Hey Spring in Seattle!

The weather forecast in Seattle promises to be kind. By that I mean temperatures in the range of 13dC - 24dC with some rain. Rain is the norm here. Whether we get that gorgeous sun totally depends on the fickle weather and Murphy. It was a mild winter—the plum trees and cherry trees bloomed in late February and lasted all the way till now.

Love this direct flight from Taipei into Seattle on EVA Air. Makes me feel less zonked than if I had to garner energy to deal with the domestic transit at LAX (from Tokyo) or SFO (from Seoul). With the ESTA on repeat visits within six months, I didn't even have to queue up at immigrations to talk to a human. I simply touchscreen-ed my way through, printed out my own 'immigration check-out' slip, shimmy to the shuttle to baggage claim and got out of Sea-Tac Airport within 20 minutes of landing.

No issues with locks on suitcases. Because, cable ties. WOOOHOOO. Sorted out the check-in at the hotel, picked-up our data-SIMs, and checked out information about the possibly mad weekend of May Day protests, Sounders and Mariners games and the Alaskan Way viaduct two-week closure, etc. In fact, the crazy friends sent a list of 'things to note in WA'. Hahaha. They damn free lah. I can get the information online, but it's much appreciated because the locals can get more in-depth stuff and the friends will know the sort of details I'm looking for.

Then crashed our friends' kitchen for dinner. Gotta pick up my rain boots too. Nothing elaborate since we just landed, although not too tired, we weren't at our finest witty best. Hahaha. A one-dish meal always works. The friends had earlier brought out the giant pasta machine to roll out radiatori. Fat and squat. So cute. They made a puttanesca of sorts. Convenient and delicious. Mmm. Much love and laughter. Hey spring in Seattle, nice to see you.

National Kitchen by Violet Oon

Violet Oon's Peranakan dishes aren't crap lah. It's more of how her kitchens execute the dishes which can be inconsistent on a day-to-day basis. The issues at the restaurants seem to be more operational. I was okay with the interpretation of food at her restaurant at Bukit Timah. Of course if you visit, expecting flavors of Guan Hoe Soon, Peramakan or the old Baba Blues, then you're going to be sorely disappointed.

There're so many mixed reviews about National Kitchen by Violet Oon that I had to try it for myself. It's small, but beautifully done up. But the wood and tiles don't help with controlling noise levels. It's very noisy at both lunch and dinner. Kinda tempted to wear ear plugs and tonight I did. Well, dunno about you, but I've gone by a few times and enjoyed the food at National Kitchen. No pork or lard used. Menu offerings also hold familiar items from Violet Oon's Bukit Timah restaurant.

Took the man to the restaurant for dinner when he had a window between conference calls. I knew he'd appreciate the Guinness on tap here. Heh. Tasted pretty all right. Orderd conservatively. The kuay pie tie were dependably nibblelicious. The man was pleased with both beef rendang and sambal eggplant. Spicy enough without the overkill. Happy to see my favorite buah keluak noodle (spaghetti) on the menu. It was still oily at the bottom though. Ugh. I wish the kitchen would go easy on the oil.

Had to order idly with coconut and tomato chutney. We were curious! While the idly were the tiniest ones around, but they were surprisingly decent. (Can't beat Murugan's lah.) The idly were, how should I put it without going into the technical details of how to make idly/idli and what makes it good... anyway, they were sour enough. Yup. Sour. The surprise was the fish curry that came along because we randomly asked for sambar, but of course they didn't have it. The servers were so lovely to give us a small bowl of nicely tangy fish curry on the house.

Back At Bollywood Veggies

On weekends, it's always a pleasure to go on a walk to Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve, then to Kranji Marshes and stop at Bollywood Veggies for an early lunch with the friends. The morning was overcast but the skies held. Not even a drop of rain. Made for a very perfect stroll all the way to an early lunch at 11am.

Can't help ordering the same items each time we eat at Bollywood Veggies' Poison Ivy Bistro- the Indian vegetarian platter. The sambar is good. We ask for sambal belachan too. Pretty decent. Since it was a table of four, we made it to the dessert platter of kueh, and could even buy additional loaves of banana bread and jackfruit bread to take home.

To be honest, the food is average. Oddly, we like it enough to return a few times a year. I really enjoy the food, the weirdly wide variety of menu items, the company and conversation. Also, we take comfort in knowing that majority of its ingredients are supplied straight from the farm and cooked fresh with little salt and oil. The relaxed atmosphere of the bistro amongst the green is such a gem. Its air-conditioned indoor area is much appreciated too. Driving up here is always a breeze. It's as close to the 'countryside' as we can get.

Sometimes it Snows in April

Too many of my childhood music heroes have died. This year hits especially hard. 2016, you're breaking my heart. The year began with the death of David Bowie, then Maurice White, Glenn Frey, and others. Then Prince. We aren't even at the halfway mark of 2016. :(

There's a feeling of loss, not the deeply personal sort obviously. It's a sentimental loss without regard to whether these musicians are assholes in their private lives. I look at the scene today and mourn of the passing of an era. There's talent aplenty of course, but few musicians have taken the world by storm as David Bowie or Prince did. The flamboyance doesn't quite match up to these legends now gone. Unless we only remember them because of how their music accompanied our teenage years and through all the angst.

With Prince's passing, I feel old. He has got 39 studio albums and so many fantastic songs. Hard to pick just one favorite song. 'Starfish and Coffee', 'Thieves in the Temple', 'Diamonds and Pearls', 'Cream', and even the cheesy 'Kiss'. Had loads of fun tinkering out the tunes on the piano and the guitar. The man has been on the guitar strumming songs non-stop. Well, a welcome change from Guns N' Roses during the Coachella weekends. I've got a very soft spot for 'Purple Rain'. I don't quite take to the movie though. Eioow. The man made me watch it again that night. It's really... 80s horror.

