About My Choice Of Food

Having a conversation about food with some humans can be very trying. Some think that I eat rabbit food to stay thin. Dear people, I eat those because I truly LOVE it. (Also add curry and alcohol to that please.) To me, they're the most delicious things in the world. How difficult is it to understand that?

I've always been picky about food because the home serves wayy better quality of food than what restaurants offer. It's only in the recent years that better standards of food are served up to customers, and even that, is not a common thing.

I've had no problems giving up meat. It all started with the nauseating smells of chicken. Then there're my ethical concerns. (Not elaborating on this. Google can provide all information) After firmly kicking chicken out of my life, everything else comes easy. I've no great love for poultry, red meat or pork. If you must know, my tastebuds and sense of smell have been heightened to the point that there's a certain stink about meat that doesn't appeal anymore. Fish, is one item I can't give up just yet. Specifically sashimi and sushi, and steamed fish. I can skip shellfish and the rest, no issues.

Next comes the exercise. No diet will succeed without complementing it with exercises. Is it so difficult to move one's ass off the couch to do something? Not for me. I'm very disciplined that way. I was quite happy being plump. But not bothering to exercise, inching towards 65kg and feeling lethargic weren't ideal indications of health. I've always been an active girl, but not into cardio workouts or weight training at the gym. Certainly not running. Ugh.

It's not difficult to get back into the rhythm of doing exercises I love- swimming, pilates and in-line skating. When I grew stronger, I added sparring and parkour, both of which relied on foundations that were solidly formed as a child. The turning point was the daily riding and wiping down of horses over 2 winters in London; that tipped the stagnant weight into a merry downhill slide.

I changed my diet, tanked up on regular exercise, built muscles, stamina and strength, losing weight steadily over 2 years before I hit my ideal approximate that fluctuates between 45 - 47kg and no heavier. The last medical in March revealed that I'm in the best physical condition of my life. Being too thin is not an issue. You can be fatter or thinner than I am, and still not half as healthy or as lithe. So lay off the snide comments and seemingly considerate advice.

Before you criticize or sneer at my food choices, know that you're not paying for my medical bills in the future. It's in selfish interest to be a prick and choose what I want to eat instead of having to justify it to you why this is so. Do not rub it in my face by saying you'll eat shark's fin and foie gras at every single opportunity just to even out us nazi pescetarians (and vegetarians). It's not a war. You might actually be crippled from clogged arteries because of your petulance. If I could punch you, you would feel the superb benefits of exercise.

Dinner For 3 And A Bear

A mid-week dinner date was arranged at Luke's Oyster Bar & Chop House. We all made it before 8pm after various work meetings, yes, me included. Drinks were in order. We began with that. I'm quite impressed by the bloody mary.

To Ivan and M.'s credit, they didn't display any sort of eye-rolling to the presence of a tiny cute bear and welcomed him to the table. Luckily they didn't think I've kinda lost control over some of my faculties. :P

I'm okay with corn bread (not corn muffins) per se. I just don't like it with butter, no matter how good the butter is. It's a little weird when the bread is already flavorful. For Luke's version of corn bread, I'd prefer to eat it with chutney or jam.

Lobster rolls and lobster pot pies available in Singapore restaurants are few and far. The lobster rolls aren't available at Luke's after happy hour in the evening. So we settled for the lobster pot pie. While I've had the lobster mac and cheese and love it, I've had no chance to try the pie version. It was a very good attempt with a whole lobster de-shelled and plated. Tender and creamy, it went pretty alright with the crispy pastry.

Oysters, of course, had to be ordered. We were trying to decide between the raw platter or just oysters. Oysters won. Tonight's choices were from Massachusetts and Canada. They were fabulous. We had it after the tasty oyster po'boy burgers. Nicely chilled, the oysters were briny and flavorful. It could be either a great start to a meal, or order 2 platters to be the meal. 

I'm not a fan of oysters and was done after slurping up 3. Then I had a bit of fun placing Indie Bear on the cold bed of ice. He was very interested in the oysters, but I didn't let him have any. After we were almost done, he gamely clambered onto ice and stayed there while we took photos. But he didn't seem to enjoy that very much. Hahah. Don't ask me what the other diners thought- I wasn't prepared to check that out. I already tried to be as surreptitious as possible. 

The photo is proof that we didn't starve Ivan.

While M. and I would be perfectly pleased with ordering numerous starters, Ivan needed something more filling by way of a main. Carbs or something meaty, preferably. The menu also offers different chunks of beef. Ivan was in the mood for veal, especially after he requested for a different cooking style that is less charred than the last visit. He ordered a portion all for himself. The veal chop arrived beautifully brown, apparently just the way he likes it. Chef Travis Masiero made sure of that.

M. and I were not interested in dessert at all. (By the way, the innovative variation of key lime pie here is good) Ivan couldn't quite resist ordering one for himself. See, another case study of how the men seem to be the ones liking sweets rather than the women. It's not a matter of calories for us; we just don't have that sweet tooth. So the boy(s) opted for a stout-infused milkshake with warm chocolate chip cookies. If you like your comfort sweets, I suppose this hits a spot. From the looks of it, Indie Bear loved it.

L'Shanah Tovah Tikatevu

Homemade challah lovingly baked by D. 

Yom Tov.

The Last Bits Of The 24th SIFF

While I was thrilled about the second screening of 'Page One: Inside The New York Times', I wasn't so pleased with the messy logistics in the 24th SIFF. Up to this point, I've been relatively sheltered from the bad experiences of other movie-goers. I've only heard about it from the friends and through the complaints in the newspapers. Tonight, I experienced it in full.

The cinema was switched from Lido 5 to Lido 2 at the last minute. Mind you, both cinemas are configured differently. So if Lido screwed the organizers over the cinema swap, I'd expect a notice outside Lido 2 to say 'free seating' or have organizers to be stationed at the door to re-direct the audience to new seats. But no, they left it to the audience to figure out how and where. People had to go down to the organizers to ask about seating allocation before the latter realized the mess. Seriously. In a nutshell, it was literally free-seating. Bloody confusing. It doesn't help when these tickets (sold at the door one hour before screening) are handwritten and arbitrarily coded. Too bad all around for both audiences and organizers.

The programming for this year's SIFF (24th) is strong, and pleasantly palatable without being too arty, poseur-ish or deliberately obscure. The films are very relatable to many across the different genres. But the logistics, my gawwd...it's ridiculously awful. It's almost as though these people are operating on a not very well-thought-out template without an ounce of common sense.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand, the movies.

