The Stories They Don't Tell You

O Thiam Chin's newest book 'The Rest of Your Life and Everything That Comes With It' holds 12 short stories about the moments in people's lives. These stories aren't new in the sense that many have been written in 2009 and 2010, and have been separately published in journals and online portals. The book took everything and put into a collection of short stories.

Set in the Singapore context, I heaved a sigh of relief at the final turn of the page because it wasn't too colloquial and filled with the insularity typical of many Singapore writers. Now that I'm broadening the reads to Singapore books, it's been a pleasant journey so far. O Thiam Chin has a concise vision and writes to the point, without lingering on his 'Singaporean-ness' while not losing that uniquely local flavor.

'Yellow Elephant' leads the stories in the telling of a woman trapped in an unhappy marriage who saw the yellow elephant mysteriously appear in her living room one day. The appearance of the large beast in sunny yellow also signaled the departure of her husband who left her a curt note. The ending isn't exactly open to interpretation, but it's an emphasis of the future to come. Suspend all disbelief and let your imagination run.

In 'Patchwork', it tells of how a young couple went to get a patchwork blanket from her aunt to put up on the wall in the bedroom of their new flat. Of course it's never easy. It's not just a blanket, or to be relegated to a decorative piece if one hasn't found sufficient composure to manage the demons it comes along with or the skeletons in the cupboard.

"May Lee stopped in her tracks, the bag a burden in her hand. She finally had the blanket, the perfect piece of personal artefact to complete the home decor of their new flat, and now she had her doubts." Then, it moves slowly, inevitably to the end when they 'upgraded' and shifted house, and the forgotten patchwork blanket re-surfaces from the depths of the storeroom. "She took a long look at it, put it into the box together with the other recyclables, and brought it down to the void deck where the recycling bins were. She left it there, among other people's broken, abandoned possessions, turned her back and walked away, already the memory of the patchwork blanket slipping away from her mind."

The summary noted a story- "A single mother goes to great lengths to find out the terrible truth about her teenage son." I was really hoping it wouldn't be some stereotypical 'gay coming out' story. See my preconceived notions? So in 'What Are You Hiding?', it isn't too stereotypical. More to do with crime, parent-son relationship, and teenage angst.

"The night it happened, Kong came home after three in the morning. He moved like a large injured beast in the living room. Hearing the din of noises he was making, I went out to him in the dark, and saw him sprawled on the sofa, his limbs akimbo. His whole body reeked of beer. I detected something else - a stronger, malevolent smell - that stayed subtle under the alcoholic fumes."

Poignant, this is a good read about the many untold stories behind each apartment block, each unit, in the changing cultural and emotional landscape of a city. His recent prose in conjunction with Singapore Writers Festival (SWF) 2011's PasSAGES Unwound is 'You Are Always Here, All The Time'. I still shy away from some Singapore writers because I don't think their writing is incisive enough. It's not encouraging when I pick up a book, scan the summary, flip the pages and can more or less predict the story line, and the content. But over the past 2 weeks of the SWF 2011, I'm happy to have found some gems.

SWF :: Week 2 :: Conclusion

One would be kept busy with plenty of panel discussions and activities during this concluding weekend of the 2-week Singapore Writers Festival 2011. A pity I couldn't attend all that I'd have liked since other commitments required attention too. But what I managed to attend, gave plenty of food for thought.

#1 'Hackwork: Using Craft to Sell Madness for Cash' featuring Michael Chabon (Moderator: Kenneth Kwok)

The literary influence of Edgar Allan Poe :: Chicken rice :: Word count matters- 1000 words per day :: Scrivener :: "I feel safer naming dead writers." :: Ursula K. Le Guin :: A manageable queue for autographs :: scored autographed copies of books ::

#2 'Are Folktales Still Relevant Today?' featuring Minfong Ho, Chuah Guat Eng and Kamini Ramachandran (Moderator: Pooja Makhijani)

A bit of a jumbled reading of the author's writings :: Fables (re-interpretation by Bill Willingham) :: Folktales shouldn't be sanitized or censored :: weird woman advertising her 2 children's books and asking about publishing support :: the standard narratives of folktales :: minimal talk about Disney ::

#3 'Wayward Girls and Wicked Women' featuring Chuah Guat Eng, Catherine Lim and Jill Dawson (Moderator: Carolyn Camoens)

What is 'authentic' and 'compelling' :: Society has made women defiant :: Women's capacity for revenge :: To write about characters that feel real :: Men are central to stories as well :: Passion as a motivator instead of selling the story/book ::

#4 'The Chain X The Independent' featuring Kenny Chan and Kenny Leck (Moderator: Neil Humphreys)

Support Singapore writers even in large bookstores :: Pokemon :: Love Books Actually :: The relationship between Borders and Lido (especially midnight movies) across the road :: A space for hard copies still :: Stay relevant :: 

#5 'Liaisons Between Law and Literature' featuring Jeffrey Lim, Aaron Lee and Nicholas Hasluck (Moderator: Eleanor Wong)

To put a spin :: law (legal writing) isn't hard and creative writing isn't soft :: organically entwined :: craft of the narrative ::

#6 "PasSAGES Unwound" featuring Heng Siok Tian, Yeo Wei Wei, Jayanthi Sankar, Noor Hasnah Adam, O Thiam Chin, Aaron Lee and Stephanie Ye (Curator: Yong Shu Hoong)

Readings from writers' stories inspired by interaction with an elderly or a terminally ill patient from HCA and SWAMI :: Life :: death :: hope :: resignation :: observation :: humans :: fate :: emotions :: 
It cuts too close to what I regularly do, so I don't really want to dwell on it. I do write about it, but it's kept under lock and key, not to be shared with anyone. It's how I maintain that emotional detachment necessary. 

Between panel discussions, we hopped into Singapore Art Museum and 8Q to check out their exhibits. Titled 'The Burning Gaze', Hyung Koo Kang's extensive works of caricatures and sculptures, hyperrealist self-portraits and paintings of famous personalities, celebrities and artists (including Van Gogh and Warhol) are on display at the main building.

At 8Q, the not-unfamiliar Amanda Heng's 'Speak To Me, Walk With Me' is spread over the ground floor, level 3 and 4 in a variety of interdisciplinary mediums- video, sound, performance art and installations. So it came to pass that plucking the 'tails' of bean sprouts became part of an art installation. We spent a good 20 minutes seated at Level 4 of 8Q trying to find some fun in the timeless activity of cooks who have to do this. Luckily I didn't have to do that as a child. I don't find it fun at all. :P

Nakhon Kitchen

We've heard about the queues at Nakhon Kitchen on the weekdays. Today, we were early enough that the shutters at Nakhon Kitchen (Bedok) were still down. 11.56am, to be precise. A queue soon formed behind us. Talk about hype. So we waited for a bit before they let us in. But there wasn't anything resembling a queue after that for the next hour.

None of us have tried this much-talked-about casual eatery. We ordered a table-ful of dishes. We were most tickled to hear that we wouldn't be able to have Thai iced tea because their packs of ice hadn't arrived. But that was sorted out in 10 minutes.

Food came fast. Luckily there were 4 of us to at least reasonably polish off most of the food. Nothing much was left. We even had space for dessert- mango with sticky rice and a bowl of red ruby. It served really decent Thai street food full of familiar robust flavors. The clear tom yam seafood soup wasn't exactly as authentic as it should be, but at least they weren't too stingy with the spices.

Then it was quick drive down to Forty Hands for a cup of much needed coffee before the rains turned heavy to stop us from running afternoon errands, like book buying by the truckload.

Quite pleased that for a quick fix, it doesn't take a trip to Golden Mile Complex anymore. Between Nakhon Kitchen and Jai Thai, we've enough casual outlets spread across the island for maximum convenience. But for delicate royal Thai food, no restaurants here come close to the near-divine ones in Thailand. Especially not Thanying.

Nakhon Kitchen 
Block 136 Bedok North Avenue 3
#01-166 Singapore 460136
(Like a kopitiam. Dress light.)
There's another branch at Block 212, Hougang St 21.

