Pastaria Abate

Went to tank up on carbs at the super casual Pastaria Abate. I've been curious about how it has managed to keep its prices low and fill their seats. Pasta is like... an essential food. Many cafes make horrible pasta and charge you S$22 and above for a plate of nonsense. Pastaria Abate fares a lot better. This restaurant is kinda tiny, and you probably would have to share tables at some point.

V and I were curious about its pasta carbonara of course. We could choose our pasta; we opted for a fettuccine and a tagliatelle. The menu offered a standard carbonara (S$13.80), a carbonara Roma (S$15.80), and a truffle carbonara (S$16.80) We picked the standard carbonara. Well, we didn't have high hopes for it (very few restaurants do it without cream), and when it arrived, it was more or less what we expected. It held cream and it wasn't the proper carbonara we had hoped for. We like the slightly dry type, with only cheese and yolk and no cream; or holds so little cream that it's almost indiscernible. This plate wasn't inedible though.

The next time I eat at Pastaria Abate, I would probably do a lot better with its other sauces that are of a tomato base, pesto, or with plain anchovies or simply done aglio e olio. It's cool that it keeps to its casual vibes and churn out its own fresh pasta and sauces in-house, and also offers dried pasta. I do like how they keep it real. At these prices averaging S$15 for a small portion of pasta, and S$6.80 for a small glass of chianti, there's nothing much to complain about.

In RBG's Own Words

I've long admired American Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg (RBG) for her intellect, her steely determination, her keenly researched and supported opinions, and most of all, being a trailblazer growing up in an era when women were told to stay at home, and they were kept out of studying law and practicing it within the legal system. RBG has a sharp mind and a strong voice, and she's not afraid to use them.

Together with her authorized biographers, Mary Hartnett and Wendy Williams, RBG put together 'My Own Words' (2016). The book is a collection of her writing and speeches. While she doesn't write the book as a typical recollection of first-person narrative, the content of the speeches reflect her thoughts and her beliefs, and how she is who who she is. In this sense, it doesn't tell us as many personal details as we would have liked, but there're certainly some hilarious stories in the public speeches made by her husband, and her children.

The speeches share anecdotes about the beautiful relationship she has had with her husband of 56 years, Martin David Ginsburg (who passed away in 2010), and his public speeches. For some reason, I really liked the writing and the content, and took a slow read through. My favorite portions were djdjdjddd, and her comments on the wives of Supreme Court Justices. I enjoyed the details about the indefatigable and quick-witted Malvina Shanklin Harlan who wrote a memoir that wasn’t widely known or read till almost a century later. RBG had read it and pushed for it to be run as a story in The Times, and later on a publisher picked it up and it into ‘Some Memories of a Long Life: 1854-1911’ (2002), and of politically-savvy Nellie Taft (formally, Helen Herron Taft), First Lady and wife of William Howard Taft who was President of the United States from 1909-1913, then as Chief Justice from 1921-1930.

Now 86 years old, RBG is a legend. She’s the longest serving Justice on the Supreme Court Bench. She beat cancer, twice, and hopefully she beats it a third time. Also, don't forget how dedicated she is to her exercise regime. Those planks! Despite the general effects of aging, she's not stepping down from her post from the Supreme Court. I fear that when she does, it's a devastating loss for the world of logic and integrity. She has won women so many rights and showed us the way. It’s up to us to take the baton and light our own paths, and make our mark in our respective worlds.

In the preface of this book, Ruth Bader Ginsburg wrote,

When a Justice is of the firm view that the majority got it wrong, she is free to say so in dissent. I take  advantage of that prerogative, when I think it important, as do my colleagues. Despite our strong disagreements on cardinal issues—think, for example, of controls on political campaign spending, affirmative action, access to abortion—we genuinely respect each other, even enjoy each other's company. Collegiality is key to the success of our mission. We could not do the job the Constitution assigns to us if we didn't—to use one of Justice Scalia's favorite expressions—"get over it!" All of is revere the Constitution and the Court. We aim to ensure that when we leave the Court, the third branch of government will be in as good shape as it was when we joined it.

Dancing Fish Signature at TANGS

The friends and I have been lunching at Dancing Fish Signature at TANGS Level 4. It's a convenient location for many of us, and the Indonesian menu serves up really decent food so far. They take reservations, so make them, because it's quite popular and fills up fast. Drinking water is chargeable and refillable, at S$0.30 per glass. At least I can offset the Tangs card rebate at the restaurant, so that's okay.

I love the restaurant's salads. I normally don't take starfruit as a fruit. It's not my favorite thing. But stirred in with kecap manis and onions as belimbing salad, I love it. The mango kerabu and the pucuk paku kerabu are just as appetizing. The menu isn't extensive, but it's wide enough and fairly dependable. Salads, fish, prawns, omelette, cumi-cumi, oxtail, chicken and duck and tauhu telor. Works for me. None of us have gotten to its choices of dessert though. Hahaha.

The so-called 'dancing fish' is its deep fried tilapia. I don't quite take that. I prefer its ikan seabass bakar. I'm not into deep fried things; so I’ll take its grilled items. The buntut belado enak is rather tasty and somehow fatty, perfect if you like oxtail. The bebek and ayam panggang are delicious. I like how its mains are served with many choices of sambal and chillies, and also dabu-dabu. I very much enjoyed the sambal matah that comes with the duck. However, while the food is flavorful, it isn't all spicy. Unless you put in all the sambal and chillies that are served at the side. Heh. The general profile of the restaurant's food leans sweet.

These 7.30am Mondays

Since the gym management royally messed up my schedule mid March, I have to crawl up at 6am on Mondays to roll into the 7.30am LES MILLS GRIT™Strength. I'm still not pleased with this, but I will live. I have made this routine work, and I don't whine about getting up early. Heh.

It hasn't been that tough, honestly. The thought of having a healthy heart and abs, and hopefully happy cells and a strong-enough immune system keeps me going. For as long as I can, I will keep with this schedule. Life throws curveballs right? Oh well. The pecs, lats and obliques need to be strengthened as much as possible before I lose muscle mass and arm strength. Then I'll need to be patient in order to rebuild strength from ground up.