'Night Fishing' (Paranmanjang)

Filmed entirely on an iPhone 4, directors (also brothers) Chan-Kyong Park and Chan-Wook Park made sure the Korean short 30-minute screen time is well utilized to optimize spookiness and show how surprisingly clear the shots are.

While I've to kinda guess that it's a supernatural 'thriller', there're clues strewn around, and I suppose in a way, having seen Asian funeral rites helps in the faster understanding of what's happening onscreen. Or perhaps it's just an exposure to the genre or familiarity with Korean horror in general. At least it's not sappy and long-suffering like those Korean dramas I avoid with a ten-foot pole. I quite enjoyed the eerie creepy portions and the partial peek into elaborate Korean funeral rites and the duties of their shaman.

'Page One: Inside The New York Times'

Depending on how interested you are with the stories of behind-the-scenes of The New York Times (NYT), this film will either be a really boring documentary pretending to be clever, or a fairly interesting conversation. I like it. I wonder why there were so many people who left halfway through. (Read The Guardian's review here, and MediaBistro's summary here.) 

There isn't much of a plot, so to speak. It touches on certain scandals and milestones in the paper. It speaks of press freedom. But it doesn't tell you very much what the objectives of this film are. It's not a comprehensive film, but it does focus on the independence of the paper and ponders about the relevance of it versus its partnership with the other non mainstream media platforms.

The camera mainly follows the very-in-your-face veteran reporter David Carr, who after a while, can be a little grating. It's of course, a running debate about whether newspapers will survive in this new world where information flows faster than the reporter is able to get to. I'm glad it doesn't try to stretch the point that only mainstream media is a credible source of information. Most jarring, it never fails to remind you for no less than six times that it's unthinkable if NYT should fail and close.

Anyway, it was a good watch for an evening. I was amused to see old footage of NYT power meetings that comprised of all men and no women. Very Mad Men-ish. I'd hate to have lived in those days. The man doesn't want to watch Mad Men with me. Each time he does that, he gets smacked, cursed at, and kicked. Muahahahha. I greatly dislike the series. So in the portions of NYT power meetings in the 20th century, it's nice to see more ladies in senior positions.

Son de Almendra

Mayra Montero's 'Dancing to Almendra'. It's translated into English by Edith Grossman. It looked primed for a light read, a bit of a crime story going on here. A Cuban noir, if you would. (Read Washington Post's thoughts and NYT's review here.)

1957 Havana, Cuba. An enigmatic pre-Castro city of vibrance and intrigue. A vibrant setting that is brought to life in the book. It weaves in and out of the layers of society, giving depth and shades to an already colorful city in the form of the various characters and their different pursuits.

The author does not shy away from portraying the country from what history has recorded. The fifties in Havana were hedonistic days when it grew to be a Latin Vegas under President Batista's desire to boost gaming revenues before he was exiled in 1959. Meyer Lansky is a name frequently thrown up then; between politicians and the mafia, it's a name not to be underestimated. The police seemed to be nowhere in the picture.

The story- an escaped hippopotamus that is eventually shot and killed by pursuers. On the same day, mafia capo Umberto Anastasia murdered in the barber's chair further away in New York. A side plot is provided through an older one-armed woman- the mysterious Yolanda, It's an exciting journey for protagonist rookie reporter Joaquín Porrata.

"I'd take it personally to the editorial offices as soon as I got to Havana. This would be not just another article about the war for control of the casinos but an analysis of the situation of gambling in Cuba: in recent years, the plan seemed to have been completed, the government didn't want to do business with newcomers, and the island stopped being the open territory it had always been. Those who showed interest in obtaining a franchise in the new hotels were advised to direct their attention to other establishments in the Caribbean or in South America. This was how a silent little war had begun, waged with a good amount of discretion except for the death of Anastasia, which had been bungled."

It's a fun little compact story that has been well paced. Mayra Montero is an excellent writer, and Edith Grossman has done a fabulous job of translating it. This is the first time I'm reading Mayra Montero, and I'm going to get her 8 other books.

Vegetarian Moussaka

Our version of vegetarian moussaka takes a lot of effort to make; neither the man or I is keen to do it often. I miss it quite a bit and want a bite. The man said, "Find me some nice people and we'll do dinner." So I found some dear friends and special new ones to make a table on a Sunday evening. It's pretty obvious that none of us cared very much for F1 or any of its fringe events.

The man tried out a green minestrone soup. It was an easy vegetable soup finished with a dollop of homemade pesto meshed with parmigiano-reggiano. He's very particular about not adding store-bought pesto. Since we would be having moussaka with tomato ragoût, it wouldn't be wise to add a tomato-based soup. A portion of the huge pot of vegetable stock was put to good use- stirred in a variety of lentils, onions, carrots and cabbages to make a light soup. A spoonful of pungent pesto would flavor the soup further upon serving.

As fun appetizers, there were easy homemade guacamole, and pumpkin fritters done in olive oil and a battery of lightly spiced curry powder, garnished by curry leaves from our plant out at the balcony. We assumed these would complement each other. In case the fritters didn't go with the guacamole, we added a store-bought packet of lentil chips for some crispy punch. I forgot all about the homemade fruit chutney in the fridge till after the friends left. Arrrgh.

The mains were cute-but-not-so-small slabs of vegetarian moussaka. Depending on the stomach capacity of each guest, each slab was either too much or just enough. Muahahahha. Layer by layer, we made the ingredients- boiling the lentils, stirring up the ragoût, frying the zucchini and eggplants, potatoes, and trying to shape each one as neatly as possible.

Did you think I cooked? Of course not! I simply stirred and did whatever the man instructed. We're not pedantic cooks. He'd say,"Add salt to the stock, will you?" Oddly, I don't need to ask how much. I'd just sprinkle, by instinct. Portions too, are done by instinct. If you ask me what the soup lacks, I'd know whether it needs- nutmeg, cinnamon, lemon juice or even raw sugar. As for the exact quantity, I go by a pinch, a dash, a handful, etc. Heh. After all, as a kid, I did squat in the grandmother's kitchen to be ordered around like a little stove elf.

After finishing the layering, I felt rather proud of my handiwork. Oof. It was kinda fun! Had to take a photo of the tray before topping it up with the béchamel sauce bubbling in the pan, and grated parmesan cheese. The tray sat quietly aside. It would go into the oven 40 minutes before the guests arrived. Then it would be all piping hot and ready to be served after the soup.

