I've neglected my quads and they've become really tight. Quads get tight from overuse or the lack of use. Dohhhhh. Since I also have tight hip flexors, I ought to pay more attention to them. In pilates and gyrotonic classes, some movements which require the use of quads become restricted because mine are too tight. In order to maximize the benefits of these classes, I decided to do daily quad stretches. I'd ease into them. Once comfortable, I'd do the really intense ones; to go deeper and hold longer.
The standing quad stretch isn't sufficient to ease out mine. I would need to hold it for like five minutes or something. Static stretches are great. Once you get over the initial pain, the rest is literally mind over matter. What is super efficient, is the quad stretch done kneeling against the wall, and the prone quad stretch using a non-stretchable loop to pull in the knee. Both movements stretch the quads in a slightly different angle, so I do both daily.
Sometimes the gyrotonic instructor would help me out with the prone quad stretch. Three sets of 30 seconds static hold. She would push my knees and calves lower for each set. Initially she made me hold it for 30 seconds only. That was already torture. Then holding it for a minute became easy. She has noticed a significant improvement in the angle of my bent knee.
The pilates instructor is extremely fond of making me do the wall quad stretch. The gauge of quad tightness is how near my spine can get to the wall. I can do this stretch on my own quite easily. I just need some time and I could get the back against the wall. Soon, I hope. The cool-down stretches at the gym after HIIT classes also include a standing quad stretch. I scurry to the wall to do mine.
Grabbed an easy dinner with V at Miznon. We wanted its easy pita pockets. Got them! Brisket and mozzarella for V, and a Folded Cheeseburger for me; I loved that fried egg with runny egg in there. Mmmm.... My standard order at Miznon is like an upgraded McD's cheeseburger. Also shared a lovely plate of charred mushrooms with spring onions, sour cream and chilli.
I considered ordering one more item — either the calamari or the whole head of broccoli. But I wisely chose not to. Luckily I didn't. These portions were more than enough to keep us full. Our stomachs aren't as expandable as our tastebuds these days. It wasn't a crowded night at the restaurant, and our food came fast enough.
Decided not to adjourn to another bar for drinks. Too lazy to bother. The point is to see V and chat, not to drink and get tipsy. I could do with fewer drinks. The questionable wine list at Miznon means that we don't bother much with alcohol. Opted for beer tonight. Two cold glasses of Asahi for each of us went well with the food, and they made for a good dessert. Oof.
I decided to inhale Toshikazu Kawaguchi's three books at a go since the latest one has been released. It's not exactly necessary to read them in sequence, but it would be nice to. They are: 'Before the Coffee Gets Cold' (2015), 'Before the Coffee Gets Cold: Tales from the Cafe' (2017) and 'Before Your Memory Fades' (2018). All these books are recently translated by Geoffrey Trousselot.
All these tiny cafes have existed for a hundred years in various towns, serving coffee, and also offering its customers a chance to travel back or forth in time, with a set of special rules — they can only meet people who have visited the cafe in question, they can't change the past, and they must return before their coffee gets cold. Also, a person who has sat on the chair to travel through time once cannot do it a second time. Each person only receives a single chance.
Each book sees four new and different customers who do so. Theoretically, the customers could travel into the future too, but hardly anyone wants to do that. I grinned. These rules effectively remove all the paradoxes of time travel in science fiction as we know it, theoretically.
In all of them, the author asks us,
If you could go back, who would you want to meet?
'Before the Coffee Gets Cold' (2015)
In Tokyo's Cafe Funiculi Funicula that has existed since 1874, these four customers took up the cafe's offer to go back in time, some skeptical, some trusting: ‘The Lovers’, ‘Husband and Wife’, 'The Sisters', 'Mother and Child'.
Fumiko returned in time a week to confront her date Goro before he left for America for three years to work on his dream. She needed to know that he was indeed the man who loved her too, despite being so focused on work. She needed to know that him being away for three years wouldn’t kill their budding relationship. Fumiko was the first to anger the Ghost who sat in the chair; she tugged at her arm. The Ghost also uhhh scolded her. We’ll hear about this couple again in the next book.
Fusagi’s had early onset of Alzheimer's and was losing his memory. He remembered he had a wife but didn't remember that Kohtake was his wife although she was standing in front of him. He wanted to return to the past to deliver a letter to his wife. Kohtake was the one who returned to the past, to three years ago when Fusagi wanted to tell her about his illness but couldn't bring himself to do so. If you ask me, he sounds like idiot who doesn't know how to communicate with his wife. In that letter, was all the answer she needed to know that he loved her.
Hirai wanted to see her deceased younger sister Kumi for one last time in the past when she was alive. Hirai regretted not talking to Kumi each time the latter visited Tokyo to try to speak with her. Then in this same story, we see an unknown young girl come in to see Kei Tokita (lady boss of the cafe) and asked for a photo together. This might be the first instance of someone coming from the future to see a member of the family.
Kei Tokita herself sat in the chair to travel fifteen years to the future to meet the future daughter that she's currently pregnant with. Her husband Nagare Tokita is full of concern. This story explains the young unknown girl in the previous story. Kei met Miki, the daughter she died giving birth to. Kei has a weak heart but she was determined to carry on with the pregnancy. She needed to know if the daughter lived, and if she did, then her death from the birth would be worth it.