I'll soon take three weeks off this gym schedule to recuperate. Pilates will be my sanity in the meantime. Needles, probes and incisions do funny things to the body. After that, hopefully I can return to this class. God willing. I focus on what needs to be done, not 'what ifs'. This is me still breathing, and I will do all I can to maintain muscle mass and bone density, and carry on with general conditioning. I'm not one to go for long walks in Singapore. The heat and humidity are just impossible. When I feel unwell or really ‘not up to it’ on some days, I can use lighter weights, ease up on the intensity and go slower.

Fish Curry and Roasted Vegetables

The man uses much more complicated methods of prepping ingredients and cooking. I used to dread having to clean up after him because his sense of logistics uhhh isn’t very good and he has never had to clean up anything in his life (少爺病). Hahahaha. However, a few painful weeks of ‘training’ yielded passable results. Nowadays, it isn’t too bad cleaning up the kitchen after he tears through it.

For dinner, the man prepped a lovely pot of fish curry with barramundi fillets, and I put a tray of cauliflower and pumpkin into the oven to roast. A tiny half cup of basmati rice provided carbs to the meal. The man found my stash of gorgeous big dried red chillies. And announced that he was stealing three for the curry. Pfffft. He was experimenting with a mix of regular assam and the black assam (kudampuli). He wanted to see how they would turn out in a fish curry before attempting Aunty J's fabulous fish curry recipe.

I’m almost ready to go full vegetarian. I’m not going to yell bloody murder if my soup contains fish sauce or bonito flakes, or my pasta holds bacon or my vegetables are stir-fried with chirimen. I’m supposed to lower the intake of beef and pork, and cut down MORE on alcohol. I'm soooo pleased that the last two years' drastic decrease of alcohol have put me in good stead. That said, I'm not going to ignore a glass of umeshu or red wine every now and then.

Meanwhile, bring on all the sambal, chillies, curries and dhal. Yummy.

'My Grandfather's Road'

Finally watched 'My Grandfather's Road (RHDS)' 《阿爺條路 ～ 兔心龍魂》. I've not seen any of its previous versions in either English or Cantonese. This 2019 performance is the latest iteration that presents added stories from playwright and director Neo Kim Seng's memories of his childhood in his family home on the road named after his grandfather, Neo Pee Teck (梁丕德). The road in Pasir Panjang is named 'Neo Pee Teck Lane' (巴西班让梁丕德巷). Today, the secondary lane sits in a residential area and also hosts two small hotels.

Directed by Neo Kim Seng (of course, 导演梁金成), he was asked in an interview for the program booklet about how he felt when he had to gather more stories for this 2019 staging, he said,

Speaking with 80- and 90-year-olds about their memories of living on Neo Pee Teck Lane made me realise how fragile memories are, as they don't remember a lot of things that I want to ask them about. Yet at some magical moments, the memories and telling of the stories become so clear and detailed, they’re like close-up shots in a widescreen film. So with this version of My Grandfather’s Road, I'm thinking more about forgotten stories and people, because it is so easy to rewrite history these days.

I didn't look at the performance dates properly and accidentally bought tickets to the Cantonese version. Oops. Ah well. I had wanted to watch Karen Tan and Loong Seng Onn narrating in English, and it would be easier for the husband to understand the stories.

In this Cantonese version, the storytellers were Tan Cher Kian and Gary Tang, with English surtitles projected very clearly on three screens. It was fun storytelling by very engaging storytellers. The stories of Neo Kim Seng’s childhood are just that, his stories, and of his journey, and of his memories. And yes, nobody spoke Mandarin back then. I don’t want to compare or think too much into it and dip into nostalgia because each generation of children have different experiences. Although I could sworn I heard shade thrown at some happenings our current political climate. Heh.

And after the show, we are none the wiser as to why, definitively, that there's a lane named after Neo Pee Teck. 😂

Tin Plates & Tiffin Carriers

I was quite touched when L sent me a thank-you gift via a fast courier into the country. L had her family help her buy them from the corner store outside her home and mailed out to me. The postage cost more than the contents! Tin plates and tiffin carriers. They're quite fun gifts. I really appreciate the thought behind the gifts.

I just didn't quite know what to do with them. How do I use the tiffin carriers to pack food from the stalls? (I use those standard spill-proof glass boxes.) If it's peak lunch or dinner hour, I might just get scolded by the stallholders for wasting their time packing food into the tier. The tiffin carriers wouldn't be able to actually hold food without spilling their contents. I would have to pack food without gravy, and keep the carrier upright. The separate containers aren't spill-proof when put together in a tier. I'm not too inclined to use them as serving plates. The tiffin carriers went into storage. Currently, the tiffin carriers have gone out on as display pieces in a few events and settings that require casual cookware.

The plates are more practical for me. They're light and stack neatly on the shelf. It's a decent size to contain food when I cook easy meals for one. It isn't too difficult to get the grease off of them after a meal. They can go into the dishwasher, but I'll have to remember that they can't go into the microwave oven. The only thing- these tin plates and tiffin carriers do rust, and they seem to rust quite fast, unless they're used often. I'll try to do so then. They're super old-school and kinda cute.

Goodbye Kinokuniya Liang Court!

Kinokuniya at Liang Court has ceased operations after 35 years and 4 months. 🥺😔☹️ It would have been its 36th anniversary at the end of 2019. The bookstore opened in December 1983. In 1984, I had entered Primary One and was reading and writing in three and a half languages, so both my grandmothers happily took me to Kinokuniya Liang Court every week. They would park me at the bookstore while they did groceries, and I would be rewarded with a purchased book after that.

I literally grew up with the bookstore at this location. It's my favorite outlet because it’s quieter and it has remained convenient to my schedule to still stop by once a week. Sure, I could get my hardcopy books elsewhere, likely from its main store in Ngee Ann City, but I really dislike going through that mall. I'll miss this outlet at Liang Court. Sigh. It is time, I suppose. Liang Court as a mall is outdated and it's really old. It's time for a complete facelift. Who hasn't scratched their cars going down and coming up that stupid narrow driveway to the basement carpark with all those awkward corners?