We haven't had anyone over for dinner properly for some months. This was a random perfect excuse to have the friends meet, eat and chat, and hopefully didn't bore the hell out of one another. :P  When the soup was almost ready, I went out to an empty dining room. Where's everyone?! They had trooped to the music room to hear one tinkle with the piano. Easy jazz sounds. He's a great 'by-the-ear' player who's got an astounding touch on the keys. He randomly played some bars from 'Phantom of the Opera'. See why I love my friends- they can entertain themselves perfectly. Heh.

The girlfriend called dibs on dessert and brought over a gorgeous strawberry cake. No photos of it here. I hate the lighting. Won't do it justice. She greatly reduced the amount of sugar in the mixture, and placed extra strawberries on the cake. YAYYY! By the time dessert rolled around, we had a tiny bit of space to squeeze in a couple of bites, fueled by more bottles of Croucher ale and single malts.

(Not the best photo of the moussaka. There's a clearer one from 2008.)

Groceries Today

The man's finally done with his busy period at work and has retrieved his frame of mind to cook for the weekend. He seems to like boiling stock in the nights. During week, a huge pot of vegetable stock had been prepped and stored away in the freezer.

We still needed fresh items and the man preferred to get his supply from the colorful Tekka Market. It was amazing how I packed a spot of jumping, 25 laps in the pool and taichi all by 9am, and managed to hop along to the market with the man. Already late! He mumbled. Hope they haven't run out of things! It's not like I can be useful...but since I made a request for vegetarian moussaka to be on the menu, I should ahemmmm...try to help with the prep.

There were no du Puy lentils to be found at the wet market. We were pleasantly surprised when we strolled in for a coffee at Smitten and found the Farmers' Market in operation. The man was happy. Among the stalls, he found organic Himalayan lentils and kidney beans which are delicious and would do well in the ragoût. We also came away with packs of Croucher beer for the fridge and a cold bottle in hand for instant gratification.

Colors, textures, sights and sounds. What a happy morning. Ooooh! Figs too. We buy them weekly from Chia's Vegetables, but today we bought extra boxes of black figs, and beautiful green and red apples. It's Rosh Hashanah next week. :) I love love love figs.

Flora & Fauna Of The Malay Peninsula

Forewarned and intrigued by notabilia's post, and not about to pay S$800 for a limited edition 2-volume selection of 'The William Farquhar Collection of Natural History Drawings', D and I popped into the re-opened Goh Seng Choo Gallery at the National Museum to view the drawings.

A small portion was on display a couple of years back and now, the full set has found a permanent home in this small gallery. For now, it's free admission to the public. Not all 477 commissioned works in the collection are displayed. Only 70 are brought out at any time with one annual rotation scheduled.

While you can stroll through the 70 drawings in a matter of 15 minutes, it would be nice to allocate a little more time to appreciate the history. We lingered over the drawings for a closer look. The techniques of the Chinese artists commissioned to do these paintings are most interesting. It's a mix of Chinese brushwork (shade, texture and dotting) and Western watercolor dry-brush techniques which blend beautifully into the details of the veins of leaves and shades of color on the fruits, spices, porcupine quills, feathers and tree bark.

The works are gorgeous in their hand-painted glory in a quaint, almost archaic style. They're also however, absolutely entertaining in their non-precise details, torn between Farquhar's scientific requirements and the artists' recherché slant. They look nothing like the creature we can rationally envision. It's quite a hoot since we now know what the real bird/animal looks like in hindsight gleaned from digital manipulation.

There're the monkeys which are rather hilarious. We naughtily grinned and whispered of not knowing any monkey this elegant. We were rather entertained by some of the descriptions which acknowledge the implausibility of certain birds associated with local flora. The drawing of the Blue-Winged Pitta is matched with a mangosteen tree. The description wryly states, "The blue-winged pitta, an uncommon visitor to Singapore, is depicted here on an unlikely perch - a mangosteen tree."

'Oriental Bay Owl and Angsana'

At the 'Oriental Bay Owl and Angsana', I paused and giggled. It looks like an exotic owl straight out of 'One Thousand and One Nights'. The description read, "This drawing illustrates the tension between Farquhar's demands for scientific illustration and the artist's aesthetics interventions. In adhering to the standards of botanical drawing, the artist included a dissection of the individual angsana flower. Yet, much of the rest of this drawing is imagined, from the unrealistic separation of the owl's stylised feathers to the deliberate rendering of a canopy over its head."

We just had to go to the museum shop. D needed to buy some prints of Singapore for her associates. We browsed the shop's eclectic and varied offerings. Yes, the S$800 book is available at the museum shop. Errmmm, I don't love the contents enough to pay the asking price. However, there's a more affordable one-volume version at S$70 which includes essays by John Bastin and Kwa Chong Guan providing insights into background of each painting and William Farquhar himself.

Pearl Jam Twenty

Nirvana and Pearl Jam gave me sanity through the angsty years in secondary school of which I hated every single second. Punk rock, alternative rock. It was a fashionable period of ahemmm....questionable plaid and trademark locks. That was the look. I didn't embrace the culture, but I understood the torment, loved (still do) the music and soaked it all up regardless. That 1995 Pearl Jam concert in Singapore, a stop on their Vitalogy tour, I was there.

Tonight, I was persuaded to give up all other films that shared the 7.30pm slot (like 'Little Treasures of Lombok', 'Curry Munchers', 'Cold Weather'...) for the screening of rock docu-film 'Pearl Jam Twenty' (PJ20) in its official worldwide release. Directed by Cameron Crowe, it was a pretty good one. We clapped politely before the show and clapped vigorously after. It's a film, but it felt like watching a gig. :) (Read reviews from Forbes, The Guardian and CBS News.)

20 years together as a band in more or less the same line-up. No easy feat. Pearl Jam has never been known to sell out their ideals. They stay true to themselves and to the music. In an interview during the film's screening at the Toronto International Film Festival, Eddie Vedder said,“Playing in a band is really a delicate thing, .........If you’ve ever tried to order a pizza with five people, it’s difficult. ... So we’ve been very fortunate.” 

Each of us have our favorite songs. Alright, maybe 2 or 3 favorites. It's a 20-year collection yo. I love 'Alive'. The whole point, as a teen, is to stay alive, to remain alive, and to be alive. Wasn't it? Isn't it? The man likes 'Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town'. He's totally into the band when Ten came out. He was doing rounds in Oz and the album was on his (my gawwwwd) walkman throughout. The inital couple of Pearl Jam albums were on (!!!) cassette tapes. Another likes 'Corduroy'. Well, we did own a pair of corduroy jeans back then. But the point is, we all hated passionately back then, and probably can't recall why we hated a certain person then. It probably doesn't matter today. Sigh.