Different stories appeal to different readers. That's how the author tugs at the readers' heartstrings. Which story resonates? It's not about setting things right tangibly. Remember, you can't change the past to alter the current reality. These four people traveled to ease their conscience or to understand the regrets they now have. I don't know if their emotional burdens are lightened, but at the very least, apologies help. There's some form of closure that we all seek, I suppose. Nothing in the present changes, except for their own hearts and attitude/mindset.
'Before the Coffee Gets Cold: Tales from the Cafe' (2017)
We see another four customers with their four stories at Cafe Funiculi Funicula: 'The Best Friend', 'Mother and Son', 'The Lovers', 'The Married Couple'.
Only the women in the Tokita family of the owners of the cafe could pour the coffee for the customers to time-travel. Kazu Tokita poured coffee for everyone. She had poured coffee for her own mother Kaname, who decided to stay in the past and not return, and is now the ghost we see sitting in the cafe with a novel. Kei Tokita had passed away from birthing Miki. Miki now could take over Kazu's role as well, to pour coffee for time travelers.
The man Gohtarowho goes back to see his best friend Shuichi who died 22 years ago, to confess that he raised their orphaned daughter responsibly and with dedication as his own. However, Gohtaro never told her about her real parents. // // The son Yukio who was unable to attend his own mother’s Kinuyo's funeral. He had been swindled and carried a huge debt in order to realize his dream of being a potter at his own studio. He didn't have the money for the fare from Kyoto back to Tokyo. He wanted to stay on in the past and die there. But he realized that would break his dead mother's heart. So he returned to the now and lived, as tough as it was.
Katsuki travelled to the future to see the girl Asami whom he loved but couldn't marry because he fell ill and died in six months. He wanted to know how she was doing, and if she was well. // // The old detective Kiyoshi who never gave his wife Kimiko that birthday gift and she died in helping out someone in a botched mugging/escape. He was full of regrets and wanted to return to the past to give his wife the intended birthday gift of a modest diamond necklace.
Their stories all carry personal guilt, actions that must be confessed decades later. In these stories, our emotional burdens revolve around moral judgements and the eventual decisions we make. There's no criminality involved. It's all about personal choices, consequences and regrets.
'Before Your Memory Fades' (2018)
I had to wait for weeks for this book. Dohhhh. There were like 172 people waiting to read a digital copy of it. In this release, the author changed a venue. We moved away from Tokyo to a tiny cafe in Hokkaido, located at the base of Mount Hakodate. It's named Cafe Donna Donna.
The story began with a throwback to the first book in this whole series. It's dead-not-dead Kei Tokita who had traveled 15 years into the future to Tokyo while her husband Nagare Tokita was still in Hokkaido. So we're set in this older timeline. Nagare knew but he stayed in Hokkaido, allowing his deceased wife to meet with his daughter, which was the whole point of Kei going to the future to make her decision about her pregnancy.
Cafe Donna Donna is owned by Yukari Tokita. Nagare is her son. The 'ghost' occupying the special seat in this instance is an elderly gentleman dressed in black. Sachi, Kazu's seven-year-old daughter wields the power in the pour of her coffee. The introduction and backstory were really draggy. Had to wade through these to get to the actual story. So you wouldn't really need to read the other two books before reading this third one.
Yayoi Seto nursed a grudge against her parents for dying in a car accident that left her an orphan, unwanted by her aunts and ended up living at a children's home. She begrudges them for leaving her all alone. When she traveled back to the past, she met them with her baby, her infant-self. They were happy. She learnt about her mother Miyuki's sad childhood and tough growing up years. She didn't stay in the past. She returned to the present. And then Miyuki traveled into the future, to see Yayoi. Miyuki back then had wanted to take her own life too. // // Hayashida and Todoroki are a famous comedic duo. Todoroki's long-time love and wife Setsuko died, and he didn't want to live without her. He went back in time to tell her of his achievements. She didn't let him stay in the past and die. She told him to live because she would be with him always. Todoroki did so.
Reiko Nunokawa missed her elder sister Yukika who had passed away three months ago from sudden illness. Reiko could no longer go through with her own forthcoming wedding, and could only sit at Cafe Donna Donna reliving the happy moments with her sister. The grief is all-consuming. On a dark and stormy evening, Yukika traveled from the past to the future, to this present when she has died, to comfort Reiko — the hope to live — the best way to make Yukika happy was for Reiko to work towards her own happiness.
When Reiji returned from Tokyo to sign his contract to become a full-fledged paid comedian, he learnt his childhood friend Nanako had fallen ill with a rare blood disease and had gone to America with her parents to seek treatment. Nanako realized that she loved Reiji more than as a friend, but didn't get a chance to tell him. Reiji didn't realize it till she has gone to America. Reiji returned to the past, to the day they had last met in person. They never married, but this jaunt to the past allowed them to admit their feelings to each other. Nanako eventually died. Reiji fulfilled his dreams and success as a comedian, fuelled by his love for Nanako and her confidence in him.