On my last visit over the weekend, I picked up a collection of nine short stories by Shinji Ishii- 短篇集「海と山のピアノ」2016、いしい しんじ (著). The title kinda translates into 'The Piano of the Sea and the Mountain'. The whimsical cover illustration doesn't prepare me for the tough topics addressed within. All the stories seem like fairytales, with the theme of water running through. Myths of the sea, so to speak. A review said, 「その意味で本書は海との関係を結びなおすためのいま語りの神話集なのである。」

The eponymous title story is set loosely in Shikoku (四国), telling of a girl who lives with her grand piano and sleeps in it. 表題作「海と山のピアノ」では、山の津波を描く。Three women in this town were taken by a tsunami that came to the mountains. It spoke of how the girl and her piano saved the town, but got swept out to the sea and she was never seen again. This is the legend of how Shikoku flows out to the sea; with its huge black and white trees lined up along the shoreline, it looks like a huge piano keyboard.

It seems as though the stories drew on the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami. Among others, there're 「海賊のうた」、「川の棺」、「ルル」、「あたらしい熊」. One story details a dog named Lulu's perspective of a tsunami, but at the end of the story, I was left a little confused if the dog exists, or it's a figment of the children's imagination. In 「あたらしい熊」, through a bear on the Aomori coast, it seems to indirectly criticize the pollution to the land caused by US military bases and nuclear plants, and the terrible costs of radiation poisoning.

意外なことに誰よりも先に、パーカーの女が気づき葦のあいだをくぐるうなぎ熊のように、するすると身をくねらせて相手に近づいていった。気の多い母親からはぐいれてしまったみたいな、頬を紅潮させ、行きかうひとびと影にそっと身をひそめたら少女である。ふたごと僕とは雑踏をいったりきたりしながら、女が声をかけ、少女あを道の隅にいざない、しゃがみこんでことばをかわす様子をちらちらと眺めた。

It's fairly philosophical, imho. I finished the book with many questions gently swirling in my head. Many of these questions revolve around asking myself what life is, and what it means to live, with happiness, and how to live in harmony and balance with our natural environment. 「いのち」を問う一冊だった。An extract from 「海賊のうた」nicely sums up what we humans are doing every day, simply keeping afloat.

「正気？　そんなもの、いったい、この世のどこにあるだろうか」船長はおだやかな調子でつづけた。「みんな懸命に、自分の手で泳いでるつもりで、実際は、波と波のあいだで、まわりがみえたりみえなかったりしつつ、ぷかぷか浮かんでるだけかもしれないのに」

Wild Nothing In Singapore

I was surprised to be able to buy tickets to Wild Nothing the week before its show in Singapore. Two days before the show, the organizers sent an email to inform us that They swopped the venue from EBX Live Space to Kilo Lounge. Aiyoh. Both pack in about similar capacity. imho, Kilo Lounge is a terrible gig venue with bad acoustics and lots of pillars to obscure a band on its 'stage'. Ventilation is not great.

We were a tad late, so we stood at the side far away from the bar. Oh well. No alcohol for this gig then. Our view was also blocked because of oddly placed screens, structural support pillars and tall humans. It's not as if I'm the greatest fangirl, so I didn't need to be right up front or squashed in the middle. I was quite happy standing aside as that meant better airflow without people shoving elbows into my ribs.

Wild Nothing last played here in 2013 and it was nice to hear them live again. The band has retained their unique sound. The 80s-inspired dream pop sounds are kept intact in their most recent album 'Indigo' (2018). They've got super easy listening songs with very catchy melodies. It was a pretty fun show!

Good Friday & Blessed Easter!

There's nothing like a medical hiccup to realize how much love I'm surrounded by. For that, I count my blessings. This season, I have much gratitude in my heart. I have many prayers to whisper, mainly for the happiness and well-being of my dear friends. To another meaningful Lenten next year. Amen.

A blessed Good Friday and a beautiful Easter to you, you and you, and all my lovelies. 

[6] Into thy hands I commend my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord, the God of truth. [7] Thou hast hated them that regard vanities, to no purpose. But I have hoped in the Lord: [8] I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy. For thou hast regarded my humility, thou hast saved my soul out of distresses. 

~ Psalm 30:6, Douay-Rheims

Finding The Positive in Positives

When I have a primary care doctor who is also a meticulous oncologist whom I see yearly for comprehensive medicals, it either ends up as worrying or annoying, or mostly giving me a peace of mind. But it's the responsible thing to do (along with continued renewal of critical illness insurance coverage, keeping wills and other such administrative affairs ship-shape). Thank goodness I like said primary care doctor's manner, and I trust her.

After doing my first mammogram at 40, it resulted in me being sent for two ultrasounds over six months. When my primary care doctor took in the radiologist's analysis of all findings (and refused further discussions, because she's not the specialist in the area; there're always concerns of liability, lawsuits and such), she sent me to another oncologist (whom I like too). It has now become a rather painful waiting game. In comparison, the unknown isn't so bad. The waiting is always the worst. It's an exciting game that involves rather big needles to hasten said process.

It also meant that I've now stepped into the world of false negatives and false positives. It's not an unfamiliar world. It's simply different when I'm no longer a caregiver or an onlooker, but possibly a patient. I will have to trust science, its data and its practitioners, listen to my body, consider the extent of medical intervention versus the quality of life, and be guided by faith and His Light to make decisions that are in my best interest. 

Swan on the Chair

The Pilates Reformer sessions at the gym have been stretching us out in the Swan on the long box, then of late, it has become Swan to Grasshopper. At the private classes, I repeated the moves for my pilates instructor because I kinda felt that at group sessions, I simply did the moves but not fully articulating the movement. This one-on-one attention meant that I would be guided to isolate each muscle and vertebrae.

I could see her trying very hard not to roll eyes. LOL She was all like, "It's meant to be spinal articulation, not contortion... it's a grasshopper, not a scorpion!" Oops. It’s really really about how far one could dive or how high one could rise. It’s all about spinal articulation and keeping the range exact, working each muscle as it should move. I also made her demonstrate how to do it. HAHAHAHA.

This is the pilates instructor who was forced to demonstrate.
She had to emphasize that the range of movement is meant to be small. 

The pilates instructor wanted me to go back to basics to practice the swan. She got me off the Reformer and put me on the Chair. The lower pedals meant that I should have the aid of gravity. The resistance on the pedal meant that I couldn't cheat and would have to really move with just the upper back, then dive with the push from the lower abs and glutes.