Plenty of memories. What's yours?

When the credits ended and people streamed out of the cinema, there was an excited chatter. I think there's something we felt...a touch of, what do you call it...nostalgia. Let's just say we'll never see Eddie Vedder climb the rigs and dive into the crowds again.

Look Beyond The Tiger

I thoroughly enjoyed being immersed in the world of 'The Tiger's Wife' written by Serbian-American Téa Obreht. (Click here for Guardian's review of the book. Also see New York Times' comments. ) A story about Balkan conflict, the narrator Natalia tries to make sense of her grandfather's mysterious death, and in her quest, learnt about his early life, ideals and dreams.

"Everything necessary to understand my grandfather lies between two stories: the story of the tiger's wife, and the story of the deathless man. These stories run like secret rivers through all the other stories of his life-of my grandfather's days in the army; his great love for my grandmother; the years he spent as a surgeon and a tyrant of the University."

Set in an unamed Balkan country in the fictitious village of Galina, folklore, village tales and superstition form the story that sounds almost light-hearted bellies the author's view of the pain that has torn through her childhood home country. Fables and allegory run amok in the book. Of course the escaped tiger is symbolic. It's as real as any in the book. Overtones of the Kosovo War loom large in the shadows of the incidents and tales described.

The author places all the stories in the foreground till I was almost distracted. What mattered to me was the overarching narrative in the background. It's not so much of the relationship between Natalia and her grandfather that the author is telling, but more of the stories that she isn't directly saying.

"His trips to the zoo had become a thing of the past long before the bombing forced the City to close its gates. There was a lot of speculation about this closure-people, not just my grandfather, were furious, felt it was a sign of giving up, accused the City of using the bombing as an excuse to slaughter the animals to save on resources. Indignant, the authorities set up a weekly newspaper column that ran current pictures of the animals and reported on their well-being, on the birth of their cubs, on plans for zoo renovation when the raids were over."

Gloves For Washing!

You must think I'm loony for being so discerning over gloves used for washing. But hey, I truly like washing dishes, so gloves matter and feature rather largely each time I step into the kitchen.

I've probably tried out all the gloves sold at the supermarkets and am not fond of most. I need them to be latex-free and nifty at the fingertips so that the dishes don't slip in the soap suds. They also need to be kinda thin and be able to withstand the hot water I use for washing grease off pots and pans.

There's a particularly decent German brand found at Takashimaya departmental store. I've never bothered remembering the label. I simply head there, pick up the familiar green gloves and check out with 3 pairs. Can't be bothered to buy more. But the supply is inconsistent. The mall doesn't stock up often. A pair will last me for about 2 months before tearing. I needed a second label as a back-up. I was beyond thrilled when the girlfriend bought me 3 pairs gloves from her Oz trip. Wieeeee! These make wayy better travel gifts than any crappy souvenirs.

The girlfriend mentioned that one of her friends love using this brand of gloves and would ask her to buy a large batch each time she pops over to Oz. I forgot about buying this earlier in the year when doing the rounds in Oz. When I finally remembered about trying out the mentioned label, it was the girlfriend's last day in the city, so I didn't bother asking her about it. What do I know- she had already put aside some for me!

I love these pretty white gloves tinged with pink tips. They work beautifully!

Let's just say that I've managed to cart over a year's supply of my favorite toilet paper (Kleenex Cottonelle!) from Oz because the supermarkets keep playing hide and seek with the stocks for it. So ensuring a continuous supply of this brand of gloves won't be a big issue. Heeeheeeee.

Soaking Up The 24th SIFF

The 24th Singapore International Film Festival (SIFF) has started and my nights are packed out these two weeks. I'm watching it with the man and different groups of friends! Not possible to watch all with just one person or even two. When it comes to movies, even the man and I, as it is with books, have vastly divergent genre preferences. When we first dated, he tried asking me to watch romantic shows. I kept saying no. After he sneakily made me watch two forgettables and I walked out in the middle, he's learnt that I really really dislike movies to the tune of 'You've Got Mail', 'Notting Hill' , 'Four Weddings and A Funeral', 'Titanic' and 'Love Actually'. So you can see, I didn't spend my youth in cinemas. (Wait a minute, I think I might just hate Hugh Grant too!)

We had such a hoot deciding which movie to watch without having the schedules clash. Still it happened and many of us had to swop tickets. It was a tough fight between 'Twenty' (Pearl Jam) and 'Troll Hunter'. Twenty won. Troll Hunter is listed on iTunes. The majority wanted to watch Pearl Jam 'live' on a huge screen. They probably wish it's a real gig. Ha! When we saw 'The Tree of Life' in the listings of SIFF, we didn't bother with it. It's got Brad Pitt. Need we even doubt that it'll hit iTunes and of course mainstream cinema? 

'Beyond (Svinalängorna)'

I like Swedish films very much. There's something very stark about storylines. I'm not too familiar with the era of Bergman, it's Lukas Moodysson's dark tragedies that call to me. In SIFF's listings, the depressing 'Beyond (Svinalängorna)' directed and co-written by Pernilla August thrilled me. She's one actress under Bergman who has kinda successfully made the transit to writing and directing. Most movie-goers will be familiar with protagonist Noomi Rapace. I've liked her since I saw the 2006 'Enhälligt beslut'. There's a social commentary in Beyond about the Finns, who are the largest immigrant group in Sweden. However, as a foreign viewer of the film, the portions I can claim to fully understand, are only the social aspects presented of a dysfunctional family because of thoroughly irresponsible parents.

'Griff the Invisible'

Halfway through 'Griff the Invisible', I almost elbowed the man in the ribs out of pure irritation. Yes, while it's a fairly well-directed and lovingly produced movie about a man's tortured mental self finding some solace in a surprising partner, it borders on a romance. A tad grating. Yes, I'm prejudiced. But I recognized the subtle touches of social awkwardness and how the superhero-thingy bellies a serious mental issue. Still, the build-up isn't quite there and the pacing isn't great.

Luckily for the man, lead actor Ryan Kwanten made an appearance at this screening, sat through the show and cordially took a Q & A session after. On stage, he really felt more like Jason Stackhouse instead of Griff, but less annoying. Heee. He gamely took all questions and exuded a really friendly vibe. Nobody was starstruck, and importantly, nobody ran to him screaming or melted into a puddle of mush. It made for a nice end to the evening.

