Roof Terrace Café

Impetuosity got the better of me. After placing our orders, I hurriedly excused myself and headed for the garden. Elaborated with colourful flowers, Asian-influenced ornaments and music from the streaming fountains, it was obvious why patrons preferred to dine al fresco. For me, it was a time to flex my toy, after a stressful week at work. A little piece of haven, if I should be more exaggerative as this garden is literally, located meters above the ground. Bring your date there for a nice, romantic meal and I’m sure you’ll score, big time. With the ambience, at least.

I chose to sit inside as I believe romanticism is long dead. Somewhere between dial-ups and broadbands. Forget sense and long live sensibility. Orgasm too, of course. Ok, the truth is, I was with friends (not dates), the lovely Js pair, and it was a hot evening. The interior, though minimal, was cozy. And that’s good enough for young, old adolescents like us.

Remember Duplo? Those Lego blocks for children between 1 to 2 years old? That’s how I would describe my Caesar Salad (S$9.80). The chunks of dressed crouton and bacon were unrefined, in my humble opinion. As much as I appreciate the generous size of things, there should be a standard for accessibility and munchability. No complain on the shaved romano cheese though.

I turned to the Spaghetti Marinara (S$17.50) with anticipation. The colour red was created for a reason, to turn on our tastebuds in more ways than one. Alas, the tomato-base sauce was rather bland despite the generous amount of mussels, squids and prawns thrown in. Is it just me or has the marinara pergi sana (go somewherelse, in Malay)? I can’t remember the last time I had a really good, luscious bowl of this tomatoey seafood wonder. Tell me if you know of one, ya!

There’s not much difference in the Spaghetti Vongole (S$16.00) either. Generosity ensured with a good amount of clams and other flavouring ingredients like chili and parsley. But the white wine sauce was disappointingly bland. Then again, with an array of more exciting dishes (I assumed, from the descriptions) to choose from, I (me, me) would have skipped the Vongole. I hope the Js are not reading this. Hehehe.

Now, my choice. The Seafood Risotto (S$17.50). With a rich tomato cream sauce (and parmesan cheese), it was the most flavoursome amongst the rest. Dense, tangy and slightly sweet, it was good. Perhaps too good (or rich) as I almost withdrew halfway doing the rice. The selection of seafood, including squid and prawn was fresh while the rice was cooked to perfection.

No desserts for us as we believed the tasty luck was not on our side that night, tenths of meters above sea-level, despite the attentive service. Adjourning to the nearby, topographically lower Coffee Club for their invincible mudpie proved to be a bad decision as well. The pie fell short of expectation with its shape and size and taste. But let’s keep that for another day, ok? It is afterall, the beginning of the weekend.

Despite the food, I guess the evening turned out to be a rather fun one. For what’s important besides mouth-watering food is a good company, a wise sage-like (as in an herb) individual enlightened me yesterday.

As for the roof/garden, I’m serious. Definitely a nice place to chill out or date (yes, yes, yes) or spend some quality time alone.

Really one!

Roof Terrace Café
211 Holland Avenue
#04-01 Holland Road Shopping Centre
Tel: (+65) 6462 6194

Tell-A-Tale (Part 16): The Silence Of The Beans

Okayama, 2008.

Shiori was never a friend.
But I was slightly hungry.
And mostly curious.
So, I ate her.

I remember our hot bath.
She looked helpless.
Submission is such a delicious word.

Run? Hide?
Why?
These hands will be gentle.
Caressing with a lullaby.

Beautiful adornment.
That smooth touch of epidermis.
That ever slight friction.
Kimi no perfect tone.

I could have done it at the kaiten.
But it would have been less fun, wouldn't it?
I'm glad you came.
For my little game.

Hush now.
What you can't see scares you the most.
But the melodies of the blades will sooth you.
Twirl to the rhythm of the rotation.
Dance! Dance! Dance!
Don't scream, for it's painful to my ear, dear.

It’ll end soon, I promise.

Smooth.
Your blood never felt so fresh.
And silence was that sweet taste of you.



Arigato, my Shiori-chan.
You were oishi.



(Blended, boiled Edamame milk with syrup)

Tell-A-Tale (Part 15): HairyBerry's Delhi Belly

Recently, after my trip to India, I discovered the meaning of a Delhi Belly. Rather unpleasant, I must say.

But did I get myself a Delhi Belly when I was there?

I was awed, yes, AWED by India’s thalis, vegetarian or not. It was all about the variety. Tasty varieties. From the very touristy version to the Rajasthani’s, every set was an explosion of colours and flavours. Consisting of tangy starters, flavoursome mains (rice included) and sweet desserts (imagine gulab jamun…with ice cream!), it was completeness at its best. I’m still AWED.

