetic staff recommended their new creation, the Dong Po Pork Rice Dumpling instead. Okay, that sounded pretty good too. Nothing can go wrong with a slab of pork belly. Not even ice cream! Just kidding, folks.

The exterior itself was pretty interesting. The layers of lotus and bamboo leaves wrap provided both protection and extra fragrance.

The look of love.

Whether it’s served with white rice or steamed buns or glutinous rice, the keyword to good dong po pork is a flavourful marinate. Personally, I like mine salty, with a dash of Chinese rice wine. This one was on the sweet side, but tasty still. The pretty slab of belly gave good feeling with every bite of the fatty layer. Chestnuts added extra sweetness while mushroom cuts gave some complementing woodsy aroma. I’ve not had such smooth glutinous rice in a long time. Rather substantial and I would equate this to perhaps a plate of chicken rice (with an extra bowl of rice). Satisfied but could have been better had the dumpling been saltier and loaded with more ingredients.

On a lighter note, ever wondered why no love ballad was written about rice dumplings or the Duan Wu Festival? I guess it’s just not as romantic as the cool, mid-autumn nights or the bright, full moon lah.

Homemade dumplings rule. The ingredients used are personalised to suit the tastebuds of one. Scout around and you might just find one that can satisfy your specific needs of a rice dumpling. I found mine (okay, mum did, actually). Though not a perfect match, it was sufficiently good. Literally homemade and more importantly, salty! The meat was on the lean side (hence the slight imperfection) but the hours of steaming had melted the lard, making the pyramidal construction rather aromatic and oily smooth. Extra salt came from the fried, dried shrimps and salted egg while pasty mung beans gave it a slight sweetness.

I had this for breakfast last Saturday. With a bowl of homemade, sweet red bean soup; cooked with ginkgo nuts and lotus seeds. A fantastic combination that made the humid heat slightly more bearable.

And I haven’t talked about those dainty alkaline dumplings dipped in kaya yet!

A season of love indeed.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 34): Oh My Jumping God!

The pine tree witnessed it all. From the top, it was able to see the activities that took place on both sides of wall. It knew that the Gods would be angry for the holy men could not resist the luring temptation. The tree was helpless and only wished that when lighting strikes, it would hit the neighbouring tree instead.

Two days earlier, the maiden was already hard at work; cutting, sun-drying and frying the pieces of fish maw. When her father announced that a matchmaking session was going to be held in their humble abode, she was sexcited beyond belief. The man was the youngest son of a farmer who lived in the mountain of Hern Bai, which was perpetually snowcapped.

She was definitely not the fairest of them all and her hands were coarse. But these were the same hands that had mesmerized guests from all over the province with dishes that could only be described as exquisite. The maiden was a miserable soul, one who was always waiting for her knight in shining armour to save her from the depressing state of solitude. Cooking saved her life for it was the only distraction she had. Come dawn, she would start to prepare the meals for the day. The evenings always ended with her deciding the menu for the next day.

The plan was to please her potential partner with a stew. One that was full of exotic ingredients like dried scallops, fish maw, chicken feet, abalone, pork ribs, fresh shitake mushrooms and sea cucumber. She sang as she cooked, for she was happy. She imagined how her prince charming would look like and fantasized about the amazing things that they would discover together.

Her voice transcended to the other side of the wall but did not catch the attention of the hardworking monks for it resembled neither Norah Jones nor A-Mei.

The monastery next to the house was known for having the strictest of rules when it came to acceptance of disciples. The candidates had to endure multiple rounds of rigorous physical tests and written examinations before they were allowed to meet the grandmaster whom would then decide on the admission.

They would begin their day meditating, followed by hours of martial arts training which had been incorporated with daily chores like chopping trunks for fuel and transporting water. Qi-style, of course. Come evening, they would meditate again before calling it a day. In between, there were vegetarian meals. And of course, being a monastery (or any sanctuary for that matter), talks and acts of indulgences were forbidden.

But soon, their faith would be tested.

Many would fall.

