Tuesday, November 30, 2021

Labneh at Beirut Grill


Stopped by Beirut Grill after gym for a light and clean lunch. We sat outdoors. At lunch, this side of Bussorah Street isn't in direct sunlight. There're also plenty of fans cooling the outdoor tables. I was already sweaty from the workout, might as well not freeze in air conditioning. I prefer sitting outdoors nowadays anyway. 

I love the restaurant's brunch bowlsfalafel and grilled halloumi, hummus, tabbouleh, kale, purple cabbage, et cetera make for a hearty meal. You could also opt to have protein of Impossible Kofta or real meats of grilled chicken, kofta of chicken or lamb too. I usually never bother with the real meats.

However today, I didn't want a brunch bowl and its flavors. I just wanted hummus and labneh with pita. I like the restaurant's pita — generous, big, fluffy and happy, unlike those miserable little ones at the Greek restaurants in town which lean crisp, very flat and tiny. Beirut Grill serves one of the best labneh (not to be confused with tzatziki) in town, along with its moutabal and baba ghanoush. It's very hard to find good labneh in Singapore. I tend to prefer Middle Eastern hummus compared to Greek hummus. Without the additional tahini or fava beans, it's more watery and less rich. 

The man opted for lentil soup, and a spinach and feta pide. Of course he took some of the pita and the dips too. He loves labneh and hummus and such. He was very happy with all his carbs and spices. We had time before the restaurant closed at 2.30pm. A coffee was in order. Much needed. Lovely. 

Monday, November 29, 2021

"No Politics, Just Make Money."


Read 'Detective Dog' by Gish Jen published in The New Yorker on November 15, 2021, and shuddered. It's very well-written, and the narrative is chilling. The opening lines of this short short are what many of us think of China now. It's a country I don't even want to step into when travel opens up, not even for charity missions. I might have to end up dealing with administrative headaches and disasters that even my worst nightmares can't foreshadow.

This story follows a stereotypical life of Chinese immigrants to Canada and America, and how they only care about 'making money'. It also mentions about how locals perceive them as buying up all the properties and jacking up real estate prices. Chinese immigrants are never 'accepted' into the local community as 'locals'.

“No politics, just make money,” Betty’s mother, Tina, liked to say. And when it came to China: “See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. Do you hear me?”  “I hear nothing,” Betty had wanted to say sometimes. Or, well, many times, really. But instead she’d said nothing and, as directed, made a lot of money. After all, she was the good daughter. 

However, Chinese immigrants don't like to be termed as 'immigrants' either. They are non-white, but they're certainly not underprivileged and by all standards, they're wealthy. In this story, there's a line, which I believe resonates with many people in different ways — "We are not people of color, Robert, we are rich."

The Chinese transplants couldn't show that they care about the Hong Kong protests or umbrellas of any sort. It touches on the generation gap between the 'money making' first generation immigrants and the ideals of their children. Author Gish Jen belongs to the generation which would prefer children to focus on getting an education and a job, not to be engaged in a conversation about protest banners, morgues, and politics. It's a very simple equation for the common folks — earning and having money = life and living, assets and power / politics = jail, disappearances and often, death. 

Protagonist Betty and husband Quentin face off with their two sons, biological kid 17 y.o. Theo over college and life's philosophies, and adopted boy 9 y.o. Robert about 'upgrading the family dog' and being paid to make his own bed, to brush his teeth and such, and to "support black people". Theo, was more 'rebellious' in their eyes since he was questioning everything and 'being difficult' because he didn't accept their proposed plans for his future. 

She didn’t know how to tell Theo that when a son yelled at a mother the mother cried for a week. She kept that inside, though she was sure that Robert knew anyway. Never mind that he was the adopted child—Robert would shoot her that quick look of his, like a flash of light in the dark that could only be a signal. He understood her, while all Theo understood was his opinion of his family.

“I hate you,” he would say, for example. “I hate your values and your way of life, and I do not respect you. What have you ever done but look the other way no matter what was going on? Did you ever tell the truth? Did you ever speak up? No matter who was being killed and who was being jailed? You know what the word is for people like you? The word is ‘complicit.’ I bet you don’t care about the Uyghurs, either.”

Then, thanks to Covid lockdowns and plenty of time on hand, Theo picked up online poker. He was supposedly "no good at Math". He won some games, lost some, rode on beginner's luck and rolled in the dough. He bought a car. Two days later, he made his bed and left the home, and his family. He didn't even care about school anymore. 

Then Robert got an extra-credit assignment for school — to tell a mystery to a pet, and involve the parents' in this effort. So he named his new imaginary dog 'Detective Dog' and made Betty tell him a mystery in order for him and Detective Dog to solve it. She told him the story of his missing Aunt. Betty has an older sister, Bobby, who has presumably disappeared because of her involvement in politics, and that she could be a dissident. This is the missing Bobby that no one in the family talks about, till now. Of course we learn who Robert is, and why Betty adopted him. 

The talk of boycotting the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing (starting on February 4) for human rights abuse is still just talk. There's this whole issue of Uighurs that China is insistent on, and the world seems hapless against their questionable course of action. Peng Shuai is just another name that spoke up, and failed when China blatantly ignores #MeToo incidents. The world is trying not to let it go, but HOW? China has acquired an unsavory reputation of willfully disappearing people when they've committed 'crimes' that the state deems as deeds against national propaganda'. If you don't fit the national narrative and speak out, you are taken away and you disappear from everyone and the life you know. 

“Why do you always call me Robert?” he asked, his nose flat and distorted. “Why do you never call me Bobby?”

If she wasn’t crying, she might have been able to answer.

“Is it because you promised my mother?” he asked. He was still holding up the glass.

“She was the best of us,” Betty managed. “The smartest and the bravest.”

“Was.” Robert put down the magnifying glass, pulled at his shirt sleeve, and wiped his eyes on the stretched-out material.

“We don’t actually know,” she said. “We may never know.” She tried to hug him but he struggled away.

“My name is not Detective Dog,” he said, his nose in his shirt.

“No,” she said. And, trying to be playful, she said, “To begin with, you are a boy, not a dog.”

“My name is Bobby Koo,” he said.

“She was trying to protect you.”

“Maybe Uncle Arnie will tell us where she is.”

She tried again to hug him but hugged his shirt more than his small body. “And maybe Theo will come back,” she said.

“The Chinese government likes to know all your family members,” he said.

“Yes. And here you are safe. So it worked. But she loved true facts, you know. She spoke up. She wasn’t like me.”

“You speak up, too,” Robert said.

But Betty shook her head no. “Not like Bobby. She was the best of us. And you,” she said, “you, Detective Dog, are her son.”

Saturday, November 27, 2021

Lunch Bowls from The Daily Cut!

It has been ages since I've eaten at The Daily Cut or gotten a takeout. Since I stopped going to the gym in the area, I rarely go by that way. I love robust salad bowls like this, and till today, not many places do it as well as The Daily Cut. It's tough to deliver in even two bowls from the store since there's a minimum order for delivery out of the central business district. We can never hit a $50-order unless we have four people dining in. 