Balloons & Bubbles

Good photos of children, dogs and cats are virtually impossible to capture without a good 50mm lens on a DSLR. Gaaah. I got really blurred ones of the jumping kids and the glossy dog who were all distracted by the many humans and food smells. Adequate lighting, but tough to crystallize with my point and shoot. I captured what I could (which were really bad shots), and put the camera away.

Corsage had prepped activities of balloon painting and lotsa bottles of bubbles for the kids. After a while, they ignored the large humans and went about doing their thang. They were running all over and laughing, showing off their proud creations to all who requested a closer.  Lotsa fun for them! I didn't join in. I didn't come to a children's party to terrorize the little tots. I put on my best behavior and sat with the friends to chat, tickled a tiny one with the host's bottle of single malt provided for the attending alcoholics, and stuffed myself full of fishballs and homemade tuna sandwiches.

Everyone definitely noticed how the birthday tot's missymessy dress of colorful hearts matched the sprinkles on the chocolate cake. Very cute! I eyed that birthday cake from start till my first mouthful. It promised to be a yummy cake that would be more chocolaty than cloying. It was one tasty cake from Vicky's which thankfully didn't overload on the sugar. I had 3 bites of it before passing the rest to the man to polish it off.

Happy Two, my dear sweet Bubbles!

At Mariinsky Ballet's Don Quixote

Attended my first show under the series of da:ns festival 2011. I can't wait for the rest of the performances in October. Wieeeeeee!!! Spent a magnificent evening at 'Don Quixote', presented by the Mariinsky Ballet and the Orchestra of St Petersburg.

Reading Cervantes' 'Don Quixote' in school didn't really fire the imagination or make the story come alive this vividly. Yea, I know. How could I miss all that Spanish fiery passion. I don't know! I was too busy identifying literary devices and reading the 'right things' in order to pass the exams. Anyway, I love how The Bolshoi Ballet had put this out, so I was most eager to watch Mariinsky's interpretation of the ballet in its choreography. (Read a review of it at The Guardian) The moment a couple of girlfriends and I knew the company was coming, we went about the business of securing tickets.

A full evening at the theatre meant that we should pad the stomach with light bites and drinks at 5pm. After the show, we trooped back to E's house where a light supper had been prepared to facilitate our noisy discussion about Mariinsky's interpretation versus Bolshoi's. It was such a wonderful recap of the evening riot of music and colors.

Some have watched Mariinsky Ballet's productions, some of us haven't. I've been so excited about watching the company for the first time. For those of us first-timers, we weren't disappointed. What a lavish and extravagant night! Those costumes are spectacularly jaunty, telling of the most splendid period in the arts and literature in Spain which has been gently infused with influences from the Italian Renaissance. I've no idea if these costumes transmit total authenticity, but hey, this isn't flamenco which requires a traditional trajes de faraleas. The strength and unsurpassed techniques of the dancers are breathtaking to behold. I love the cabriole, chaînés and coda in this performance.

I was completely blown away. :)

Ristorante Bologna With The Parentals

The man and I had separate engagements and missed the weekly dinner with the parentals. So we rescheduled it for later in the week. It's a date we'd always try to keep, regardless of how busy we are. Thankfully, the parentals eat late too. Dinner at 9pm makes it much easier to stick to our date.

We earlier picked Candlenut Kitchen as the restaurant for the week, completely forgetting that they've gone off to NYC for the Singapore Takeout happening this weekend. When we finally realized that, we scrapped the idea of Peranakan food. Not feeling like popping into the other few traditional restaurants. So it was an easy switch to Italian fare, and it was off to the dependable and often underrated Ristorante Bologna.

It's an ideal venue if the table comprises of fussy eaters. There's always something for everyone. Service is decent and the kitchen never fails to accommodate all our quirky requests. Importantly, Chef Carlo Marengoni is still at helm. For the past few years, we've gotten used to his cooking. He serves up consistently good food that comes with comforting, familiar tastes.

Since our dinners have been arranged at progressively later (from 8pm to 9pm!) slots due to work and every other social appointment, the food at dinner has also proportionately lessened. Nobody really needs to eat that much. A light dinner would suffice. After all, most people are going to eat breakfast, isn't it? Over the past 2 years, the stomach has learnt to accommodate less in the nights when I don't have enough time to work it off before bedtime. The table passed on the meats and fish and stuck to a couple of different starters and pasta for the mains.

My garden pasta was beautifully done. The portion's too much for me, so it was shared. The kitchen was generous with the clams in our order, so those were spread around too. However, the mussels came tightly closed with the pasta. All 3 of them. Odd. So we sent the 3 miserable pieces back to the rather horrified server. Within 10 minutes, there was a replacement plate piled high with piping hot (opened) mussels. Heh. Yummy.

Lobsters & Movies

We called to order, a lobster dinner. Our tiny flat won't be able to take the group. One couple generously provided their dining room and expansive kitchen (equipped with fancy industrial gadgets and toys) for this much-anticipated get-together.

I suppose this is our way of celebrating Mid-Autuman Festival, but without walking about with lanterns or eating mooncakes with good tea. We did ask, but no one's exactly keen on that. So we kept the 'celebrations' our style.

There was an intense debate and in the end, everyone passed on the Alaskan crabs. There were freshly specially flown Maine lobsters, one for each guest, and an extra tail. Not proud of the fact that we probably decimated a pod. Damn, they were tasty. We have separate preferences on how we'd like to ingest the crustacean, and the final result- the lobsters were spectacularly done to our specifications. To freshen the tastebuds, there were nibbles of brussels sprouts, artichoke hearts, witlof, pasta and coleslaw. Strangely, chilled yuzu sorbet went well to round up the white meat.

Bottles of the gorgeous Cristal Brut 2004 accompanied the fine meal. A beautiful complement. I took only 2 glasses and declined more. Still on a casual alcohol ban for the now. After dinner, we settled into the couches for good old movie night. We had earlier declared not have anything cerebral! Something light! Again, by unanimous choice, 2 movies were picked- 'Cold Souls' and 'Hanna'.

'Cold Souls' has every potential to go down as a crap B-grade movie. Extracting souls, and having mules transport these souls?! Com'mon now. However, Sophie Barthes did a really good job with it. It's emotive, just a little reflective and seriously funny. Playing himself, Paul Giamatti is absolutely endearing.

We couldn't wait to watch 'Hanna'! It's absolutely wicked. Nothing new with the storyline. It doesn't pretend to be a deeply reflective movie. The slow parts are thankfully not too frequent. It gives me all the gore and action as promised. I love it!!! Never mind the startling fact that a teenage girl is a trained killer. Suspend all ethical and humane notions please. None of us missed the symbolism of the deer at the start and at the end.