At Punggol Waterway

On a dreary rainy afternoon, notabilia and I merrily went splishing-splashing to take a look at Punggol Waterway. Or rather, as how they named it, 'My Waterway @ Punggol'. (Read all the stats and information here, here and here.) 

Both of us have not taken the MRT Northeast line end to end prior. Neither did I know what to expect at Punggol train station. Hey, being the Singaporean here doesn't mean I know squat. notabilia is in the know for many things that I'm not even aware of! BUT. Nothing's difficult to navigate in this country. We took the LRT for a loop and eventually hopped off at Damai where we faced the waterway directly.

For a number of strange reasons, I misread Heartwave Wall as Mall. o_O  To think I actually went up to Punggol MRT station's staff to ask about this new mall that's not Punggol Plaza, and worse, thought we could take shelter at the mall if it became a bad storm. Anyway, it's located at the central section and we didn't go there. The steady drizzle turned heavy after 15 minutes and the winds rose. It was time for us to make our way home.

Upon alighting, we didn't rush down and head out of the LRT station. We stopped and took in the view. I'm not used to seeing greenery right outside a train station. Green. Lots of green stared right back at us. The area was magnificently empty. People must be wondering who were these 2 crazy women who would come to Punggol and walk in the rain, with umbrellas of course. Getting wet wasn't a huge deterrence in this short urban jaunt. This isn't the TreeTop Walk.

We thought that somehow, the air literally tasted crisp and smelt good. It could be due to the lovely rains, but it was nice to see a vista of lush landscaping and the belt of trees to the yonder. Just don't turn backwards to the MRT line and rows and rows of fairly cute HDB flats. Though these lucky residents in certain blocks facing the Waterway would get an unobstructed view for at least 3 more years. No excuse not to head out for a jog or a walk. Plenty of space for children and dogs, cyclists and pedestrians.

Although I tried really hard to stretch my imagination, I'm not sure why they would, however nicely, arrived at the conclusion to term it "Venice of Punggol". Yes, this 4.2km Waterway is by no means a trivia project created out of barren land to link Punggol Reservoir and Serangoon Reservoir. (No jokes about bodies in reservoirs please.) It's been plugged full of eco-features to collect rainwater, enhance filtration through the aquatic plants, introduce aquatic life into it to promote diversity, pretty pebbled storm drains, etc. The saplings were standing tall against the rains and winds. They would grow, and provide much needed respite for urban dwellers who thirst for sights like this.

The old bus stop that they preserved is rather random, along with a 160-metre stretch of road. It isn't that uncommon a sight yet, but the orange and white bus shelters will soon be replaced by snazzier designs with better protection from the weather island-wide. Embarrassingly, I kept looking out for buses while crossing the road. I had thought it was in operation till the trusty iPad told me otherwise.

Promise me you'll not laugh:- There's a naming exercise going on for the Waterway Footbridges till 22 November 2011. If you can decipher the point to this ummm...exercise, please participate and suggest a less-generic name for these bridges. I quite like Jewel Bridge as Jewel Bridge for the now.

Dinner At Keystone

Having had some decent lunches at Keystone Restaurant, we decided to take Mommy out for a birthday dinner there, knowing that she would enjoy the fish offered on the menu.

The restaurant serves up a fair range of single malts, but none that I care for to go with the meal. The man took a glass of red instead since nobody was keen on sharing a bottle. They've an extensive, rather well-curated wine list. I spied quite a number of pricey, but beautiful wines that I wouldn't mind trying with the right group of friends another night.

Other than a 40-minute wait (tempered with amuse bouche) for our appetizers, everything else went smoothly. I wasn't sure what to make of one server's response to my query of why the kitchen took so long to prepare our food. He said it was because there was a large group next door. Hello...why should I care? At least after they cleared our appetizers, the mains arrived in 15 minutes flat.

Food was good. Head Chef Mark Richards is clearly dabbling in progressive cuisines. I'm not exactly keen on that, but at this current stage of the evolution of his food, I don't mind it. (Read other reviews here, and here.) Our appetizers were interesting, but not quite to my taste. I'm of the opinion that its mainstay lies in its fish and meats because they taste more familiar. It's like how I'm not a fan of El Bulli or The Fat Duck. Tonight, the men took fancy chicken and beef done up beautifully. But I wasn't really paying attention to it. The tomato gum that came with the beef tasted weird. I loved the Norwegian golden trout encrusted with coriander and pinenuts, with escabeche of king crab and blue lip mussels, as well as the sous vide olive-roasted wild monkfish with langoustines and crustacean bisque.

There were 2 dessert platters, one of which was a slice of birthday cake. I took a bite of that and no more. I was stuffed, and wouldn't mind to adjourn for whisky with the friends. The man's parents headed off to chill out at some hotel lounge with soothing jazz. They're way more happening than we are. Plenty of late nights spent at exciting joints all the time!

'Dreams and Reality' At The Museum

'Camille on Her Deathbed' ~ Monet

After the poetry reading session, there were precious 20 minutes to closing. We were given that time to roam about the gallery to view National Museum's 'Dreams and Reality: Masterpieces of Painting, Drawing and Photography from the Musée d'Orsay'. I took a very brisk walk around to grab a feel of the exhibition.

Prior to this evening, I dug out old notebooks of my visit to Musée d'Orsay and other similar exhibitions in other cities to refresh my memory of how they were curated.  I wondered if I'd see my favorite paintings tonight. I wasn't disappointed. I'm definitely returning for a couple more visits just to linger over certain pieces.

The paintings have been most carefully curated to fall within several themes, and a good selection has been picked for the Singapore sojourn. Within these, I was most drawn to 'Solitude' where Monet's loving depiction of his 32-year old wife, Camille, on her deathbed, reminds us how fragile and transient life is. Then there's Marianne Stokes' 'The Young Girl and Death' which captivated me for a while. For some reason, I'm not familiar with her works. I suppose I've been too distracted by the various Pre-Raphaelite painters around that I haven't particularly noticed her paintings and styles that evolved.

I'm glad to see one painting by Gustave Doré- 'The Enigma'. Touted as the most tragic in a series of 3 allegorical paintings, it's one that I could view over and over again, and still discover new details and interpretation to it. My favorite Degas painting isn't here. But his 'Dancers Climbing a Staircase' is, classified under 'Leisure', providing insight into his signature horizontal format compositions as it seems to become a doorway into another world. Of course Van Gogh's 'Starry Night Over the Rhone' is given a place of prominence. Oddly, I didn't linger over that. I've stared at Van Gogh's artworks quite enough as he's the one artist we studied in earnest for post-Impressionism.

On the next visit, I shall hop into the museum shop to see if there're any lovely things to buy from this blockbuster exhibition. I'm a total sucker for museum shops anywhere else. It's not difficult to buy an item if I'm at Tate or V & A or MoMA. I'm not so sure about our museums. I don't recall having bought a single item.

'The Young Girl and Death' ~ 'Marianne Stokes

SWF :: Midweek :: A Night Of Poetry

Themed 'Truth, Pain and Beauty', the first of the two 'Musée d'Orsay Readings' at the Singapore Writers Festival 2011 was held within the exhibition galleries of the National Museum's 'Dreams and Reality: Masterpieces of Painting, Drawing and Photography from the Musée d'Orsay'.

Seated amongst the artworks and facing Van Gogh's 'Starry Night Over The Rhone', one could FEEL art and culture oozing out of the walls. It's a beautiful venue to hold a poetry reading session by 9 poets and writers. Zhang Ruihe began the session with a rather fun 'A Third-Rate Muse's Complaint' on inspiration and dedication, and how it differs from the individual. (Read her poem on QLRS.)

Dawn Fung livened up the session with her little guitar and folk songs. Interweaving the theme, she sang sad little songs that tell how human life is filled truth, pain and beauty in order to have truly lived. (Check out her myspace site.) Chan Koon Chung (陈冠中) read a paragraph from his latest novel, 'The Fat Years' «盛世:中国2013» in Mandarin and English. I'm sure the English translation is fine, but hearing him read the short paragraph, in comparison, I prefer the expressive lines in Chinese. I haven't read any of his works, and would like to get a copy in Chinese.