I was also put on a lot of hip flexion rotational exercises. The hip flexors are really tight, and it takes daily and weekly stretches to remind each set of muscles to work so that nothing compensates for the other to cause aches. My knees felt okay; the popliteus muscle/tendon seemed to have recovered from the shock of the strain. It has only been a week, so yes, neither is anything torn or badly strained. The knees aren't not operating at 100%, but it's almost healed.

One session saw aching glutes, hips/thighs and knees. Another saw aches in my glutes (again) and upper back. The glutes are really lazy huh. The minute movements got me. That was when I knew I worked the right muscles, and the knees were on their way to a full recovery.

The BFF's 41st!

Celebrated the BFF's birthday at Chef Shen Tan's private kitchen adorably named 'Ownself Make Chef'. It has been years since the days of nasi lemak and beef rendang at Wok & Barrel on Duxton Hill. When a work project took me west often, I had the nasi lemak at the now-defunct Revolution Coffee. Shen now runs her own cooking classes and private kitchen (with communal dates and hosts private dinners). I was very pleased to taste Shen's food again.

We went with the Yin Yang menu, a pairing of more than black and white colors in the final presentation. Shen was very creative in applying savory and sweet to the combination of thick and thin sauces to the different ingredients, producing quite an eclectic flow of dishes that ended with Yuan Yang panna cotta (of yuan yang combination of tea+coffee) and a Guinness Valrhona chocolate cake with coconut ice-cream and assam gula melaka chilli sauce.

The buah keluak pasta was disappointing. The big prawn was a great touch, but the depth of flavors wasn't there, and that thick pungent taste of buah keluak didn't come through for me. Maybe I didn't understand the point of the dish, but when it's described as 'buah keluak pasta' and not 'pasta with buah keluak', it makes a difference to my expectations. Perhaps my tastebuds prefer a whole lot more buah keluak in pasta. I wasn't overly keen on the clams in kicap manis, beef short rib or the Kurobuta pork rib either, because, meat and allergies. But those were gorgeously spiced and flavored. The strand of green peppercorn (from Hong Spices) in the clams was so fragrant!

There's air-conditioning, but it isn't strong; there're some fans to take the heat away from the wet and dry kitchens. It isn't stuffy, but you will smell like food after. You can wear shoes into the flat. Yes, you can bring your own alcohol since they have glasses for wine and water. They provide water (tap or via SodaStream). But if you want something else, bring your own sparkling water and lemonade and such. Also, bring your own ice box and ice cubes. There isn't fridge or freezer space at all for drinks or ice balls.

My favorite dishes of the night were the black and white carrot cake, and the pan-fried sesame-crusted grouper that came with its own coffee fish broth. The carrot cake was delicious. Although I'm not a black carrot cake person (because, sweet), I still ate two bites before passing it on to the friends. The white carrot cake is where it's at, because it's salty, and held plenty of flavor. Along with dried mushrooms and scallops, Shen had put in damn good lupcheong and yuncheong.

Then, that fish. While I'm not enamored with the crust of sesame seeds, the small fillet of grouper (delivered from Ah Hua Kelong that day) was so fresh and sweet. The fish broth was the star of the dish for me. The broth was boiled from the fish bones and coffee. LOVELY. I was totally stuffed.

With all my love, BFF. May your forty-first year on this earth be as spicy and on-point flavorful as the sambal belachan and cilicuka at dinner. 

Barnhill and The Thought Police

I was very taken by David Brown's 'Orwell's Last Neighborhood' published in Longreads, April 2019. David Brown and his wife Judy were traveling through Scotland and took a trip to the desolate, grey and magnificent Isle of Jura in Scotland.

They visited the northern end of Jura where Barnhill sits on Ardlussa estate. Barnhill is the rented house that was the home to English journalist, novelist and essayist Eric Arthur Blair (otherwise known famously as 'George Orwell') his remaining good years (from 1946 to 1948 before he entered a sanatorium in England in September 1948) before he succumbed to tuberculosis in January 1950, and it was in this landscape that he imagined and wrote 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' in 1949.

The writer and his wife met the grandson of Orwell's landlords- Andrew Fletcher, and his wife Claire and their four daughters. They've re-settled in Jura from Edinburgh, believing that they could make a living from a new identity in revitalizing the land with new businesses. In 2016, Claire, Alicia Macinnes and Georgina Kitching got together to produce Lussa gin, a properly artisanal botanical dry gin that is quite a hit. It's a little more floral than how I prefer gin, but it's a good one.

To stay in a place so isolated, you must have a sense of destiny. Or so believes Alicia MacInnes, a 40-year-old Australian transplant and one of Lussa Gin’s partners. She remembers the evening when she arrived long ago. “It was absolutely pelting rain. The woman picking me up, from the Jura Hotel, had backed the car down to the ferry. The boot was up. I could see her smiling face,” she told us one evening. After a pause, she switched to the second person, as if she were describing someone no longer herself. “You’ve been on a long journey. The car’s warm. Soon you’re traveling along single-track roads, exactly where you wanted to be.” Her memory might be called Orwellian, in a pre-Nineteen Eighty-Four sense of the word.

While reading this essay, I'm having a wee tipple of Jura's 19y.o. The Paps. It was very fitting to be sipping a single malt and reading about the writer's trip to Jura, and George Orwell's sojourn. I'm inclined to think that the harsh beauty of Jura lent George Orwell loads of inspiration to create the world in the book. I visited Isle of Jura (and Scotland), obviously for the single malts, but I was fairly sober through the day and did a helluva distance trekking through its gorgeous landscapes.

Judy and I passed that spot in the road as we walked back from Barnhill on our endless June afternoon. I have no idea where it was exactly. At this point, probably nobody does. But it’s there someplace, a symbol of love and optimism, which are just two of the things defeated by the end of Nineteen Eighty-Four.

David Brown wrote that while he wasn't on a literary pilgrimage, and "Barnhill is not open to the public, and no one among the island’s 235 residents remembers Orwell. // Nevertheless, it’s hard not to think of him here." I like George Orwell's writing and vision. It was fascinating to wonder what his mind was like in those years on Jura. He was dying of tuberculosis and he still made what he could of his time. Was he afraid? What did he see that prompted him to write 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'?

