My 10-day Cooking 'Reservist'

MINDEF can call it 'in-camp training' (ICT), 'NSmen' or whatever. But I'm too used to the usage of 'reservist'. The man was called up for one final ICT. For a duration of two weeks. The last one in his compulsory 10-year cycle. THE LAST ONE. That calls for a celebration. I've got rather mixed feelings about this compulsory military training National Service thing. All in all, thank goodness the man is done.

He had to get to the army camp by 6am. This early, he's kinda peckish, but not hungry. He could cook, but it's just too troublesome when he was already sianz. SO. I decided to be very nice and sorted out his breakfast for 10 days. Solidarity lah. Every morning, the food was ready by 4.50am. Zzzzzz. I dislike cooking. But I can do it if I have to, even if it means waking up at 4am to prep ingredients. The logistics of meal-planning had to be sorted out prior since there would only be 30 minutes to ready the food. 35 minutes max. And five minutes for photo-taking. Heh. Did it with no help, not even for slicing, stirring, washing of vegetables or whatever. It's too bloody early for anyone else to do this.

Century egg tofu; granola and muesli with dried figs.

Made a mixture of hot and cold breakfasts. Avoided overnight oats or oatmeal-anything because he takes those on normal days. Did eggs still, but with a twist (think Scotch eggs using veal) and a side of something else for flavor and texture. Poached eggs are the easiest, served with a side of sautéed-something. It's not difficult when logistics and steps had been thought through the night before. At one point while randomly googling for recipes, I chanced upon M's post of century egg tofu (Pidan tofu, 皮蛋豆腐). Fantastic. The man loves pidan tofu. Assembling ingredients into an edible plate is what I do best. Swopped out the mix of sauces though. Not keen on oyster sauce or sesame oil. Used a mix of shoyu, dashi, mirin and cold-pressed walnut oil. Pidan tofu for breakfast and lunch should taste different. Just change the ingredients. The man loves his coriander and spring onions, so that explained the pile of greens pictured above.

Ermm...no recipes. I don't record these things, I don't cook with precise measurements; a pinch, a dash, a dollop, a drip. Whatever remembered would be added; pepper and salt for sure. Spices. Those stuff are like a given. Brainless right? Staples in most dishes! Recipes from books and online are read but never followed. They're used for inspiration and referred to for special little tricks to up the game. It's not baking or making pasties or something, which requires precision. I really don't like handling raw meats or even fish. I keep a vegetarian kitchen mostly, don't like cooking for picky eaters, and disapprove of sweet breakfasts. i.e, no French toast, waffles or pancakes. Luckily the man likes his food, and doesn't mind most things for breakfast so long they aren't oily or comprise plain carbs.

Sautéed portobello mushrooms with homemade spicy pesto;
salad of pumpkin, quinoa and pomegranate arils. 

I think everyone's suitably impressed by my time spent at 'culinary academy' in Norway. HAHAHAHAHA. Yes- loads of recent practice. Mainly I've finicky tastebuds. I'll know what I want to taste on a plate and a rough idea of how to do it; all a matter of the hands doing what the brain wants. This would mark the FIRST TIME IN THE MAN'S LIFE THAT IMPIE HAS COOKED A MEAL FOR HIM. I think the man is a little stunned. All breakfasts were easy to execute. The man didn't complain or get the runs. :P But I'm damn happy that reservist is over. OVER. I don't need to wake up at 4am anymore to do something that I don't particularly enjoy.

Of course I'm not posting photos of all breakfasts. Just these few that I bothered to grab the camera for a couple of shots. Plated every breakfast. That would be one attraction to cheer the man on his daily treks to boondocks. One of the most elaborate hot food done would be this beef, kale and avocado wrap served with a side of Sicilian olives and walnuts. Apparently he really liked it. Ookies. Now that this ICT is well and truly over, my '10-day Cooking Reservist' is done too. YAYYY. HANGING UP MY SAUCEPAN NOW.

Of Many Universes

Once I learnt that Wayne Rée's 'Tales from A Tiny Room' is out on the shelves, a copy was ordered from Books Actually. He's got the best quips IRL and I had rather high expectations of his stories and writing. The book didn't disappoint.

Thought I would simply scan through the thin book. But I ended up re-reading some stories just to get a deeper sense of Wayne's intent or perceptions beneath each story's playful tone or light ambivalent treatment. Published by Math Paper Press, this new book of 11 short prose pieces are Wayne's thoughts on paper. Quirky, a touch of the creepy and a bit of the other dimension. A perfect read for a stay-in-the-hotel-eat-averagefood evening.

I like 'Plugged In'. It tells of Roger living in a strange new world where everybody is plugged in to a gadget of sorts and he becomes the only one who isn't. A stranger. An enemy. And the plugged-in people came for him. Kinda like everyone else is a zombie but you, and you're fresh juicy meat. Perhaps it's a snide comment on our habits. Hey, Skynet. I like it because it's kinda creepy in a futuristic world of silence where no voices exist. The story written in the plainest language and conveys little emotions. Imagine this as a short noir film. It would totally work.

'Water Bombs' is almost painful to read. Matthew, the protagonist was this solemn corporate rat that the author intended him to be. Odd happenings like being hit by a water bomb and having people tell him, "Lighten up, mister", led him down the merry path of abandoning a stable but stodgy job and took flight to Thailand, where he found some sort of happiness in life and marriage. Then, there was the death of his first wife, mourning, despondency, his eventual remarriage, and the reappearance of water bombs in his life. It's up to the reader to decipher what he will from this one cycle of life.

There's a blurb that read "What happens when two gods sit on a park bench and compare universes?" It so happens that the story, 'Creation Myth' might just be my favorite of all. It's randomly set in Bloomsbury Park, which probably has no relation whatsoever to any parks in Bloomsbury like we know it. A god and a goddess drinking cheap wine, and a little boy who came along later. The whimsical creation theory. You've got to read it. The ending is priceless. That one line.

"You're telling me?" he sighed. "Oh, fuck it." He finished his drink, then raised his glowing right hand. He eyed it for a second or two - almost mournfully - then dumped his entire universe into the empty cup. "Back to the drawing board," he said with a shrug. He looked over at a bin a couple of feet away, took aim and tossed the cup towards it. 

The universe flew through the air - then hit the rim and fell onto the grass.

The Dense Brown Goat Cheese

Gjetost (eller 'brunost') er min absolutt favoritt. I've loved this cheese for a long time. Not a fan of goat cheese because of its base taste, but I like brunost. The only one out of the categories of all goat cheeses. Learnt to discern the differences in flavors between the available brands at the supermarkets. Ate loads in Norway and bought huge tubs home. It shouldn't be so, but I stuffed half into the freezer. The rest stayed in the cheese compartment. Then I could extend the happiness of eating my favorite cheese for a little while more.