Happiness is turning up at J's office to enjoy a coffee on her access pass. Hurhurhur. When the friends are busy, but they could accommodate me in their office lounges and such (adhering to pandemic restrictions),  it's fairly convenient to meet for lunch. J's office doesn't just have a pantry or a lunch area. It has a cafe too, so we could legit dine there. Since we're smack in town, we ordered in two colorful bowls from The Daily Cut for our lunch. 

J had her usual protein of grilled salmon, and added her happy items of avocado and onsen egg. I skipped those today since I've had loads of those over the month. I stuck to an easy base of pasta and leaves. Strangely, I wanted the teriyaki chicken thigh. I wasn't exactly wanting the meat; I wanted the skin. Hahaha. They almost always toss in skin whenever I order a full serving protein of a chicken thigh. I also opted for a ginger-sesame dressing and a topper of pomegranate seeds. I love them!

Friday, November 26, 2021

Thanksgiving 2021


Spent a quiet Thanksgiving at home with the man and the dog. I volunteered to prep dinner, and made it an Asian affair. NO TURKEY PLEASE. We're not fond of turkey regardless of how it's done. Maybe a turducken done Asian-style with glutinous rice would be nice, but still. Only Choya loves her raw turkey breast and in the form of dehydrated crunchy treats (which are as good as food)

I mark Thanksgiving, not as an adopted tradition as an adult, but as something the family has celebrated since my childhood, and I decided to keep it till now. Sure, it's not a 'full' family affair nowadays, but to some of us, we still keep the tradition alive because it means something to this uhhh faction. We've redefined it anyway, since the Falling Out and Moving Away (not just me ahh... it's a whole bunch of us. LOL). But I'm not as exuberant as they are when it comes to food and guests — they like them plentiful, I like them in moderation. The family always had turkey, as the default traditional meat, alongside two types of laksa, tok panjang dishes, and whatever sort of nasi that the grandmothers suddenly fancy. Now that the grandmothers have passed on, the aunts put whatever they wish on their table. As I do.

As I grow older, I begin to ignore the religious significance of it, especially when it involves a bloody narrative of Plymouth Pilgrims (colonists) usurping indigenous land rights. It's part of history, but I can choose not to observe Thanksgiving in that spirit. With that, I ditch turkey too, especially if I don't spend Thanksgiving in the US. I don't have a say if I'm invited out to someone else's festive table, If it's at our table, I always choose to purchase other ingredients to put together the Thanksgiving meal. I prefer to think of it as an autumn harvest festival similar to the Sukkot, and give thanks to all that we've been blessed with. 

It's pumpkin season after all. In-season pumpkin is extra sweet. That would totally be on the dinner menu. Not as a dessert, but as a savory main. (No pie for dessert. We had dark chocolate financiers and mikan for the man.) Since it's Asian and I'm not that creative, dinner would be simple. Nope, not pumpkin curry. Heh. 

Made a one-pot takikomi gohan (炊き込みご飯) of chicken and pumpkin. Marinated the bone-in chicken thighs in soy sauce and seared them quickly before placing them in the rice cooker. Skipped both the dried and fresh shiitake. The rehydrated (dried) scallops and mussels went in too, for umami. These are soaked in water, and that liquid goes into the stock for the rice too. When I'm unable to use the donabe on an induction stove, the rice cooker is indeed my best friend. 

Decided to put in a bit of effort to marinate pork bulgogi. The supermarket usually offers ready-made bulgogi, but it leans sweet the way bulgogi tends to be. I prefer it more savory and spicer, so I made my own. I could also choose a leaner cut than what the supermarket offers. Seared the pieces of pork first and set it aside. Then I fried up cabbage and yellow onions. Kept them slightly crunchy. Then I put in the pork bulgogi for a final toss with the cabbage and onions. Mmmmmmm. #ImpieCooks2021 

Even Choya got steamed pumpkin for her dinner this week. She doesn't have pumpkin in her meals all the time. She loves pumpkin, and it's good for her. She has it on rotation in her meals. For her Thanksgiving dinner tonight, I steamed some cubes of pumpkin to add to her meal, and for the next three days.

The man's family doesn't mark Thanksgiving, so this date doesn't feature in his calendar, and it bears no significance to him. But because it features in mine, he isn't going to reject food if I'm cooking it. Heh. It was another long day at work for the man, so he was super happy to sit down to a homecooked meal. 

For the abundance of food on this table, for the ones who have fed us, for the roof over our heads, for our health, and our wealth of blessings, for the freedom to pray these words without fear, in any language, in any faith. May these blessings stir us to continued service, and these gifts to us may be consciously used for others. Amen.

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Podi & Poriyal

After a loooong day on calls and emails, I had a craving for Indian vegetarian food for dinner, but not Gokul style or the noisy ambience. I wanted something else. The man never minded Indian food of any type. When it comes to vegetarian food, he only really loves Indian vegetarian or something Lebanese/Mediterranean. We went to Podi & Poriyal. We got there at 8.30pm, and easily scored a curb-side parking lot next to the restaurant.  

Since podi is in the restaurant's name, their dishes hold plenty of it. Podi is pretty much a powder made from roasting pepper and lentils (urad dal, Chena dal, coriander seeds) and mixed in with tamarind, chilies and salt. We ordered a serving of tiny podi idli to start. They were SO CUTE. They came served with chutneys of coconut, tomato and capsicum

We took rather heavy mains of Madras pulao with korma, and the man's favorite dosai done in ghee roast and served with sambar. The pulao korma was decent and filling. Order that if you need carbs. Tonight, I did, so it was really comforting. This restaurant's sambar was fabulous — it was full of flavors, thick and chunky. I don't like thin sambar. Those suck.

While we're not unfamiliar with Indian food, we don't know all the names of the dishes or their ingredients. So when the servers took the trouble to explain each dish to us, we appreciate it. The restaurant's menu was fun tonight, and it changes items around to refresh the menu. They also offer super decent lunch sets. We're definitely coming back at lunch to eat its other dishes. 

Podi & Poriyal surprisingly has an interesting cocktail menu. I'm not too into cocktails or spiced alcohol. Opted for a lemonade. Then the server piqued my interest with their Hapusa Himalayan dry gin. Juniper is known as 'hapusa' in sanskrit. Produced in India by Nao Spirits, the balance of turmeric, mango, ginger, cardamom, coriander seeds, gondhoraj limes and almonds stayed true to the spirit of a dry. 