Remember one of Prince's most epic performances? Done in the downpour. The 2007 Super Bowl XLI in Miami. Prior to this year, apparently it has never rained during a Super Bowl. Ha. Miami. Woah. Torrential rain and gale-force winds. Made us swoon when he covered Foo Fighters' 'Best of You'. Hurhurhur. Com'mon, Dave Grohl is way better on vocals and drums then the guitar. When Prince broke into the solo for 'Best of You', it was the most amazing thing.

The Cafe at National Museum

Not quite a fan of Food for Thought's (FFT) bistros. As meaningful as their causes are, their service is patchy across outlets, and food is middling at best. For years, I thought it quite crap, even at its price points. Especially the outlet at Botanic Gardens; nobody really goes there to eat. Recently, the kitchens seem to have improved. One fine afternoon, we settled into an easy meal at its National Museum outlet.

Menu has been revamped. The service staff that afternoon were quite lovely. Food came correctly, and fast. The grilled tofu mixed mushroom salad wasn't too sad and came with tempeh crisps. The garden city vegetable aglio e olio was all right. Good on them for upping vegetarian options and making them more robust than the sad strands offerred by the old menus.

R had no complaints about his crispy curry chicken with creamy wongbok slaw (which was really a big piece of deep fried chicken chop with curry mayo dip at the side), and salt and pepper fries. Hahahaha. It was brainless and very edible, he said. No comments on the basket of spam fries. Ma Ling luncheon meat thick cut fries. Woot. It's my guilty unhealthy indulgence. As long as the fries aren't miserly-cut and fried to a sad thin crisp, it's fine by me. There's now soy beef brisket on mash with sweet potato crisps, and a Foochow-style red rice wine chicken leg with mee sua. Both dishes were pretty tasty. Skipped the bits of chicken because I only wanted the mee sua and hard-boiled eggs. 

No dessert. The table went for milkshakes- good old Milo Dinosaur and Horlicks, and declared them absolutely divine. Okaaaay. Many have said that FFT's pancakes are nicely done, and have been good since day one. Lost on me. I don't like waffles or pancakes. Hahaha. 

Wolf Totem :: 狼圖騰

Watched Chinese film 'Wolf Totem' directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud. Well, mainly to watch the wolves and sigh at the splendour of the Mongolian steppes. Was so tickled to read an article about the Mongolian wolf pups who were raised and trained for four years to be in the film, and after that, they had to be relocated to Canada after filming because they only understood commands in English. Hahahaha.

Adapted from Lü Jiamin's (his pseudonym is 'Jiang Rong') critically acclaimed (and government disapproved) 2004 novel 'Wolf Totem', the 2015 Chinese language film was years in the making. It's weird because Jean-Jacques Annaud's 'Seven Years in Tibet' is still banned in China. Even with a Chinese film company backing it, the French director had to grovel a little in order to get all the permits to film 'Wolf Totem'. The wolves were beautiful and savage; the winter, landscape and environment were bleak and majestic. Mongolia and its 草原 are ridiculously gorgeous.



Jean-Jacques Annaud's cinematography and dedication to authenticity and care of animals were faultless. To that end, I didn't think the director (and his team) went really deep into the political subtext and criticisms that form the essence of the book. It's probably intentional. The film chose to safely focus on ecological balances versus the pragmatic concerns of a vast country needing to feed its people and justice within its bureaucratic practices. 

With a load of reluctance, I dug out the book to re-read. Even though I love the idea of wolves, and as good as the narrative and words are, the book is a tough one to plough through. 姜戎，真名為'吕嘉民'的著作《狼圖騰》。Set in the years of the Cultural Revolution (文革时期), we follow Beijing students Yang Ke (楊克) and mainly Chen Zhen's (陳陣) observations when he's sent to live with the nomadic herders of Mongolia for two years. Every chapter describes an incident with the wolf packs roaming Inner Mongolia, their hunt for food and how the animals grew desperate as humans invade their foraging territory, urbanized the Mongolian steppes, polluted arable land and deplete the predators' natural prey. It's inevitable that the wolves begin attacking humans and their horses.

老人看小狼的目光柔和了許多，又說：草原人敬拜騰格里還是跟狼學的呐。蒙古人還沒有來到草原的時候，狼早就天天夜夜抬頭對騰格里長嗥了。活在草原太苦，狼心裏更苦，夜裏，老人們聽著狼嗥，常常會傷心落淚。 

陳陣心頭一震。在他的長期觀察中，茫茫草原上，確實只有狼和人對天長嗥或默禱。草原人和狼活在這片美麗而貧瘠的草原上太艱難了，他（牠）們無以排遣，不得不常常對天傾訴。從科學的角度看，狼對天長嗥，是為了使自己的聲音訊息傳得更遠更廣更均勻。但陳陣從情感上，卻更願意接受畢利格阿爸的解釋。人生若是沒有某些神性的支撐，生活就太無望了。陳陣的眼圈發紅。

Packs of the Tibetan wolf or the woolly grey wolf roam these northern plains from Tibet to Mongolia. They're of course endangered, due to humans hunting them for their pelts and to drive them away from preying on domesticated herds of cattle and goats. The Gobi Bear is likely extinct. The numbers of khulan are low. Illegal hunting is flourishing and even though trading in animal parts and fur is illegal, nothing much is stopping the trends.

The Mongolian funeral customs of a 'sky burial', lesser practiced now as the usual burial beneath the ground or cremation rituals are adopted. Much of Mongolian traditional customs have eroded. Likewise, it's a touchy issue with the Chinese government. Tibet, bits of northern Yunnan, and Mongolia. I was lucky to have hung out in yurts for two weeks. Needless to say, I was also in love with the Mongolian plains, horses and the idea of free-spiritedness. All of which is only romantic to the traveler. I'm not sure what the Mongolians think. Very few lead the nomadic hunter-gatherer lifestyle now.