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Now, the author originally debuted these stories as a play, and then wrote his first book. Then there was a film adaptation done in 2018.
I feel that these books could also be easily adapted to a short six-episode series on Netflix. LOL. 16 episodes, perhaps. Some of the descriptions in the book were superfluous and would work much better in a film or a television series. With the right director, scriptwriter and production crew and cast, it will be a beautiful story, perhaps a bit slow, but reflective and poignant. The whole premise of the stories are not just about the concept. It's presenting to us how we would live our life and if there would be regrets, and if we ever get this chance to return in time, would we do it? What would we change?
I was super thrilled to see MONO play live again in Singapore. I've missed their sounds. They're much better heard and experienced live than heard over the earphones of the speakers. Unless you've got a fancy audio room, then you could pick out all the frequency and fidelity of their pedals and volume.
MONO's most recent album 'Pilgrimage of the Soul' released in 2021 is like an ode to their three decades as a band. This is their 11th full length studio album. Wow. This new album is a little 'softer' than their previous songs. I haven't decided whether I like it as much.
The sold-out show opened with 'Riptide' from the new album. Okay can. Some of the friends couldn't get into their 'new' sounds, and very much prefer the older songs. The band included 'Halcyon' (2004). That was beautiful. I was so pleased that they ended with 'Ashes in the Snow' (2009). It was such a good gig tonight.
I've forgotten about the volume of prog and post rock. They could fluctuate between soft and normal and super loud. Zzzzzz I was pretty close to the stage and the speakers. Like I said, Esplanade venues inspire confidence and trust, so I'm comfortable there. Thank goodness for Isolate earplugs; they always take the brunt of the decibels. But towards the end of the show, I retreated to the back where the merch table was. It was getting hot and stuffy, and I needed to breathe. Finished the rest of the show there, made a quick exit to wait for the friends outside.
Had an early Thanksgiving dinner out with the friends. We separately had minor house sprucing and renovations/repair works done, and we were cleaning all week. Nobody was in the mood to cook and clean some more. Headed out to Black Pearl Steakhouse for steaks, highballs and salads.
We wanted a casual dinner place so that we didn't have to dress up. We could just do berms and slippers and just flop around. Nobody at this table is a soccer fan or watches football (or play mahjong), so the World Cup matches don't matter, and we needn't pick a restaurant that's showing these matches. Yayyyy!
Of course we sat outdoors right under the fan. It was a hot and humid night. Without a fan circulating at outdoor patios of restaurants, sitting comfortably at an outdoor table is impossible. The friends were okay with sitting outdoors because they asked the Smol Girl to come along too. Awwwwwww.
The food at Black Pearl is decent. It's not mind-blowing, but it's properly done. It's the next best thing to us sweating it out in the kitchen and might not even be able to produce a similar quality of food. The toasted slices of bread came with dukkah, olive oil and balsamic. Nice. One small slice for each diner. Nothing was wasted. We would have asked for more bread if we wanted to.
Crab bisque and mushroom soup arrived as starters. The anchovies in the Waldorf salad were a lovely touch. We weren't so ambitious as to do a tomahawk. We went for easy slabs of grass-fed rib-eye from New Zealand and Argentinia; 500g each done medium to share among the four of us. Skipped dessert in favour of continuing with a third round of highballs. Didn't even ask what whisky they used. It tasted okay. Highballs are the friendliest drinks in the world.
Each time Thanksgiving comes around, I steadfastly ignore the requisite turkey. The bird has no meaning here in the tropics. It isn't even symbolic. I do Thanksgiving as it is, a harvest festival, to give thanks for the blessings I have received from God and life in general. Sure, it's an American holiday. But at some point, after the Aunts made me gather at their tables for the holiday, I adopted it too. This year, without the Aunts around, I still marked it. I had them on FaceTime at our dinner. Hahahaha.
It has been a loooong while since we gathered for L's famous chicken congee. I've missed it! We sat around her new dining table in her new home, and shamelessly scooped piping hot bowls of congee from the giant pot we did. It was a rainy day, and quite the perfect weather to complement the dinner menu.
We didn't go crazy with the alcohol. As usual, we all had an early morning to wake up to, and need to keep our livers happy. A bottle of champagne, a bottle red, and two light beers shared among six of us. It was a very decent volume put away.
Choya scored herself an invite too. The M girls had to be kept away for an early bedtime. Sure, there's space and their yaya with them; they're cuddle-bugs who're happy to stay in the room all evening. BUT. Aiyoh, I felt a bit bad. Choya can't get along with them. The M girls are high-energy and Choya just wants to be left alone. After two skirmishes, we have ascertained that these floofs cannot be fwens in this closed setting. Zzzzz. They seem fine when they're outdoors because there're plenty of distractions and they're not in close quarters.
I love how L separates the shredded chicken from the congee. Then we can all decide how much chicken goes into our bowls. Sure, there's chicken stock and fat in the congee, but I don't care about that. Those won't make me keel over the way potent prawn head stock does. I did score bits of chicken skin. Hurhurhur. I happily slurpped up the congee with cuttlefish and salted egg. Ate three happy bowls. Decided not to be that much of a glutton to go for the fourth bowl.