At some point, I began to wonder, do poets' voices matter as much as their poetry, especially at readings?

Bishnu N Mohapatra's emotive voice read 'Justice'. This line stuck, "The earth doesn't ask for asphyxiation, it asks for justice..."  Later on, he read a third poem in Odia which simply flew over my head. It simply sounded so musical in the rise and fall of his cadences. He's a keen social scientist who observes the progress of democracy versus corruption and the urban poor in India. (Read an article of his on Delhi's urban poor in The Scope) Concluding the 1hr 30min session was Cheran, a poet with a fiery voice, he pens his poems only in Tamil. His passion for his craft and cause showed through in his reading of 'The Healing of the Forest'. "No witness for the drop of blood still not dried." I tried very hard not to think about the political discussions about his career. It isn't a context that I understand, nor wish to delve into.

It was an enlightening evening to hear the poets read their works, and I tried to make sense of how they interpret it versus my earlier reading of it. Granted, I didn't know what poems they would read, and I could only take a quick glance at their works for a feel of their style and preferred themes and messages. Still nice to put a face to the names on the printed words.

Found Gifts For Mommy

I prefer shopping for men. It's so damn easy to pick out gifts for them. Mega lego sets, cool gadgets and gizmos, katana, boxing gloves, vouchers to sports shops, satchels, camera bags, awesome light sabers etc. Toys. Toys which I like too.

It's shopping for women that I'm not fond of. Which explains gifts should only be bought for women whom I know and have been keeping in touch with, just so that it's easier to guess what practical items they might need or like. I refuse to give a gift for the sake of appearances. Shopping for the mothers is always difficult. What do you buy for a woman who has everything? While we can give her time, a meal, daily affections, etc, we would still like to have an accompanying tiny gift.

I've no interest in trudging the shops for 2 hours to get a gift. The modus operandi is to think about possible gift items before stepping out of the house; hit one mall, zoom in on possibilities, narrow it down within 30 minutes, buy, and get out of the mall before the end of the hour. No such thing as heading to a second mall. That's unthinkable. Hanging out at malls is a most dreaded activity. On an evening shopping trip before closing hours at Takashimaya, the man and I managed to find a couple of ideal gifts for his mom. We were done in 45 minutes.

Happy Diwali!

We were invited to a cosy Diwali dinner at the friends'. We didn't know all the guests, but by the end of the night,  instead of simply schmoozing, we managed to have a proper dose of conversation with a number. We didn't realize it was almost midnight. We should go. The poor hosts would be so tired! Bedtime it was for us.

We tried out a golden ale by Storm Brewing Bali (Storm Beer). The hosts thought it would be something interesting to try. Golden ales and pale ales always work. The man and I liked it quite a bit.  It was pretty good! We were never without a full bottle in hand. Between the both of us, we must have put away about 6 bottles......I hope we didn't drink up all their beer till nothing was left! The friends picked a good caterer- the food was great! I over-ate, for sure, on the rice and dhaal. The combination was beautiful. I went for seconds. The dessert of gulab jamun is probably the man's favorite Indian dessert. It came in a smaller size than usual, so between several helpings, he put away like 6 super-duper-duper sweet balls. I've no idea how he could do that!

A thoughtful gift of sweets (biscuits and nuts) sent us off for the night. Baked by the mother, it already promised to be good. Homemade food must never be wasted. We put them into the fridge and had them for tea the next day with a pot of earl grey. Made for a filling afternoon snack!

To the friends celebrating Diwali / Deepavali / Festival of Lights, may you have another good year ahead filled with lightness of heart and journey, peace of mind and home, and most of all, contentment in the happiness that you seek.

Of A Journey Ending In Guatemala

I never wanted to read Patricia Henley's first novel- 'Hummingbird House' because I wasn't ready to deal with the austere content that's a world away from the fantasy I love. These dreary topics were read at school and there wasn't a need to repeat it outside of the classroom. Plus it's a lot like the self-discovery shite that is Elizabeth Gilbert's 'Eat, Pray, Love' (I hate the book, and especially the movie), except in a different setting.

I finally picked it up for an afternoon. The political and military atrocities in the book's setting of Nicaragua and Guatemala call to me. The poverty of the region is absolutely depressing. Patricia Henley lends credence to her content by having spent 5 months in Central America while writing this book in the 1980s when Guatemala was still embroiled in a civil war.

Protagonist Kate Banner is an American midwife who goes to Mexico for a vacation and ends up staying in the area for years, traveling through Nicaragua and Guatemala. She puts her midwifery skills to good use and providing what meagre medical help she can for the people. It's a journey of self-discovery, experiencing the turmoil of war first hand, meeting activists, and finally, met a like-minded kindred soul in conflicted priest Father Dixie Ryan, they open Hummingbird House, a clinic and school for Guatemalan children.

"Sometime early the next morning, before daylight, Marta left Kate's bed. She and Eduardo stole out of the house as everyone slept. From the kitchen counter they took a cupful of coins - the kitty for Cokes and eggs and other odds and ends. Like a trickle, Marta and Eduardo joined the river of orphan children flowing down to Guatemala City from the homeland of the Maya."

I feel that it's rather romanticized. It's not quite my cup of tea even though it isn't a happily-after sort of story. Beyond political themes, the book touches a bit on the healthcare system in Central America. The topics and themes Patricia Henley have chosen are wide ranging and bleak. In her writing, she alternates between third person narrative and first person. It's rather disconcerting. The gem is in the vision of the book, not so much of the writing per se. There's no discernible commentary save for what you see through the characters' experiences in the story. It's a little disjointed. At the end of it, I feel as though Kate has achieved nothing, beyond self actualization and in a way, enlightenment. It's too much about her. It's like a murky whirlpool that has no salvation. No one can help. What the author has done, is to present the grim reality of the region to the readers, and that's that.

SWF :: Week 1

Jotted down the various sessions and lectures I'd like to attend at the Singapore Writers Festival 2011. Many have been scheduled at identical time slots and it's quite hard to pick one over the other. All the topics have been carefully curated and would appeal to different segments of the audience. No way to split myself across the venues, so I had to pick the ones most preferred.

Spread over different venues of SMU, National Museum, Singapore Art Museum and 8Q, the walk to get around isn't too bad, unless you're rushing for back-to-back panel discussions. The organization has been alright so far, and the festival pass, this wonderful tag, gets me in to many exciting discussions.

Suffice to say, there's been alot of wit and humor. Sharp insights abound. There's also been a fair bit of (not unexpected) insularity. I'm not going into details about the panel discussions attended. That will be saved for further rumination in private conversations where ideas and comments are best fleshed out on a trusted platform.

Whether I agree with the speakers/authors/playwrights, is besides the point. We don't have to see eye to eye with them, and we might not always disagree with the topics and their interpretation, or the points raised. Not all panel discussions have been illuminating or enlightening. Interesting, most certainly, but that's a word that doesn't really explain anything. In the sessions which I enjoyed most, the takeaways are from the interaction and the dialogue between panelists, and the not-at-all subdued audience. Very refreshing.

Politics and Society: "Is The Pen Always Mightier?" From left, moderator Cherian George; Panelists Andrey Kurkov, Catherine Lim and Yang Lian.

Traditional Flavors At Shinji

No Tatsuya tonight. Last 2 weeks were full of it and I wanted something different. Was kinda craving for traditional Edomae flavors in my sushi and sashimi. To Shinji it was for a dependable dinner. The sake was optional, but we succumbed to a delicious crispy bottle, not like we plebeians know anything about it. It's really about the food.

Chef Oshino was in a whimsical mood tonight and insisted that I took photos of his face instead of chopping it off the way I always do. So he posed for me, well knowing I'd put it on twitter or the blog. "Make sure I look handsome eh!" Errrrrr....okaaaaaay. Actually, I was laughing so much till the photo's slightly blurred. Forgot to turn on continuous mode and it isn't an SLR, so I didn't want to ask to take a second shot.