四年後，一個白毛風肆虐的凌晨，一位老人和一位壯年人騎著馬，駕著一輛牛車向邊防公路跑去，牛車上載著畢利格老人的遺體。大隊的三個天葬場已有兩處棄而不用，一些牧民死後，已改為漢式的土葬，只有畢利格老人堅持要到可能還有狼的地方去。他的遺囑是讓他的兩個遠房兄弟，把他送到邊防公路以北的無人區。 

據老人的弟弟說，那夜，邊防公路的北面，狼嗥聲一夜沒停，一直嗥到天亮。 

陳陣，楊克和張繼原都認為，畢利格阿爸是痛苦的、也是幸運的老人。因為他是額侖草原最後一個由草原天葬而魂歸騰格里的蒙古族老人。此後，草原的狼群再也沒有回到過額侖草原。

Tame Impala

All right, a psychedelic rock band usually doesn't sound too bad live. Last saw Tame Impala in Singapore at Laneway 2013, the first year that it was held at Gardens by the Bay after shifting over from Fort Canning Park. The music's fine, fun to dance to and very Coachella (by now). But to me, they didn't make much of an impression then, and they still don't make me go wheeeee now.

Band is tight, the benefits of being on tour. Having vocals, guitars, drums and instruments make this way better than EDM or a DJ. There was allocated seating at the theatre, but nobody cared and people stood up to dance. People enjoyed the show. It was my first visit to the venue and in spite of it being rather fancy, beer in plastic cups (canned Heineken) purchased at its official barebones fridge were allowed in. It rained confetti at the start and at the end. Apparently the sound in the upper level was not great. Oops. It sounded good from where we were in the stalls.

I don't quite appreciate techicolor whirls as a backdrop. It kinda gives me a headache. There was plenty of that. Perfect as a setting in a club. Watching Tame Impala live isn't something I shriek in joy over only because I'm not a fan of the genre. Forgot to protest loudly when the man said he would get tickets to this show. I knew only a quarter of the band's songs, but it still made for a night out.

Marmalade Pantry at Novena

I really dislike Marmalade Pantry at Orchard ION because each time I walk in, its awful service and food are a double whammy. It's been years now and I avoid that place like plague unless I'm there only for a drink. It's tough to screw up drinks. Made the mistake of eating there a few weeks ago, the food was MEH.

However, now that Marmalade Pantry at Oasia Hotel in Novena has been around for some time, we braved it for J's birthday lunch. You know what, the service is good and even if the menu is the same across all outlets, the food at this one was decent, a lot better than the mushy crap at Orchard ION.

I think different outlets have got 'specials' of the day/week. This one at Novena offered laksa, chicken rice and fried rice. Sure, my laksa gravy didn't cut it, but the ingredients did- thick pieces of fishcake, three huge prawns and a crayfish. D and J's truffled field mushroom risotto and Asian-style truffled wild mushroom fried rice were pretty all right. Happy that the staff and kitchen could confirm quickly that the seemingly vegetarian items (listed on the menu without any indication) don't contain chicken or meat stock.

D had gone by for tea with other friends. Apparently the scones suck, but cupcakes are all right. I'll take her word for it. She's the champ at desserts. The old-fashioned chocolate fudge cake was delicious too, and D recommended that. So we got a slice of dependable chocolate cake to hold the birthday candle for J.

Many happy returns of the day, J. To your amazing strength and grace.

Battle Box at Fort Canning

It was known as Bukit Larangan (Forbidden Hill), then Government Hill, and now Fort Canning Park. Built in 1938, the Battle Box of World War II lies under within. Now that the historic bunker has been refurbished and reopened, we strolled by to take a look at its changes. Check tour timings online and just turn up to grab tickets. A tour can probably take up to 30 people.

Instead of NParks as administrator, there's a new private operator in Singapore History Consultants. They cleaned it out, rectified leaks, and installed new generators and updated the air-conditioning system. All spruced up. Your S$18 admission fee is worth it in this heat and humidity. The bunker certainly smelt a lot better! Our one-hour tour with 25 adults totally over-ran to 90 minutes.

Apparently, instead of focusing on going through the rooms in the bunker, the new operator wished to tell the stories surrounding the British's decision to surrender and ultimate fall of Singapore to Japanese forces. We were shown two short videos of interesting war footage with rather bad narration. In the future, there'll be more multi-media 3D ambient soundscape thingamajigs. Right now, those aren't up and running yet. It was a guided tour, and we weren't given time to wander through the rooms on our own. Sure, there's no cellphone signal down here except at the 'cat ladder'; we might get lost, but if the directional signs are clear enough, we'll be fine.

"No photo-taking," they said. "No note-taking." Zzzzzzz. No note-taking too? Thought I heard things! That no photography rule again. My bugbear. If museums, galleries and art fairs allow photo-taking (without flash) of their beautiful million-dollar paintings and sculptures, what this new operator's problem? It's a bunker. There's nothing to hide. I understand it could be a tactic to have no photos and have people come and see for themselves what's changed, and buy the books at the Visitors' Centre. BUT REALLY? In this day and age?! Pfffft.

It's a great effort. Always, it's about how we can do better. Like I said, this is a bunker. Its 27 rooms (previously 29) and what used to be in it are still the attraction. Tell all the stories you want, but if there isn't a strong curation of focus in the vast content available, we're better off reading a book, for example, Romen Bose's very informative 'Secrets of the BattleBox'. An excerpt from the early part of the book,

Jim Howard, an Australian military photographer during the war, parachuted into Singapore on 28 August 1945, days before the official Japanese surrender, and entered the bunker complex, where he saw Japanese soldiers occupying these rooms and using the communications facilities. Obviously, the equipment was not sufficiently destroyed by the surrendering British as the Japanese were still able to use the signals equipment. Howard noted the rooms nearby were barely furnished and the Orderlies Room had bunks and were occupied by Japanese guards who also cooked there, with the stench of ammonia in the air, the result of someone using the inner recesses of the bunker as a public latrine.