'Animal Farm' (1945) didn't make me depressed. I was never convinced about the arguments in 'the nature of man as inherently good' or of mankind's innate shining morality of goodness and love, even with the beacon of religion as the moral authority. Organized religion back then (and now), was extremely frightening and political. 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' was, and is, thoroughly upsetting. George Orwell's dystopian novel is so famous till one would have read it at some point, especially as an adult. 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' is so bleak and bitter that when I read it as a compulsory literature text as a teenager, I was horrified. Then when the book was read again as a young adult in university out of my own free will, I was chilled to the bones.

The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to understand, much less answer. And yet he was in the right! They were wrong, and he was right. The obvious, the silly, and the true had got to be defeated. Truisms are true, hold on to that! The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall towards the earth's centre. With the feeling that he was speaking to O'Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom, he wrote,  

Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If this is granted, all else follows. 

~ 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' by George Orwell

Thevar

We've all been curious about Thevar, which promises to serve up mod-Indian cuisine. As part of the man's birthday celebrations, the bunch of us trooped down to the restaurant to check out its food. I was really quite suspicious because my conservative tastebuds don't like food to be too experimental. BUT, I was quite wowed by the flavors. They meshed well together. I love it!

The spices are subtle. While there's nothing chilli-fiery about the dishes, there's so much texture and depth of flavor. The fairly interesting current menu is created by Penang-born 29-year-old Chef Manogren Thevar. Rasam as granita on Pacific oysters sounds really strange, but it worked. I'm not such a big fan of oysters that I would take it all the time, but I wanted to try how rasam would go with it.

The Chettinad chicken roti was quite a surprise, and basically came looking like tacos. Hahahahah. I was so tickled. I wondered about that as an appetizer because even though there were four of us, a small bowl of curry plus naan would render our stomachs too full for the actual mains. Well, the kitchen used naan as the wrap, and the chicken was completely shredded. So yes, it definitely worked as tacos. Oof! The king crab masala cutlets were seriously flavorful. They got the crunch right, and it was a gorgeous mix of spices within. BUT, I prefer fish cutlets, and these don't beat Aunty J's fish cutlets.

The berry pulao with cucumber and raisin raita totally hit a spot. I love rice like this. There was grilled pumpkin, curry korma and baiji crumbs. These two dishes alone would usually satisfy my stomach as one happy meal. The main of tandoor baby lamb with green chutney and chickpea curry was really mild. The chickpea curry was ingeniously made into a uhhhh channa masala mash at the side. The pan-seared snapper with curd rice and molle curry was delicious. Thevar's fish molle (or molee) was most elegant. The server mentioned that this curry was Sri Lankan, so I immediately removed all thoughts of Kerala fish molle out of my mind. Sri Lankan fish curry tastes distinctly differently from its Kerala counterpart, and it would be more stew-like.

Okay, the descriptions on Thevar's menu got me eye-rolling like crazy. Yes, the menu printed 'molle curry'. Ermmm. It's like typing out....'chai tea' or ‘aloo gobi potato’. Hahahhaha. Describing a dish or its ingredients as 'curry korma' completely confused me (Thevar referred to the appetizer of grilled pumpkin); it's either curry or korma, how could it be both? 🙄 

Portions are small, or rather, they're portions for one. Two people could share and order more dishes to taste. The restaurant is long and narrow, and can get stuffy when it's filled with more diners. Be warned that the seating is all high chairs and high tables and a counter. Bring a small bag or be prepared to put it on the floor. We got to dessert- an oddly not-too-sweet carrot halwa kulfi with coffee soil, honeycomb and basil, and the cute cempedak puffs.

So The Earth Is Flat Huh?

After yelling out "Seahawks!" (the mother was wearing a hoodie) and "Whidbey Island!" (the direction Seattle skyscrapers were positioned from the coastline) in the first two minutes of 'Behind The Curve' (2018), I was suitably entertained. Flat-Earthers even have an annual Flat Earth International Conference, and this November, it takes place in unsurprisingly, Dallas, Texas.

In this show directed by Daniel J. Clark, Netflix totally trolled people who believe that the earth is flat. They even trotted out Neil deGrasse Tyson (who's now battling sexual assault lawsuits). The GCE A-level standard of math and physics (light and curvature) presented in the show is too funny. Obviously I got online to check out all the podcasts, conspiracy theories and such. OMG, it's absolutely fascinating. The best theory was how earth is flat and covered by a dome. A DOME. I was in stitches at the end of the film because Flat-Earthers were shown to be totally flummoxed by their own a miscalculation of 15 degrees. 

How do you reason with people who don't accept science, or people who could twist it to what they believe in? Then science simply becomes a study of the majority and theories are proved and disproved, depending on what ends they serve. It isn’t the truth anymore, even if facts prevail. How do I stick to my beliefs in the face of zealots? Feel free to replace Flat-Earthers with any social and political cause or crusade/religion/cult.

Surely this spins off another debate on the topic of whether anyone actually made it to space, and to the moon, and how NASA is one big mystery. Hahahah. Conspiracy theories are so fun. Ahhh, let's not go there in this post. I wonder if I dare to ask friends and acquaintances if they're Flat-Earthers. How do I react if they are?! 🤣

The Man's Pasta

I have tasked the man to sort out all our pasta dinners. Not that I can't do it, but the man nails pasta way better than he gets Asian soup noodles (the way I want). A fully stocked kitchen meant that we have most ingredients on any evening to whip up pasta. Two pasta dinners in a week are a treat! Hahaha. The thing about living in Singapore, we have such spoilt tastebuds that we're only limited by our imagination for homecooked meals.

Since he was convalescing from that bout of bronchitis, and wasn’t an invalid, I made him cook. Hahaha. One evening was mentaiko linguine because I stopped by Donki to see what there might be to buy for dinner. Bought a cheap packet of mentaiko that was on sale, and dried seaweed. It was going into a pasta sauce, and I didn't need anything pricey. Added a soft-boiled egg to the pasta and dinner was delicious.

Another evening saw a tomato-based sauce with penne and a small rack of grilled pork ribs. The raw ribs came marinated at the supermarket, and all we had to do was to grill it, then toss it with the penne. We threw in some basil leaves freshly plucked our little stalk. Tomato sauce, basil and pork ribs always complement each other. Dinner was superb. Except the man grated off the skin of his thumb while shaving the cheese too violently. There was blood. Zzzzz.