I like the Hapusa gin on its own, but I don't want it in a cocktail with bitters and such. I decided not to offend the bartender by requesting for a cocktail of my choice. I had earlier ordered a non-alcoholic homemade lemonade. It came nicely shaken. Very lovely. So I requested for a second glass to go easy on the sugar, and ordered a shot of gin. I simply poured the gin into the lemonade. Very Alcoholic. ✌🏻

Wednesday, November 24, 2021

A Grogu Pendant

The man suddenly said that he would buy me a necklace and a pendant set. Awww, that was such a sweet gesture. But I was like, I don't need them. It's superfluous because I don't attach significance to jewelry. I don't need to drop a few thousand dollars on things that I don't need. I have enough jewelry to last for this lifetime. Since we were at the mall, for fun, I decided to get a Grogu pendant

I'm not a Star Wars fan. I'm not into its cannon and origins and all that. But I had hopes for 'The Mandalorian' (created by Lucasfilms and Jon Favreau, also known as the guy who made the whole Marvel Cinematic Universe), and it didn't disappoint. I love Seasons 1 and 2, the story arcs, how they were filmed and the script. Can't wait for Season 3. Of course I like Baby Yoda! Gosh, he's the most adorable thing. 

I didn't wear necklaces often because I found them irritating. It hampered my movements at the gym and at pilates. They also cause a rash around the neck in the heat and humidity. My hair gets tangled in the chains too. Some chains don't tangle the hair as much, but the pendants can swing around rather painfully. Some of my short chains with pendants are less obtrusive, so those are fine. Silver chains will oxidize fairly quickly with my perspiration, and it wouldn't be nice and shiny. That’s fine by me. If I want shiny, I'll swop it out with a white gold chain. 

I forgot to remove the necklace when I went to the gym the day after. Acccck. During press-ups, mountain climbers and burpees, the Grogu pendant hit my teeth and my lips numerous times. After the fourth hit, and when I was doing squats, the hands were free, and I took it off. UGH. It was heavy! It could crack my teeth! Baby Yoda!!!!! Remind me not to wear necklaces to the gym again. 

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Breakfast Sorted for Three Days

Fixed a lunch with V and then realized I had clean forgotten about the technician coming to replace and fix the bathroom lights. Luckily it was V, and she didn't mind coming over to the flat for lunch instead, and we could just hang out on our respective laptops, and making random comments to each other in person instead of having to tediously text. It was a work day after all. And we would be technically 'working from home' and fulfilling all our salaried obligations. Heh.  

It was a crazy rainy day again. I was relieved that my lunch delivery arrived, with the expected delays. I was so kiasu as to order it at 10.45am. The estimated arrival was 11.50am, but it finally arrived at 12.20pm. Added a nice tip for the rider when I realized that he would be collecting and delivering my food in the storm. Accck. Lunch was easy noodles for us from Le Shrimp Ramen. The restaurant packs the takeout boxes well, and they separate the noodles from the soup. 

When V presented me the big bag from Tiong Bahru Bakery, it seemed like she bought out half of the counter's menu. There were croissants plain, with chocolate and with almonds. Then there were a chocolate tart, and a cheesecake with lime, vanilla, coconut and mango. 

As if those weren't enough, she also threw in a slab of semi-salted Bordier butter. Whuuuuuut. I lurrrrrrrve butter. I try not to stock up 'eating' butter at home that often. That would be the delicious semi-salted ones. (There'll always be a block of unsalted butter to use for cooking. I won't eat that.) I'll have to exercise strict discipline to not finish the slab of le beurre Bordier in a week. 🥐🧈

Croissants taste better when the 'grill' function on the microwave oven is used to heat them up for 3 minutes. You could go 3 minutes and 30 seconds for a crisp; 4 minutes if you really like it brown. Don't bother using the microwave — your croissants turn out warm, weirdly chewy and soggy.

V bought the breads and pastries during a period when the fridge ran out of bread, and there was nothing else for breakfast for the man besides cucumbers, sweet peppers and cherry tomatoes. Hurhurhur. I didn't even have frozen Chinese steamed bao or siew mai. What a timely gift! Nothing needed to be frozen. V effectively bought breakfast for the man and I to have over 2.5 days. Woah! 🤎

Monday, November 22, 2021

Caitlin Flanagan on Turning 60


I've been following Caitlin Flanagan's writing through the years. Many of her pieces are concise, enjoyable and very real. I love her wit and sharp observations on social trends and human concerns. This recent piece is particularly poignant to me. 

Published in The Atlantic on November 14, 2021, it's titled 'The Day I Got Old'. The tagline followed, 'It just suddenly happened, and there isn’t a sports car in the world I can buy to make it otherwise.'

It's a personal piece about the writer turning 60, and feeling her age. She made it through a round of chemotherapy and radiation for breast cancer. She's still independent, sharp and mobile enough. But she's tired, and feeling the decades weigh down. 

Imho, getting to an age and feeling it are two rather separate things. One is a physical milestone, which isn't dependable especially if you die before that, or you get sickly before that. The other is an emotional hurdle. It's a hurdle that you have to cross — something to make you accept your age, accept yourself, what you've made of your life, and also your mortality and being brave enough to look at Death's door. 

Anyway, I felt a tingle of panic. In my youth I spent a lot of time sitting on the floors of airports, waiting for dirt-cheap flights that were always delayed by many hours. An 18-year-old girl sitting on the floor looks like she’s on an adventure. A 60-year-old woman looks like she’s in need of assistance. I walked to the next gate, but there were no chairs there either, or at the next one.

Finally I saw a mirage: three empty seats in a row. They were real, but (damn it) they were reserved for other people, people who need some extra help. I long ago promised myself that no matter what happened, I was never going to do any learning or growing from cancer. But there’s one lesson that you can’t be this sick for this long without learning: There is no such thing as other people. There’s just all of us, with our secret or public burdens, muddling through the best we can, many of us not doing an especially good job of it. There was a time when I could manage my cancer without having to understand myself as “disabled,” but at 60, that time has passed.

I sat down, and my bones settled so heavily around me—and the relief was so immediate—that I knew I’d done the right thing. But I also knew that through that simple, necessary gesture, I had become old. 

I'm 43. I love this period of my life. The forties are seriously fabulous. I've never lost a sense of who I am. My confidence has been shaken here and there, but I've never lost it. Will I crumble? Of course. I have crumbled, and am fortunate to have friends to help me up. However, I'm not sure I'll enjoy turning 50. And after that, if I'm still alive, those will be termed as my twilight years. 

I'm very happy with what I have made of my life for the past two decades. I thought I'd be a trailblazer, but I made another choice that I'm contented with. I have a continued sense of achievement and I still have a sense of satisfaction from what I do. I'll be 60 soon enough. Healthy and mobile still, if I'm lucky. I don't know when I will feel those decades come crashing down. I don't know if I look forward to that moment. It would most certainly be a painful and reflective moment.  

Two decades will fly by in the blink of an eye. What those two future decades will hold, are utterly unknown. I have charted my path in life till now to no regrets. I'll need to utilize all my remaining years to walk a path that I'm proud to call my own when I die, hopefully with my faculties intact. Wrinkles, a head of silver hair and creaky joints with minor aches would be the least of my concerns. Dohhhhh.