Always a lovely parade of sashimi and sushi. Each is an exquisite gem when chewed, ooze different divine flavors that would gently pamper the tastebuds. Eat with your fingers. That's always the best way to do so in good sushi restaurants. I got another fix of raw prawns. But the chef gave me extra tiny pieces. The friends got regular sized stuff. Doh. But I got 2 servings of of their super tasty chawanmushi because I really like it.

The chef also stirred up an ikura uni (Hokkaido) don for us and told us it couldn't be fully compared to the one we had at Sushi Kanesaka because those ingredients were effectively, straight from the sea. Then there was abalone. Crunchy tender, it was awesome. Well, I like abalone done in most ways. Heh.

Chef Oshino plonked a slab of tuna cheek in front of me and told us that it would be made into soup. I've already declined tuna in its various cuts in sushi and sashimi earlier. So now, I really didn't dare to ask him if it was blue-fin. Save for the lighter color, it could be mistaken for a slab of marbled beef in horrid lighting. In fact, to my untrained tastebuds, upon first bite of the cooked tuna cheek, I almost thought I was ingesting beef.

Regardless of my reservations, I took the soup. Brewed in tuna stock, it was frankly, excellent. Fish stock for soup is pleasing. Done the perfect way in a good kitchen, this soup turned out clear, light and elegant. Those pieces of tuna cheek were melt-in-the-mouth tender. I savored every morsel. The friends were in agreement. We thought this to be the star item for the evening.

Another satisfying meal.

Mojito At Lunch

After so many jaunts to the the central business district for lunch at various eateries and restaurants, from not knowing one building from the other, I'm now well-versed in how the streets and connecting pathways are laid out. 

Girlfriend was waylaid by a last-minute piece of work before hopping out to join me at Nueva Cuba. I certainly didn't mind waiting as the next appointment was only at 4pm. I was rather gleeful and ordered a mojito which promised aged rum.

I was wondering why it cost S$28. When the jar arrived with the stick of sugar cane, it was clear what I was paying for. Way bigger than a large jam jar and chockful of alcoholic cocktail goodness, it would have to to be shared. No way I could down all that, even if I didn't have to return to an office. Okay, I could finish it. But there was more drinking to come, so I had to pace. It was a good jar of mojito, though I forgot to ask them what rum they used.

The food isn't a big deal. It's really a bar. Quesadilla, tostadas and several choices of pasta, the food's okay, I guess. It's supposed to fill our tummies. I was kinda wanting guacamole, but they didn't serve any today. Boo. So similar to its cousin in Clarke Quay, I'll come for the mojitos and nothing else much. In the evenings, especially if it's been cooled by the rain, the view's something refreshing after being cooped up indoors for hours.

Comfort Food At Postbar

A little vexed with one of our government agencies' stringent requirements in terms of paperwork, and the application failed on a technicality. The unwanted task of passing on the information to the intended recipient fell to me. I was seated at the coffeeshop clearing emails for the morning. Once I finished reading this particular update, I muttered dozens of not-to-be-typed-out curses. They were overheard by some people at the next table because they shot me odd looks.

Anyway, with the cursing done, at least I wasn't going to be whining all through lunch. The friends would need to vent too! Strolling into Postbar for lunch with the friends, one look around the table was enough to surmise that comfort food was needed. Fish and chips for one, burgers for the other 3. For me, it was mac and cheese. (I really don't like the usage of the old term of 'mack and cheese')  The mac and cheese came piping hot in its cute little pot. Full of creamy goodness, it totally hit a spot. I ate it all up and didn't share. I stole tasty chunky fries off the others.

Once we were done whining a little about office politics, we settled down to the serious business of making full use of the 2 hours to catch up on the key issues we were interested about in one another's lives. What could we say? It's that time of the year when people make plenty of life-changing decisions, or fulfill a phase- like one bought tickets and is planning the itinerary to freezing Inner Mongolia on a self-discovery trip; another made the giant decision to adopt a child next year; one finalized her divorce and is free to move on, new jobs, etc. It feels really different sitting down with friends you've known for a while, and have been kept in the loop via blog, fb, twitter and emails. At least there're common topics of conversation, points of interest and the basic thing- understanding what makes the other tick. 

After A Run

Oddly, my body doesn't like an ounce of food in the stomach before exercises. Over these few months, I've trained the body to love the daily early morning pilates or parkour. The swim can be done anytime when it isn't raining. The thing about having a pool right downstairs- I jump in when the weather looks good. There's no such thing as waiting. A swim is now. It means I could end up swimming daily, which is wonderful.

To very slowly improve my stamina and speed for parkour, I've learnt that a 3-km sprint every 2 weeks is ideal. I can't deal with more than that. No interval training of any sort, thankyouverymuch. I don't like the exertion. Neither am I fond of going to the gym. I can't make any sense of the machines nor feel anything for them. I prefer the machines in a pilates studio.

I ought to put up an encouraging photo of running shoes, or some muscled limb or something. But running is one of my most hated activities. So the motivating factor is sometimes, the food after the run. Especially the idea of eating a certain type of dish. On some days, muesli and juice work, on other days, spicy sambal and carbs tempt.

After this session, we went to Tekka Market for a bite. Randomly, we walked to the nasi lemak stall that smelt right. It took 3 bites for us to decide that it was damn good. Old school fragrant rice and crispy ikan bilis. I judge all nasi lemak and nasi padang stalls by their begedil. This stall's version rocks. Awesome. A brunch this filling at 10.30am would last till dinner easy.

This is the sort of nasi lemak I love. (Don't ask which stall. I know how to go there round the back, but I forgot the name.) Do you like nasi lemak like this too?

Putting The Guitar Away

The only time I play the guitar in earnest is during the Seventh and Eighth months in the Chinese lunar calendar. These are months when there's a hive of activities for the old folks at the casual Chinese restaurants and community clubs. Often, there's entertainment in the form of singing and dancing, then karaoke. Sometimes, the old folks would want to perform. That's always fun. Often, to save on costs of hiring performers, we'll take care of the entertainment on our own. Luckily, we haven't been boo-ed off the stage yet.

Figuring out the chords to new songs doesn't come easy to me. The guitar isn't my natural instrument, and I've got very little talent in this area. I'm no good with songs that require more than 3 chords. Kekkekeke. I don't play the guitar as regularly as the man. It takes some effort to brush off cobwebs and get down to practise being smooth on the neck.

The good thing is, the man has an extensive hoard of guitars, so I've a variety to choose from, trying to pick one with the best sound to cover up my misses. I've gotta say that these old Chinese and Cantonese songs are very easy to play and the tunes aren't hard. Similar chords and in a variation of keys, they don't require too much effort to memorize. It has been almost fun. The guitar is now put away till next July (through September). Or perhaps brought out at Chinese New Year if I'm not in a grouchy mood about it. :)

Night Out At Kilo

At the rate it's been raining in the afternoons and evenings, it was a great call by the friends to have a casual dinner at the non-air-conditioned Kilo. The many well-placed fans help to cool the place. Located above Loysel's Toy, it's quite a refreshing change to have no air-conditioning, not break a sweat and have no mozzies bug us.

I was really curious about the ceviche, but didn't hold hopes about it, and wasn't too disappointed when it came. It wasn't the Peruvian ceviche I had hoped for. It was just a sashimi salad with a tangy dressing. (Even though ceviche's origins are in sashimi) Well, I suppose one can say it's their unique twist as it's described as Raw's seafood ceviche- tuna, salmon and octopus. It wasn't a bad dish. Fresh ingredients in a salad are always a winner.

The rest of the food was dependable and tasted pretty good. I was a tad worried about the 'fusion' bit, but it wasn't as new-fangled as I feared. It was surprisingly done with familiar flavors to the food. Quite typical fare, I'd say. The zucchini pancake with goat cheese was appetizing. The menu serves it with Iberico, so you could easily opt to skip that. The table liked the beef tartare with raw quail egg yolk and held drops of Lagavulin 16 y.o. There were 4 humans and we shared all items, ordering half the menu, including the seared slow cooked rabbit in tomato sauce served with plantains and rice.  Never mind the ensuing discussion about rabbits as pets/pests.