It's good to have the evening with the friends. We reminisce, we remember. But we never forget that we live in the now for no regrets. There're many ways of saying it. So many have said it, but nothing like how it's said, flatly- "Carpe diem."

No One Is Indispensable Indefinitely

This has never been a genre I'd linger at the bookshelf. It's pure bias, I do confess. The man was persistent in getting me to read it. He insisted that it was good. I brushed him off with a "Your type of good. Not mine." Still he said it was so brilliant that I should read it. Seriously. Okay... Seth Godin's 'Linchpin : Are You Indispensable'.

Sure, Seth Godin is inspiring entrepreneur. He makes things happen and through his books, he tries to teach you to make your products remarkable and spread powerful ideas. But I'm not interested in being an entrepreneur. I've never wanted to create anything. I'm quite happy to participate, or be a consumer. Clearly, I'm not meant to appreciate any sort of marketing or even try to market anything. I'd fail so miserably.

Since this book touches on choice and linchpins as "essential building blocks of a great organization......who can walk into chaos and create order" (meaning...the mavericks), I'd have a browse. The book also talks about thinking of choices, of buying into a climate of fear within the rigid system or to chart one's own path and create value as one would. Sure. I want to know who on earth is indispensable to an organization in this day and age. With a great deal of skepticism, I flipped to the first page.

"You want your employees to be indispensable. // Really? After all, if they're the linchpins, you have to treat them better. Pay them fairly. You won't be able to quickly fire them for any reason, knowing how easy they will be to replace with all those folks lining up at the door. The linchpin represents a threat to the orderly execution of your agenda, because the linchpin is necessary. The linchpin has power! // No one is irreplaceable, of course, because over time, someone can be trained to fill the shoes of your linchpin employee. But right now, knowing you have to depend on someone is a scary feeling. Not only does he have power, but he might leave you hanging. This isn't what you were taught in school."

The writing is easy, as though one is carrying on a conversation with the author. But hey, this is his skill. It welcomes you into the book as though you'd soft step through the doors to a one-day conference on this topic. The structure presents the idea flow in a rather structured manner across the various ideas thrown up in the content. There're astute observations and good examples proffered. It's an easy...management textbook published in layman language with contemporary bells and whistles. A version that's easier to digest. It'd appeal to readers with a short-attention span and whose approach to management styles could be termed as the 'new-wave', and who require to have the information presented to them in such a bite-size format.

I accorded this book all of 30 minutes, and endured through certain chapters. The concepts aren't going to get drilled into this brain. I get it, but I don't geddit. I'm the wrong type of reader who refuses to understand the smashing revelations that the book may impart.

Checking Out The Spaces

I've been incredibly curious about the studios at Goodman Arts Centre. But I've not had any business wandering about its grounds. When its Open Day came around on a busy Sunday that started at 8am, I made sure there was an hour in the afternoon for it. The annoying haze hangs like this spoiler in the air, but at least the bit of rain took away some of the heat and cooled the area as most of it is non air-conditioned.

Some of the friends went in the morning and reported that many big and tiny humans turned up for the workshops and interactive sessions of drama, puppet-making, dramatic improvisation, creating mini clay cartoons, etc. Another bunch of friends and I had to skip those. We went late in the afternoon. There were still people milling around, but I was struck by how quiet it was for an open day. Then I remembered. The arts space is situated in the middle of a residential area. Open day or otherwise, it's not going to have a carnival atmosphere.

Wandering through its corridors, we poked our heads round the studios' doors and went into those that caught our eye. Some required us to remove the shoes before stepping in. It was a teeny challenge trying to decide which pairs of Havaianas were ours. So many pairs in identical colors! Nice to hear The Observatory do an improvised piece for a 20-minute set. At the screening of the short films, there was a particular one that made odd sense. The narrative was strange and even weirder, there was a shot that focused on a cellphone. When the credits rolled, we stopped wondering. The 7-min film was sponsored by Blackberry. Doh.

Felt a little sorry that I missed SAMH's workshop on 'Experiential Art Therapy'. I'd have loved to join that 1-hour session. I wasn't in the mood to sit through the art forums as well, although the panelists and topics were pertinent and promised to be thought-provoking:- 'Moving, a Fractured Landscape in the Mist- Making Sense of Art Today', and 'From Me Flows What You Call Time- The Changing Role of the Book in the 21st Century'.

Saw. Heard. Touched. Colors. Senses. Smiled. It made for a pleasant lull in an otherwise bustling day packed with different appointments. I like how the green has been kept. We had some time to spare and went home with the friends who live in the area for a very welcomed tall glass of homebrewed iced tea of lemongrass, ginger and aloe vera bits.

Rumah Terbuka Eid/Hari Raya

Another bunch of friends opened up their homes for Eid/Hari Raya feasts. Their warm hospitality is awesome. Similar to the other week, the homecooked food is fabulous, none is less stunning than the other. Pots and pots of bubbling rempah sat on kitchen stoves; their contents streamed out in pretty serving bowls and plates, only to be eagerly emptied into our stomachs. Heeeee.

Food coma, totally. I couldn't skip the curries without taking the rice. At a final point, I had to say stop to the food. I couldn't even do coffee or tea. Water sufficed. I practically rolled into the car and stumbled into the final house where I could savor only one begedil with sambal tumis.

The dear friend's grandmother pointed me to the direction of the dessert table. In bahasa, she urged me to take some. I rubbed my tummy and said I could do no more. She told me to try the kek lapis with prunes. She cheerfully said, "Siap di rumah!" But of course. I took a deep breath. Okaaay. One tiny slice. SQUEEZE. Trembling fingers reached out towards a tiered tray of colors. A slice of homemade (surprisingly not sweet) kek lapis completed the afternoon of feasting.

House Party!

The friends have got a yummilicious new pad in the heart of town and before they start on any sort of renovation and decorating the interiors, they invited everyone over to display hidden streaks of Banksy inclination on their blank walls. The estate is so new till the neighbors haven't moved in. A perfect house party where no one will complain about music choices or noise levels. Hurrah!