Saturday, November 20, 2021

Gin at Three Buns


We eat at Three Buns fairly often because it's officially pet-friendly (no food for the dogs though), and the menu has expanded to be seriously inclusive; there's something for everyone. It's super casual and we can almost always get a table even on crowded Fridays and weekends when we make the effort to do reservations. We never have to wait long for food or drinks to arrive at the table. 

Had a lovely evening with M at Three Buns. It was quiet and a cool breeze stirred to break the humidity. I decided to have real beef tonight in the form of a classic cheeseburger with spiced mayo 'Baby Huey'. M ordered the 'Skinny Man' with soy milk mayo and without cheddar cheese. That didn't come with any buns. Only iceberg lettuce as a wrap of sorts. It's the joint's version of a low-carb burger. Shared sides of fries and a plate of 'Miso Corny' of buttered charred corn kernels with wild leaves, goji berries, toasted pine nuts, chillies and drizzled with miso vinaigrette.

There're plenty of non-alcoholic drinks here — sparkling sodas, yoghurt smoothies, milkshakes and such. I figured that if I'm going to be inhaling sugar, then it might as well be alcoholic. I've been opting for gins at Three Buns instead of beer or wine. It's been really hot and humid. Nothing like a cold glass of gin to feel all refreshed. They currently offer three choices of gins, four choices of mixers and six choices of garnish. 

I like how the bar presents my gin so honestly when I order it with an extra shot. Two shot glasses arrive on a platter, with the bottle of mixer and a glass of ice. There isn't going to be anyone wondering if there're indeed two shots in a drink. Hurhurhur. The problem is, from completely avoiding gin in my teens and twenties and thirties, I've embraced the London Dry in my forties. Of late, at Three Buns, I've been nonchalantly putting away four shots of gin in under 2.5 hours each time. That's terrible. 

Friday, November 19, 2021

Lunch at Bread Street Kitchen

Sorted out the man's new phone at the Apple store at Marina Bay Sands (he finally swopped out his wonky four-year-old phone for a faster chip), and had lunch at Bread Street Kitchen. We had no reservations and tried our luck. They did say they were totally full except for the bar and the communal table. The communal table it was since we would be socially distanced anyway. Hahaha. I wouldn't have accepted that communal table in non-pandemic times if that meant sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a stranger. 

While the a la carte menu was available, the restaurant always have a decent set lunch on week days. I do love their choices of non-alcoholic sodas here. Those are always refreshing. I couldn't deal with this much food because I didn't burn off calories in the morning. The stomach didn't have sufficient space to fit in even a two-course lunch. I opted for a giant portion of Caesar's salad and added a side of avocado to it. That was so satisfying. 

The man ordered a pilsner and took a three-course set lunch. He chose an appetizer of hamachi ceviche, avocado and chipotle purée, red onions and coconut dressing, a main of seared sea bream with crushed potatoes, salted capers and barberry sauce; of course he had a dessert of Bailey's custard with chocolate crumbs. The dishes were nicely executed, meshed with clean yet robust flavors. He was very happy. 

Although we have more time to lunch out now, but we still don't bother doing it weekly even. Lunch hour is used to run errands or go to the gym. Or to meet our respective friends. We save 'date night' for the evenings literally. We do pop out to eateries to lunch on weekends, but we need something quick, and nothing that requires us to sit at a restaurant for more than 2.5 hours. Once in a while, we don't mind sitting down to lunch like this, but only because it's a quick 90 minutes.  

Thursday, November 18, 2021

Non-Slip Reformer Towels


I have one of those Pilates reformer towels but it's getting worn from over-use. That's from Salt & Honey. From what I understand, after the brand's initial batches sold out, its current quality isn't consistent. The friends have differing opinions about theirs. Some disintegrated after a few rounds in the washing machine. It is supposed to stand up to machine washing on low heat. Mine is still holding up okay, but I should get a second towel. 

I thought of checking out Black Friday sales. But if I wanted one immediately, then shipping it in isn't an option. Local options would better. So I went about looking at replacements from a local pilates studio. But gosh, those that were offered had terribly ugly colors; they put the studio's name in such gigantic fonts on the towels. They were practically gaudy. Then I found designs by The Pilates Works that are easy on the eye! Very nice. 

The studio's Instagram stated that there're seven designs currently. Dunno if they'll get a second batch done when this is sold out. Found two that I liked and decided to get them. The only thing- the studio is so old-school that there isn't an online portal for sales. I didn't feel like texting to check or whatever. They likely won't deliver a piece or two to me. I didn't ask if I could send a courier over to pick up. The studio is located at Jurong Gateway Road in Jurong East, which is really out of the way for me. The easiest option is to ask a friend to help. Teeheheheehe. 

M goes to The Pilates Works. So I asked if she could help me buy them reformer towels. I wanted two. She super kindly did so, and didn't mind passing them to me in person. Yay! Met her for dinner to get the towels. It was a lovely evening with M too. Hadn't managed to have such a long chat with her for months. 

I use a thin towel to lay over the carriage at gyrotonic classes. Those don't need to be non-slip. I love the microfibre types from Decathlon; absolutely practical. But a towel on the reformer is different. A small one will soak up my perspiration, but I can't stand on it or lean on it — it'll slip and that's dangerous. A bigger non-slip specially designed towel one like this is practical and keeps the reformer carriage sanitary for the next user. 

Since these non-slip towels are designed for the reformer, bring these to pilates classes. I like to think that they help with hygiene. When I didn't have the towels, I could only wipe down the reformer beds before I use them. But I welcome the additional step of placing my own towel atop after that. These new non-slip towels are machine washable too. I don't take special care of them. I usually throw them into a laundry bag with the rest of my laundry. Works.  

Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Puttu and Bananas


The man had a good start to the week with the best breakfast provided by Aunty J. (Commercially, it would be thosai.) She passed us a species of Kerala bananas grown in her garden, and a tub of homemade puttu. The man loves his bananas but he's picky about them. He enjoyed the this bunch and said it tasted like a cross between the berangan (a flavor similar to Cavendish but nicer texture) and his favorite rastali and those ‘Sweet Thai’ small bananas which Zenxin Organic puts out.

Waited for a day to have over-ripe bananas in order to eat that and puttu for breakfast the Kerala way. While the man took the dog out for her morning pee, I steamed the puttu and mashed it together with the bananas. Then sprinkled gula merah (palm sugar). A banana puttupazham puttu, I suppose, that is sort of similar to our local putu mayam

I could grill the bananas a little too. But today I didn't. I simply placed them into the steaming hot puttu, and they melted into together when I mashed them. I used a glove and mashed them by hand, leaving some crunchy bits. I didn't want them too smooth. I like jam or peanut butter and mash crunchy. I shaped the mashed puttu and banana into little lumps. Didn't make them into logs. I suppose I could have made them cuter, but I was lazy. They looked like misshapen siew mai. Hahahaha.