Grinned when our guide mentioned about communications operators in the bunker taking 45 minutes for a phone call to be placed through to Kuala Lumpur back then. I wasn't smirking at the horrible speed just 70-odd years ago, but at how the guides have probably been trained with nuggets of information for use on these briefings. And they probably have to read Romen Bose's book (and a few other historical texts), which mentioned the same snippet of information.

We have a suggestion for the guides who have to wear a tie and a jacket in this heat even though the bunker is nicely air-conditioned- do not use "fun fact" when describing torture of civilians under the Japanese regime. I almost gagged when our guide said that, twice. The friends picked it up too. But we didn't feel like being confrontational. Maybe he was nervous. Perhaps guides should consider using 'interesting' instead. I was really keen to know more about the latrines. Still am! Any information on that would have been really fun facts.

There were latrines provided in the underground bunker, one for the use of officers and the others for non-commissioned officers and men. There were no facilities for women as the majority of the bunker's personnel were male and there were no female clerks working in the Battlebox. Because they were heavily used and constantly clogging up, by the time of the Battle for Singapore in February 1942, the facilities were no longer useable and the stench from the toilets was making it hard to work in the Battlebox. Much of the toilet remains intact with the toilet bowls and urinals still standing. 

At the junction in front of the latrines is a concrete pedestal. What this was used for is still unknown. 

At A Boutique Gym

Em puffing her way through a mountain climber + dunno what reps.

Followed Em to her long-time gym. It's a boutique gym that's pretty well equipped with a few machines and weights. I hadn't stepped into one and was curious about it. Wanted to know what personal trainers at gyms do. But it's unlikely that I would sign up for it because I prefer pilates. The girlfriend said "No problem. Just come play." Off we went.

Small gyms scare me. Poked my head into a few and the stuff they were doing weren't attractive. Things like circuit and cardio, and a modified versions of CrossFit. Too fierce. Made it clear that I wasn't keen on cardio things. Of course the trainer made it easy for me. The heart rate went up, but I wasn't even flushed. I only stepped on the elliptical machine, swung around a kettle bell, pulled at a TRX-like suspension frame, and that's pretty much it. A short 35-minute or so introductory session. Then I amused myself by grabbing photos of the girlfriend. Woohooo.

I can't really eat much after a work-out, no matter how heavy. This was an easy thing. Just some weights and resistance. Not much cardio. Literally no sweat. Didn't feel like sad salads at this late hour. Em didn't feel like heavy carbs either. So I crashed her home for dinner.

Teochew png kueh (潮州饭桃, glutinous rice cakes) for dinner! The precious batch of png kueh was handmade by her childhood nanny. Ooh. Haven't had that for a while. If the colors look strange, blame her dining room light. And the png kueh looks brown because it was pan-fried, just for a different texture to the usual steamed. The helper also stir-fried French beans, and prepped a super welcoming cold drink of barley ginkgo nuts and snow fungus. It was a very satisfying dinner. The randomness. Hehehe.

Is It All In Our Heads?

A quick stop at the library with an hour to kill between appointments resulted in flipping through an easy read in Paul Torday's 'Two Eerie Tales of Suspense'. There're two novellas in the book titled 'Breakfast at the Hotel Déjà vu' and 'Theo'.

Don't compare it to his 'Salmon Fishing in the Yemen'. That's really enjoyable and it's a different sort of story from 'Two Eerie Tales of Suspense'. These novellas are 'eerie' not in the sense of the supernatural. Not quite. They're more of a matter of psychological imbalances. Can't seem to find many reviews. I suppose they're more of a digital release even though I read this in hard copy. (More information here and on goodreads.)

Using Telegraph's 2009 exposé of the scandal of UK's MPs' (Members of Parliament's) expenses, 'Breakfast at the Hotel Déjà vu' begins the protagonist former MP Bobby Wansbeck seemingly on a holiday in an idyllic Mediterranean isle without his wife Margaret White. He's recuperating from a major illness, getting away from the stress in London and wanting to write his memoirs. Somehow he has memory lapses. The same scene of a mother and her child every morning triggers déjà vu, but he can't recall what and how. The book weaves in and out of his recent past and his downfall as an MP. Towards the end, we learn that he's indeed not well. I was a tad confused as to whether he has pancreatic cancer or is a misdiagnosed gall bladder stones instead. Whichever it is, the end tells us that he hasn't actually recovered or gotten out of hospital. Bobby Wansbeck has simply been drifting in and out of his sanity.

'Mr Wansbeck?' the doctor asked again. Then he heard somebody else say, 'His blood pressure is dropping.' 

But Bobby couldn't be bothered to answer. Enough was enough. He was on a journey, on a train, then bumping along somewhere in a taxi—or was it on a gurney—and he knew he was nearly there again, after all these years. The sunlight was strong and warm. Checking in was a mere formality. He went up the stairs to his room, and it had not changed a bit. he walked across the room to the window. 

The view was just as he imagined it would be, just as he remembered it.

In 'Theo', we learn how the vicar of St Joseph's Church in a small town parish- John Elliott and his schoolteacher wife Christine stumble upon young student Theo Constantine who seems to have constant bruises on his body that fade away quickly. Theo lives with his mother Mary, and her boyfriend George. The doctor of the town, the council's domestic violence officer and school headmistress all seem to have seen the bruises. The wounds keep disappearing and reappearing. The adults suspect domestic violence and abuse, except that when the police are called in, they can't see a thing on Theo. Stigmata is mentioned. Somehow in the end, Theo went missing and a huge local search ensued.

John Elliot is haunted by the prior events and Theo's ultimate disappearance. Apparently the little boy is not found. He quit his job and left town with his wife. Then he spirals downward into what seems to be depression. He went to a psychologist Professor Thornton because John needed to get his life together before his 'illness' overwhelm him and divorce happens. It's never quite clearly concluded what exactly the matter with Theo's bruises is about.