Got a COVID-19 bivalent booster of a Moderna/Spikevax bivalent. This is my second booster/fourth shot over May 2021 to November 2022. Since I haven't been ill with Covid-19, I should get this booster. It's possible that I had been infected and been completely asymptomatic. At least when I did the occasional testing, all were naught; the major period of feeling unwell turned out ART-negative and PCR-negative for 15 days in a row.
After the bivalent booster, my jabbed arm didn't ache at all; I went to pilates class the next day. No fever, no headaches, nothing. I was smart to pop antihistamines for the next three days. Three weeks after the shot, there were no allergy flares and no vertigo. Whewwww. How does the bivalent shot feel for most people? I dunno. It's an even distribution of side effects, I'd think. Nothing damaging so far in the majority in Singapore.
We tend to look at US data loads. Yes. I look at the medical data, but I take a step backwards for infection rates in the population, simply because of different vaccination reach and the attitude of the population which differs greatly from city to city. There're current fears of a winter surge. There's been one every winter so far, and more, really. Katherine J. Wu's 'The Bivalent Shot Might Lay You Out' in The Atlantic published on October 21, 2022 said, for the US,
If this is how every autumn will go from now on, so be it: A few hours of discomfort is still worth the rev-up in defenses that vaccines offer against serious disease and death. But it’s not hard to see that gnarly side effects will only add to the many other factors that work against COVID-vaccine uptake, including lack of awareness, sloppy messaging, dwindling access, and spotty community outreach. Back in the spring, when I spoke with several people who hadn’t gotten boosters despite being eligible for many, many months, several of them cited the post-shot discomfort as a reason. Now I’m getting texts and calls from family members and friends—all up to date on their previous COVID vaccines—admitting they’ve been dillydallying on the bivalent to avoid those symptoms too. “I don’t know if we’re going to continue to get strong buy-in from the public if they have this sort of reaction every year,” says Cindy Leifer, an immunologist at Cornell University.
The good news, at least, is that experts told me they don’t expect this bivalent recipe—or future autumn COVID shots, for that matter—to be worse, side-effect-wise, than the ones we’ve received before. It’ll take a while for data to confirm that, especially considering that more than a month into this fall’s rollout, fewer than 15 million Americans have received the updated shot.
So what now?
At this juncture, it's entirely a personal choice to get a booster, or not. We get a say. At this rate, we might need a booster yearly, similar to the flu shot. You choose whether to get it. It's pretty obvious by now that different countries handle the pandemic rather differently, and with different results. Singapore leads the way and also learn from what other countries do, and do what's applicable to us. TBH, our government has been pretty efficient and effective in managing the pandemic, instilling lockdowns, setting and lifting restrictions, rolling out vaccines and such.
Year-end vacations and parties are back in fashion. It's no longer irresponsible to head out to the theater or a gig. Although I cut on those stuff since I'm not very keen on them anymore. I mask up in public transport because it's mandatory; I mask up in cabs and private hire cars because I can't bear the smells in them. One should mask up anyway to avoid catching other horrible respiratory viruses. I keep an eye on the news and the medical newsletters. I note the waves of variants and the newly discovered mutations, and its risks to Singapore and how close it cuts home for me. If I need to get an annual Covid-19 vaccine shot, I will.
I know it's not 'just the flu'. BUT. How else am I supposed to react? Remain in a bubble? Remain in a bunker? And not live? Sure, the virus is not discerning. SO. I go about life as though the pandemic is the least of my concerns now. Well, in many ways, it is, until a severe variant rears its head and paralyzes the world again. I've got slightly more pressing things to mull over. The cases landing in my (volunteer's) lap tell me that many people don't have the luxury of worrying about COVID-19 when their family income has been slashed, and they're out of jobs, and their children need even more money for school and daily expenses.
The SOPs (national and on the personal front) are in place and will stay dormant till they're needed. I go about work and attend conferences and such. I can be an introvert and half a hermit, but I can't have my movements restricted. Dohhh. Most of us hang out as per pre-pandemic trends, albeit with close friends and a smaller social circle. I don't see my friends weekly either. That's unnecessary. But it's lovely to gather for chats once in a bit. It has been an excellent period to weed out people whom we don't need in our lives. Well.
Miraku shifted over to ICON Village (not at the wing where TMBH and CS Fresh are) at 12 Gopeng Street. Well, we had to go for dinner to see the newly renovated restaurant. It's much more spacious, seating double the number of humans at counter, I think it now welcomes 22 pax.
Thank goodness for this new location — the washrooms situation is much improved; still public, but cleaner. Otherwise, I have to hold back on the alcohol because I didn't want to pee in the previous location's public washrooms. Alcohol is a diuretic, and I also tend to negate the effects of it by drinking copious amounts of water. Therefore, a clean bathroom is essential. Heh.
Since I don't want tuna except for mini bites of the appetizer and starter in the form of negitoro, Chef Hei always made sure there's plenty of shiny fish for me. There's cooked food now in the form of tempura — a sprat and a vegetable tonight. Food quality is great, and the flavors aren't compromised. I like Miraku's interpretation and take on sushi and sashimi. I appreciate Chef Hei's continuous innovation on his menu and food offerings.