Everyone makes a different sort of puttu. Aunty J's puttu was lovely. Coconut and rice flour. Mmmm. Even when topped with a sprinkling of gula merah, this batch of puttu wasn't that sweet. It was similar to the sugar level in pancakes or waffles. But it still leaned a tad sweet for me, so I didn't take too much of it. Too bad we didn't have egg appam or chicken curry to complete the meal. It would add salt and the savory bits I like. That would be the best breakfast / brunch!   

Tuesday, November 16, 2021

Comfort Food at Yamagawa

Stopped by Yamagawa for a casual dinner. I just wanted a bowl of soup and noodles. There's nothing remarkable about this family-style menu. However, the restaurant is convenient to get to on The Plaza at Beach Road. The food is degrees better than random Japanese fast-food eateries and chain sushi conveyor belt restaurants. Do those even exist anymore? 

We didn't make a reservation since it was just the man and I; the restaurant usually has free tables to accommodate two diners. They did have a table for us, but tonight was quite full. It was nice to see some life and cheer return to the restaurants with the pandemic dining rules allowing a table of five from the same household to be seated together, and soft music played. It's still a tad sad for those who don't share the same address or have means to prove it by way of printed bills, invoices and such. Ah well. We win some, we lose some. (Not for me though. I like our privacy. Our household only holds three — two humans and a dog.)

I got my bowl of hearty soup with vegetables and inaniwa udon, and a portion of stir-fried shogayaki. Slurrrrrrp. I was very happy with those. The negitoro maki was completely unevenly sliced. But they tasted just fine. Heh. The man likes his mixed sushi platter, and ordered that, and also quaffed a portion of anago tempura. Easy cuts of fish at a decent price. 

Monday, November 15, 2021

Ghosts of War and Living History


It was a little unnerving to read Jamil Jan Kochai's 'The Haunting of Hajji Hotak' published in The New Yorker on November 1, 2021. Halfway through the short story, I still didn't know how it was going to end. Or rather, I hoped it wasn't going to end in the way I thought it might. 

The narrator's assignment is to watch this immigrant American-Muslim family living in West Sacramento, California. Watching listening via planted bugs. Readers are introduced to all the family members, and are privy to their intimate conversations, thoughts and habits, bills owed, relatives' health and such. We learnt of the family's links to Afghanistan, and how the children have assimilated. But even in this age, the eldest son Mo is expected to agree to an arranged marriage with a girl of the parents' choosing — either a girl from Kabul, a niece of the mother's, or a girl from Logar, a niece of the mother's. But the parents didn't know that Mo is already in love with a girl nearer home from Sac State.

The narrator/watcher does this for hours on end, day after day, week after week, month after month. It was monotonous to plough through hours of recorded conversation and footage, but it was a job. The narrator/watcher is doing surveillance sanctioned by the government. I could only guess that this is just part of the US national security agencies 'gathering intelligence' on 'potential threats'. 

Six months into your assignment, you begin to doubt your purpose. Hajji is falling apart. His doctor has advised him to undergo spinal surgery that may leave him paralyzed. In another era, in a different body, perhaps Hajji could have been dangerous. But here, now, debilitated by pain and trauma, the old man is no threat at all.

You should update your superiors. You should advise them to abort the operation. But you won’t. Not now. Not when Mary is about to apply to colleges, not when Mo is planning to propose, not when Marvin is making new friends on campus, not when Habibi’s parents are applying for a visa to the States, not when Hajji is deciding whether or not he will go through with the surgery, not when Bibi is losing touch with her brother, not when Lily is on the brink of an artistic breakthrough. There’s too much left to learn.

One night, Hajji had a fall and no one knew. The narrator caved to his emotions and called an ambulance. But that led to him gaining a new obsession and being haunted by it. He's not wrong, but he doesn't have the technology to trap the narrator/watcher or scan for bugs. 

This short story will be part of a collection of short stories by the author due to be released in July 2022. The book is titled 'The Haunting of Hajji Hotak and Other Stories'. These are stories about Afghanistan, its people and the Afghan diaspora. The blurb stated that the book is a "A luminous meditation on sons and fathers, ghosts of war, and living history that moves between modern-day Afghanistan and the Afghan diaspora."

The story ended on the oddest note, which might or might indicate the mental state of Hajji falling apart and giving in to all his suspicions about American military. 

The next day, as soon as he returns home from the hospital, Hajji purchases a phone recorder on Amazon and, when it arrives, has Marvin hook it up to the landline. No one questions him. No one argues. He listens to hours and hours of recordings in his bedroom, alone or with Habibi, and during awkward moments of silence, pauses in conversations, he stops and rewinds and listens again. “Do you hear it?” he whispers to Habibi in Pashto. “The breathing?”

She waits and listens again and nods her head.

You know this is impossible. You know there is no way for them to hear you, and yet, when you are listening to a conversation, and there is a pause, a silence, you find yourself holding your breath.

Hajji becomes relentless.

He searches for you on the phone, in the streets, in unmarked white vans, in the faces of policemen, detectives in street clothes, military personnel, and his own neighbors. He searches for you at the hospital, at the bank, on his computer, his sons’ laptops, in Webcams, phone cameras, and on the television. He searches for you in the curtains and in the drawers of the kitchen and in the trees in his back yard, in the electrical sockets, the locks of the door handles, and in the filaments of the light bulbs. And, even as his family protests, Hajji searches for you in shattered glass, in broken tile, in the strips of his wallpaper, the splinters of his doors, his tattered flesh, his warped nerves, and in his own beating heart, where, through it all, the voice whispering that he is loved is yours.

Saturday, November 13, 2021

Z's Vegan Biryani


It was perfect timing that Z (@globalmatsoulkitchen) offered vegan biryani, and I caught it two minutes after he posted the notice on IG Stories. The spices would hit a spot for the man who misses this sort of spice if he couldn't have them during the week in London. Indian food features prominently in our household. Thosai for breakfast can be a thrice-a-week affair. Well, I already double-boiled a soup of pork ribs and watercress for his lunch, but biryani would be great for dinner. 

Z's vegan biryani held a masala of purple sweet potatoes, potatoes with skin and carrots. It was hearty, yet it didn't feel as heavy or greasy as a meat biryani would. It also came with a small tub of pickles. We didn't need it vegan. So we added boiled eggs and raw cherry tomatoes to our portions. The man said that the biryani at the SQ lounge at Changi Airport was sad. The in-flight biryani branded as a dum biryani from Bismillah was much better. But nothing beats a proper biryani the way Z does it.  

I also passed a box of biryani to the BFF. The detour around a suddenly-closed Middle East airspace and the in-flight wifi meant that she had plenty of time to yell that she wanted a box. Hahah. She landed at Changi Airport, cleared customs and baggage (with two heavy suitcases and two crates), and fulfilled PCR swab testing and hopped into a cab — within 30 minutes. BEST. I happily turned up at her flat an hour after she got home from the airport. We didn't eat together. She had to await the results of her on-arrival PCR test. (She got it 5 hours later — negative. Cleared. Yay.) So it was prudent that we didn't remove our masks upon meeting. I simply did a drop-off of food and random fruits and yoghurt. 