As usual, there were many events happening this Friday night. The house party was supposed to start at 10pm, a good timing after everyone's engagements. We turned up with beer kegs in hand (more bottles and cans were provided by the hosts in the fridge) and merrily contributed colors to the wall and generally upped the noise volume till I was almost certain that the still-awake humans in the estate across the road could hear us. :P

It really wasn't a good idea for me to continue chugging beer. There wasn't any sort of wild drinking. No binge. It boggles my mind how just 2 teeny plastic cups of beer gave me a mega headache the next morning, that one pint at lunch notwithstanding. It's enough to give me a queasy stomach to cringe at the idea of more alcohol over the weekend. *hiccup

Lunch By The Waterfront

It's wonderful to sort out a date and meet the friends for a long lunch on a weekday. On a relatively hazy and not too hot day, Privé Bakery Café is a good venue to meet friends toting little bubs as there's a somewhat decent outdoor play area.

While we've managed to separately catch up one-to-one, it's been a long while since we sat down together over lunch. With or without tots, our schedules are seriously crazy! Always fun to makan with them and yak about nothing in particular and everything else in between.

Little Bubbles ran in and out of the brightly colored playhouse. Then she wrinkled her nose. "It smells." The table of adults was like, huh. "It smells of smoke." She explained. Oh. The haze and its fine particles are present the whole week and probably through the weekend to irritate the humans. The other good-natured little baby gurgled rather happily in her high chair. Her mother informed us that this one is a screamer. Hmmmm. She didn't yell at all. In fact, she bestowed cute smiles all around.

Don't ask me about the food here, I'm not the biggest fan at either the bakery cafe or the restaurant. In my books, it's exactly like PS Cafe. I can never remember if it's nice. Today, I had Prive's version of eggs benedict. They were decidedly egg-y and I could find no fault with it. I should have ordered a juice, or share a bottle of that sparkling Domaine Chandon Brut Classic with the girls. My pint of beer gave me an odd feeling of light-headedness which left me more or less weirded out for the rest of the night.

My Special Bowl Of Laksa

I'm a lucky imp to have plenty of friends who cook and even luckier to have many that always willingly feed me. Wieeeee. After a session of pilates matwork at N's house, I'd thought we would pick her adorable 8-year-old son from school and just pop out nearby to grab lunch or toss up a salad or macaroni of sorts. Instead, she proudly announced that she had made fresh laksa paste 3 days ago and boiled up a tiny pot of gravy for all of us. Yayyy! She had also prepped and cooked the ingredients this morning. No cockles. Shredded chicken optional.

While we ran off to shower and freshen up, the trusty maid took her time to put everything together and gave it one final vigorous boil. We were in no hurry. After each exercise session, I can't usually eat very much. Same goes for N. In fact, we didn't want to eat for another hour or so. We wanted to have a cold drink first then pick up the boy before sitting down to lunch.

It was a beautiful thick spicy bowl of laksa with gravy full of exotic sediments that made the aftertaste a little pungent, tangy and spicy all at once. There were also sides of lettuce, raw tomatoes and carrots sticks. We love having the crunchy veggies to go with a spicy meal. The boy loves his vegetables. But he also likes to have berries along with it. Whatever! So long he's eating healthy.

My bowl was filled up with the yummy ingredients, with an extra serving of fishcake because I really love them. I haven't had laksa for a while because I'm not fond of what the commercial stalls serve up. The best ones are really those cooked in the friends' kitchens. And N, whose skills have been honed during all those years in Connecticut craving for Southeast Asian spices, does a mean version of it.

Pop, Goes The Decision

The elderly on my roster cannot let me mop, sweep or clean in silence. They must follow me about the small space and keep up a running conversation, one-sided, usually. Never mind that I don't speak Hokkien. They know I understand it and will mumble a reply at some point in either Cantonese or Mandarin. To those who babble on in Cantonese, they know I will also reply when I feel like it. Even though I've largely managed to tune them out, nowadays, I feel like wearing ear plugs.

I'm fine if they drone on about government policies and social commentary, to gossiping about neighbors and friends. Even if they ask about my salary, my 'husband', my whatever, that's okay too. However, it has taken me years to learn to take a deep breath and not let personal questions ruffle me. To the usual, "Have children lah, they're good, they take care of you in old age...blah blah blah", I wisely keep quiet. I'm not about to insult them by either saying "None of your business" or "Having children hasn't done you any favors". It isn't because I'm unfailingly polite. I'm just incredibly sensitive to the feelings of these old folks. To other old folks and random humans, I'm fairly fast, direct and rude in my retorts that usually hold the gist of STFU.

Today is 'cleaning day' at their homes. I hit the last flat and started on the very fast task of sweeping the area. I can't really complain that they don't use vacuum cleaners. It's not a matter of buying one for them; they'll scold me for increasing their electricity bills. :P I already lug around a trolley of cleaning agents. Not about to heave a power generator too.

In the middle of wiping down their ancestral altar, cleaning the ashes off the incense holders and shaping the mound of ashes properly to hold more joss sticks or coils, to the rhythm of a rant (in Cantonese) that covered everything from a 'hi-five president' to 'Fann Wong as mafia boss', typhoons in Taiwan' and 'radioactive cows in Japan', I suddenly tuned back into my surroundings. It was as though a little lightning bolt stabbed me in the calves.

I had been pondering about a job opportunity that arose on Monday night and floated above my head. I met the good people yesterday and promised them a reply by Friday evening. It's very flattering. The scope is tempting. To be able to wear slippers, birkies and dark jeans to work! To waltz in at 10am! To be able to work with very cool and brilliant people! Damn, stars swirled in my subconscious all night as the physical self slept. I woke in the morning, still indecisive.

Unexpectedly, swamped amidst these chores, I found the answer much sooner. The answer is 'no'. I love doing these menial tasks for the elderly on my roster too much to give it up just as I'm beginning to settle into a routine. Very few (full-time) jobs will entice me to re-shuffle this routine immediately. With a decision reached, I smiled and whistled to myself as I gave the altar a final flourish. The old couple stared......wondering what got into me. I gave them a big breezy smile and waltzed out of the flat. Onward for a cup of coffee and to give my honest reply to the good people (no point to wait till Friday), and feeling kinda rueful that I wasted their time.

Lessons From Bhopal

A sobering read was picked out for the afternoon- Indra Sinha's 'Animal's People'. (Click here for Guardian's review, and New York Times' comments.) It's a clever commentary on the Bhopal gas tragedy on the night of 2 December, 1984, one of the worst industrial accidents in the country. The leakage into a gas cloud (methyl isocyanate) killed thousands over 2 days and causing 15,000 more to be ill for years after.