There were alot of dishes. Luckily, we had enough humans to not eat more than 3 mouthfuls each. A little here, there, everywhere- we were quite nicely filled up. We were quite impressed with the squid ink rice with prawns and squid and egg yolk. We love that squid ink to bits. Heh. I ate lots of the angel hair pasta in cream sauce with prawns. A simple dish, but by no means easy to do well. The kitchen did it beautifully. I contemplated ordering a second plate all to myself. At the end, dessert was just impossible, except for 2 small lemon tarts. Do they share the supplier with Loysel's Toy? The lemon tarts taste similar!

We had 5 bottles of Moa's St Josephs ale and no more because they ran out. Arrrrrgh. Having beer run out can be such a downer. So we made do with the quantity left and paced it with the meal. At the end of the evening, our lovely friends insisted on buying us dinner. :) I hope the kitchen maintains its current standards. Decent solid food without being fancy. I dislike wasting stomach space on bad meals, no matter if it's an occasion or a casual eat. I like Kilo because it's a laidback restaurant where no one cares if you wear flip flops.

Lulav & Etrog

The 8-day harvest festival doesn't seem to take on much meaning in a city and an urban setting both of which do no farming and harvesting. Balcony plants, herbs and chillies not included. However, it's a time of thanksgiving for the bountiful year that has passed, and gratitude for the wisdom to see the blessings in the year to come. To that tone, we celebrate Sukkot.

I'm totally riveted by the news of how 'Occupy Sukkah' has been incorporated into 'Occupy Wall Street' movement across big cities.Activists built a sukkah at Zuccotti Park in NYC, and 6 other cities are set to follow suit.  It's a cause fueled by dramatic economic events (some might say catastrophic), a slippery slope, and to me, it's scary, amazing and awe-inspiring to see the full power of the First Amendment. Done right, this isn't just going to be a purposeful lobby, it's going to be an agent of change. To what end, one can only speculate, as what the political analysts are doing now, putting together theories and conjecture.

"We chose to erect and occupy our sukkah here at Zuccotti Park," Dan Sieradski, the organizer of Occupy Judaism NYC, wrote in a statement. "There is no better place to celebrate the festival of Sukkot this year than right here at Occupy Wall Street. We stand in solidarity with all those who are challenging the inequitable distribution of resources in our country, who dare to dream of a more just and compassionate society." (from Occupy Judaism)

On this note, let it be known that I'm extremely skeptical about the #OccupyRafflesPlace movement in Singapore. What is it that we're protesting about again? Certain crucial issues raised, yes. They're definitely worth more than a thought and a discussion. But importantly, is #Occupy the right platform to do so in Singapore? I don't think so.

A 20th Century Classic

I'm fond of Raymond Carver's short stories and poems. He's one of the few writers whom I didn't protest at having to read him for contemporary works. That day, I decided to re-read the seven short stories in 'Elephant'.

I used to find the discussion of 'pulling the plug' in 'Whoever was Using This Bed' all very pointless, a random topic brought upon by the persistent ringing of the phone by a caller looking for a non-existent person. This round, I found it mildly hilarious.

'Blackbird Pie' reminds me again that a relationship needs working on, always. Sure, it can do with alot of additions to an already stable relationship, but it can also do without alot of other factors. "She hesitated and then she said, "This isn't as sudden as it looks. It's been coming for a long, long time. We've been married for a good many years. Good times and bad, up times and down. We've had them all. But it's time I was on my own. Yes, it's time. Do you know what I'm saying, gentlemen?" "

'Elephant' is still painful to read. This thing about the narrator having to feed his entire family because they just seemed to be plagued by bad luck all the time and needed rescuing. I don't envy the pressure sole breadwinners feel. Sometimes, their stories fill me with rage as the words tumble out of their mouths. They aren't just fiction anymore. But such is the reality of life, and the unfairness of it all.

"That's four people, right? Not counting my brother, who wasn't a regular yet. I was going crazy with it. I worried night and day. I couldn't sleep over it. I was paying out nearly as much money every month as I was bringing in. You don't have to be a genius, or know anything about economics, to understand that this state of affairs couldn't keep on. I had to get a loan to keep up my end of things. That was another monthly payment. // So I started cutting back. I had to quit eating out, for instance. Since I lived alone, eating out was something I liked to do, but it became a thing of the past. And I had to watch myself when it came to thinking about movies. I couldn't buy clothes or get my teeth fixed The car was falling apart. I needed new shoes, but forget it."

'Errand' is the one story I still can't totally identify with. It has been hailed by literary critics as one of Carver's best works. It's a partially fictional account of Russian writer Anton Chekhov's death. Chekhov is one of Carver's literary idols. The narrator in this story adopts an unusually factual tone and incorporates writing by the other characters into the paragraphs. It can be a little confusing, but it's largely interesting as Carver weaves in and out of comments and stays on track on Chekhov's eventual death. It's beyond human relationships, in a way, suggesting to the reader to think of a further relationship between literature and history and how one might react to another's death.

"She needed him to go out and bring back a mortician. Did he understand her? Herr Chekhov was dead, you see. Comprenez-vous? Young man? Anton Chekhov was dead. Now listen carefully to me, she said. She wanted him to go downstairs and ask someone at the front desk where he could go to find the most respected mortician in the city. Someone reliable, who took great pains in his work and whose manner was appropriately reserved. A mortician, in short, worthy of a great artist."

The tiny book is handy to carry around. The Kindle isn't always satisfying. Having it with me on feline(s) feeding duty before I was due to meet the friends for lunch ensured that I was well occupied during the pockets of free time in between.

6000 Miles Away With Sylvie Guillem

No better performance to close this year's dan:s festival than the legendary, elegant Sylvie Guillem in '6000 Miles Away'. At 46 years old, she can't reprise her role as principal ballerina with the Paris Opera Ballet and the Royal Ballet. She has moved into exploring contemporary dance. While I've watched her in the traditional ballets, I've not seen her contemporary works. It's with a fair bit of anticipation as I stepped into the theatre for '6000 Miles Away'.

Sylvie Guillem danced 2 works from choreographers who've been her long-term collaborators- Mats Ek, William Forsythe. She also invited Jiří Kylián to showcase his work as well. Wildly talented, these choreographers are visionaries, blazing the path brightly for modern dance. (Read The NYT's comments here, The Guardian's review here, and here.)

William Forsythe's 'Rearray' is a duet for Sylvie and former Paris Opera Ballet partner, Nicolas Le Riche. I love it. It's a reminder of their beautiful classical partnership and how their magnetism, strength, and exquisite graceful lines can transcend genres into the modern. Flitting between shadows and light, their powerful solos and pas de deux were riveting. I was spellbound. 2 of the finest dancers in the world on stage, showing us the beauty, flexibility and vigor of the human body. It's precision, epitomized, and ballet, re-worked.

Before the intermission, we were also treated to a new work by Jirí Kylián- '27’52”'. It's starkly sexy (not because of the partial nudity) and full of contrasts, highlighting the angst and complexity of human entanglements and relationships. Aurélie Cayla and Kenta Kojiri had amazing chemistry together which resulted in total control over the poses. Pulling, pushing, entwining, running, this piece was superbly danced, all 27min and 52secs of it was absorbing.

Mats Ek's 'Bye' (Also known by its Swedish title 'Ajö') is set to Beethoven's 'Piano Sonata No. 32 in C minor, Op. 111', poignant in its fugal structure to Sylvie's solo which portrays a middle-aged woman tangled in suburban mundaneness who still holds dear her youthful dreams. I love how the images projected on the screen fired the imagination of a doorway within the mind, and how the stage is the woman's escape into her little world, away from reality. However, there're figures appearing on the screen- of a dog, a man, a child and finally, presumably her family and friends, drawing her back into their midst. I was very tickled by her repetition of a head-stand sort of asana. On certain bad days, we all feel like doing headstands. I could so understand that. It's a little ironical, considering Sylvie's sterling career, and one wonders how she'll handle the fact that she'll no longer dance one day. But for now, I can't reconcile the angst of the character on stage to the dancer. I only see a powerful and emotional interpretation of the piece. It reminds us that no matter what identity and responsibilities we take on, we must always have that little corner of our soul to call our own.