The BFF lugged back a crate of wine. She gifted us a lovely bottle of Riesling GG from Prinz von Hessen Johannisberger Klaus. It was chilled from the cold cargo hold, and she threw it into a chiller at home. We normally don't bother with having wine for daily casual dinners. But tonight was special. The Riesling went beautifully with the biryani. Mmmmm. The BFF had never tried Z's biryani; tonight was the first few spoonfuls. She said she had to resist finishing up the entire box at a go, and shoved half into the fridge. She loved it. This elegant vegan version hit all the right spots for her. It was a gorgeous welcome home meal for the happy travelers.

Friday, November 12, 2021

Daddy's Home


The dog completely didn't act like a dog welcoming her Daddy home. She's so cat that it's unbelievable. We went for a walk and waited at the lift lobby for the man to get home from the airport in a cab. The dog went up to sniff at him, and trotted home together. Back at home, she brought him a toy, but didn't jump, spin or bark. She just did a lot of sniffing. Absolutely dignified.

A negative on-arrival PCR result absolved the man of any need to self-isolate at home. He isn't required to book any more tests with the clinic thereafter either. There was that pre-flight PCR test taken in London almost 50 hours ago that declared him 'fit to fly', so that covers the bases. It's a short trip, so the man felt like it was all about doing tests from the moment he landed at Heathrow Airport. Hahaha. Ah well, at least Singapore removed the pre-departure PCR test for London, and London removed that for their on-arrival procedures a day before he flew out, and replaced that requirement with a rapid lateral flow test instead. He also had his Pfizer booster shot the week before he flew out. So this was great timing. 

We decided not to dine in indoors at restaurants or go to malls for the next three days, but we could most certainly go out for walks, and go to quieter restaurants with a large al fresco area. So that was exactly what we did. Beer + gin, and dinner at Little Island Brewing Co. That made two days in a row that the dog went to Changi Beach at sunset. Oof. Once with me and the girlfriend, and the second time when Daddy returned. The man just came from Changi Airport in the morning, and he didn't mind driving out to Changi again that evening. Heh. Those two days rained out, with the rains clearing up only at about 4pm. It was great timing. The rains didn't take away the humidity, but at least it made the day cool. We went to Changi Beach at 5pm on both days. It was breezy.  

Choya is definitely happy to have Daddy home. Her sleep patterns and appetite remain the same. She wasn't morose or sad that Daddy's away. She just wondered where he went, but since I'm still around and took her out, she was comforted; her routines stay predictable. While there wasn't any dramatic zoomies or anything boisterous to welcome Daddy home, she followed him around for the whole day and the next, just to be sure that he wasn't disappearing again for longer than a day. Hehehehe. She was definitely a little perkier now that Daddy's home.   

Thursday, November 11, 2021

I Love Hash Browns

I'm not too much into fried food except for fried potatoes. Oof! I love potatoes, especially hash browns. I used to settle for hash browns from McD's because they're accessible and convenient. Recently, I haven't been able to get McD's hash browns because the queues are crazy long. Too long for the dog to wait for me in the heat. Whenever we're at Bishan Park and I thought of quickly grabbing two hash browns from the McD's across the bridge, it never comes to pass. Same for the McD's at Serene Center, and at Potong Pasir Avenue 1. 

So I end up getting loads of hash browns from hip cafes. Tater tots are cool, but not as satisfying as a flat hash brown. Yah, they're pretty much the same thing. BUT. Oh! I have to explain to people that in my dictionary, rosti isn't the same as hash browns. They're not interchangeable. G was horrified when we had brunch that day at Twenty Eight Cafe — I ordered rosti with mushrooms, requested the kitchen to skip the truffle oil, and added a side of hash browns. "So much carbs!" She exclaimed. Hahahaha. I ate them all. I was so full from brunch that I couldn't eat dinner that night. Had a large bowl of soup instead. NO REGRETS. 

10 tater tots give me an average total of 160 calories, 20g of carbs and 8g of fat. One McD's hash brown gives 149 calories, 17g of carbs and 8g of fat. Lovely. I'll take them. I always eat two McD's hash browns at a go. That's truly a meal. If I'm hungry, I'll look for eggs or a piece of brioche to go with the potatoes. Otherwise, just the potatoes would suffice. With chilli sauce. That's a must. A chilled glass of juice would round up the meal perfectly.

As much as I'm on the lookout for brunch venues that takes dogs, I also scan their menus for options of sides of hash browns. This is probably why I keep returning to Group Therapy Coffee at Cross Street Exchange. I could literally have a meal made up of three big hash browns. Mmmmm. They serve up the biggest hash browns I've seen in town. A meal here could be for lunch or brunch. It's all the same to me. It certainly helps that the kitchen has a very good deep fryer. 

Group Therapy Coffee offers the option of assembling my own brunch plate. Heh.

Wednesday, November 10, 2021

Vaccination-Differentiated Safe Management Measures (VDS)

Our government currently foot the full COVID-19 medical bills of all Singaporeans, permanent residents and long-term pass holders, other than for those who test positive soon after returning from overseas travel. Travelers should always purchase their own medical insurance that covers Covid-19 infection, travel delays, recovery and all required quarantine . 

I raised eyebrows when the government finally bit the bullet and announced that from January 2022 onwards, Covid-19 patients who are unvaccinated by choice will have to pay for their own medical bills if they're admitted to hospitals or other treatment facilities. They finally did it. OH YES. I'm not sympathetic towards anti-vaxxers. I have neither empathy nor patience to listen to their side of the story. I'm most certainly not inclined to have the government cover their medical bills from my taxes paid. 

Implementing Vaccination-Differentiated Safe Management Measures (VDS) is the way forward. We're not actually living in the endemic phase yet; we're very far from it. The government has pushed us hard to get vaccinated and is using all ways and means to restrict and convince us to do so, and when we do, we expect a gradual easing of restrictions, and not stupid measures. At least they have now allowed restaurants to play music softly. Stopping restaurants from playing music was a mind-boggling sort of rationale. 

Source: Ministry of Health, Singapore. 

Dining out is still a PITA. But I can't say I'm entirely displeased about it. The pandemic dining restrictions absolve me of all obligations known as 'family meals' and gatherings. Those are a giant PITA. Meeting with friends isn't an issue since I prefer meeting one-on-one. It would nice to go out in fours or fives, but there aren't many I want to gather with, so I can easily work around that. We'll live. We simply visit one another's homes two by two. 

The politicians were quoted as saying that we would open up in a progressive way instead of doing a free-for-all. We would have "three sets of brakes to stop Covid-19 from hurtling out of control""In Singapore, the three sets of brakes are safe-management measures, border controls and vaccination and booster take-up rates." Yawn. We can't overwhelm the medical system/structure, we can't let people die. And our population density is such. We still don't have space to fan out and breathe. Riiiight. We'll be in 'safe-management' mode till 2023.