"I know right away what this is, it's the dead beneath the earth, it's their bones and ashes crying out in rage against their murderers. The dead are shrieking at me that the good earth has been defiled with blood. In thick clots, the blood lies, won't be washed away by rain. The blood cries out for justice. Once the earth has tasted blood it craves more, now the killers must be killed. This is the old and the real law, it's the price that must be paid for murder, the price demanded by the furious spirits beneath the earth. Give us justice, screams the blood. It promises years of disaster, years of illness, if I do not take revenge."

Elli Barber is the young American doctor who arrives in Khaufpur to open a free-clinic, and has to struggle to convince everyone that she isn't doing this on behalf of the Kampani whom everyone blames for the tragedy. She somehow has an ex-husband who's involved in the local hearings for the gas leak because he works for the Kampani. The book does not say that the 'Kampani' is Union Carbide. This little thread here in the subplot speaks of beliefs between 2 humans, and their fundamental differences when it comes down to the crunch. Pragmatism versus idealism; principles versus reality.

Between living, disfigurement and illness wrought by the toxins, the people aren't recognizable humans anymore. 17-year old Animal, as the protagonist, has gone on all fours, his back twisted since he was born. The events in the book are written in relation to this tragedy, as the townsfolk gather the remnants of their lives and try to move on. It's even sadder when we know that Bhopal has been struggling with the aftermath in the slow death and madness of her people.

"Once the secret was out, the deal was dead. The Kampani was saying it was the victim of terrorism, the culprit should be prosecuted and locked up for years, but the jarnaliss took a different view. They said that one stink bomb, however disgusting, could not compare to the terror the Kampani had brought on the people of Khaufpur, plus how could the Kampani bosses demand that anyone be prosecuted while they were themselves refusing to appear before Khaufpur court?"

There were also other matters pertaining the lack of training for the workers at the pesticide plant, as well as insufficient information provided to equip them with the necessary knowledge to carry out their jobs. Safety matters were also debated. In the book, the long-term implications of the gas leak are discussed, along with the Kampani's (Union Carbide) reluctance to accept responsibility and discuss compensation, and how the investigation yielded little effect of bringing those responsible to justice. Of course the politics of the era played a party in how the culprit behaves. Think Reaganomics.

26 years after the gas leak, minimal sentences were handed to 7 Union Carbide employees (1 more died in this time of a 23 year trial!!!). No key US executives were found culpable; there were no repercussions for the Chief Executive Warren Anderson who is now 90 years old. So that was 2010. (Read TIME's excellent summary.) Ironic, considering that the current US President called for the head of BP's Chief Executive after its disastrous oil spill off the Gulf of Mexico that same year of 2010.

I read by the window in the natural light. When I finally set the book down, the sun was a rosy orange hung low on the western horizon. It was time to turn on the lights to chase away the lengthening shadows. A chill ran through my bones. Isn't it so clear that across industries (albeit in different forms and shapes), the Kampani lurks real today.

Out & About With V

Of all TWG salons, I like its venues at Marina Bay Sands (MBS) Shoppes best. The high ceiling with natural lighting makes me feel less claustrophobic when I've sit so close to other humans in order to justify my contribution towards the tea salon's high rental in prime spaces. So it was at MBS that V and I sat down for tea. Must catch the lovely lass before she hops off for a vacation.

Both of us aren't too fond of sweets. Wanting to nibble on something, scones and sandwiches formed the solid part of tea. 3 tiny sandwiches. We shared half of each and it was more than enough as a pre-dinner snack. Scones were still good. No slip in standards yet. While I'm not too fond of the jelly even though it isn't too sweet, I quite like the clotted cream. Light and fluffy, TWG has got the sugary balance right to complement its raisin scones.

For once, I'm not in jeans or flats. We also had a date at the theatre. It wasn't a gig. Heeee. I was a good girl- wore a dress and heels. ALL BLACK. Muahahhaah. Well, I had a pink bag. So that counted! I forgot to take a photo of V's sassy tube dress of black-white polka-dots with red trimmings. She looked amazing in it! Very chic for the afternoon. And she allowed me to take all the photos I wanted of everything, including the little dish of clotted cream.

No Need Batteries

For a lark, the girlfriend gave me this manual water game gadget. It's been placed on the desk within easy reach. Oddly, I've been picking it up quite a bit. Not out of boredom, but pushed by a real desire to tinkle with it.

It's no sophisticated toy. But it's brainless fun. In a way, it's kinda welcome to play a manual game where there isn't any sort of backlight or fear that the battery runs out. Best of all, it doesn't make any sounds. I play video games and whatnots with the beeps, shrieks and theme songs muted, and in absolute silence. Zombies are ideally slayed that way too.

As a kid, I was into toys of course. I loved M.A.S.K and Transformers. I liked those western bar thingies you play on a handheld. But I outgrew them for Doom and DND. Then you get the nonsensical Angry Birds and stuff like that. I've long forgotten about manual games. Okay, nerf guns not included in the reminiscing.

I've been late for pilates class twice because I was so immersed in turning it upside down, left right out, shaking it and whatnots, trying to get the maximum number of rings into the 2 posts. It's ridiculous how long a simple handheld device can occupy me. Well, unlike the story the photo tells, the device doesn't belong to my bear. It's MINE. I'm quite addicted to it not because of a lack of things to do. It's just...old skool fun.

Abalone Love

Marine gastropod molluscs. Sea ears. Abalone. Sea snails. The iridescent nacre that lines the inside of the shells is always fascinating. Such a pretty shell produces calcium carbonate that triggers all sorts of allergic reaction and causes secondary infections.

Approximately, 1/3 of the weight of the abalone is shell, 1/3 is meat and 1/3 is offal. I love eating abalone and never tire of them. Mariculture is largely done for white and red abalone. However, I'm watching the extinction rate closely. The black abalone is close to extinction in California and research is poured into cultured abalone which seems to be making headway since 2005. White abalone is threatened too. Northern (also known as pinto) abalone is endangered as well. The South African abalone faces the threat of extinction through overfishing and there's an intense debate in the country over a proposed ban on fishing for abalone. In spite of the encouragement for saltwater farming of the shellfish, illegal trade still soar. Australia and New Zealand's black and green-lipped abalone seem stable for the now.

Sigh. For a little while more, I'll accumulate bad karma and continue with the ordering of abalone at the restaurants, especially after clarifying their sources and types of abalone available on the menu. I avoid the controversial South African abalone, no matter how 'valuable' or 'exquisite' they're touted to be. At Hinoki for a last-minute late dinner, the chefs somehow thought I might turn up and managed to keep a serving of abalone for me. What a nice gesture. They know how much I love the taste of the sea snail crunchy raw or tenderly cooked.