At the end, P and I jumped up and clapped really hard. It was such a good performance. Sylvie Guillem, la magnificence personnifiée. Breathtaking (and nowhere near the end of her career). There were whispers of "She's amazing" and happy sighs of "What a wonderful show" going around, but the owners of those comments spoken aloud didn't stand up. What is it about the Singapore audience that's so difficult to get them to do a standing ovation, as evidenced by this year's dan:s festival? We don't seem to have such problems with standing ovations at indie gigs (you don't even warm your S$120 seat- not cool) or shows by big-name philharmonic orchestras.

Secretly Ate Chwee Kueh!

I won't bother to set foot into Din Tai Fung anywhere in the world unless the friends want to eat there. There's but one outlet (so far) in Bangkok. The last time they popped into Taiwan's branches, they loved the flavors. They wanted to check out the ones in Singapore. For evening meals this week, we've been eating early and are limited to eating places around Esplanade. That evening, the friends merrily sat down at the branch of Din Tai Fung at Raffles City Mall.

I seamlessly pretended that I'm not Singaporean. The friends and I look about the same, except for our accents. We switch between Thai and English, effortlessly. The servers at our table in the restaurant didn't speak either language. I wasn't in a mood to be the interpreter. We got around by pointing. I left it to them to do the ordering. I don't know this menu except for its xiaolongbao (小笼包, steamed dumpling, usually pork). The friends know the menu better than I do! They might have even memorized it. They ordered 3 baskets of the xiaolongbao. Really. Apparently, there wasn't any problem with one person quaffing between 5 to 10. Each. Serious business there. "It's just 5 mouthfuls!" L said. Okaaay.

They didn't just eat xiaolongbao. There were baskets of vegetarian dumplings and other dishes on the table. Plates of stir-fry vegetables, bowls of noodles cooked in different ways, more pork-y stuff in different forms, and an assortment of other items of which I forgot exactly what they were. 

What I was secretly eating at the restaurant, was a box of Thai-style chwee kueh homemade by one of the friends' mother. She came in later than the rest and brought me 15 tiny pieces as gifts. This box was fresh off the plane, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste in the heat. The older Thai folks might know it as we call it- chwee kueh. Otherwise, it's simply termed 'khanom kueh say khem'. A piece is smaller than ours, but otherwise, it does taste similar. The friend's mother made a unique mix of light watery chilli sauce (not unlike the familiar Thai sweet chilli sauce, but they made it spicier) to go with it. We were a table of 10, and the restaurant was full. The servers were too busy to bother about one naughty patron eating food that didn't belong to their kitchen. 

For dessert, in addition to the usual snow fungus, mango pudding thingy to share amongst everyone who was really quite stuffed, a couple of adventurous folks also tried this glutinous rice cake with red beans. (赤豆松糕) Some dug it. The others were ambivalent about it. First time I saw it and tried it. I didn't like it. At least it wasn't overly sweet. 

Transposition

I dithered over which performance to attend for the evening. Flamenco virtuoso Israel Galván's 'Solo' would be mesmerizing. But I wanted to watch something done by Singapore dancers, and that would be 'Transposition', a showcase of a variety of choreography in 5 short dances fleshed out by young students from LASALLE. Do remember, while it isn't exactly a student production, you'd have to watch this with an open mind. Each guest choreographers only had 2 weeks with the students to go through the creative process for their respective pieces.

No.1 'Transposition' by Roberta Shaw is interesting, a mesh of human form within architectural spaces. The dance itself that was shown tonight wasn't impressive. But the film of the dance broken up in its various segments was a much better composition. No.2 'Vary 2' by Albert Tiong was a little mind-boggling. I could feel the 2 dancers making so much effort not to bump into the chairs or each other, almost mouthing the beats to follow the music till the idea of exploring momentum, weight dependency and counterbalance was lost. The concept is cool, but I feel that stronger lines and expressions are needed to showcase its philosophy.

No.3 'In the middle of It, at the Same Time' by Loretta Livingston could be shortened a little in order to be succinct. The 6 tiny chapters of sound samples (from Freesound.com) that made up the 6 segments of this dance were poignant, and it's up for debate if certain postures and moves aid your interpretation. My main beef is with No.4 Salve Regina by James Sutton. It was very painful to watch. It wasn't properly classical nor could I classify it as modern dance. Let's just say, if they were dancing a spell on Midsummer's Night, I'm not really sure if this spell would be potent. No.5 'White Light' by Elizabeth Lea is my personal favorite of the evening. It was finally, a unanimous agreement of movement among the dancers, lending coherence to the piece.

I attended this evening with no expectations......although I had hoped for a little bit more. Alot of effort, energy and heart had been put in to live up to the theme of 'Transposition'.  I'm going to be frank- the students need a lot more work on their technique, especially when I compare them to other dance schools/colleges, and if in a year or two, these students are to become professionals. Genuine, sincere expressions were shown on stage. However, it was a bit disconcerting to see a different interpretation on the various faces. The arms were very messy and totally distracting. Of course, there would clearly be one or two dancers who are much stronger than the rest. On a personal note, I dislike chairs to be used as props in a dance performance. Arrrrgh. I hate those chairs.

Tea, Black

I'm fairly particular about my tea. More so than coffee. I don't possess the skills to make my own coffee. Too much effort, so I go in search of decent cafes for the regular cuppa. But tea, quite easily done. Very few tea salons will offer what I like, or a varied selection for my choice, I stock up on favorites at home. Today, I needed a robust brew of black. To my horror, it has somehow escaped my attention that there's no more black tea in the pantry. Then I padded to the room to retrieve the girlfriend's wonderful souvenir of her trip in the form of a box of tea named 'Really Russian Caravan'.

Silently, I thanked her for the gift. Most timely. She knows me well. At times, I like the delicate white tea. Mostly, I lean towards the smokier flavors. They soothe me alot more than white or green tea. I put in an extra teaspoon of leaves for a stronger smoke. The brew was as promised- "a medium-bodied infusion" with "an orange hue".  A quick steep was sufficient to reach the level of desired flavor.

The morning arrived hot and sticky, providing enough light and non-wet surroundings for the coffin to get to the crematorium. There was some sort of shelter, but we always prefer to deal with heat than rain. *cue morbid thoughts of a coffin slipping*  Anyway, it was a celebration of a life long lived, and a life passed on with as much dignity as possible after all the curve balls and ignominy thrown at it. I wondered if I had done the right thing. In refusing to judge or act on a couple of requests, I already made a moral decision which I felt was in the best interest of this one old lady. It's a judgment call, and for better or worse, I'll live with it. The afternoon rains were a godsend. Literally. It cooled the surroundings, somewhat. Seated on the balcony for an hour with a pot of tea, no tech gadgets and not even a book, I spaced out, staring out across at the green, and up into the not too gloomy skies. The rain fell in straight sheets. Slightly windy. Lovely. Life goes on.

Cheerful Colors

I hadn't planned on watching 'Sevilla/Madrid/Sevilla' by Ballet Nacional de España at dan:s festival. But it had been a trying day, and by the time 6pm rolled around, I needed a breather for the evening. Didn't want or feel like dealing with angst again. Funerals should be dealt with just like another work event. The paperwork was not appreciated at all, not when this latest death on the roster oddly resulted in a lot more emotional strings than usual. A bit of a moral dilemma, if you would. Thankfully, there was a ticket for me and the friends warmly embraced my last minute presence. Rushed down and made it in time as the final bell rang. I was really glad that it wasn't a post-modern performance.