The Health Minister said that managing Covid-19 is like riding a bicycle going downhill. Okaaaaayyy. 

"That is why we apply brakes - so that the bike goes downhill at a controlled speed and we can safely arrive at our destination."

The Trade Minister elaborated, 

"We don't really want to dismantle the brakes," Mr Gan observed. "We want to be able to continue to monitor as we ease off the brakes and allow the bicycle to continue the journey.

I don't cycle, you know. I really hate it when our politicians use analogies. 😑  

Tuesday, November 09, 2021

D.O.P's Spaghetti Carbonara


I had thought I'd have a fair bit of leisure time on my hands because the man is away. But I was caught up in a flood of errands and deadlines. Ugh. That made it tougher to figure out some dates with friends. So pleased to have made it to this dinner with V. 

Stopped by D.O.P. for easy comfort carbs and drinks. There's no 'indoor' portion for this restaurant. It's all outdoors, but sheltered. The day had been rainy and cloudy, making the evening bearable. The restaurant took the initiative to place fans all over so that the area is well ventilated and 'breezy'. That always makes the searing heat and humidity easier to bear. 

I couldn't do a bottle of wine tonight. Started with a glass of Prosecco and two glasses of easy reds accompanied the meal. That was all the alcohol I wanted tonight. The dog doesn't quite like it when I drink too much, and the alcohol lingers on my breath. Hahahaha. No lah. I needed to keep sharp to sort out a few urgent emails after dinner. 

I've forgotten how decent D.O.P's food is. Every item is well executed. Their offerings of mozzarella are decent and assembled in nice portions. Tonight, we opted for the handmade burratina with baby spinach leaves and parma ham. On some evenings, this could be a main on its own especially if I pair it with sides of grilled vegetables and a tomato salad.

The pasta menu has plenty of options; there would always be an item I would want. Ordered the spaghetti carbonara was super decent. It's the dry version, the proper one. It doesn't come soaking in cream. In fact, the kitchen didn't use cream at all. Thank goodness. I loved it. It's totally worth coming back for. 

Monday, November 08, 2021

A Bleak Existence

I've read Tove Ditlevsen's memoirs (she lived from 1917-1976) in the translated 'The Copenhagen Trilogy' (2019). The first two memoirs were translated by Tiina Nunnally in 1985; the final volume was translated by Michael Favala Goldman. These three memoirs have been put together into one book as a trilogy published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux in January 2021. 

That was an utterly depressing read. A tale of systemic sexism, of children raised by emotionally distant and often violent parents, a young adult's bad life decisions, drugs and addiction, and the author's suicide at 58 years old. I've never felt more pessimistic after reading a book.

When I came across Tove Ditlevsen's short story titled 'The Umbrella' published on October 25, 2021 in The New Yorker, I didn't expect it to be any different. It was measured, bleak, sullen and wretched. 'The Umbrella' is part of a short story collection originally published in 1952 as 'Paraplyen'. This is also translated by Michael Favala Goldman. I will not seek out translations of this collection. Just this one story is enough. 

In an interview, the translator opined that 'The Umbrella' is fairly representative of Tove Ditlevsen's writing. He said, "Tove Ditlevsen knows how to read a room. I feel she is so precise about revealing the masks that we adults wear—pride, powerlessness, for example—to cover up our immaturity. Ditlevsen’s fiction tends to be realistic and heavy, with no happy endings."

The story introduced us to Helga, a twenty-three-year-old woman who was "only averagely equipped" to move about in the world, and when she was put on the marriage market, she was plain and "drab" as could be. She didn't seem to have strong interests of her own. She simply floats along in life and conforms to what her parents and society expect of her. The story is set in a time when women as wives, weren't expected to work. They were expected to keep house. So Helga did. Her newly married husband Egon soon grew bored with married life, and didn't come home on time for dinner anymore. 

Helga didn't have income of her own. She scrimped and saved from her household allowance. I winced at that. However, her marriage felt like it was a milestone part of the process of being an adult, and she didn't really love her husband, Egon. So I'm not sure where the fault(s), if any, lies in this marriage. Helga seems to exist in her own world, and rather detached from reality.

The umbrella is a metaphor. It was a parasol that Helga wanted. It was the one thing she latched on to, and made plans to have it. She couldn't explain why she wanted it. She simply wanted this lovely slender thing of silk. She was finally pushed to buy it for herself, as though she finally does something for herself, using the household money. She showed her husband her new purchase. He then cruelly broke it.  

Then she walked silently past him into the little living room, back to the manageable, the tolerable, the predetermined. She sat by the window as before, finally realizing that this was her place and that everything was the way it was supposed to be. The colors in her memory mixed together, forming the beginning of a kind of pattern. She realized that she could never be the owner of an umbrella. It was only natural—it made sense that the umbrella was ruined. She had set herself up against the secret law steering her inner world. Few people, even once in their lives, dare to make the inexpressible real.

Helga smiled distantly at her husband. It was as if he had suddenly caused some string inside her to vibrate slightly, maybe because he had shown her the limits of her potential before it flowed out into nothingness. She didn’t think about it like that. She just thought, This is exactly as if I had cheated on him, and he’s forgiven me. And she nodded, seriously and absently, as if to a child who wanted to take a star down from the sky and give it away, when he, intensely occupied with screwing a new bulb into the ceiling fixture, said to her over his shoulder, “You’ll get another umbrella.”

In an interview with the translator Michael Favala Goldman, the interviewer Deborah Treisman suggested that the protagonist Helga seems to lead a life that is "emotionally stunted". She also said that much of the author's writing mirrors her life. The translator agreed.

To me, the voice of the story seems quite similar to that of her memoir. Do you feel that there’s overlap between the autobiography and the fiction?  

There is a ton of overlap. Several of the stories in the collection “The Trouble with Happiness” appear to be extrapolations of scenes that are mentioned only briefly in her memoirs. The woman with the umbrella appears as an early memory of Ditlevsen’s in Chapter 5 of “Childhood.” There is no doubt that Ditlevsen mined her life for material. She was adored for this during her lifetime, especially by female Danish readers, but also looked down upon by the male Danish writing establishment. I think she was ahead of her time.

Saturday, November 06, 2021

Solo-Pawrenting


It's been a week of solo-pawrenting. Wow. It has been a while since I've done that. The man hadn't done many work trips since Choya joined our home. She hasn't had to deal with us both being away and be placed at boarding either. (That one trip didn't count because she was with us for barely two months.) She would feel it keenly now when leisure travel comes back into fashion. 

There hasn't been anything dramatic. Whewww. She's a darling with me at restaurants and cafes, and we've been getting in lots of sun at the parks to balance out the dreary afternoon rains. She definitely misses her Daddy, but her appetite's normal and she is eating well, so we're good. 