Familiar sights. The ever-filling rotis; naan and parantha. But don’t expect anything lesser than those with fillings like mashed potatoes, mint, onions, mixed vegetables and paneer (cottage cheese). A good complement to the spicy curries.

Some snacks to munch while awaiting the mains? Gladly. Pyramidal samosas filled with minced lamb or chicken, decorated with crunchy vegetable cubes and a generous amount of spices. Too spicy, say you? Perhaps a milder, smoky vegetable sheekh will tantalize your tastebuds. Remember to dip it into that chilled, mint raita (dahi) for a taste of culinary juxtaposition. Or perhaps some juicy momos, crispy-skinned fried paneer...or simply, savoury papads?

Delving into the mains, the all-time favourite briyani rice is the best bet. Saffronized long-grained rice, laced with aromatic spices and purified butter. The taste lingers. But of course, one should never forget the pulaos as well. Dig deeper, and one may find pieces of chicken, mutton or simply, eggs for added flavours. And how is it possible not to complement the rice with the rich, spicy, crimson-hued Mughlai Chicken/Mutton? Let the combination of cinnamon, cardamom seeds, garam masala, star anise and yoghurt bowl you over. There’s also the familiar soft, charred tandoori chicken for the unconvinced.

We can’t possible neglect the ubiquitous yet distinctive South Indian cuisine. The endless sides including dahi vadai, onion bajji, appam and ghee paper masala dosai will keep one entertained. When it comes to rice, specials like bisi bela bath (a blend of spiced rice and lentils), pullogare (tamarind rice) and chitranna (lemon rice) sure provide a good exposure as to how interesting life is beyond the plain, white rice.

Youngsters (or youngeesthanis, they call it) prefer to be hip. And hipsters eat what’s cool. And happenin’. Like the Maharaja Burger from I’m Lovin’ It. Think Big Mac, where beef is substituted with curried chicken patties. Pizza? Yes, Indianized with toppings like kadai chicken and murg mussalam. The masala lemonade’s definitely for the adventurous at heart. And Khan ChaCha at Khan Market got the huge crowd goin’ with their snacks like the mutton seekh kabab roomali roll and chicken tikka roomali roll.

When it comes to desserts, sweets are seriously sweet. No in-betweens. I can’t forget that cooling kulfi on a summer’s night in Jaipur. Frozen milk, embedded with nuts and candied fruits, it was divine. That hot, firm rawa kesari bath sets a nice, sweet tone to a scrumptious South Indian meal. Like falling into Willy Wonka’s factory, India’s dessert shops are full of shapes and colours. And immensely sweet. From a plain milk cake to the green coconut barfi to a crunchy badam pista to the what I call sweet muruku (syrup drenched deep-fried batter called jalebis), one can be assured of a sugary high.There is also the Swiss confectionary pioneer, Wenger’s, to provide pastries like fig tarts, coconut macaroons and cheesecake tarts, which are equally sweet and rich.

What is a trip to India without a cup of chai? Smooth, aromatic and sweet. A sip of India.

In most restaurants, when one asks for the bill, a tray (or bowl or plate) of cumin seeds and rock sugar is presented. A natural mouth-freshener.

So, to answer the earlier question on whether I developed a Delhi Belly in India.

Yes, I did.

A good Delhi Belly at that.

None of those unpleasantnesses.

But one full of colours, spiciness and flavours.

Unforgettable.

Tell-A-Tale (Part 14): Her, INDIA

Warm were her summer days
Spreading her arms wide
Unto acceptance of the unworthiness
With her colours of life.
O how one sing praises of her songs.
Of her beauty.
Of her grace.

- Sharma S.N. -

Her Jaipur, the Victorious City was a construction of infinite shapes and colours. The majestic Rajasthani city speaks of ancient gloriousness with the majestic City Palace and Amber Fort. Pink and crimson hues steal the daylight from the Old City, only to resonant as one at sunset. Life begins with the first beam of sunlight and the Jantar Mantar (Royal Observatory) is a testament of the superiority of the sun in sustaining the order of the day, and life. Her bustling Johari bazaar sparkles with fabrics that can untangle even the saddest of expressions of a woman.

13 May 2008: Bomb blasts in Jaipur killed 60, injured 150.

A city of love should be a measure of devotion, not the amount of bulbs lighting a lifeless metal structure. Her city of Agra spoke of such with conviction as Shah Jahan devoted his mortality to completing his “teardrop on the face of eternity (Tagore)”, his Taj Mahal, in memory of his deceased second wife.

But is devotion mere beautification of a mausoleum?

Or a startling Agra Fort overlooking the mausoleum and the holy Yamuna River?

No, devotion was his imprisonment in the fort by his own son, Aurangzeb and his last, perpetual glimpse of his love through the window, as he exhaled his last breath.