We were so stuffed that we had to decline more sushi. I literally couldn't eat anymore after the fourth piece. Well, I was really focused on having sake. Hahahahah. Fruits to end the meal were the best. I hid a grin because I had the same types fruits at home freshly delivered in afternoon — Apple, persimmon (kaki, 柿) and Muscat grapes (Korean though because we prefer that taste).
I tend to be wary of Ted Chiang's books because they belong firmly to the genre of sci-fi. That is NOT a genre I'm keen on. I grudgingly read 'Exhalation' (2019) last year. Hahaha. His short stories are amazing, but they're still not my preferred read. To that, I'm sure everyone has watched the film 'Arrival'(2016), directed by Denis Villeneuve; starring Amy Adams, Jeremy Renner and Forest Whitaker. That's adapted from the author's novella'Story of Your Life' (1998).
At a Keynote at Singapore Writers Festival (SWF) titled 'Time Travel in Fiction and Physics', the 55-year-old Ted Chiang mentioned about prophecies and how they were pretty much the concept of time travel in the past, and flagged the tale of tragic hero in Greek mythology Oedipus, who fulfilled the prophecy at birth regardless of how hard he tried to avoid it. The SWF moderator Huzir Sulaiman mentioned that the author's stories talk a lot about free will and lacks a 'state'. It also talks about language and determinism, and yeah, fatalism.
Of course Ted Chiang talked about time travel films like the iconic 'Back to the Future' (1985) and its sequels, all the Terminator films, I liked it that he mentioned 'Looper' (2021)! That was such a good one. He didn't mention Shane Carruth's annoying and mind-boggling 'Primer' (2004) though.
We fear and yearn for “the singularity.” But it will probably never come.
In an essay titled 'Why Computers Won't Make Themselves Smarter' published in The New Yorker on March 30, 2021, Ted Chiang began the piece with the proposed argument of God in existence laid out by 11th century Italian monk St. Anselm of Canterbury versus 20th century mathematician Irving Good's 1965 hypothesis of an 'intelligence explosion' via 'an ultraintelligent machine'.
Our computers are innovating and improving every year. Well, as long as we have electricity, and our undersea internet cables withstand all pressure and we remember to replace it every 25 years. Oof. Tech companies are all building and refining their own AI programs. Can a smart machine ever design a successor? Well, all our mainstream/indie/weird dystopian movies have been doing storylines and plots. If it ain't zombies, it's the talk that AI would take over the world. Machines vs Humans.
Ermmm... I don't think we're there yet. The apocalyptic scenario, or doomsday isn't anywhere in sight. At least not in my lifetime. The author suggested that,
In the same way that only one person in several thousand can get a Ph.D. in physics, you might have to generate several thousand human-equivalent A.I.s in order to get one Ph.D.-in-physics-equivalent A.I. It took the combined populations of the U.S. and Europe in 1942 to put together the Manhattan Project. Nowadays, research labs don’t restrict themselves to two continents when recruiting, because building the best team possible requires drawing from the biggest pool of talent available. If the goal is to generate as much innovation as the entire human race, you might not be able to dramatically reduce that initial figure of eight billion after all.
We’re a long way off from being able to create a single human-equivalent A.I., let alone billions of them. For the foreseeable future, the ongoing technological explosion will be driven by humans using previously invented tools to invent new ones; there won’t be a “last invention that man need ever make.” In one respect, this is reassuring, because, contrary to Good’s claim, human intelligence will never be “left far behind.” But, in the same way that we needn’t worry about a superhumanly intelligent A.I. destroying civilization, we shouldn’t look forward to a superhumanly intelligent A.I. saving us in spite of ourselves. For better or worse, the fate of our species will depend on human decision-making.
Had an invigorating day at a pilates masterclass and was hungry. Needed carbs yet something light. Didn't want any eateries in Tanjong Pagar or Tiong Bahru. Hahaha. How? My default makan venues in the East are usually along Katong or Joo Chiat. The man brought Smol Girl to meet me at Pigsfly Kitchen & Bar.
Had two fellow 'classmates' with me who live in the neighborhood and didn't mind joining me for dinner. We know this place. The food is nothing to scream about, but its varied menu caters to everyone's tastebuds and is superb for an easy and casual dinner. Of course you gotta order some drinks. I love it that it offers fresh juices and a whole coconut.
The table went for beers on tap, an easy Paulaner witbier. I didn't fancy any of the beers on tap. Opted for a bottle of Coopers Pale Ale instead. I like it because it's predictable and boring. I like this particular classic flavor of a pale ale. I have no interest in experimental pale ales that taste like pilsner or a lager, or worse, with tons of hops and closer to an IPA.
The classmates had Thai beef noodles (soup) and a prawn masala with garlic naan. I was in the mood for a salad and a fish done Asian style. The man and I shared a whole seabass steamed Thai style. Hurhurhur. I missed having fish in that tangy Thai lime and lemongrass gravy. Loved those chillies sprinkled atop. But we didn't want jasmine rice, so we ordered basmati instead. The Caesar's salad was odd, but it worked for me. Heh.