Sometimes, dinner is accompanied by an easy bottle of red. It's much more pleasant drinking at home and chilling out. We don't own a wine fridge, and don't intend to get one. Hahaha. Our friends have been slyly suggesting that we need it. But we're not connoisseurs; neither of us are interested enough in wine nor collecting them. I allowed him a generous glass of wine to go with each of these pasta dinners. Well, he was not permitted alcohol since he was on antibiotics. But a glass of red wouldn't hurt. He had already stayed off alcohol for four days.

Strained My Popliteus Muscle

I pulled something in my knees while.......... wait for it.......... gardening. 😬🙄 Well, I was tending to the outdoor plants and I really didn't want to get soil on my hands! I was in a full squat with ankles and knees locked (bad idea, I was distracted), reaching right and when I leaned a little too far, the knees popped. OUCH. I yelped. I literally felt a pop on the outer edge of both knees, but severely so on the right knee. I felt a thick ligament or tendon move out of position, then it snapped back in. WTF. That knee was tender for the next 20 minutes. I iced it, and rested it for the night.

There was no way I could do krav maga the next day, not with the knees like this. Went for a boxing-cardio class instead. Hahahah. I know my options lah, so it's not a worry. To my surprise, nothing much hurt, not even squat jumps or jumping jacks. It only hurts in a specific angle- say, fast and furious mountain climbers, doing slow a full squat down, and when I twist the leg out on the floor. It's basically all sorts of knee folds and tucks that seem to further strain the muscle/ligament/tendon.

Right now, it hurts for a length of exactly four inches on the outer right knee. It isn't so bad on the left knee. I found the video on controlled articular rotation of the knee (with arm lock under kneecap) to test the range of motion. The intensity of pain indicated that it's really a minor strain and not a tear. Whewww. I figured it doesn't hurt enough to even be a slight strain on the LCL (lateral collateral ligament) because knee rotations aren't an issue at all. But I didn't know what exactly is twinging. I've never had this injury/strain.

I was hesitant about texting K, my pilates instructor because she isn't in town. Didn't want to bother her with such a minor thing. Google wasn't helpful. I didn't want to call the friends either. Too embarrassing at the moment. LOL Finally texted K two days later when I couldn't figure out what's wrong with my knees. I didn't want to go to the osteopath because it wasn't that painful, and it definitely didn't need an orthopedic consult. But I needed the pilates instructor to know about the knees and tailor the next session's exercises to sort them out.

I texted K with a whole lot of sheepish-ness, along with a full description of the pain, range of movement and such. Luckily I already did the controlled articular rotation on the knee, so she knows what I'm blabbing on about. We are on the same page when it comes to using this sort of terms under functional conditioning. She asked me a few more questions on intensity of pain, nature of pain, and such, and I answered them as best as I could.

K told me not to be dramatic. 😂 She said that since I could walk just fine without feeling like the knees were buckling, and I could even jump-squat with no pain and land stable, it was likely a deep stabilizer that I strained. It was probably an odd angle that I put it at when the knees were locked in that deep squat; it couldn't take the load at that angle, and popped. She typed, "Google popliteus muscle." So I did.

OH. That made sense. The popliteus muscle. I definitely strained it. That pop sound I heard was likely the tendon being forced to move (crepitation). No bruising and swelling meant that nothing wasn't torn. K will be back later in the week to sort me out, and have the physiotherapist take a look at it too. She warned me not to do passive stretches; those might tear something instead if I push it. Okaaaaay. Meanwhile, I can do some light stretches to optimize knee flexion.

Figures 1A (left) and 1B (right): Popliteous anatomy and PLC structure.
Image from Sports Injury Bulletin.

ETL x Quantum Food Lab 外星食堂

On one of those rainy days at work in town, J and I came across this little eatery just off the overhead bridge linking China Square to Hong Lim Complex. Named ETL x Quantum Food Lab 外星食堂, the brand has another space next door that sells their own formula of eco cleaning products for the home. The eatery is thankfully air-conditioned, a must in the noon-day heat even though it was raining. It’s a Taiwanese cafe of sorts. The vibes and the decor is fairly Taiwanese-cute. It’s fascinating.

So although Singapore is hot as a furnace all year round, we still love our hot soups. This not-too-tiny eatery serves soups on its lunch menu. It offers diners about six to seven choices of familiar Chinese soups that come with brown rice, thick or thin beehoon, handmade noodle (手工麵) or mee sua.

I was interested in the sliced fish soup. However, it said 'herbal', ‘藥材魚片湯’, so I was wary of it. My body doesn't react well to herbs, and most times when I make the mistake of drinking a 'casual herbal soup', my eyelids swell and hives come out. So I passed. Of course the vegetarian 'forest soup' is herbal, and the chicken soup too; even the 'laksa chicken mini pot' is branded herbal. Their daily specials are usually some herbal soup with pork and old cucumber or winter melon. Okay all I cannot eat.

That lunch, both J and I took the laksa handmade niang dou foo. It’s not what most people would term as delicious because it isn’t authentic, but to me, this lighter version works and sits easier in my stomach. It's fairly healthy food decently cooked. I enjoyed it. The menu offers the usual non-spicy version of niang dou foo, and a dry version too. I'd be happy to return and order those another day.

Becoming Michelle Obama

Biographies or memoirs rarely interest me, unless it’s someone I really want to know more about, like Stephen Hawking. But I’d rather read the books he wrote than someone’s construct of him. Even when written in the person’s own voice, this genre tends to flop if the editor isn’t good enough, or the subject isn’t that interesting, unless everyone involved in the production of the book has a flair with words.

Finally decided to read Michelle Obama’s ‘Becoming’ (2018). There’re so many reviews about it. Reading those constitutes the volume of a book where you could form opinions about the book, about politics and the Obama brand. I read the book as is, a book about Michelle Obama’s life through her eyes. I’m not very bothered to judge. If I’m American, I’d voted for Barack Obama anyway, and I’ve always thought she complemented her husband and held her own.

In a review in The New Yorker published on 6 Dec 2018, Doreen St Félix wrote,

Since Lady Bird Johnson, with the exception of only Pat Nixon, every First Lady has published a memoir. (Our most literary First Lady, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, never did.) Traditionally, these books, written in the language of women’s magazines, exalt the Presidential station. Obama’s was expected to be something different: she had more in common with Alice Walker than with Nancy Reagan, after all.