As the maiden put the finishing touches to the stew, the rich and briny scent of the combination of dried seafood had already penetrated through the walls of her house. She was most satisfied with the result and began fantasizing about her future husband again.

She kept stirring and the aroma travelled further.

And further.

Until it reached the monastery.

As if climaxing, the monks stoned for a good second.

What is this strange, almost enlightening scent?

Moments went by and the aroma had now infused into their bloodstream. Tranced, they began searching for the source of that smell of happiness. It did not take long before they discovered that it actually came from the other side of the wall. Yes, the same place that housed that terrible voice!

The days of martial arts training paid off. With a deep breath to absorb in the surrounding qi, they were able to jump over the wall with just one leap.

Suddenly, it began to rain heavily.

Then, lighting struck.

The huge pine tree fell on the maiden’s house.

***

Note:

This stew is called Buddha Jumps Over The Wall or 佛跳墙. The above fiction is an exaggerated, self-indulging depiction of how the name of the dish was derived. Personally, I thought the more accurate name should be Monks Jump Over The Wall as Lord Buddha himself is not in anyway related to this story.

For a more accurate description, click here.

The somehow dry stew in the photos was prepared by my momma a few weeks back. The ingredients in the cabinet were calling out our names since the Chinese New Year period but we were too busy to attempt this sinful dish. She opted for the dry version as the thick, (naturally) gelatinous gravy would complement the white rice well.

The result, delicious!

Tell-A-Tale (Part 33): Jaipur On My Mind

So, it’s been almost 8 months since we said goodbye. Not much have I heard about you these days. I’m assuming it’s a good thing for if it’s another devastating attack on your beautiful city that I have to come across, God knows how terrible it will make me and the rest of the world feel. No news is good news. Yes, let’s keep it that way.

Things are not going well here though. You see, we’ve gotten into a little trouble of late. Money trouble. And the unfolding of the real life dramas that headline the dailies these days are not making us any richer. Or better.

I think a lot about escapism these days. For awhile, at least.

Call me mad but I wish a black cat will lead me to another world where time stands still so that I can sit back and reprioritize my life before the clock starts ticking again. Sometimes, there are dreams of houses up in the mountains where different types of herbs grow in my garden and I will just wake up to smell them, have delicious meals cooked for me and sleep again until the next day. Oh, I dream of a pork noodle stall too, complete with black vinegar from Zhe Jiang.

On one of those dreamy days, I found myself in the library, looking at titles most familiar to me. The blue Lonely Planets and the compact (but heavy) DKs. Across the rows of global escapisms, I saw a tag that said Indian Food Recipes.

And that’s when I remembered you. You were a true escape. Not of those silly, dreamy Piscean shits. You were real. Your history, culture and people astounded me. Your food, oh my God, your food can charm even the most venomous of foodies. Just throw them your majestic Rajasthani thali and watch them go weak.

I took a few glossy ones, sat at a corner and decided that this was one of the best. Atul Kochhar’s Indian Essence.

The picture of the Laal Maas reminded me of the redness in your cooking. Red, fiery red. And that was one of the reasons why I loved it so much. I scrapped the initial idea of attempting a roganjosh and went ahead to adapt Mr. Kochhar’s Laal Maas recipe instead. Cooking’s more fun when it comes with reminiscence of the good times (and good food).

Of course, it was nowhere near the real thing but the spirit of the fellowship of the spices was very well contained. Imagine a combination of turmeric, dried chili flakes, ground coriander, cardamom, toasted cumin and garam masala raveled in the wonder of yoghurt.

I need to work on making the meat tenderer. And to remind myself to be sensible on the chili flakes as I am afterall, not Rajasthani.

In the morning after, sans the smell of herbs in my garden up in the mountains, I reheated the Laal Maas and made myself a pasta dish with more chopped coriander for a ting of freshness.

Jaipur, I hear you sniggering at this feeble attempt of your infamous Laal Maas and that you rather have me trying a Chettinad dish which I am more familiar with. But thank you for I know you mean well and that you just want me to not forget you and your wonderful people. And food.

You can be sure of that, my friend.