Brunost is kinda sweet and salty at the same time, at a level of 'sweetness' I can tolerate, since they comprise caramelized milk sugars. One could slice off with a cheese cutter or a really sharp knife. I like thick slabs. Been using a really sharp knife to grab pieces for either a light lunch or a snack.

The man has been heading out to work at 5.15am. At that timing, he doesn't feel like eating a full breakfast or anything oily or unappetizingly presented. Small portions of bread or eggs suit his stomach better. Grudgingly shared my precious slabs of brunost with him. He's taken a shine to eating it with a dollop of spiced pumpkin jam on multi-grain bread. It goes fine with apple chai spiced jam, spiced plum or spiced pear. This year, we received a ton of precious homemade lower-in-sugar jams from Seattle and Cumbria. Made and sent with much love from the friends. Whatever that's been nicely spiced and put on nutty bread would contrast with the brunost and make a pretty tasty bite.

Spied them an an airport cafe. Brought two along on the flight home.

Røkt laks til middag

I didn't really go crazy over salmon in Norway. Like I said, Seattle's options are superior when it comes to fresh fillets of salmon. BUT, Norway's cured and smoked laks are so good, starkly different from what we get in Singapore. The Norwegian versions seem chunkier, heartier and a lot tastier. It could be the supplier and the way it chose to hack off the fish, I suppose. Oh, and yes, there are differences in texture and taste between farmed and wild-caught salmon that are obvious even when smoked.

Before I left, the girlfriend dragged me down to our favorite Maschmanns Matmarked. They've such wonderful produce. Brought home more than a few pieces of Norwegian salmon to share with the family. Also bought thick slabs of geitost and chunks of reindeer meat too. They were deep-frozen for several days before being slid into a cooler bag bound for the flight home. Was nervous. Not too sure about transporting frozen produce home across such a long way. Plus those flight delays at both airports in Oslo and Doha extended the travel time by a grand total of 3.5 hours. But, I got home within 20 minutes of touchdown at Changi Airport. Thank you, Singaporean efficiency. The frozen stuff were 'melting' but the centre was largely rock-solid. WHEWWW.

I don't usually have the habit of buying souvenirs for family or friends. So food that don't take up too much weight or space are ideal. Food also allow us to reminisce about lovely times. That's why sometimes we make the effort to lug groceries home from other cities. Opened up a slab of røkt laks (smoked salmon) at dinner. It smelt so good. Ate it in the simplest way. A touch of lemon juice, plenty of onions and parsley. Thick bread on the side. Unfortunately not homebaked. Bought from Cedele. Some four-seed loaf that was pretty delicious. Best.

I Got A Present!

Wasn't mope-y. But just feeling a tad lost. For a month, the routine has been slightly different from what I do at home. The work portion continued over emails, but at a slower pace because I stayed on emails for only two hours a day and being out of Singapore means no work trips done. Woot. Didn't even bother very much about the news in the world or at home. Simply wanted to enjoy the time as a temporary resident in Oslo.

Did I miss the man during this period? Yes, and no. Traveling is very much part of our lives. Communication is easy to sort out with all the messaging platforms and Skype. Don't need to voice-chat with each other daily. Never did that on crazy work trips and don't do it now on solo vacations either. I Skype-video-ed him only about thrice for no more than 15 minutes each time. Heeee. It's more of a, 'wish you were here experiencing these together'. The month was dedicated to the girlfriend, and I made a conscious decision to prioritize her, and indirectly, her family too. Merrily did so.

Also, I miss the girlfriend's crazy laughter, random comments and conversation. It's kinda quieter without her. I was like her little shadow. HAHAHA. Sounds so creepy. Anyway, I miss pottering about the house, doing minion duties and random things, catching whichever unsuspecting boy to sweep the floor, loading the dishwasher, and sprawling on my favorite armchair in the corner, usurping everyone else's right to it.

So what do I see in the mailbox just a few days after getting home and missing Oslo (the people, rather) a fair bit? A small envelope from Oslo! Wheeeeee. Trashies in a sealed purple egg! I forgot to buy myself a pack of Trashies in Oslo. There's no point buying it in Singapore. Opened it and out popped Boggy Bonfire and Doo Doo Bird! And the sweetest card ever with the warmest words. (PS, not that I obsess about owls. Don't mind them though. Hehehehe.) So much love. I have the best-est friends in the world.

L'shanah tovah 2014

Happiness, humility, reflection and repentance. The circle of life. 
And the family observes Rosh Hashanah. 
לְשָׁנָה טוֹבָה

En, To, Tre, Fire, Fem, Seks, Sju, Åtte, Ni, Ti, Hurrah!

The girlfriend insists that Norwegian isn't difficult to acquire, master, do sarcasm and banter in. She thinks I'm a genius. She expects me to more or less understand conversational Norwegian by the time I return for a visit. I'm not so sure about conversational abilities. I'll settle for a modicum of reading competency.

I will learn to read it, try to build some vocabulary, then sit down with her sons for revision. I've told the boys that when I return, part of their chalk-up-brownie-points duties would involve one of them sitting down with me for 30 minutes a day to chat in Norwegian. The lesson plan is up to them. I haven't thought about remuneration. HAHAHA. It will probably be a few new gadgets, of which I'm only too enthusiastic to procure.

I can get an overview via Google-whatever. But I prefer an academic approach. Need to go beyond articulating "Jeg esker øl" and "Øl er fantastisk". Bought a recommended textbook at an Oslo bookshop. Flipping through it, I really really think that I won't be able to speak Norwegian fluently. My pronunciation is atrocious and that would not improve unless I speak it frequently. Not happening just yet. If I'm not wrong, the book title goes something like, 'Norwegian in 3, 2, 1'. Well. If only it's as quick as a snap of the fingers. This textbook is good for piecing together and understanding grammar and syntax. So yeah, the scribbling of notes in the margin began the moment the book was bought. There was a little window of time to finish three pages and commit that to memory. It was continued while waiting for my flight at the airport and during the 6.5-hour ride to Doha where I didn't need much sleep. It shall be continued in Singapore. Jeg vil lære å lese norsk. Let's do this.

Flying

Kept a watchful eye on Bárðarbunga and its surrounding seismic activities, in case its eruptions create this huge ash cloud repeating Eyjafjallajökull April 2010. Well, I wasn't worried at all. *shrug* The girlfriend and her family would just have to see my face for another week perhaps! Each time someone asks when I was going home, the answer has changed from "September" to "it depends on Bárðarbunga". Muahahaha.