The first part of the book leaves out much of the pain in the American history and treatment of the blacks. The former First Lady had a surprisingly comfortable and protected childhood that’s relatable to many. The author who made it to college at Princeton then Harvard chose to focus on her strength and present-day and navigate corporate America on her terms. Dunno about the talk of authenticity of her person; I don’t care about that. She’s a personality who has no bearing on my personal life. She made good her time as First Lady. As an onlooker, I see her and her husband as strongly representative of diversity in the White House, and hopefully in America.

America today isn't less violent than in the past. America today is so divided. For a country that arose from usurping land from the natives and made up of immigrants, and condones slavery, segregation and lynching while singing the word of God, America is woefully hypocritical. I can’t understand the prevalent racism, and I never will. Humans are evil. You judge a person based on the color of his skin? The veil of race has not lightened, and in fact hung heavier now, alongside intolerance, across many corners of the world.

There’s still a lot I don’t know about America, about life, about what the future might bring. But I do know myself. My father, Fraser, taught me to work hard, laugh often, and keep my word. My mother Marian, showed me how to think for myself and to use my voice. Together, in our cramped apartment on the South Side of Chicago, they helped me see the value in our story, in my story, in he larger story of our country. Even when it’s not pretty or perfect. Even when it’s more real than when you want it to be. Your story is what you have, what you will always have. It is something to own.

Meeting Little S

Little S checking out her Missy Messy dresses.

It was my first hello with my brand-new god-daughter S who's visiting Singapore for the first time. I didn't want to miss this window, otherwise I'd have to fly out eight hours to see her. So I stayed away for a night at the hotel while the man recuperated at home from acute bronchitis and had to adhere to a strict ban of no alcohol, no sugar and no steamed chicken. (Macam quarantine period.) I didn't want to carry any fierce germs to the children or their parents.

Little S turns one in two months. She seems spunky, much more so than her elder sister, L. Okay, can.  She's quite darling. The BFF can deal with four-year-old sister better since they're all about glitter, Hello Kitty, frills, ribbons and such. The BFF is the girls' Aunt. Hurhurhur. When the BFF learnt that her sister was going to have a second daughter, she coerced me to be the godmother, and made me come up with a list of Chinese names for the younger girl.

The little one didn't protest when I picked her up. She didn't even whimper at this stranger. FWAAAH. It wasn't like her parents remained in her line of sight all the time. She was all like ‘Helllooooo.’ I walked away with her for a stroll, and she was all chill and curious about her surroundings. Children are so fun at this age. They cannot walk or talk much (Little S signs), so I don't have to expend energy chasing after them, or answering their thousand questions or fill their waking moments with meaningful activities.

The children's 7pm bedtime means that we'll always eat dinner early. Went out for some tapas and drinks that evening. Food was served before 6pm. Wooohoo! It was fine by me because my last bite of food was at 11am. I was actually starving and was very pleased to be seated outside in the cool-enough evening breeze under a huge ceiling fan. Hahaha. Two glasses of red sangria completed the delightful meal.

Grow up hale and hearty, S. Stay grounded in this crazy world. I hope we'll leave enough of unspoilt nature trails and gorgeous bodies of water for you to explore.

臘鴨臘味飯

Couldn't believe it when the man told me he was off to look for dried oysters on a free afternoon in Hong Kong. So I sent him to a convenient outlet of On Kee where everything is labeled. Reminded him that one jin (一斤) is about 600g.

He returned from Hong Kong well fed and satiated from many bowls of milk pudding (燉奶) and other items, yet he requested for 'tasty rice'. That's his idea of laap mei fan (臘味飯). Apparently he didn't eat any on this trip in Hong Kong. Hahahah. All right, let's check out this new batch of Chinese preserved waxed duck breasts that I bought last month.

There's something about the Chinese preserved waxed duck that I like. Since the man and the friends were eating too, okay lah, for their sake, I added chicken breast fillets and yuncheong. The chicken breast would be helpful since it could soak up the oils and the salt. Waxed duck meat is way saltier than lupcheong and such. I don't usually stock Thai jasmine white rice, so if I want to use that, I would have to steal from the in-laws. Never mind then. Brown rice it was. Used the rice cooker again. I don't have the luxury of using a donabe in this kitchen, and I wasn't bothered to use a steel pot for this. #ImpieCooks2019

We had three friends over, and that's quite the maximum number of humans this dining table can take. Luckily these three friends (visiting from Tokyo) missed these flavors and love laap mei fan as much as we do. They would have to! I had no other food for them! We were really getting together for drinks more so than dinner. Decided to add on greens. I separately fried up baby kailan with plenty of garlic. That kinda fulfilled the nutritional quota for this meal. Hahaha. The crunchy vegetables and raw onions always make a good foil to a salty one-pot rice meal.

John Mayer in Singapore

We thought that if John Mayer wouldn't play Singapore, we would head to Brisbane or Melbourne. But as it turned out, he had planned to stop in Asia, and Singapore was on the list. The Indoor Stadium is a great venue- plenty of parking available, conscientious traffic ushers and wardens, and super convenient. We sucked it up and bought bloody pricey tickets to John Mayer's concert. We had them front row seats. AT LEAST. Everyone ditched the seats immediately when the lights dimmed. Why sit when we could stand and groove?!

As much of a douchebag as John Mayer is (I'm not even commenting on his love interests), I enjoy his playing and his songs. His last album 'The Search for Everything' was released in 2017, and then he simply wrote singles. The single this year 'Guess I Just Feel Like' (2019) felt a little lame though. I can't quite decide what the hell 'New Light' (2018) is, the music video is so bad that it's so funny. At least he's kept to being mouthy and hasn't gone racist or done a Ryan Adams.

John Mayer brought a whole band. What a good line-up. We were also there for Pino Palladino and Aaron Sterling, and all that gear plus guitars. J sent us a photo of six snare drums on standby. LOL What a parade of guitars. That PRS Silver Sky made me drool just a little. The friends loved it. We spied Rene Martinez doing guitar tech for John Mayer, and S waited the whole night till the end of the show to snap a proper photo of him. Heh.

Along with many other songs, 'Slow Dancing in a Burning Room' became an extended version with plenty of guitar solos. Ahhhh, we all wanted to go home to practice harder on the riffs. Hahaha. John Mayer is truly delightful on the guitar. It was a huge 2.5-hour party with the friends. What a superb gig.