'Doesn't it strike you as a strange coincidence that in a town you describe as being quite uninterested in the church—I think you said you had a congregation of sixteen—a miracle should appear in front of your eyes, in the form of Theo? 

The professor expounds his thesis in a calm and courteous voice. John Elliott has merged his worries about his inability to fill his church with worshippers with his worries about his inability to produce a child. Theo, a child who was real enough, had somehow become the locus of these anxieties. The miraculous wounds, the strange ability of Theo to get inside John Elliott's head, were all projections of his desire for evidence that God was real, his need for something to sustain him in his thankless task as a parish priest. 

Warong Mak' Shukur Is Closing

I'm sure there're still plenty of little good nasi padang stalls (not in air-conditioned foodcourts) dotted around the island. But one such stall we frequent is Warong Mak' Shukur at Toa Payoh North. Glad that we stop by for lunch whenever possible to slurp up all the rempah goodness.

It has been four good years since we regularly went by, and Warong Mak' Shukur is closing at its current location. The coffeeshop it's sited in is shutting for renovations and upping the rent. Haizzz. It's so hard to run a food business in Singapore—gotta keep the prices low yet maintain the quality of ingredients. So Mr Rashid and his wife Su aren't gonna be here after April 26. :(

I'm picky about the sambal belachan/belado, begedil, sambal goreng and paru (the soft version please, not crispy) for nasi padang. These are mainly what I eat. So if the stalls don't do these well, then I'm less inclined to return. I'm also not keen on the nasi padang stalls in the Arab Street and Jalan Sultan area. The quality has plummeted in the past five years. The one stall across from Sultan Mosque that's decent has a ridiculous queue and crowds. It's as though the whole island flocks there, especially crazy on weekends.

Mr Rashid and Madam Su haven't decided if they would continue with running a stall. They're considering the issues of location and rent. UGH. I'll ask the couple what they've decided on come June if they haven't already contacted us to update on future plans. Meanwhile, I'm glad to have eaten super decent nasi padang and their mee siam. Their food is kinda 'homecooked' in how they only churn out small batches, keeping its quality consistent and rempah chockfull of flavors. If the couple doesn't continue cooking, I'm really going to miss their spices.

Warong Mak' Shukur
Hai Fong Coffeeshop (right opposite the main entrance to SPH)
203 Toa Payoh North #01-1121 Singapore 310203
Weekday lunches only. Till 26 April 2016

Reviewing The Fitness Regime

Thanks to the girlfriend's courtesy passes, the man and I hopped in to check out Virgin Active. Went at peak lunch-time just to see how crazy it gets. The man's loyalty to his current gym is wearing as thin as the age of the equipment and shower stalls. LOL. I'm reviewing my exercise options and a fancy gym offering corporate rates is very much more attractive. :P

It was great that two slots opened up at a Power Plate class. That was something I really wanted to try out at the gym, and since there're only seven machines, the class size is capped at that. I don't have much interest in its other machines or weights. I've always used my own body weight and resistance to tone and build strength. It's the pilates machines that are awesome. Aside from aerial pilates, I'd have to find out what I can do at the gym to sustain interest and justify membership fees. Not that keen on classes. Too many humans. AND NO NO NO CIRCUIT TRAINING, CROSSFIT, TABATA OR HIIT CARDIO CRAP. NEVER. If it isn't parkour, then I'm not doing those stupid star jumps and burpees. Also not keen on the type of 'personal training' the gym offers. Bootcamp-style routines and fierce enthusiastic trainers turn me off. I'm damn lazy.

It has occurred to me that if I do sign up with a gym, a new pair of running shoes is a must. I've got hiking boots and urban trainers, but not lightweight running shoes. Bought a new pair of Asics anyway. Heeeeee. Dunno what for since they aren't good for rocky trails. Runs are dreaded.

Anyway, a run mustn't be more than 5km and never more than once a week. There're two pairs of Vibrams for that purpose- one with thick soles and a thinner pair. Don't lecture me about heel fractures or whatever. I know. I've worn Vibrams to run for years and my feet are fine, thankyouverymuch. Our feet are all made differently. Will test out the new pair of running shoes versus the Vibrams for short sprints.

Rarely bother to ask the instructors to take photos of me at the pilates studio. Whatever for?! The man, however, thinks it's good to have photos or videos to know how to adjust form, gait or whatever. Isn't that what the mirrors are for? At Virgin Active, the man decided he wanted to grab photos of me on the machines. I'm really not so keen on those. Ignored him. Anyway, thanks for a nice shot of my biceps. Hahahahaha.

Happy 38th BFF!

Fresh from a superbly awesome dive trip in Maldives where she swam with whale sharks, the BFF was all happy. She always does week-long birthday celebrations with all the friends. This year is no different.

Since I've earlier stalked her at her office and went to play, sending florals to the office isn't a surprise. Considered sending her a pot of greens, but never mind. Oof. She still likes her flowers. All good to brighten up her birthday week. She didn't want a get-drunk party or anything with copious amounts of alcohol. An easy lunch with margaritas it was. She actually decided on churros for dessert even before she chose the mains.

We spent the afternoon looking at...pots. Yup, cooking pots. She wants a small pot of a specific size in its width (circumference) and depth to cook INSTANT NOODLES. It has to fit those bigger packs of Japanese and Korean noodles. Zzzz. Also, it can't be in full stainless steel. Grrrr. Found an ideal one BUT it wasn't the right color and she didn't want to settle for it. I was THIS CLOSE to clonking her with the most convenient one. Nope, we didn't buy any. She really wouldn't have minded a pot as a birthday present. >.< Oh well, she probably has to taobao it.

Many happy healthy returns of the day, BFF. Hurry up and adopt a cat or two so that I can play with it. :p I can happily cat-sit when you travel! 

One Step Forward

Finally.