Recent heart-stopping events left me a little nervous about flying. Especially when this was my first-ever long-haul non-SQ flight, selected for personal travel instead of work trips. That made me more nervous than anything else. Chose Qatar Airways. I had neither baggage privileges nor frequent flyer concessions, save for the usual fast-track options at Customs. Otherwise, zilch. There would be a three-hour transit at Doha both-ways. I was slightly curious about Doha's new Hamad International Airport- which is spacious and swanky. Except their ground staff couldn't differentiate between 'new boarding time' and the revised 'ETD' even if it was staring at them right on the screen. Luckily I'm not the lost or blur-blur type of passenger. If I had listened to the silly ground staff, I'd have missed my flight. Yes, I heard about Qatar Airways' dubious employment contracts. But I reserve all judgment for now. There're more worrying news and ensuing developments about Qatar and its foreign policies that are of greater concern, US-led air strikes or otherwise. This might very well mark the first and last time I fly Qatar Airways.

SIN-DOH-OSL, then OSL-DOH-SIN. On the way home at Oslo Gardemoen Airport, a very slow Customs officer and three consecutive idiotic expiring visas held up the queue for 25min, making me this near to missing the already-delayed-by-an-hour flight. Then the mad scramble at the boarding gate made me do a double-take and wondered if I was in an airport in uhh Asia instead. When the plane was finally cleared for passengers to board, nobody bothered about queuing, the order of seat numbers being called or whatever. Everybody just whooshed to the front. Well, I wasn't going to stupidly wait at the back. After remaining stunned for a minute taking in the scene, I jostled forward, thrust the passport at the flight attendant, and hurried to my seat where calm awaited. Asked for a glass of single malt instead of the usual sparkling water. Alcohol was necessary in this instance. A Glenfiddich 15y.o and a snooze fortified the temper and kept it in check for the next leg of delays in Doha.

The flights to and fro were comfortable. Single seat, flat bed, sufficient privacy. But narrow. If your butt is wayy bigger than mine, you'll be rather squashed. I slept loads till there wasn't any jet lag either way. Food was all right. In fact, the Arabic mezze platters were awesome. Service was adequate. But. It's not the same when I step into the plane and don't feel that comfortable familiarity, or when I land and don't hear the "Singaporeans and Residents, a warm welcome home." Let's just say that I kinda miss SQ a teeny bit. :P

Hadet bra, Oslo!

All too soon, it was time to leave. I didn't want to go. Too comfortable chilling out with the girlfriend. Too much fun and laughter in all those precious spontaneous moments that are now awesome memories. Two tight hugs on the train platform and I hurried into the Flytoget that would begin the journey home southeast.

There aren't enough words to express my appreciation for the warmth and hospitality of the friends. They welcomed me into their home and put up with me for the month, fed me, took me out everywhere, and instructed their children be courteous and helpful to this strange Aunty Imp whom they don't even know.

I'm already missing the girlfriend's music on the piano in the mornings and in the evenings. She conquers the classical pieces with such ease that it's an absolute pleasure to listen to her play. Each time she asked me to go practise the piano, I pretended not to hear, continued surfing on the phone or on the borrowed Macbook, or simply disappeared upstairs or downstairs where she couldn't see me. Hahahaha. Also miss the silly jibes and dancing of her boys. Now, I can't get Pharrell Williams' 'Happy' out of my head. Geez, thanks guys! Relieved that her husband didn't mind my constant presence in the house. The last thing I want is to have him think I invaded the privacy of the family. Am tickled by his thoughtfulness in always leaving me biggest portion of wine in the bottle. He wondered why I didn't have more bottles of beer in the fridge. He definitely thinks I'm an alcoholic. Tsk.

I guess by virtue of us not killing each other after a month, it pretty much means I get to brazenly assume that I can return and terrorize the girlfriend and the boys (and the stuffed toys). The question is always, when? Holiday planning starts now. We don't have to meet in Oslo. Hurhurhur. But wherever we go, preferably NOT IN WINTER THOUGH. It'll be bloody cold this far north. I don't believe it when they say "It's not cold in winter."

Tusen takk for den fantastiske tiden! xo

Immensely tickled by random toys that appeared at staircase landings in the nights.
They stay put till the next day when their owner comes back from school and moves them.

Those Gorgeous Walks

The food has been so fantastic and yet, by now, I've dropped 3kg! It's crazy. The belt loop literally has to be tightened by one notch. It's not a matter of how much I ate, but rather, what I ate and how awesome it is to breathe the incredibly unpolluted air. The girlfriend has been feeding me loads. But we also walked miles. Walks in the city, walks by the lake, walks in the woods and everywhere. Squeezed in early morning runs, and also did a zillion stretches and pretzel twists in the room. Not keen to enrol in a pilates studio this round when the two decent ones that I spied aren't located near a train station.

I live in a city. When on vacation, I prefer to see more than skyscrapers. On work trips, one doesn't have a choice; being able to get out of the boardroom once in a bit is considered lucky. The last round in a boardroom, I felt so stifled that I had to be firm and tell everyone I was gonna get out for a cup of coffee, 'don't even call me in that 45 minutes when I'm gone'. Haven't needed to do that these few weeks. On work trips, a pair of Vibrams is always packed in case I could get some fresh air during a quiet moment. In Norway, only a pair of DocMarts and walking shoes have been brought over. Whatever else needed have been shamelessly stolen from the girlfriend's wardrobe.

The weather's been alternating between sunshine and gloom, reminding us to treasure those summer days. But it doesn't really matter. The schedule's so packed that I can't be waiting for sunshine then plan a walk. I'm just going schedule the walk and get prepared for rain. Once I put on that windbreaker with a hood, no venue is impossible. The rain here isn't like a tropical thunderstorm where one gets soaking wet in three minutes. It's more of a steady light drizzle; it's easy to walk between access points and the trees provide a decent shelter. Most importantly, my backpack is water-resistant and the gadgets have been sealed inside weather-proof pouches. (Haizzz, don't remind me of my waterlogged Macbook. Sob.)

Along the 16-km long Storelva which goes into the Drammenselva (Drammen River), it's super scenic, at least to a city girl who doesn't get to see rivers and mountains often. Nearby is Haugfossen, or Haug Waterfall which generated electricity for the cobalt mines in the olden days. Being among nature makes me want to do cartwheels. Had fun walking along the pebbled rocky banks of the little river before the rain clouds rolled in.

Onda

A relaxing Saturday meant we simply wandered downtown without a firm plan except to pop into Astrup Fearnley Museet. Wanted to see the contemporary artists of the day curated by the museum and the acquired collection. That visit, we were enlightened about the painterly aspects of art criticism and artistic styles. It resulted in us utilizing the word 'painterly' and describing just about everything with it all weekend. Juvenile I know, but so fun.