More Awesome Congee

It's a luxury to get everyone together and chill out for an evening. The hours always fly by. Sure, we see one another separately at all times, but I think somehow we try to do it thrice a year like this, especially when the dear hosts are absolutely lovely. We've been merrily crashing J and L's living space. :P This gathering was set way early, like two months ago. It wasn't actually meant to celebrate the man's birthday, but it was opportune. Oof! The sweeties bought him a chocolate-banana cake. BEST.

We did the usual potluck thing- Impossible cheddar burgers from Three Buns, a rack of smoked pork ribs from Decker Barbecue, Chinese siew yoke and roast duck, and J tapau-ed that famous dessert of ah balling peanut soup from Bedok. The name tickles me to no end. It's just glutinous rice balls with different filling in sweet soup. Lots of drinks- damn good home-brewed kombucha, gin and tonic (plus sour plum?!!), and wine.

There were carbs, of course, courtesy of the hosts. One giant pot of congee. L lugged out the old-school giant pot to make porridge for us. I was quite awed by the pot. You do need a stove with fire to produce this quality of porridge in this quantity. I will never say no to L's congee. I dunno how important the chicken is, but I'm in love with the texture and consistency of her pot of chok, which held century eggs and bits of salted egg.

There were shredded chicken meat at the side, as well as cuttlefish, salted eggs, plenty of onions and shallots. I inhaled three bowls of congee. And because this was a bigger pot used, there were leftovers. N and I shamelessly took home two giant boxes of congee; mine was sufficient to feed two for two meals. Oof! The man loved the congee too, and declared these sort of birthday gifts the best type- gifts of time and company. Well, I felt like it was also my birthday since I ate so much. 😂😍

Homecooked Gifts Of Love For The Man's 44th

The best gifts are always from the heart, as gifts should be. The man was thoroughly pampered for his birthday weekend, especially by friends who were in town. There was a breakfast of only the best store-bought thosai, a jam session, and the friends' mother even whipped up lunch for him.

I only eat thosai at very few places because I'm so damn picky about it. I don't know that many good thosai venues, but among those I love, Murugan and MTR make the cut of course, and then, there's Bhagawan at the corner of the kopitiam at Block 284 Bishan Street 22. We had that for breakfast. It's always a welcome weekend indulgence! S went to tapau thosai so that we could eat in comfort at his home and linger over coffee. We've eaten Bhagawan's thosai for many years, and I don't know how long more Bhagawan will go on for since it's run by an elderly couple in their 70s. The lady makes the thosai fresh upon order, and her husband takes the orders. and they always sell out on weekends by 10.30am.

Luncheon was eagerly looked forward to. We woke up late and skipped breakfast for this. Aunty J's cabbage pesarapappu is seriously the BEST, among all restaurants, and uhhh, honestly many other home kitchens. She did her famous fish cutlets and Kerala fish curry. There were so many pots of awesome food on the table- achar, otah, prawn masala, sayur lodeh, and beef rendang, and even stir-fried pork kidney. Wow! Aunty J would have had to start cooking two days ago! The man was super grateful (so was I since my stomach was also a beneficiary). He was very touched that the friends bribed convinced their mothers into doing this meal. Sure, it benefited all of us, but it was extra lovely to have everyone sit down together for so many meals in a row. SO MUCH LOVE. 🥰🤩💋 

Feminism Within The Patriarchy Of The Catholic Church

This is an article from October 2018. I'm going through it again for the ideals, and to ponder over it before Good Friday. Elizabeth Barber's 'Lucetta Scaraffia Is Trying To Fight Catholic Patriarchy From The Inside', published in The New Yorker on October 28, 2018.

If the Church hadn't been progressive enough for my grandmothers (who aren't as vocal to their priests), then it's certainly not enough for me. I'm just glad that their husbands have been raised rather differently because their mothers took a different approach, marrying cultural traditions with living a purposeful life. However, it doesn't guarantee that you get a lovely set of relatives. In fact, they might be so zealously patriarchal that you wonder which generation they truly belong to.

At one point in our conversation, over pasta and a plate of mozzarella, Scaraffia said, "I would like for women to become cardinals." After the comment was relayed in English, I paused. A woman who doesn't think women should be cardinals, and occupy the rank just beneath the Pope, whom cardinals elect and advise? 

Yes, Scaraffia said. It's true that the Vatican prohibits women from ordination into the clerical hierarchy—though nuns take vows, they are not ordained, and so they are laypeople, not clerics. Priests, who consecrate the host at Mass, must be ordained to do so, but Catholic theology does not mandate that cardinals be ordained. So theologically speaking, laypeople, including laywomen, can be cardinals. Pope Francis "would have everyone against him" if he named a female cardinal, Scaraffia said. "Everyone." She laughed. "He might do it just before he dies, or renounces his papacy," she went on. But "he could do it," she added. "He might."

Subversive? Perhaps. To me, it's necessary change. It's imperative. It's been a slow movement of change. Change doesn't happen overnight. 'Obey' is a word that has never sat well with me in any context. I will never submit to that world. NEVER. Which is why, all those years ago, I had a major conflict, fights and huge debates (with the church elders, family and random well-meaning humans who think it's their business to butt into mine) about religion when I was forced to think about Confirmation. Male patriarchy (and chauvinism) has been the way of the world for centuries. I don't accept that, and I try to surround myself with people who aren't like that. Otherwise I'd be losing my temper every other day. No one tells me how to live a God-centered life, except the Bible. I know how to live a purposeful life. Seek your own, and leave me be.

I find this article to be a little more than discussing about issues of female power or feminism within the Catholic Church. The ideal of feminism is not the stereotypes or caricatures to it. This is also not about busting that tiresome bra-burning/man-hating myth perpetuated by idiots since 1968. One can be a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, a lover, and above all, a woman. As long we do not bow down to male patriarchy, we are feminists. But if you let yourself be roughshod by patriarchal social privileges and moral authority, then you need ask yourself if you're truly comfortable with that.

Echo chambers are everywhere, and we wonder if we should live in our own circles where we feel most at ease. How we want to define this world, should start with how we define our little social spheres. History have taught us that religion and politics should remain separate, and for good reason. As I get older, conversations have emphasized how much I truly believe in the separation of secular law and church doctrines. These two should never influence one another so overtly; the separation of church and state is essential to multi-cultural harmony.