Unwed mothers are set to benefit from government-paid maternity leave, with proposed amendments to the relevant legislation by the Ministry of Social and Family Development (MSF) to apply to children born from early next year. Likewise, these children will also qualify for a Child Development Account (CDA), including the S$3,000 CDA First Step grant that was announced by Finance Minister Heng Swee Keat in his Budget speech last month. The MSF is currently preparing the legislation and system enhancement for this, which will likely kick in for children born from the third quarter of this year. 

[article via TODAY on 12 April 2016]

This is something long long overdue. The unfairness of it made me angry for the longest time. When I have time to look up from my old folks and step in to help out the friends with their lists, I'm always angered by the treatment of unwed mothers by the very agencies that are supposed to lend assistance.

I never understood why our government makes this distinction between mothers who are married and those who aren't. It's clearly ostracizing unwed mothers and depriving their children who need these benefits and help the most.

It has nothing to do with encouraging women to be married and start families when they're 'ready'. No family values are going to be eroded because unwed mothers are given equal benefits as married ones. It's about penalizing unwed women who never ask to be single mothers. It's a form of discrimination that really leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Worse if she's called 'ungodly' and cut off from all help from her existing traditionalistic family. Allo, going down that road, we're all sinners.

Now that our government has finally heeded the call to stop being so blind, chauvinistic and prejudiced, this is a great policy shift. It's logical and it's fair. Equality in this aspect. I'm so glad this happened. 

Chaat for Lunch

Clockwise from top left: dahi vada, samosa, bhel puri and ragda sev puri.

Felt like having chaat for lunch. There were four of us, which meant we could have more items on the table! Heh. Went to Kailash Parbat. For easy parking in Little India, we always pick the branch at Hotel Grand Chancellor on Belilios Road. We could either park at the hotel or the adjacent HDB multi-storey carpark. It's an easy stroll to wherever we're headed to.

Ordered four types of chaat. The usual bhel puri, ragda sev puri, and samosa, which all packed a savory and spicy punch. Couldn't resist ordering my all-time favorite chaat of dahi vada- lentil dumplings topped with sweet and spicy chutney, and creamy yoghurt. The pomegranate seeds made it super appetizing. I could eat this at any time of the day. And most certainly as a heavy breakfast.

Also ordered a chole bhature platter to feed the rest who needed more substantial carbs. The bhatura platter came with a really good spicy chickpea curry. Four types of bhatura! The plain, with paneer (cottage cheese), with fennel, and with tomato masala. Lunch was crazy satisfying. Hit all the calories needed and satisfied all cravings for spices. In fact, we didn't have much stomach space to put in dinner that night. Ahahaha. 

Diving Belles

Was glancing through olduvai's list of books-to-read. One caught my eye- Lucy Wood's 'Diving Belles'. A collection of short stories. Cornish folklore. Tales of the strange and the wondrous along Cornwall's spectacular coast. Yup. I'm in. (Reviews here, here and here.)

'The Wishing Tree' is full of the bonds between daughter Tessa and her mother June. It's more heartwarming than supernatural. One story is titled 'Wisht'. Ooh the legends of the Wild Hunt and the stories surrounding Wistman's Wood in Dartmoor and Devonshire's hellhounds. Buccas (hobgoblins), piskies (pixies) and such.

The book opens with its eponymous title story of how wives in this little seaside town go to Demelza, who operates an ancient diving bell. These wives go deep down in the diving bell to seek and retrieve their fishermen-husbands who have been lured away by mermaids. Apparently the retrieval might be temporary. The unfortunate ones become mermen permanently and retain their youth deep below, appearing not to age even after decades. Iris is one such woman. Oddly she doesn't go to Demelza until her husband has been gone for 50 years.

Then she relived the morning when she had woken to the smell of salt and damp and found a tiny fish in its death throes on the pillow next to her. There was only a lukewarm indent in the mattress where her husband should have been. She swung her legs out of bed and followed a trail of sand down the stairs, through the kitchen, and here and there, on the fridge, on the kettle, anemones bloomed, fat and dark as hearts. It took her all day to scrub and bleach and mop the house back into shape. By the time she'd finished he could have been anywhere. She didn't phone the police; no one ever phoned the police. No one was reported missing. 

'Blue Moon' refers to Blue Moon Nursing Home where temperamental human residents regularly transform into animals and turn tea into blood or oil. The residents have familiars with them too. Housekeeping is a challenge. The story focus on the relationship between a staff and a Mrs Tivoli and her familiar Maria the catfish who lives in a tank. Eventually, we hear Mrs Tivoli's story.

It's policy for staff to log all transformations, noting events leading up to the change, possible causes, length of time in metamorphosis—the extra admin is a drag but what job isn't swamped in bureaucracy these days? This was the first time I'd seen Mrs Tivoli change into a hare, though, and the logbook doesn't have any entires for her. Some of the other residents do it if the kitchen runs out of ketchup or they miss their favorite program on the telly, but Mrs Tivoli wasn't like that. She was usually so composed, so self-contained, as if nothing could faze her at all. 

It's such a beautiful read. Fun, humorous and full of magic stardust. 'Notes from the House Spirits' is brilliant! It comes from the perspectives of the gentle house spirits observing the incumbent human occupants through the years. Kinda morbidly funny. Hahaha.

Dust drifts across the room and settles on skirting and curtain rails. We can see it, every single piece, as it piles up and no one brushes it away. Dust is static and lazy; it lands on the first thing it sees. It fills the house bit by bit and no one brushes it away. It is not our job to brush it away.

A Matcha Chocolate Coconut Loaf

If bakeries sell better quality cakes that are low in sugar, I'd probably eat more cake. One of the best gifts friends could give us are in the form of home-cooked and home-baked edibles. We've been really blessed with fabulous friends who spoil us this way. Each gift is unique and so precious.

In our fridge sat a loaf of matcha sprinkled with chocolate and baked with coconut oil. Baked with much love and effort by Y and A, the beautiful loaf was the best thing to cheer the man who got back exhausted from another hectic work trip. He likes desserts, and loved the itty chocolate bits in the loaf.