Needed to eat and decided on Onda. Didn't make a reservation but the restaurant was practically empty when we walked in at 1.30pm. More people came in later when we were leaving. Service was adequate, but nothing that blew my mind away. So far at all the restaurants, service has been lukewarm, something not unfamiliar to Singaporeans. :P I love those chairs at Onda- the Varier Invite by Norwegian designer Olav Eldøy. The restaurant's version comes in wool and polyamide, and an untreated solid oak base. I love how it moves and tilts. It's so comfortable for the back and my butt fits nicely onto it.

The restaurants in Oslo seem to focus more on shellfish than fish, unless they're specifically a seafood restaurant and offers no other meat. I'm almost disappointed with the offerings of fish here. Very few choices, oddly. I'd go as far to say that the salmon in Norway isn't as beautifully cooked or as exciting as what Seattle or Portland offers.  Haven't found the flavors I'm looking for in lightly pan-seared salmon. I'd stick to gravlaks here (we spell it as 'gravlax'). Those are great as forretter. On many days, I like it as a hovedrett.

Couldn't eat that much at lunch. Shared everything. Loved the lobster salad with sugar snaps, parmesan and creamy mussel dressing. They didn't overdo the cream in the dressing. The entire salad felt light. Perfect. The fillet of black cod was beautifully done, lightly seared brown on the outside and peeled away moist. Had a salmon tartare too. Just because.

Steamed Fish Asian Style

If I live in Oslo, one of my favorite food markets must be Maschmanns Matmarked. It's kinda tiny, but it's got most of the ingredients I'd need to cook the kind of food I like. One morning, we spotted only two whole sea breams at Maschmanns. Pounced on them. Small ones, about 400 grams each. It's dorade, or gilt-head bream, one of the loveliest around. It was NOK64.55 each. Bought both. One to be kept in the freezer, and the other to be steamed for dinner. Now, the boys have no interest in fish. So this nice fish is going to be eaten up by the girls. The fish had been nicely gutted, but it needed to be descaled. The girlfriend rolled her eyes and took on that task. I was set to chopping strips of ginger and scallion.

The girlfriend is determined to work the grill on the patio and get as much use out of it this year before it gets too cold to sit outdoors. Great weather today, so dinner was to be taken on the patio. Seafood night! Lots of things went on the skewers and trays. Potatoes, scallops, prawns and zucchini. That was easy. We cooked up pasta aglio e olio with anchovies. MY FAVORITE. I miss pasta SO MUCH. Doubt it's the carbs, because I certainly don't care about rice. It's just the idea and texture of pasta, especially the dry salty savory sort. I also miss Asian-style steamed fish quite a bit. Awesome to have it tonight. Once the dorade was prepped, oil and soy sauce were poured over. Then it went into the steamer for ten minutes and came out beautifully tender. YAYYY.

The grill was lit and humming happily. Trays of seafood went onto it to be lightly grilled. Dinner was at 7pm. We started first and the boys joined us slightly later after their sports training. The sun was still blazing bright although much of the day's heat had dissipated. By Oslo standards, it had been a hot day. I was walking around without a jacket and perspiring in tee and jeans. As the sun set, it dropped to 15°C. Refreshing to be dining outdoors in the summer evening sunshine, kicking back with a glass of rhubarb juice then a bottle of brown ale. 

Velkommen til Oslo Pandanus Amaryllifolius!

I wasn't sure what the girlfriend meant when she said her boys are jam-monsters and in the one Singaporean trait in their distinctly non-Singaporean habits, put away a ton of kaya in a week. As I watched the giant tub of homemade kaya rapidly diminish and demolished within seven days, I realized she wasn't kidding.

Each time she visits family in Singapore, she goes home with at least two giant tubs of homemade kaya, among other things. The tubs disappear so fast. Store-bought bottled kaya is great as emergency supplies, but it isn't really an option if you want to control sugar portions. She makes kaya at home in Oslo, but making it with dried-out pandan leaves or extract isn't satisfying either. Fresh leaves are best. Apparently nurseries in the city don't sell pandan plants. When we flew to Oslo, two stalks of pandan plants came along. :P

(If you're transporting plants overseas, let your pandan plants sit in water for two days, rinse a couple of times, then take the actual plants to AVA for inspection and pay for certs for soiless export.)

Pandan plants are happiest in water when they're young and without woody roots yet. They're also easy to propagate. But they don't like the cold. So here, it's an indoor plant. So far, these two stems seem to be growing rather well. They've been placed in a warm spot that's flushed with non-direct sunlight for two hours a day. Perfect. They'll soon be able to provide the essential ingredient to make kaya and more.

I don't fancy kaya toast. I can eat it once in a while, but it doesn't do anything for me. Although I prefer Killiney Kopitiam's to Ya Kun's toasted-to-a-crisp cracker version. Still, I gamely tried this homemade kaya. The girlfriend simply piled it on and passed the slice to me, smirking. *gulp* Gotta say it's good. Rich and made with surprisingly little sugar. It wasn't cloying. I quite like this version of kaya with awesome smør on this type of toasted bread.

Norske Folkeeventyr

Found a reasonably decent translation of 'Norwegian Folk Tales' by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe. The 36 stories in this collection were translated by Pat Shaw Iversen and Carl Norman, illustrated in black and white by Erik Werenskiold and Theodor Kittelsen. The edition I hold was published by Pantheon Books like, two decades ago. The English is still awkward, but it will do.

The problem is, I don't like reading about helpless princesses and brave but unwarrior-like witty and clever underdogs typically portrayed by an Askeladden (The Ash Lad) who is usually the youngest of three brothers. I prefer reading about Trolls. After about the ten-thousandth time of reading about Kings offering their daughters and half their lands to worthy suitors for whatever reason (i.e, kill the Troll, make the princess laugh or out-talk her and have the last word), I almost nodded off. This was an exceedingly difficult book to plough through in one sitting.

Luckily the second half of the book involves more animals. I'm sure there're worthy mores in these tales. But I'm not about to dissect them. I just want to read them as folktales and keep it at that. It certainly offers an insight to the habits of Norwegian society back then, but it's of no way indicative of modern day values. I like them when they're a tad dark, like how fairy tales should all be. Yes, NOT DISNEY. If you ever ask me to read fairy tales to a child, I'm probably going to twist them so darkly that no child will go to sleep comforted. :P

Since there're so many private jokes about ducks and the girlfriend is highly tickled by all things fowl-foul that I've been stalking- the ducks, and those that have been stalking me- the pigeons, I shall extract a paragraph from the last tale in this book where our hero is the long-suffering Princess. It's titled 'The Twelve Wild Ducks' (De tolv villender) by Asbjørnsen. You must have heard this one- of a Princess who set out to save her 12 older brothers who were transformed into wild ducks upon her birth, blessed and cursed by a Troll-hag. She had to weave and sew 12 shirts of nettles, neither smile nor weep and stay silent for three years. Of course it ended in happiness with a loving husband and three alive children, 12 freed human brothers and a dead evil Old Queen.