Her Mughal-reigned Old Delhi humbles the largest of men. Lal Qila, the Red Fort greets its visitors with a stunning entrance, the red-sandstoned Lahore Gate, promising a view of the respected, royal, liberal Mughal governance.

Cleaned and barefooted, worshippers walked on the burning ground to reach the largest mosque she offers. Patience is part of faith. The grand Jama Masjid. 40 metres high, the climb to the top of the minaret further described the vastness of her Delhi, her pride. The wind seemed to guide the eager ones towards the right direction.

The chants and veda inscriptions in the Laxminarayan Temple or Birla Mandir transports one to a state of meditation, and serenity.

25 July 2008: Bomb blasts in Bangalore killed 2, injured 20.
26 July 2008: Bomb blasts in Ahmedabad killed 56, injured over 200.
26 July 2008: Mumbai, Calcutta, Surat and New Delhi were on high alert.

Shimla, Himachal Pradesh, north. The exhaust fume from the "horn, please" trucks spurs a welcoming gesture onto the passengers' face, from Kalka onwards. They were mostly trucks of apples, the in-season fruit. Scandal Point, Middle Baazar, Lower Bazaar; they promise happy faces and beautiful mountainous smiles. The Jakhu (Hanuman) Temple and English Christ Church remind us of guidance we all need. At over 2200 metres above sea level, one can never not be curious to know the Tibetan life beyond the Great Himalayan Range. It often takes a song to greet. And flowers to know.

She had been kind. For the usual, awaited cooling rain did not dampen our clothes or spirit (not even once) during this time of heat.

I left with a melancholic song.
Wrapped with praises and hope.

I wish her peace.
I wish her well.

Her, beautiful India.

Jarrod & Rawlins @ Desa Sri Hartamas

As weekends are more or less similar to a RM50 pre-paid reload these days, (in true kiasuism fashion) should we make full of the 2880 minutes by catching up on things/people we missed or should we save up our qi (or credit) and just chill, and enjoy the tranquility away?

When I went to pay for my parking ticket (somewhere near the overpriced Desa Sri Hartamas foodcourt), I found alphabets below each numbered button. So, does that mean I have to punch in the three alphabets of my vehicle’s identification plate before I enter the 4 digits? Because technically, I don’t think it is possible.

The first time I dropped by J&R on a Saturday morning (8ish), it was closed. This time, I went around 12ish. It was open. Thank goodness! So, technically, when I ordered my Fried Breakfast that afternoon, was I going for brunch? Or breakfast?

Too much lar, Nic. You have just wasted 0.5% of your credit. So, just shut up and enjoy your breakfast. Or whatever you call it.

Ok.

It may look cheap and minimal but it tasted exquisite. The Fried Breakfast (RM28.00) which should consist of two sunny side ups, sausages, bacons, grilled tomato, toast, tea and orange juice was surprisingly filling. Sausages, in general, make me cringe because of that frozen, stale taste. Ever more prevalent when one is in a cinema or bus. J&R’s were definitely fresh, flavoursome (with a touch of pepper to boost) and firm. The bacons were aptly cured and tender. Heck, even the tomato tasted rather sweet. My orange juice did not turn up and I failed to realize that until I started drafting this post. A dab of butter on the crispy toast curtained the sunny breakfast, as if to remind me of an afternoon nap later.

More bacon glorification. The Bacon Sandwich (RM13.50) oozed deliciousness with each bite, eventhough it was simply toasted soft bread sandwiching savoury/tender pieces of bacon. As with a curvy body, do we need a diamond studded, plunging neckline dress to make it shine? Just throw in a petite-sized plain white T.

I couldn’t resist looking into the mirror. No, not to admire my bacon-like self but to read the specials written on it. Shouldn’t I say yes to the Mexican Spare Ribs (RM32.00)? Now this was the total opposite of the sandwich. Came voluptuously red, I fantasized of being capsized by the Mexican wave and (gladly) suffocate in the aroma of the majestic Cajun spices. Alas, a summer breeze passed me by instead. Yes, it was rather bland. But the ribs were tender and flaky.

The approximately 4.2% of the weekend was well spent at J&R. The sausages and slices of bacon were indeed top-notch. The relaxing ambiance made the clouds move faster.

I am thinking of something crazy.

Maybe I’ll scrap my up-coming 48 credit hours allocation and just go with the flow. With this, perhaps I’ll have less unnecessary questions and answers. And maybe, just maybe, food and life will taste better.

Jarrod & Rawlins
No. 36 (Ground floor)
Jalan 27/70A
Desa Sri Hartamas
50480 Kuala Lumpur.
Tel: (+603) 23000708
Website: http://www.jarrod-rawlins.com