Since I was pressed for time, I had to get some groceries via AmazonFresh to prep an easy dinner. Often, I prefer to shop for fresh foods in person at the store, but today, I had no choice but to do so online because of its fantastic 2-hour delivery promise.
Added a pack of baby spinach and butterhead to the webcart. I also had no choice but to buy the only options of decent-looking (from the photo) tenderloin fillet on the site. The chilled meat delivered by AmazonFresh had the worst reviews. It's supplied by Meat Co. and the ones bought were supposed to be Argentinian. Okaaaay. Whatever.
This batch of tenderloin fillets arrived chilled and well-sealed, and turned out fine. Nothing was near stale or tough. They weighed 200g each. Threw on salt and pepper and seared them in butter. Hardly took any effort. It was the salad that required more prep in the dressing and slicing of ingredients. And used up a two-week-old avocado that I forgot about.
The whole point of dinner was so that I could cook an egg for the dog. Since the man was on long calls till 7.30pm, I was in charge of his dinner too. Fine. Steak and eggs. With a side of greens. These were easy stuff to prep and cook for a meal.
Smol Girl loves having her eggs sunny-side-up. (I've got no issues doing it in a non-stick pan with no oil.) She loves breaking the yolk over her raw meats and slurping it all up. Hahahah. She's happy to eat it raw too. Sometimes, I do sear her food since grilled or sous vide toppers add a different flavor to her raw bowl.
The man was happy with his steak. He requested for a sunny-side-up as well. Okay. It might have been less strange if it became a gyu-don of sorts. Hahahah. For myself, tonight I wanted a sorta scrambled / half-omelette. I didn't really care if the meal was weird. They tasted fine to me when eaten together. I didn't hear any complaints from the man either. Hurhurhur.
I didn't care for the story or the plot, or the character. I paid for a ticket to watch 'Straight Line Crazy' because Ralph Fiennes was the actor. Written by David Hare and produced by Nicholas Hytner, the play opened in March 2022 at Bridge Theatre in London. Esplanade brought in as a screening under the banner of National Theatre, and I was more than happy to watch it.
“Straight Line Crazy”—the title is a reference to Moses’s compulsive tendency to draw straight lines on maps and then, implausibly, to gather the resources and marshal the bureaucratic will to make them physical facts as roadways—plays out in two longish acts, three decades apart.
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Throughout, Fiennes ably displays Moses’s faults—his stubbornness, his dishonesty, his bullying, his barely veiled prejudices against people of color and the poor—but he also makes him seem a bit like a great, perhaps slightly tortured artist surrounded by dopes. Moses is worried that people don’t like him when they meet him, but we can easily imagine Fiennes’s crafty version of the man winning over a crowd or two.
Of course I didn't exactly care about what type of man Robert Moses was, neither am I affected by his horrible treatment of other people nor am I a beneficiary of his work. Regardless of what he was, he has set the NYC skyline, and created parkways to beaches and parks (Jones Beach State Park) and such, the blocks of residential estates, and of course bridges linking Brooklyn and Queens that we know today.
I understand that this play is hugely popular in the US. It seems to be relevant in the city's civil activism today too. The same New Yorker article ended with these paragraphs,
Many of today’s urban-policy nerds, who call themselves yimbys—Yes, in My Back Yard—might make the same indictment of Jacobs. At one point, Moses says, astutely, that fashions in urban policy “blow right back in.” He’s right about that; I sense a Moses moment coming, perhaps foreshadowed by this play’s relatively equalizing portrayal of the man. You’d think it would be difficult to dismiss a civic dynamo like Jacobs, but I bet some of these market-oriented yimbys would do just that. Well-meaning citizens seem tired of contending with political bad faith. Why not, then, look to technocratic Caesars like Moses to browbeat the opposition and get things done?
It’s a real fight, happening everywhere, spurred by lowered expectations, foreshortened horizons, and a pervasive feeling of scarcity. Let’s have it out, onstage and everywhere else.
The cast was equally wonderful. I loved the women. As activists against him, and as his aide too, they had such good lines to rebut Robert Moses. Like I said, I watched this show for Ralph Fiennes. I never knew anything about Robert Moses, but the actor got him down pat, and for that 2.5 hours, the actor was a rather hateful Robert Moses. I decided that I don't want to know anything more about Robert Moses.
“Ralph’s good at monsters,” said Nicholas Hytner, a director of the play. “He doesn’t approach them sensationally. He tries to understand them.”
It was Mr. Hytner who suggested that David Hare write the play about Moses for the theater he runs in London, the Bridge, where it opened this spring.
Moses was an American Caesar — a perfect barrel-chested, desk-slapping role for a leading Shakespeare interpreter like Mr. Fiennes.
“I’ve always loved a toxic male,” Mr. Hare said, fondly recalling the 1985 Rupert Murdoch satire, “Pravda,” that he wrote with Howard Brenton. “They’re great for theater, aren’t they?”
Mr. Fiennes likes them, too. Unlike some top American actors, who carefully curate heroic roles, the British actor relishes swimming in moral murkiness, “the gray areas where you can’t easily put a definition.”