The king took them back to his stepmother, and asked her what punishment she thought fit for one who could have he heart to betray an innocent queen and three such lovely children? 

Dem tok kongen med seg og bar dem bort til stemor sin og spurte henne, hva straff hun syntes den burde få som kunne ha hjerte til å forråde en uskyldig dronning og tre så velsignede barn. 

"Anyone who did that should be tied to twelve wild horses and torn to bits," said the old queen.  

"Den burde spennes mellom tolv utemte hester, så de hver tok sitt stykke," sa den gamle dronningen. 

"You have declared your own punishment," said the young king, "and such shall be your fate." 

And so the wicked old queen was tied to twelve wild horses, and torn to bits. 

"Du har selv sagt dommen, og selv skal du få lide den med," sa kongen, og så ble den gamle slemme dronningen spent mellom tolv utemte hester, som hver tok sitt stykke av henne.  

But Snow-White-Rose-Red, the king, and their children, and the twelve princes, all rode back to her parents and told them what had happened. So there was great rejoicing throughout the whole kingdom, because the princess was freed and had freed her twelve brothers too. 

Men Snehvit og Rosenrød tok kongen og barna sine og de tolv prinsene, og så reiste de hjem til foreldrene og fortalte det som hadde hendt dem, og nå ble det stor fryd og glede over hele kongeriket, for det prinsessen var frelst og hadde frelst de tolv brødrene sine også. 

Around The Lake

On week days when we don't have time to do long walks, a near-enough park for us to walk or bike there is Sognsvann (literally Sogns Water). I was a bit skeptical. Another manicured city park? Whatever, it was good weather and we ought to be out and about. When we got there, I was so happy. It's an intentional park, but with a patch of woods and a treeline so beautiful that it looks like an enchanted clearing. Ahhhhhh.

Looking at it, you'd never guess that one round the lake is only 3.3 km, absolutely perfect for a sprint. Lots of benches around for picnickers. Its proximity to a T-bane station (the last stop on the green line after Blindern and Kringsjå) means lots of runners will stop by for a run after work before heading home, especially during these long summer days. Biking is apparently not allowed, but we still see cyclists zooming by anyway. Saw a few humans and cute dogs in the water. I wasn't brave enough to swim in the lake. The temperature for the week averaged about 17°C in the day and 8°C in the night. Stuck a finger in to test the water. Probably about 20°C, still pretty nice for a dip. But for this girl from the tropics, it was too cold to swim in.

It should take you no more than 30 minutes to walk the circumference of the lake. Not exactly a pavement. A pebbled trail of sorts that hardens into mud at some points. 20 minutes on a slow jog. On one such walk, we took 45 minutes because we stopped and took in the sights, chatting up dogs, peering into corners to check out the mushrooms, taking silly photos of everything, and generally enjoying the day out. Last two weeks of warm summer temperatures.

Reinsdyrstek

Had the privilege of being invited to yet another lovely Norwegian home for dinner. It was very kind of the couple to include me in the invitation to the table. Had time to chill out with wine and a great view of the city. Admired the roses in full bloom in the garden, spotted a rainbow among the rainclouds moving across from east to west, and watched the sun set.

The hosts roasted a traditional meat of reindeer as our main course. I've had reindeer meat. It's not game-y if you spice it well. Sure, it's not my first choice of meats. No meat is my first choice of food, but like I said, all dietary preferences have been suspended in Oslo. When invited to a heartfelt homecooked meal, I'm sure as heck eating everything on the table.

This reinsdyrstek was wonderfully tender and whatever that had been done in the kitchen resulted in rather delicious slices of meat on my plate. It had a touch of complexity to its usual flat (as compared to beef or lamb) flavors. Reindeer meat is superbly lean and if you're eating it for health, it's as good as fish, as long as we don't slather a ton of aioli atop. The hosts had picked mushrooms from their walk in the woods earlier, as well as lingonberries. They made those into sauces to go with the reindeer meat. Lightly caramelized, the sauces complemented the meats so well. Love how the tyttebærsaus (lingonberry sauce) rolled around the tongue. I'm definitely buying and freezing a chunk of reindeer meat and tyttebærsaus to take them home. The man will figure out what to do with them. Heeeeeee.

There were also sides of a salad and blanched vegetables. The corn, carrots and cauliflower were kept crunchy and so sweet. The potatoes were grilled and salted, and I ate so much of that. I love potatoes and whatever species of potatoes available here are so good that I can't help asking for potatoes every day. Hurhurhur. Dinner was finished off with a homebaked apple pie using apples from the hosts' garden. Not much sugar was used. I love apple pie (when it's not sickeningly sweet) and merrily had seconds. What a treat.

In the Kitchen

Collage courtesy of said girlfriend.
Can't believe she bothered to grab photos of me...crushing garlic. Zzzzz.

We use garlic in everything. I eat it raw anyway. SO. You should have heard how loudly I shrieked when the girlfriend told me to crush garlic with a heavy knife. I was all like..."I'll cut myself and the bleeding won't stop!" Whine. Whine. Whine. I bet you it took all she had not to smack me. By now, I'm proud to announce that I can crush garlic very well. Hurhurhur.

The one thing I enjoy is this little pocket of buzz in the late afternoon as we prepare dinner. The boys would be sprawled on the couches or doing their homework at the table, reading their books or fiddling with the gadgets. The girlfriend would be hovering about efficiently inspecting the pots on the boil, tasting and adding a pinch of this and that to whichever pot she deems necessary. It's precious time spent with the girlfriend, and I'm so glad to be offered a peek into their highly private family life, and share their home these few weeks.

Today, part of my duties included peeling away the tough fibres at the sides of the sugar snaps before stir-frying them. After being bitten and cut by the sugar snaps last week when only fingers were used, I got smarter and decided to use a knife. It was a breeze. Way easier than using fingers. When I do it right, the sharp edge wouldn't cut into the palm. Found a small vegetable knife that wasn't so sharp. It was fun. Like washing dishes, I suppose. The mind thinks of nothing but doing the task at hand.

Now, while I wouldn't have graduated from any respectable culinary school, the girlfriend has definitely trained me to be a better kitchen helper. This week, I'm much more confident with the knives and the gadgets. Whatever chopped or sliced pieces of items look like what they're supposed to look like after being cut up. At the very least, I can handle a knife properly instead of holding it like I'm trying to stab someone. WHEEEEEE.

