PERA and Its Sneaky Dessert on My Bill

Decided to try PERA Turkish Grill and Mezze for the first time. It was pretty good! I hope it could maintain its standards. They do welcome dogs at their outdoor tables, so that was decent. It's a sheltered atrium with a high ceiling, so no issues with the weather. 

We ordered the fava bean purée and mini crispy lamb flatbread with tomatoes. The fava bean puree was done simply with dill, onions and olive oil, and that mix was really full of umami. Gorgeous. Bravely opted for a whole grilled fish of Turkish seabass. The fish was delicious. 

We had a drink each, and a bottle of water. I was clearly not drunk. But I didn't like one thing this restaurant did. The bill. I scanned through it and frowned. I paid it although I didn't like the $16++ charge for one dessert. 

They asked us about dessert — we said no. They then offered us complimentary dessert of which they didn't inform us about, but they served it directly. They did say it was with compliments of the chef. The communication was clear. There was no hemming and hawwing about it. We were clear that we didn't want dessert at all.

Still. They gave two items of pistachio baklava, and rice pudding with hazelnuts, and two cups of hot tea as well. And the bill included $16++ for the rice pudding. Sure, I ate them, but I left the rice pudding well alone. I HATE RICE PUDDING IN ALL FORMS. As a matter of principle, when I didn't say I wanted dessert, and didn't order it, do not charge me for it. This was not cool. I didn't feel like raising a ruckus, so I let it be. But it speaks volumes about this restaurant's integrity. 

I had fully intended to return to this restaurant again, but now, I'm iffy about it. If I do return, I'll be alert next time. I'll be very clear about what I want to order and what I didn't ask for. And I will dispute any additional charges that we didn't explicitly order. 

A Batik Painting Workshop

E organized an afternoon of batik painting workshop for us. Since I wasn't the one to sort out all these, I didn't bother to remember details. Hahaha. I simply turned up at the stated timing for lunch and coffee at the correct venue, and then toddled over to The Art Faculty for the workshop.

This workshop is led by Iolana of Raya Artisans. The batik painting is done on wood — coasters, boards, cups and plates, and even a table lamp. You could buy them. But the bad news for me today is, I have actually sit down and commit the time and effort to produce two coasters to take home. Arrrrrrgh.

Art classes used to be compulsory for me in school, as well as on the weekends. I'm not particularly interested in them. I ended up being half decent at certain things, but not others. Often, it's a matter of putting in the hours and effort to practice.

The Art Faculty loans out its space for artists to host their events. My only complaint — it's so eco-friendly that the AC is almost non-existent, and the temperature hovered at like 27dC, and I perspired like crazy. I skipped the complimentary drink since I just came from lunch, and was fed and hydrated. I also had a bottle of lovely chilled water, so I didn't need extras. 

Now, this batik thing. Batik is the art of wax-resist dyeing techniques used to create intricate patterns on the cloth. I've seen artisans at work. I have done some on fabric, but with stencils, not freehand. Today's workshop is done freehand using a tjanting to drip the hot wax over the wooden coasters. Haizzzz. Tracing and drawing patterns. I'm not patient, and it really tests my grit in tracing those lines. And painting them. My hand isn't that steady, and without the experience of the professional artisans who've had years of practice, I know my coasters are going to turn out juvenile. So I opted for the easiest patterns. I wouldn't even call it replicating. They looked nowhere similar to the ones (hand-drawn) on retail. Hahahahah.

Iolana has done these workshops for a few years, and it's obvious she's got her logistics down pat. I have sufficient information and guidance in dripping the hot wax over the wood. Whether I can create the neatness or lines I envision, is quite another thing. These workshops can travel to someone's living room with a big enough table to seat 6-8 pax, or to a corporate seminar room. As long as there're electrical points for the bubbling pots of wax, a water point and sink for hand-washing nearby, the workshop is a go. The set-up is clean and not messy. Hot wax isn't dirty that way. 

Our coasters are made of untreated mahogany wood. Once we were done, we waxed it, and then added another layer of resin (food grade) to seal it. Mine didn't turn out too bad. E and S made much nicer ones since they really put their hearts into it. I simply wanted to complete it without them looking too crappy.

Our completed coasters.
It's obvious who put more heart into having them look presentable.
Teehehehe.

Emotional Threads

It's like a story that hangs in mid-air, pretty much like everyone's lives. I suppose that's what this story is about. This is 'Gatekeeping' by Bryan Washington, published on July 12, 2026 in The New Yorker.

The narrator is a quiet man who works at Houston airport pushing passengers in wheelchairs to their gates. The narrator is kinda dating a Taiwanese flight attendant named JT, but it's an uncommitted relationship floating over two years. JT doesn't seem to mind, and he sees the narrator whenever, meeting in a hotel room. The airport is a transitional space, yet it's regular like clockwork.

He meets different people, and some are regular passengers. He is privy to private details of their lives. He describes these passengers he meets, and in particular, a Carl who always flies to Paris on a Thursday morning every other week. He chats with them. And sometimes they tell him their stories, and give him gems of their life views. 

Sometimes I’m the man in the middle. A white couple I’m assisting to their Berlin flight—the husband’s in the wheelchair—snipe at each other, in hushed voices, for our entire walk to the gate.

You probably left the stove on, the wife says.

The better to burn your son’s house down, the husband says.

Leave your jacket on the security tray, he adds. It’s a rag.

I didn’t want you to feel left out, the wife says.

Don’t bother helping him out of the chair, she adds, to me, as I lead him to the metal detector. Give him something to actually do.

I smile, nodding. I am a rock and a sponge. When we finally make it to the gate, I pass the husband off to a flight attendant, an Indian twink who throws me a knowing look. But the wife stands beside me.

What if I just stay here? she says.

It is a question without an answer. And I don’t know if she wants one. So I loom beside her in silence, until last call sounds and she sighs and boards the flight.

Towards the end of the story, we finally see the narrator inviting JT to dinner at his apartment, about 20 minutes away from the airport. The first visit to his home after two years of a non-committal relationship. 

T repeated his invitation to the narrator to come visit him in Taipei and stay for a month. JT isn't going to be flying for a few months anymore, and he wouldn't able to see the narrator unless the latter goes to Taipei. The readers are left hanging about this invitation since the narrator didn't offer insights about whether he agreed.

We see the narrator back in his job, and talking loads to Carl. Is it the journeying that truly matters? Or the final decisions? The real steps taken instead of having ideas swirl in one's head? In an interview with the same journal, the author noted a hefty weigh of personal obligations and choices of being emotionally distant versus actively finding a community. My head hurts simply thinking about it. That's complicated. 

The potential reward of community can outweigh the risk of failure. And to what extent that reaching, even if only very occasionally fruitful, justifies the work of creating conditions for gentleness. The reaching and flailing toward possibility is the narrative. While I was drafting, it was important to me that every character in this story had space for complication, while still making the choice to strive for motion. They choose to actively reconfigure their language and actions to live among one another as best they know how.