Mr. Hytner said of his star: “With Robert Moses, the ability to subordinate his charm to a brutal megalomaniac to the extent that he’s completely unafraid to alienate an audience. That doesn’t go with being a movie star. He makes himself open but he never makes himself too open. He’s one of those actors who is fascinating because he appears to be nursing a secret.”
"Come to my neighborhood bar!" The friends exhorted. So we toddled down to Orh Gao Taproom on a Thursday. It's conveniently located at Serene Center and seemed casual enough. Nothing pretentious about it. The man and I have never actually had a beer here. Time to rectify that.
The beer menu is ever-changing, so just see what they have on tap and in the bottle fridge. The table opted for beer in the form of Alive Brewing's 'Soba So Good' and The Bruery's 'Oatmeal Raisin Cookie' stout. I decided to have an elderflower yuzu G&T. Hurhurhur.
The food wasn't mind-blowing but it was decent enough for us. The kitchen rotates their food menu and sometimes, they have guest chefs helming the kitchen. If I'm here, I'm hoping for a bar menu that doesn't yet offer another set of burgers, fried shite and pizza. I really don't mind Orh Gao's Asian menu. We had pari bakar(grilled sambal stingray), ayam merah, roasted pork belly with achar, stir-fried kai-lan and tofu goreng accompanied by coconut rice. Heh.
It was a rainy night. Not unexpected. We had three floofs with us who became Shiver Buddies. Thankfully, not thunder. So the three of them simply shivered in anticipation of thunder, and then after 15 minutes, relaxed totally till the next heavy rain pelted downed they shivered again. Ooooof. These inter-monsoon rains are really not doing the floofs any favors. It isn't as if this month will be better. The Northeast monsoon is settling in, and there'll be another round of thunderstorms. Zzzzzzz.
I was coerced to go to the Guns N' Roses gig at the National Stadium. I've never been a fan of the band and their lyrics are so sexist bordering on misogynistic. I forgot who's in the band and why they replaced the drummer. I don't even care about Slash or Axl Rose, wtf. That old rock 'n' roll attitude is so passé and tiresome now. I have no idea why I pay so much money to watch aging rockers (or bands). UGH. BUT. This will be the last Guns N' Roses show I'll attend in this life. :P
I still have PTSD from the band's badly organized gig at the Changi Exhibition Center in 2017. I try so hard to control my crowd phobia. I had a meltdown thanks to that. I couldn't even buy water. And they didn't let us bring water into the venue. Because of that, I'll never attend any gigs organized by LAMC again. Fuck you, LAMC. This one is organized by TEG Dainty and G.H.Y Culture & Media. I only agreed to go this round because the husband asked, and it was held at the fail-proof National Stadium. I CAN WALK HOME IF I NEED TO.
Queues at the merchandise booths were mad. I was like, okay, don't bother. None of us bothered to go early to buy stuff anyway. Getting into the stadium and all was a breeze. I LOVE OUR EFFICIENCY. The MVPs of the night, imho, were the ushers. They led the way, lit the staircases and dim corners and tagged us quickly at entry.
The ticketing notes stated that doors open at 5pm for General Admission, and the band would come on at 7pm. We were like... REALLY? We took a quick look at the other cities' show time. Saitama began at 6.05pm, Bangkok began at 8.15pm; no opening band. Okay. We obediently got there by 6.55pm and queued for beer. The stadium lights dimmed and the band came on at 7.30pm with 'It's So Easy'. WOW. On time. Yay!
Whoever didn't travel this period, all stopped by the show. Saw so many familiar faces! Axl Rose kept changing his tees. Couldn’t help but see that he wore tees of a vintage book cover of different designs of Gavin Black’s ‘Suddenly at Singapore’ (1961). The Singapore setlist was similar to their Saitama show. Their cover of Velvet Revolver's 'Slither' was pretty decent. Heh. All of us really enjoyed Slash' guitar solo, and his signature Les Paul Standard replica.
The band kept the best for the last. Well, the more popular songs, at any rate. So I came to watch the band, and stood all night to hear... 'November Rain'. Muahahahha. They covered a really really long version of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door'. Zzzzzzzz. I left after 'Night Train' and when they began playing 'Coma'. I had no patience to wait for 'Patience'. Hahahaha.
Standing around at the Singapore Writers Festival venues meant that I kept seeing suggestions of book titles on banners and shelves. One of these suggested that a read of 'A View of Stars: Stories of Love' (2020), an anthology co-edited by Anitha Devi Pillai and Felix Cheong. Borrowed a digital copy from NLB.
There're 17 authors featured in this anthology. Their 17 short stories are split into four themes of: Bygone Years, Personal Space, MIND's eye and Modern Love. I love how there're little author's notes after each story to explain their inspiration for writing it.