It was baked with no butter. No idea how it was done, but one end held no sugar and the other end held more sugar. No matter. Y and A were sparing in the use of sugar for this loaf (and most of their bakes) and it was way less sweet than the usual bakes. I really like the end without sugar. Promptly sliced up the loaf, removed those slices without sugar and kept them separately for myself. Hurhurhur. All the slices didn't last very long in the fridge. Gone in three days.

Thank you so much Y and A! We loved it! It was beautiful.

Fri-Yay!

It has been a while since I headed out to lunch on Fridays with Y and Missy. School keeps the girls busy and I've been in and out of town and tied up with meetings. So nice we found a date. Well, I had to retrieve a bear, and Missy didn't have homework for that weekend. Felt kinda Fri-yay! Wheeeee.

Went to Pacamara. Luckily I had a coffee before their grinder went kaput for the afternoon. I was intentionally early after meetings in the CBD and wanted to clear some emails before the girls arrived. Y didn't need a coffee when she came in. Took juices instead. We went down the road later for more caffeine.

Food came quickly on lovely heavy plates. The cafe now serves up surprisingly decent food. We really enjoyed their grain salad. Well, at S$15, I do expect it to come chockfull of goodness. I was quite thrilled that the 'big breakfast' came with a hash brown exactly the way I love them. Rather unfortunately, the little girl likes them too. Y rolled eyes at both of us and said she didn't want hash browns. Muahahahaha. Gave them to Missy and she generously shared half with me.

To Tatsuya For A Delicious Bowl

Felt like having the localized version of sushi. The type that mixes up everything and can't be classified as nigiri sushi. Hopped into Tatsuya with V for dinner. We took the usual chirashi-zushi; all raw for V, and in aburi-style for me. It has been more than two decades and Tatsuya's bowl of rice and fish is still one of my all-time favorite items. Love the rice flavored with so many little things like anchovies, negi-toro and such.

Always nice to sit down with the girlfriend in the evenings after work when we could linger a little over the meal and catch up properly instead of rushing through the short lunch hour. Yes, there's the online stalking catching-up with the trivia in our lives that nobody else cares about except our friends, but nothing beats a face-to-face meet with people we appreciate.

Not too sure if we were hungry or greedy. I was definitely hungry and oddly craving for sticky rice. It was a hectic day of work and expended loads of energy climbing a fake cliff wall. After wolfing down the little bowl of chirashi-zushi, I had two pieces of sushi, a shima aji and a yellowtail topped with black fish roe and sea urchin. V was more prudent with the carb intake and took her giant scallops and yellowtail belly as sashimi. YUMMY.

Mine! A bowl of delicious stuff.

At The Karaoke

Finally held a belated celebration with the friends for the man. They said I couldn't let his birthday pass without doing something! Aiyoh, the stress. Okay, it's not a major party to throw. Nobody's going to get drunk. It's a casual outing like what we always do.

Rounded up some of the friends for a 10pm karaoke session at the kinda sleazy Cash Studio at the basement of Cuppage Plaza. Dunno. Each time I see karaoke rooms, I shudder at their hygiene level. :P Ran into another bunch of friends who were celebrating another birthday a few doors down from us. Woohoo.

Brought cake. Or rather Ethel (of Little Favors) baked and brought a gorgeous cake. She took all the care in packing it in a cooler bag in order to keep it cool and lug it to town. As usual, I didn't bother a cake for the man last week. Heeeheeheee. Told you I did pies instead.  But cakes always look so cheerful. Hurrah for Ethel who took all that effort!

Ethel had gone low on the sugar for the chocolate-porter cake topped with 'flowers' of peanut buttercream cheese mousse and dark chocolate ganache with crunchy Valrhona pearls. Wah! The buttercream was more salty than sweet and stayed so firm instead of being all soft and melty.

We keep ending up at Cash Studio Cuppage Plaza because it's a familiar venue and inventory has got all the rock songs for us, with some really cheesy videos. LOL. Shitty drinks and $20 for a jug of soda. The only thing- no more remote control for years now. Your phone is the remote. You'll have to download the Cash Studio app into your phones that must run on Android or Apple OS. Song selection is purely controlled via that. If you don't have such a phone or is reluctant to use it as a remote, then don't bother coming here. There isn't a non-phone option. Quite annoying.

Friends are silly. They like singing. Me, not so much. They don't have a habit of going singing often. It's like they do it once a year. At most twice. Let them shriek their hearts out then. Three hours simply flew by. Fantastic company. Closed the night with Stereophonics' 'Dakota' and Mötley Crüe's 'Home Sweet Home'.

Kappa Vevichathu

Shamelessly went over to the friends' for dinner. We brought nothing except for slices of 'super stacked chocolate cake' and flourless chocolate cake bought at Awfully Chocolate.

There were chicken curry and stir-fried broccoli. J has totally gotten his 40-minute chicken curry recipe down pat. Even the potatoes were soft. Then there was another dish of vegetables. Not okra. Thought it was ivy gourd. But I could be wrong. Too lazy to text the friends now to ask. I'll ask the vegetable stall people tomorrow when I go get supplies. The ivy gourd was lightly stir-fried and low on oil; it was perfect with the curries.

The star dishes were kappa vevichathu and meen curry. Kappa is basically mashed tapioca and coconut, Kerala-style. This is usually breakfast food, but for me, kappa and fish curry are heavy foods- my stomach likes them best at lunch or dinner. It was YUMMY. It's not easy to find kappa at the restaurants; only found in the friends' or their parents' kitchens. Savored our portions.

There were also tiny pieces of fried ikan tamban (sardines) to go with the curries. I can never tell the difference between ikan tamban and ikan selayang (round scad). They look similar. There was so much food left. Couldn't finish it. Our darling friends made us pack up the food in to-go boxes to have them the next day for lunch. Woohooo. Couldn't refuse! Heeeheee.