Flamenco is one of those dances I'll never be able to do because I just don't feel it. I can imitate it, vaguely, but that's not good enough. It isn't just about perfecting the techniques or the smoldering good looks of the dancers. It's also about the passion for, and of the dance. What better privilege than to have Spain's national dance company come to town to showcase the best of flamenco in its original, flamboyant and artistic inimitable style. (Read the technical details in The Guardian's review here.)

I sat back and enjoyed the show. I wasn't really paying attention to the classical stories being re-told. Those pulsating beats made me feel like getting up to dance! I love the solos, the duets and the ensemble. The footwork is loud and intricate at the same time. The arms are expressive, poignant and purposeful. What a wonderful combination. Gorgeous, dramatic and emphatic costumes. I thoroughly enjoyed the evening. The colors and lively music took the edge off an otherwise dreary day. Always a treat to have live music (acoustic guitarists and singers) accompany the dancers.

A supper of authentic homemade tapas after the performance was a brilliant way of rounding up the evening. I was half-hearted about joining them, but since half the friends would be heading home to heavy responsibilities, giving the weekend's shows a miss, I didn't want to be left out of the additional time together. Laughter and easy conversation. I had to leave early. But they've fortified me for the morning ahead.

Misery Bear's Guide To Love & Heartbreak

'Misery Bear's Guide to Love & Heartbreak'. You did see this book review coming right? :P  Besides the 2 hard copies off Amazon that arrived right on the day it was released, (I love you, Amazon) and I'm going to buy an e-copy from iTunes when that's ready. Can you shout groupie?

I love teddy bears. When Misery Bear came along with his films and shot to 'stardom' on BBC comedy, he flooded twitter, fb and all social media platforms with his very own characteristics. The pathos is hard to ignore. It's difficult not to fall in love with the angry, depressed and lonely little bear. Oof. Never mind that the brilliance of the naughty lines came from Chris Hayward and Nat Saunders, creators of the BBC-funded short films produced by Roughcut TV.

It's a whimsical little book that no one would read unless they're wild about silly teddy bears, alcohol or BBC. It makes no sense whatever. Seemingly random topics put together, it's all about his funny little lines, travel tales, views of love and the world at large. Oh, there's even a page on his recipes (fish & eggs, pizza and steak & chips) to cook for dates. It's pretty witty, I gotta say. I love the photos, the sketches, the different fonts and layout of each 'section'.

Even though Misery Bear states that he loves whisky (Jack Daniels ain't counted), I don't see him drinking it very much. He usually does beer, and occasionally, gin. It's only recently that he featured a bottle of Isle of Jura 16 y.o. He needs to know Bowmore. For a lark, this photo was sent to Misery Bear to cheer him up, and remind him that his fanbase is huge. He was a little amused, I think. Heheheheh. Yes, I've a slight fixation with bears. I don't think it's an obsession, yet. The teddy bears sitting at home are evil little things. They're NOT meant to be cute even though the little humans might think they are.

My Little Spanish Place

We've popped by My Little Spanish Place for a couple of meals. While the food doesn't impress, it serves up a decent meal. I daresay Chef Maria Sevillano and her kitchen have improved since the unflattering reviews more or less panned it when it opened in 2010.

On a day when I've had quite enough, I simply wanted a fuss-free quiet dinner with the man. He wanted to wind down after a draining day at the office too. So it was a short drive to My Little Spanish Place for a casual evening.

The restaurant was packed out. We totally forgot that it's Restaurant Week. Didn't even know how we secured a reservation as it's such a tiny place. There's a set menu for the week, but a la carte orders are welcomed. That would do fine for us. Sangria was an absolute necessity, although we can always make better ones at home if we choose to take the effort to do so. We ordered an additional gazpacho. I quite like how they do it.

I'm not enamored with the seafood paella. Didn't like it from the first time I tried it. Tonight's still the same. I can't put my finger on it. The rice was okay, and by now, it's become not overly greasy or dry. Moist. Good grains. But the flavors were off. I believe it's the prawns and mussels that they used that weren't tasty. Not sure if the chicken and seafood paella is better.

The champiñones al ajillo (sautéed mushrooms) were beautiful. Done in the simplest of ways with easy ingredients, the kitchen does this tapas really well. It's topped with garlic. If you don't like garlic, put it aside. The tortilla de patata (potato omelette) was good as usual. I prefer having the white anchovies steeped in vinegar with it, skipping the bread altogether. The accompanying garlic aioli tasted more like mayonnaise.

The crema Catalana is similar to crème brulée. I was not going to have that at all. It's ridiculously sweet. The man gleefully ate up the whole bowl that was meant for sharing. I had cancelled a dinner with the acquaintances because I wasn't up for it, along with a couple of dates for lunch and tea because I'm not in any sort of schmoozing mood. This evening turned out the way that I had hoped for. Quiet, with decent food.

Prawns At Jade

I love prawns, but allergies forbid their presence in childhood. As the immune system improved with the onset of adulthood, I soon discover that prawns may be consumed in tiny quantities without breaking out in hives and having the eyelids or throat swell.

Armed with newfound knowledge, waters are tested and results have shown that ingesting a small quantity of prawns (no head, no soup with prawn stock, but just the body of a max of 2 jumbo prawns) once in 3 weeks would be fine. Heh. No prawn cocktail though. As tempting as that is, I daren't risk it all on my own.

Nothing in the food has included prawns recently. So it's time for me to eat them again. I rubbed my hands in glee when the girlfriend suggested lunch at Jade. They'd have something done with prawn. Food at Jade has always been reliable. Today, I stared at my soup. It was supposed to be a base of some winter melon thingy. It came with bamboo pith. Arrrrrgh. Why must all vegetarian soups at Chinese restaurants include bamboo pith? I no like the synthetic flavor. Vegetarian soups can be broiled so much tastier in other ways.

Luckily Jade doesn't serve porridge during the weekdays, otherwise I'd have ordered prawn porridge. There's a limited dim sum a la carte menu on the weekdays. I made do with prawn dumplings and fried beancurd skin with shrimp filling. They were delicious. There was something fried mushroom-y that worked well too. Small servings of light noodles rounded up the meal that was accompanied by fragrant jasmine tea. I love the grade of jasmine tea served here.

Hip Hop, Papuan Style

Between a fabulous OTT lunch at Tatsuya that ended at 3pm and Jecko Siompo's 'We Came From The East' in the evening, we chilled out at The Orange Thimble. We didn't bother to try the cakes. Coffee was necessary. There would be supper of chicken rice for them after the show. At cosy Orange Thimble, thank goodness the coffee seems to be the focus.

I'm not particularly interested in hip hop, but the friends had an extra ticket to the sold-out show, and dragged me along to the performance. Indonesia based Jecko Siompo calls his movements 'animal pop', as a result of memories from a childhood in West Papua; a belief and a cheeky declaration that hip hop originated from Papua. He's not a stranger to the Singapore modern dance scene. But I've not seen his works till tonight. His works have been highly lauded as an original vision to have come out of Asia. (Read The Straits Times review in the Jakarta Globe here, and TODAY's review.) 

Animal sounds aplenty. Tribal, yes. Primal. Guttural sounds. I was unconsciously looking out for movements similar to those of animals, specifically the interplay of predators and prey. On my left, L whispered, "Like watching NatGeo." I wrinkled my nose by way of reply. W on my right leaned over, "With better music." I was like, Shhhhhhh! We could do this after the show!

The dancers possessed the speed and strength required for the portrayal of the wild. I wasn't looking for a theme or a commentary. I was simply watching the dancers as they sought to portray the choreographer's vision. I didn't bother trying to make sense of it. It would have been a pain trying to figure out a sequence of logic to the story. There wasn't a story, period. Towards the end, there was finally, hip hop, the sort you see in the music videos, the usual styles audiences are familiar with. Kinda. Jecko Siompo's brand of hip hop, pop 'n' lock redefined.