'Forventningen'

No wonder people return again and again to Blaafarveværket. They regularly refresh their exhibitions and artists-in-residence. The large area ensures that you can't quite cover everything in one day. Blaafarveværket consists of several buildings that's like, 7.5km between each one. Lingered at Norwegian artist Elisabeth Bj. Werp's installations themed 'Forventningen'. The Expected. Or perhaps Expectations. She used mediums of paint, sound and film to communicate her strong ties to the past, to the classics within a contemporary context.

A few installations were set up in a refurbished barn, and the ground floor entrance was raised. We looked down to the rooms where I was utterly fascinated by each object. Unclothed baby dolls, crucifixes, portraits, books, mirror shards, stuffed birds. All seemed right out of a horror film. Aptly, the film room held scenes from Swedish director Ingmar Bergman's iconic 'The Seventh Seal', as well as shots of Oslo Prison, Oslo domkirke and the old sewer halls under Akershus Fortress. Crusades, death, Death personified, Book of Revelation, The Black Plague. Woah. More than goth. Dark stuff.

Elisabeth Werp's paintings that lined the installations are titled something like 'Jeg venter på deg' ('I'm waiting for you'), 'Ekko fra klokken som tikker et anent sted' ('Echoes from the ticking clock elsewhere'). I love her paintings which dance the line between light and darkness, blurred forms and clear symbolism. Appreciated that morbid eerie-ness of the installations. Even the birds. No idea if these birds were previously alive. I think they were. Not the dolls though. I've this thing against dolls and clowns. I hate them. Blame Chucky. Since I was a kid, whenever I received dolls, first thing I did was to twist its head off, then its limbs, and threw everything down the rubbish chute.

Spot 'SINGAPORE'!

Walked to another building where in another room, there was an installation of postcards, of people who sent the artist's their wishes, thoughts and all, lovingly kept through the years and now strung onto a pillar and exhibited. As though it was a wishing tree. Of relationships and friendships. Lost and endured.

Stared at the side pile and grinned. It was an unexpected thing. There was a big card with a huge 'SINGAPORE' blazing across, red and white, orchids and all. If you want to know, it's an old invitation to the artist, inviting her to James Rosenquist's works of '3 Large Paintings of Singapore' that were exhibited in a Paris gallery in 1997. His works used to be shown at our Wetterling Teo Gallery.

Powerful messages all. Walked out of the exhibition spaces feeling contemplative. Of what humans hold on to, what we can't let go of, what we leave behind, and what we keep close, with faith, in faith, or otherwise. The cycle of life, really.

Matbit

Didn't realize the girlfriend is as crazy over cheese as I am. Both of us prefer the semi-hard cheeses. I simply love geitost (definitely buying a few tubs home). The selection of cheeses here cause me to swoon a couple of times. I want to hug those giant blocks of cheeses. This trip, we revived an old standing tradition of sorority houses. Not the booze and weed parties. Midnight suppers and late-night tv. Hehehehe. We definitely did better than instant noodles. Thank goodness this woman wasn't my college-mate or room-mate. Otherwise, I would never have been able to get any sort of essays written and submitted or even get much sleep!

She made me sit through my first-ever episodes of 'Sherlock'. Yes, that one. With Benedict Cumberbatch. Ermm...okayyy. I was really watching it for Martin Freeman. Trying to forget he's Bilbo Baggins is one thing. I kept looking at this John Watson's shoes, expecting to see a pair of hairy feet. Couldn't rid the images of him as Lester Nygaard in the just-ended-S1 television adaptation of Coen Brothers' 'Fargo' or get over his Minnesota accent versus his actual British accent. The girlfriend definitely watches more British productions than I do. I'm a total American tv junkie.

Okay, midnight suppers don't mean instant noodles. There's practically no instant noodles in her kitchen. We do cheese and crackers! Never mind the wine or beer. We aren't that alcoholic. No photos of cheeses on fantastic crackers with tart jam, berries and figs. You know why they're lost. We had a crazy good time gobbling up all those cheeses in the nights. Mmmm. Also, fab multi-grain bread and cheese work very well in the afternoons for tea, or even as a light lunch.

På Bunadbutikken

A neck pin, or halsknapp.

The girlfriend needed to get silver accessories for her children's bunader. I simply had tons of fun looking at the colorful bunader and reading up the information about the different sewing styles and designs to differentiate the different regions when worn.

Didn't realize that it's still a popular tradition and custom to wear a bunad on special occasions and especially for Syttende Mai- May 17th, Constitution Day. The country is very proud of how it has held up its traditional customs this way.

Bunader are crazy expensive when purchased new from a totally Made-in-Norway shop. i.e Needlework and fabrics (mainly wool, linen and silk) are put together and sewn in Norway. Many bunader are passed down generations from father to son, mother to daughter, with the amount of fabric used to allow alterations. An excellent set of bunad for women costs anything between S$2500 - S$15000 tailored brand new, excluding the silver accessories made for each chosen region. The word 'handmade' more or less equates 'expensive'. Bunader for men are slightly cheaper because less fabric is used. New bunader are designed every year, and must have a stamp of approval from the National Bunad Council. Otherwise, those are just drakt or folk costumes. The irony, because of cost issues and general international economic manufacturing woes, many of the bunad shops nowadays farm out the embroidery and fabric work to outside of Norway or have new immigrants sew the bunader instead of Norwegian seamstresses who've done it for years. Norwegians seem rather particular about the workmanship and origin when it comes to buying bunader.

Some of those silver pieces are quite beautiful, especially the brosje, brooches. Silver holds a lot of meaning in Norwegian folklore. The craftsmen's skills are reflected through each region's unique and often intricate designs. A tad tempted to get something, but they wouldn't hold any significance for me. Plus many of the earrings are the dangling sort which my sensitive skin can't take. While the girlfriend made her choices, I stuck to admiring them (the silver) in the brochures and on the shelves. Very cheerful colors.

Lamb from Across the Border

As I ripped off the plastic packaging for the slabs of lamb, I did a double-take. A sticker in English said "Air-flown from New Zealand". That was a long way across the globe from the southern hemisphere. The girlfriend grinned and said that it must have tottered over from the supermarket in Sweden. Woah. The price stated on the pack from Sweden were also oddly, similar to what Singapore supermarkets retail for lamb in that weight. Oslo supermarkets are generally pricier than Singapore, although Singapore prices have cushioned any shock to the higher Oslo prices in many areas. I'm not seeing a huge difference in my grocery bills in Oslo compared to Singapore. It's almost the same, give or take S$20.