Ate with hands so that even after washing up and when we were back home, there was this lingering smell of curry and spices. Ahhhh. Smelt so good till I wanted to eat it again for supper!

Tales of Danish Seafarers

Translated from Danish by Charlotte Barslund and Emma Ryder, Carsten Jensen's 'We, the Drowned' tells the tales of tiny Danish coastal community of the seafaring town of Marstal. This town exists in Denmark, and it's also the author's hometown.The stories trace the lives of its people, Marstallers who have constantly lost sons, brothers, fathers and friends to war efforts and to the sea. (Reviews here, here and here.)

Split into four parts, the tales swirl around three generations of protagonists in Marstal across a century from 1848 (Denmark's First Schleswig War against Prussia) to World War II and its end in 1945. We hear about Laurids Madsen, his son Albert Madsen, and fnally Albert's foster son of sorts Knud Erik Friis. The narrator is a generic third party 'we'.

'We' begin with Laurids Madsen. After that war, Laurids Madsen took off for what appears to be another job, but after more than three years, he never returns. 'We' follow the adventures, growth, old age and death of Laurids' son, Albert Madsen and his peers through their school years, and their individual destinies. We hear about Albert's quest as a sailor because he wants to find his father whom he believes to be alive in another part of the world. Samoa. But Laurids Madsen is a broken man and isn't the father Albert remembers. They split and never meet again.

We move on to 1915 and the World War I. There's Albert Madsen's meeting with six-year-old Knud Erik Friis who just lost his father, Albert's subsequent engagement with Knud Erik's mother young widow Mrs Klara Friis. Albert didn't seem to want to set a date for marriage. He then seemed to have 'accidentally' died alone one evening in the mudflats. He left all his wealth and companies to Klara Friis who slowly grows into a shrewd businesswoman buying up land in Marstal. The epic then shifts to young Knud Erik who represents the new generation of Marstallers after World War I. We also hear about his childhood, his friends and his adventures as an apprentice sailor, in spite of his mother's violent objections to his career choice and hatred of the sea.

At this point, the Kindle told me that I had completed 70% of the book. So far, so good! My kind of bedtime stories. There's the matter of surviving the World War II. After sailing through the shipping routes ridden with depth charges, torpedoes and bombs, Knud Erik made it, and came ashore home to Marstal in 1945, with an old love Sophie Smith, her boy who was born underwater at sea when her ship was torpedo-ed and sunk, and his child in-utero. The final paragraph in the book celebrates the ceaseless tides of life, cruel and unyielding, but fulfilling and happy all at once.

And there, in the outer circle, with their faces half hidden by the fog, danced everyone who'd been away at sea for these five years of war. 

So many of them had died. We didn't know how many. 

We'd count them tomorrow. And in the years to come we'd mourn them as we'd always done. 

But tonight we danced with the drowned. And they were us.

Ooh Hamantaschen!

Last week was Purim. There were plenty of misloach manot exchanged. Eagerly peeked at the various little hampers. Not interested in the rest of the candy and alcohol. But I wanted the hamantaschen. Those, along with the chocolates have been kept in the fridge.

However, the parentals saved me a few pieces of hamantaschen. Wheeeee. Got back to town and gobbled them up. Not all at once lah. There were the usual ones with filled chocolate, dried apricot and fruit jams. What excited me this year- were the hamantaschen with poppy seed filling, OMG. Hurhurhur. Nope, there's no way you'll get a kick out of it or have a false positive in blood or urine tests.

Poppy seeds aren't that illegal in Singapore. Of course a baking business can't simply import poppy seeds at will. Samples need to be cleared with Central Narcotics Bureau. They're looking at morphine content and such before deciding if a batch of poppy seeds is permitted for import. Many poppy seeds sold at supermarkets overseas aren't that sort anymore. Cultivars have been encouraged to produce poppy seeds suitable for consumption without the narcotic effects.

Less exciting to bake with poppy seeds now huh? I really don't suggest you randomly cart bottles of poppy seeds from overseas back home or sell them or even pass them to friends. In case you forget, there's a whole lot of responsibility to bear for a one seemingly innocent choice to get a bottle for personal use. You won't know if the procured batch will bust prohibited levels of opiates. Remember, our enforcement agencies have no sense of humor.

Lord of the Flies 2016

Produced by Sight Lines Productions and Blank Space Theatre, and directed by Samantha Scott-Blackhall, this 2016 staging of Nigel Williams' 1995 adaptation of William Golding's 1954 'Lord of the Flies' took on a new life. I remember being stunned by the book as a young girl. Yup, no one curated my reading list from the age of six onwards—I read everything 'inappropriate for a child'. Not going to write much about the book or the stage adaptation. Wrote too many essays in school about them.

I very much prefer this all-new version (compared to the director's first staging almost a decade ago). There's a marked maturity about it in its flow. The actors made it real in a brilliant all-new cast led by Lim Kay Siu, Ghafir Akbar, Erwin Shah Ismail and Mark Richmond. Yes, it's a tad mind-boggling that adult men play the characters of lost schoolboys. :p The set was duly transformed into a tropical jungle thanks to special effects of lighting, sound and music. All the action was choreographed by Lim Yu Being. Unexpectedly, I enjoyed the show.

In comparison to readers in 1950s and even audiences in 1990s, this plot in 2016, is nowhere near shocking. It might be as gory and bloodthirsty as 'The Hunger Games' or 'The Walking Dead', or perhaps less so since the play can't reflect the full glory of 4K television. We see the proliferation of something less bloody but no less exciting- all the reality game shows about surviving on desert islands in variations of 'Survivor'. Who can forget the show's tagline of "Outwit, Outplay and Outlast"? But the premises and themes are the same- leadership vs morals; survival vs humanity. What's sanctioned violence and institutionalized cruelty? Whose rules do you follow? Do your principles crumble in the climate of fear? In the absence of societal structures and comforting urban sprawl, the savage in us rises. This is the Beast.