Two Little Girls

I was wondering why 3 y.o Lil'Missy wanted to come over to play. I've got no toys in the flat. What could possibly entertain her? I'm certainly not very entertaining. Then the mommy and I realized- Lil'Missy wanted to come over because it meant being able to do somersaults and cartwheels. AHHHHHHH.

Lil'Missy eyed one of my bears and picked one for the day. She hugged him tightly, sat with him through lunch, and fed him carrot sticks and blueberries. I'm not sure what the bear thought of her antics. Somersaults, cartwheels and flips she did with us. She jumped and jumped on the bed, squealing very very loudly. Heh. Then we bundled her into the car. Off to meet 2 y.o Bubbles for a swim date and tea. Hopefully the adults would get to chat too.

The toddlers didn't exactly greet each other with big hugs. Not yet, I think. They're still shy. At least they don't parallel-play exclusively anymore. This afternoon, they acknowledged each other's presence, and addressed each other by name. They recognized each other's mommy, shared food and toys. Yay.

Time for a dip in the pool. I wasn't going to change, so I waited in the dining room. One little girl toddled out in a pink suit with sunblock in hand. Another followed shortly in a pink suit too, clutching another tube. They chimed in unison, "Put sunblock." WIN LOR. The mothers probably told them to ask Auntie Imp to put on sunblock while they changed. How do I deal with two at the same time?! Two little girls stared at me rather intently. Okay. No problem. Done. By the time the mothers came out, sunblock was slathered over both. Whewww.

After the swim, showers were in order. I perched outside on the couch. Then the little ones came out, alone. WIN LOR, AGAIN. The mothers had showered them and sent them out to me while they took their showers. The girls grinned and stared at me. Then they pointed to the box of macarons on the table. One bravely piped, "You said later. Now." The other one nodded, "Now now." Grrrrr. It was two against one. What was Auntie Imp to do? I did tell them that they could have the macarons after the swim. So I handed over the box. One macaron ended up in each tiny hand.  Then they obligingly posed for me, grinned, and allowed me to take all the photos I wanted.

Jumping To Bollywood Beats

Under the da:ns festival's Twinkle Toes series, the girlfriend and I took her 2 kids to an hour of "Bollywood Baby". Both kids are enrolled in regular dance classes which don't include Bollywood movement. So the girlfriend thought it'd be fun for us to pop into a class for an hour. The clever girl knew she had my time already, and I wouldn't say no to dancing.

The instructor did a short introduction of the music we'd be dancing to, and we promptly forgot about her words because we were busy answering the kids' questions. Of course we didn't understand the lyrics, but it didn't matter. We were happy shaking and jumping to the beats. Togged out in casuals, it wasn't a difficult session. The studio was well air-conditioned, and encouraged lots of movement and laughter. The 2 kids perspired more than we did! Bollywood dance is always groovy. We all loved the easy workout. Thanks Lavania for such a cheerful session!

We needed food after that, and I didn't want to hang around the f & b places at Esplanade anymore. I've been seeing them ALOT. We took a short drive to Real Food for juices and tasty bites. The kids commandeered our iPads to excitedly google for Bollywood dancing videos on youtube. They then wanted to know when the next session would be or if they could sign up for that instead of modern dance classes. Without skipping a beat, the mom glossed right over their specific request and replied, "Sure, after you're done with the modern dance term." The kids thought about it for while and enthusiastically agreed. I sniggered into my apple juice. Outwitted!!! That would be sometime next April. Muahahahaha.

For The Teochew Pomfret

In a brave move from the norm, M. and I threw aside confirmed reservations at the last minute, dithered about a fancy dinner, and in the end, went to the reliable old school Teochew Restaurant Huat Kee. Over the phone, the woman told us, "Just walk in! No need reservations." Sure enough, the restaurant was packed with families, but they had a couple of empty tables still, and they gave us a nice big table.

We wanted a fish. The server was a tad stressed. Their garouper wasn't 'live' and wasn't priced by per 100 grams. Only their soon hock (marble goby or ikan ketutu) and ikan patin (silver catfish) are. Their fresh pomfret isn't priced by weight either. It goes by small, medium or big, and it ranges from about S$58 - S$70. They usually don't have it in a small size. The server thought that 2 girls wouldn't be able to finish a fish about 800grams. To her, that was big and in her words, "for 5 to 6 people." Well, to us, it would be a perfect size! Anyway, a pomfret it would be. This is a Teochew restaurant and we trust that it wouldn't serve crap steamed pomfret.

A beautifully steamed pomfret (medium) in Teochew style arrived on the table just right. We've no complaints. Hehh. Mia polished it off with aplomb. There was the usual plate of stir-fry vegetables (奶白, apparently some sort of Chinese cabbage) which came without being too oily or salty, and fried with bits of dried (sole?) fish. Crunchy tasty. Yours truly ordered a chai poh omelette just for the chai poh. Hey, I haven't managed to have any chwee kueh recently. I love that salty tang of chai poh. But this plate wasn't salty enough. :(  M. rolled her eyes at me.

We forgot about ordering soup! But I guess the 'soup' came in the form of gravy in the plate of steamed fish. It was nicely done without being too thick or salty that we couldn't sip it on its own. We shared 1 bowl of rice and still left a quarter of it untouched. Kekekekekek. What a satisfying meal.

Does This Book Make You Uncomfortable?

'Lions in Winter' is made up of eleven short stories by Weena Poon. Focused on Chinese Singaporeans, it tells of stories of people in Singapore and Singaporeans overseas in namely America and England, the turbulent emotions, mindsets of an era in the 1980s, the societal norms and expectations of young people then, why some leave and others return.

Many of the themes are relevant today, still. Is it that much of a surprise? Perhaps not. Living in a small city makes people complacent, fall into a cycle of sheltered comfort and sometimes, snobbery. It also makes people hungry, restless, and often, inciting a feeling of adventure, to leave for a couple of years to live elsewhere, and in the future, perhaps come home, or sink roots elsewhere for the next half of their lives. It's too scary how often I've been hearing this phrase from strangers, acquaintances and friends- "I feel like a stranger in my own country" or "I don't feel like I belong". What does it take to foster belonging? If majority feels this way, then what's inherently off/wrong/missing? Are we the cause of our dissatisfaction? Or are we stuck somewhere between the grid in Maslow's hierarchy of needs?

It's excellent writing made up of astute observations gleaned from perhaps the author's own experiences or from her sources. It's why I dislike the book, but will still recommend it to the friends. While it tells stories of Chinese (Singapore) cultural norms, behavior and values, it's also symptomatic of our society, generally. It makes me cringe to know that every behavior I abhor comes together in a book, and by the time I flipped the last page, it has the power to leave a sour aftertaste and incite a special anger that's always kept carefully repressed till humans raise these controversial issues inappropriately.

The stories would have been inspired by the writer's association with them, and unfortunately, these people are real and nasty. It makes me uncomfortable to read about horrible stories in a familiar context about chauvinistic men, greedy brides, long-suffering husbands, calculative relatives, strait-laced Chinese families and their gay son, having to shop for 'cheaper bags' for others who forgot about the sales tax etc. Every single stereotype of all that you hate about that horrible kaypoh relative appears in the stories. We aren't perfect. The stories also highlights our flaws, and in that, I feel guilt too. Told you it sounds familiar.

An excerpt from the ending of the story that titled the book, about Freddie who's studying in Manhanttan:- "It was very strange indeed for me to come back to such a place, after the hurly-burly of New York City. It was like climbing into an old closet that you had hidden in as a child, and feeling the familiar corners. Like Goldilocks, we pronounce this world too small, but the next world, perhaps, is too big. I could never get used to spending the Lunar New Year in snowstorms, to the luxury of red packets in Amercian dollars. And yet I could not fit in to the Singapore of Francesca, of Chong and his marina club membership, and Mrs Ong with her heartbreaking sadness in her Tweety Bird T-shirt. I wondered if Jimmy would ever return, and I wondered about my own plans after I graduated. Why do we constantly turn our prows to distant shares? When do we know when to leave, and when to return? Could we really, really bear to leave those we knew behind, even if we no longer loved them?"