That sparked off a whole conversation on how expensive the Norwegian supermarkets are and how much cheaper shopping across the border can be, relatively. But of course there're tariffs on how much (in kilograms) meat and fish products one can bring back. On some days, it could be worth a trip to Sweden to do some shopping, considering how silly Norwegian prices can be. Not very different from why Singaporeans will brave the traffic to head into Johor Bahru to buy groceries too. BUT, it has to be worth the hassle or at least have travel companions think it's fun to spend a day in Sweden, and lug a ton of luggage home. But it's nice to receive gifts of food from friends and family who regularly hop across to Sweden on work trips and whatnots.

Having said that, it's been incredibly difficult to find some stuff I want at the supermarked or the apotek. There is Boots pharmacy though. Like those 99% aloe vera gel (maybe the consumers here prefer real plants) in a tube or a damn good 3M non-scratch dishwashing sponge (maybe it doesn't exist because of fantastic dishwashers, but how to wash giant pots), like Vernel instead of just Comfort or Softlan, etc. But the beer and chocolate, bread and cheese sections are great. :P If one or two supermarkets don't stock the fun stuff, I understand, but all?! Oslo supermarkets don't seem to exist or import brands that give me the quality I want. A matter of personal choice I suppose. Choices I don't have to think about unless I'm moving to the city.

Lamb marinated in yoghurt, cumin and saffron,
and left for a night to stand before being grilled.

Kittelsen's World of Fairy Tales

Love this one of a large brown bear
taking a nap in the blueberry shrubs.

Besides climbing down the cold and claustrophobic mines to see the cobalt lines and wandering around Blaafarveværket, I was also pleased to see Theodor Kittelsen's works on display. Norway has arranged for a couple of events to commemorate this centennial year of his passing.

Kittelsen used several mediums but I feel that his strength is in his imagination and how he works the watercolors to bring them to life. The ethereal strokes brought out the magic of Norwegian fairy tales, witches, trolls and bears. Now, Norwegian fairy tales or folk tales may have a happy ending, and have a lot to do with Askeladden, or an Ash-lad (often the youngest of three brothers), winning Princesses as wives and half the kingdom. BUT, every tale tells of bribes, lies, deceit, justified murder, random robbery, and all. So it's definitely not a book you would want to read to your children without some explanation.

Unfortunately, all the essential information I needed to know about the artworks was printed in Norwegian. ARRRGH. Forgot to ask if there was an audio guide in English. Oddly, there were so many people there that we couldn't really linger that long. There was cellphone reception and 4G out in the mountains and I googled like crazy to find out what the words meant. For the pieces that I really liked, had to go ask my companions to help me translate on-the-spot. Limited that to three questions. Too pai-seh to ask them to translate all. Couldn't take photos of the paintings at the galleries. Understandable. Snucked one anyway. Muahahaha.

Stopped by the gallery shop to buy a book of Th. Kittelsen's art curated by Gunn Marit Nisja, just published this year. Apparently it's for children of all ages. Alle barns. Hahahaha. Good for me. I'm not even quite at that literacy level, so it'll take me ages to read it. It's such a happy flip. The cover painting depicts the Norwegian fairy tale of 'White-Bear King Valemon'. Love the illustrations. Lots of stuff about 'The Black Plague' (Svartedauen) that affected Norway in 1349. Kittelsen personified Death as an old hag lurking in corners. o_O Spotted loads of postcards of trolls that I know some friends will like. Swept them off the shelves, wrote them and sent them off at the post office. (The postcards reached Singapore in an impressive three days, over a weekend. Godt gjort, Posten Norge!) 

Plenty of awesome illustrations. Loads of details to slowly pore over. Some fun ones from left to right below: 1) That's the cover which many have seen as a classic painting of Scandinavian fairy tales. 'Kvitebjørn kong Valemon'.  2) There's one of a troll who seems so old that it has trees and bushes growing out of it. 3) Another of an Ash Lad challenging the Troll in a porridge-eating contest. 4) Also one of gnomes with red beanies chipping away at two Troll heads that have turned into stone in the sun.

Stillhet i Oslo domkirke

Ceiling of Oslo domkirke.

The Holmenkollen Chapel is beautiful. Unfortunately, I've lost all those photos. Or rather, I'm too lazy to retrieve them. Went there in the night, and I think it's a lot more magical than its daytime appearance.

A pity Holmenkollen Chapel was locked up and I couldn't see the insides. Built in 1903 as a chapel, it was dedicated as a church (Evangelical Lutheran) in 1913, and rebuilt in 1996 after a fire. The dragestil wood carvings are intricate and besides being seen on excavated Viking ships, they are also a mark of stave churches. Serpents and dragons. With imagined bits of wave, froth and churn. Love.

Would have loved to check out the neo-gothic structure of St. Olav domkirke, but I wasn't quite passing that way. Went to Oslo domkirke instead. It's a Dutch baroque cruciform church that was consecrated in 1867 and has been reconstructed many times, closing for four years at the last one and re-opened in 2010. But the altar piece, ceiling mural, pulpit and organ remain the way it used to be, spruced up.

Gloria in excelsis deo. There was thanksgiving to be made; for answered prayers for the well-being of loved ones who had procedures successfully done at the hospitals. I wasn't particularly worried. Too used to these sort of stuff. All is left in the hands of skilled surgeons, and God. Faith sustains me, always. And a steady Skype connection to talk to the loved ones. Sat down among the pews. Salmene 41:1-3. The Bible was in Norwegian. OH, okay. Psalm 41:1-3. Psalm 41. I know it by heart. So I dutifully copied the Norwegian version in a notebook and matched it to the English in my head and read it softly to hear how it sounded. 

Salig er den som akter på den elendige; på den onde dag skal Herren frelse ham. 

Herren skal verge ham og holde ham i live; han skal bli lykksalig i landet, og du skal visselig ikke overgi ham til hans fienders mordlyst. 

Herren skal understøtte ham på sykesengen; hele hans leie forvandler du i hans sykdom.

Bacalao, Norwegian style

The bacalao isn't a Norwegian traditional recipe, even though the dish uses klippfisk (dried or salted cod). It's more Spanish and Portuguese than anything. Norway still exports klippfisk though volume has fallen. The Norwegian klippfisk has got five grades. I certainly can't discern those grades just yet. But nowadays, with declining stocks of cod, other white fish is also used too.

There're about a hundred variations of bacalao all over Europe and Mexico. I like it, and really didn't mind having one in Oslo. Randomly picked a bistro and walked in. It was great weather. Naturally, there wasn't anyone seated indoors. Fine. Went back outside. I didn't want to sit outdoors because they don't differentiate between smoking and non-smoking sections. I really don't like smoke being blown into my face when I eat. Found the furthest corner next to a table with a baby. Figured they wouldn't light up. I was so wrong. Both the mother and her friends smoked away with the baby in the pram right next to them. Grrrrr.