I have the sweetest friends. The man too. They check in with me when he's traveling, and see if I need help, food, alcohol, or a lift to somewhere. I'm usually okay on my own. Of course I'll go meet them if schedules match. They don't have to specially make time for me during the length of time the man is away. But if I should need help, I will HOLLER. I not shy one. We do have good friends whom we keep close throughout the pandemic months, and these are really 'friends for life'. Friendship is a two-way street. We must make the effort to keep in touch.

If you tell me that solo-pawrenting is nothing compared to solo-parenting, you can fuck off kindly. Someone told me that. I was very triggered. Hello, did I even begin to compare them? Did I say that they're the same thing? Do these caregiving duties require the same skills or can be judged on the difficulty scale? 

If you tell me "I'm a mother of three! I raised kids. I can definitely look after a dog for a week." Erm... NO. By that logic, that means YOU CANNOT. I wouldn't trust Choya with you, and you wouldn't trust me with your kids. Good intentions do not translate into good and needful caregiving. 

Dogs and babies/kids. FFS, these two aren't in the same universe. I don't find kids cute. I don't find all dogs cute. I'm partial to only some dogs and some kids. They're not similarly cute. The caregiving responsibilities are vastly different. Don't be stupid. I don't compare, I won't compare, and one would be extremely short-sighted to do so.

The only thing I regret is not getting my Class 3 so that I can take Choya out in our own car. We get around by GrabPet. GrabPet is convenient enough. It evens out the market prices for pet transport. We've met nice drivers and the grouchy ones. I especially dislike those who insist that Choya must sit on the floor. Hello. NO. I bring a mat for her. If you have an issue with my mat, I'm happy to use yours (Grab-issued). It's not my problem if you're too lazy to get out to lay out the mat at the back for the dogs. It's actually INCLUDED in the price of the ride. Then I pay a $14 base-fare for a 'GrabPet' FOR WHAT AH. 

Friday, November 05, 2021

チョーヤとママのイワシ


I think Choya's stomach likes her sardines and pilchards more than salmon. Her tastebuds love every fish. BUT. Dehydrated/freeze-dried/cooked salmon give her the runs now. It happened suddenly. But there would have been minute changes in her gastrointestinal tract that decided it didn't want salmon anymore. 

I suspect she really can't have much because of the oils. If so, then she might as well not eat it. I do give her a slice of salmon sashimi once in a bit, and she does so much better on that. Sardines, pilchards and anchovies are okay for her. But she's a small dog, so feeding her fish shouldn't be an every day affair. Once or twice a week should be fine. Portion control. 

So that day, Choya had her iwashi, and I had mine as well, in terms of sushi for lunch at Hakumai. Didn't bother with sashimi. Just sushi, a bowl of soup plus a slice of sweet melon for dessert totally worked. The stomach was very happy. I looked at my pieces of sushi and laughed. Chef Gary really picked out all the shiny fish for me. 

He also set aside a long piece of saba, done aburi and topped with spring onions. It even came on its own plate. That was delicious. Frankly, if I could have like three pieces of this seared saba with a little bowl of steamed rice sprinkled with furikake and spring onions, that would make an amazing lunch. 

Chef Gary was distracted by the newly-hired service staff missing their beats that afternoon, and had to correct them. He was a tad busy telling them off. So he forgot that both V and I didn't want tuna (he gave a piece of otoro to V), and I didn't want his signature prawn sushi with foie gras. Ooof. Never mind. V happily adopted my piece of foie gras, and I just ate the prawn. I do like prawns. Just.... One prawn. I could.  

It was a lovely lunch with V. I've been swamped under a pile of deadlines these two weeks. Lunch have been hurriedly gobbled up at home or wherever I was passing by. I actually haven't had time for a leisurely mid-day meal, much less fix lunches with the friends. Today, we even had time for a coffee after the meal. Dimbulah had closed at Guocco Tower, so we settled for Starbucks.  

Thursday, November 04, 2021

Z's Stingray Biryani


J stalked Global Mat Soul Kitchen's IG and scored us all stingray biryani. Wooohooo. There was no prior discussion. J simply went for it and ordered eight packets, and if he got it, he would figure out later to pass to whom and who to collect. As luck would have it, we could take the biryani, and so could S. None of us had plans the following night. Stingray biryani it was!

J did the last round of pick up and we ate at their table, so it was our turn now. Since the rules still didn't allow us all to eat together, and people were stuck in night calls, we volunteered to drop off biryani to everyone. We intended to pop home for our own dinner, but by pure chance, by the time we stopped at S and N's, they had finished their calls and invited us to stay and eat. Woooot. They even gave us egg tarts for dessert. Heh. The dog came along too since she was in the car. (Okay the dog had to starve a little. LOL She did have a 5.30pm snack lah, not so bad.) 

Dog and cat got along fine. We kept a sharp eye on the floofies because the oblivious dog loved going near the cat, and the cat was all wary. After a while, Chewie chilled out in her safe spot, and Choya lazed around. I think Chewie felt better because Choya isn't the kind of doggo who would bark at her or try to jump her. 

We hadn't had Z's stingray biryani for a looooong time. THIS WAS SO GOOD. I love Z's stingray biryani best of them all. This as a much needed dinner. It was good to catch up with S and N too. Everyone had a really long day and it was a relief to take a break for dinner. The man definitely wanted all his spices before he flew out to London. But hey, London has got fantastic Indian food too, and he would likely have a dinner invite that involves tons of fabulous homecooked curries. 

Wednesday, November 03, 2021

Nurul Sakinah Nasi Padang


After S raved about the nasi padang at Nurul Sakinah Malay Food at Clover Way, I made a mental note to try it. It's not exactly near me; it does take a bit of planning to do the drive up. Hot days make it even more unbearable since parking is crazy in the area. It makes more sense for me to get a takeout. So that day, the man and I did just that.  

The stall is sited in the Clover House kopitiam; that means you'll have other food choices if not everyone wants nasi padang. I think the stall offers mee siam, mee rebus, mee soto and lontong early in the morning. I went at 10.45am to get nasi padang bungkus.  

Oddly, the man isn't interested in chicken when having nasi padang. He prefers having fish and sotong over chicken. Beef rendang would do, but the other dishes are more interesting to him. His takeout held beef rendang, assam pedas ikan ekor, sambal goreng, sambal sotong, and sambal okra. Mine held telur asin, begedil, paru, and long beans. 

And I FORGOT TO ASK FOR SAMBAL BELACHAN. 🤦🏻‍♀️ It didn't affect the man too much since his food held loads of sambal, but my food wasn't as spicy. The long beans were just stir fried with garlic. Mine would be so much better with a large dollop of spicy sambal. I had taken it for granted that sambal would be dished onto my bowl. UGH. Food was delicious. We would totally return to get lunch again.


Nurul Sakinah Malay Food
11 Clover Way (inside Clover Coffee House)
Singapore 579082
Hours: Mondays to Fridays 8am to 3pm; Saturdays 8am to 1pm. Closed on Sundays.