There's something about sitting outdoors and having a hearty tomato stew on a cool summer day. I kinda like the salted rehydrated cod. Hehehehe. While I didn't finish all of it, it wasn't terribly difficult to chew. Although while chewing, I wondered why didn't they just use fresh cod. Oh well. With potatoes in the stew and bread on the side. Best. More than enough to fill the tummy. Lunchtime beer. Of course. I wasn't exactly sitting in the sun. It was shaded. It was neither too hot or too early to have a beer. Picked a Ralla Amber Ale by Ægir Bryggeri whose light toffee notes nicely complemented the uh smoke in the bacalao.

Keeping Me Safe

When we met for a last round of whisky before my flight to Oslo, E pressed something into my hand. She said, "Here, keep it in your pocket." It was a simple medal. One side holds a guardian angel, and the other the Archangel St. Michael. Awww. Totally unexpected. Very sweet of her.

I had no chain or twine to put it on as a necklace. But yeah, I would be mostly in jeans and would have pockets in the jacket too. It could stay in a pocket snugly till I sort out something in Oslo or it could wait to sit with my crucifix when I get home.

On the plane, I grinned widely. St Michael? Really?! Hahaha. He's the patron saint of grocers, mariners and sickness, and forgot-what-else. (I'm definitely having a great run at the grocers!) Since the other side was a guardian angel, I should say hello at least. This trip is significant in many little ways, and always, a smooth trip is prayed for. As it is, I only wear flats or boots on flights, and now, cultivated a new habit of not removing shoes until after ascent to cruising speed. In the plane, I was determined to sleep through the routes through uhh conflict-stricken areas. Fast asleep preferably. I can sleep deeply inflight. All would be entrusted to the hands of the (hopefully) able pilots and God.

There's a little prayer to one's guardian angel that my grandmother used to read with me. Many little children would know this, in all its different languages. As the plane left Changi Airport and climbed fast into the night sky for Doha then Oslo, the prayer was softly uttered.

Ángele Dei, qui custos es mei, me tibi commissum pietáte supérna, hodie illúmina, custódi, rege et gubérna. Amen.

A Proper Seafood Restaurant

Was taken out to Solsiden (literally, Sunny Side) for dinner. I was so pleased to see many choices of fish on the menu. Situated at the harbor, it's got a view of the fjord that's pretty nice. It's frequented by both tourists and locals. I'm told that Solsiden is a seafood restaurant that only opens during summer. Win lor. This year, they were opened from 2 May to 6 September. We caught its last week of operations.

I wonder why not that many restaurants in Oslo put fresh fish fillets on their menu. If there's fish, it's either salmon or haddock. Bit boring. At this proper seafood restaurant, they've got loads of fresh fish. There's the usual huge 'Plateau des Fruits de Mer' which we passed. No one was up for wrestling crabs, crayfish and lobsters. Skipped the salmon. Thought about the turbot. Decided I would take the hake, same family as the haddock and cod, but not as oily. Pan-seared hake with asparagus, mussel risoni and parsley vinaigrette. Lightly browned and so fresh inside. Superbly delicious.

Loved the evening of conversation and laughter. Every day has just been an absolute pleasure. Enjoying the last bits of the long summer days. Had a glass of sauvignon blanc that went so well with the fish and shellfish. Norway has a strict zero-tolerance policy (0.2% BAC; that's just a sip) for drink-driving, even on a Segway. So nobody drove this evening. Happy to have super convenient T-bane stations and lines. When we finished dinner, the sun had set, but twilight was long, making for a pleasant stroll to the train station.

Peking Duck in Oslo

A celebratory meal was cooked for another birthday boy. The birthday boy likes duck. Placed an order for a 3-kg duck at Maschmanns Matmarked (Maschmanns Food Market) picked it up and set up plucking some more feathers out of it. I guess the plucking is done by machines and feather ends are still left inside the skin. It's quite gross. We totally intended to eat the skin and spent some time pulling out loads of eeky down behind the wings and end-bits all over. Bit of a private joke here- for your information, this duck had nothing to do with the other ducks I stalk and chase at the lake.

Brushed the duck with honey and rice vinegar and had it stand in the dry and cold cellar for 24 hours. Then a slow roast over three hours ensured that the meat remained tender and flavorful. It's Peking duck done the way we like it. Honestly, I don't like having just the skin. I like the meat too. So does the girlfriend and her family. That was how we ate it. The girlfriend is Chef Ekstraordinære.

Had earlier spotted Hoisin sauce and frozen packs Peking duck pancakes or wraps at the supermarket. Was so tickled because the frozen packs of wraps were imported from Singapore's Tee Yih Jia. It's not difficult to get Asian ingredients at the general chain supermarkets (think ICA or Meny), but something specifically Singaporean was an unexpected find. Bought those wraps instead of making our own. Chopped up plenty of spring onions to go along with it. Of course we had a stash of handpicked lingonberries. The girlfriend boiled them into the sauce to go with the rest of the duck. A fantastic dinner. We laughed and said that in another year, this 3-kg duck isn't going to be enough to feed the family. Two ducks will be needed very soon.

Plukke Bær

You know what's the best part about a walk in the woods? Stumbling across wild blueberries (blåbær, they're really a close cousin- bilberry) and lingonberries (tyttebær, also known as the very cute 'cowberries') with a little basket or ziplock all ready to pick them and take them home to eat.

Raspberries are easily grown in gardens at home and within reach. In this climate, they're not fragile or difficult to nurture. Lingonberries and blueberries can be bought off the shelves, but they don't keep very well. They ought to be eaten straightaway. BUT, why do that when we could pop out to the woods every weekend to pick some these few weeks? The Norwegian woods are beautiful and so easily accesible within a short drive. So we did that.

The Norwegian blueberries, or rather bilberry, ooze red or purple when squeezed. Picking them could stain your fingers in those happy colors. In the countryside where the berries were freshly wet after the rain and with little pollutants, I didn't bother to rinse them. Plucked them and immediately popped a couple in the mouth. The tongue stained red. Heh. These bilberries aren't usually sweet, but not too tart either. Refreshing. We plucked plenty of lingonberries, not quite to eat it like that. They're sour and usually made into jams and gravies.

The girlfriend loves her berries. But once autumn is over, the berries will be gone. What she does, is to freeze the berries so that in winter, she could use them for smoothies and in granola or whatever. It might not be superbly fresh, but it does keep well. The supermarkets will stock frozen berries too, but it's more fun freezing our own. Meanwhile, we're just seizing the day, giving thanks to nature's bounty, and gorging on the season's gems.

Where lingonberries grow, you'll usually find bilberries too.