Co-Editor Anitha Devi Pillai's 'An Unusual Arrangement' opened the anthology. It was a fictionalised account of her grandmother's and uncles' emigration route to Singapore. It was 1924. Chellamma was married on her twelfth birthday to Krishnan, a 21-year-old man who returned from Singapore. They had never even met prior to the wedding day. Before Chellamma was 16, she already had three children with Krishnan. They seemed happy. However, a few years later, Krishnan missed Singapore and left Kerala to return to the small island. Then it was 1942 and Singapore was on the brink of Japanese Occupation. Chellamma and her children and her two brothers left Kerala, and got on what might have been the last ship out of Madras to Singapore. The story ended with,
Next to her, Gopalan too tumbled to the ground, and as he did, frantically stretched out his hand to her. Chellamma saw Devagi yell out and Krishnan falling on her. But she could not hear the screams. All she could hear was a sharp ringing in her ears that would not stop and that she would never forget in her lifetime.
The Japanese had dropped a bomb on Keppel Harbour — merely a stone's throw away from where her family stood.
Co-Editor Felix Cheong's story is titled 'How I Met Your Mother'. Heh. He said that this was the story of how his parents met in their youth in the 1960s. Written in first person narrative, Peter, John and Freddy were a 'trio' of teenagers who hung out together. At that age of 19, John already spied a girl he liked, she was Ah Ting. She lives in the same kampung as he does, consisting of thirty of forty households. John thought he had no chance with Ah Ting when he saw her getting into a blue Volkswagen and assumed some rich man's son was courting her. Then egged on by Freddy who insisted that they all took Mandarin classes to help him 'chases' a girl he likes but "she only speaks Chinese", John was stunned to see that Ah Ting was enrolled in the same Chinese class. I laughed. This was hilarious. Hahahaha. I read the story to some retro old Cantonese/Chinese song in my head.
The snigger from Freddy and Peter, when it was obvious my jaw couldn't drop any further, gave the game up.
"We didn't take your cigarettes for free, you know," Peter said in a hushed voice as the teacher, who looked as formidable as the Great Wall of China, came in. "We told you we had a plan!"
"What?" I said, barely able to pick up his whisper.
Ah Ting must have heard the commotion. She turned and smiled, ever so gently.
And for the first time, I smiled back. In that flash, I was Patrick Tse, as the music inside my head began.
The co-Editors' stories are themed under Bygone Years. Those are lovely. I do like to hear your grandparents' stories. Those speak of an era I don't know and might never understand, and I don't think I want to live in those times. I like hearing about it though. I will only have glimpses of it through stories, and that's sufficient.
I like all 17 stories. In this personal form, I decided not to judge the merit of the writing. The writing is like... telling a story. The lines are made up of someone's memories or an amalgamation of memories, and they're all fine in terms of plot and structure. Many are tales of romantic love, which always wrought deep emotions. It's just a matter of whether a story appeals to my personal preferences. There're two others that I rather enjoyed, and both are from the theme Personal Space.
(1) Linda Collins wrote a love story that could doubles up as a creepy Seventh Month ghostly tale. The last paragraph killed me. In 'Altair and Vega over Ghim Moh', Ellie and her boyfriend of six months Robert live together in Ghim Moh estate. She's wrestling with the relationship and whether to tell him about her newly discovered pregnancy. She also introduced the going-ons in her neighborhood, and some neighbors, notably Flip-Flop Man who's all alone after his wife Mabel had passed away. They all went downstairs to the basketball court to watch the getai set-up and performances.
"Our Ah Niu and Mabel were a love match like in the old story. He was a cook and she was from a good family who disapproved of him, and kicked her out when she stuck by him. So the two of them lived here among us for a long time, till death parted them."
On the seat next to Flip-Flop Man are two red roses reserved for Mabel. He turns to Ellie and smiles, then leans towards her and whispers, "My wife is very glad that you are keeping the child."
(2) Through 'The Sun, The Moon and Soup at Iftar', Nuraliah Norasid writes about the complexities of navigating relationships, what more interracial and inter-faith couples, married or otherwise. The author said, "This story is inspired by a memory of my own partner boiling herbal soup for me (complete with whole cloves of garlic!) during the last lap of my doctoral journey. It is meant to end on a sense of homecoming in a space where one's identity and beliefs find harmony with a new set of realities."
Sara is at the crossroads with her husband Gary. It's Ramadan and Gary doesn't seem to observe the fasting. She's feeling all alone and unsupported. More than that, their hobbies have diverged and they don't do much together anymore.
It had been a combination of the little things that culminated in that moment in a relationship and she wondered why she had seen the signs and not acted on them. She had friends who ended relationships and engagements just because their partners prayed differently or prayed not often enough. "In the beginning, you always think that you will be okay with it. But the little things add up," one of them told her when asked why.
Uncharacteristically agreed to a Manhattan, but done with dry Vermouth instead of sweet. That would overpower the beauty of the Basil Hayden's Subtle Smoke. 45ml in the cocktail and 15ml straight up in a second glass for me to sip. It's surprisingly smooth and very palatable.
I needed a stiff drink. I was quite upset that day when I came home to a ripped front door sweeper, solid poop and smeared streaks, and blood splatter. Smol Girl lost it in a thunderstorm. Luckily the blood was all from her nail quick and a minor cut at the side of her toe. No broken or shaky nails or lifted paw pads. I was upset because she could have ripped a nail. Two days later, she found a way to rip the newly pasted door sweeper without bloodying her nails. No poop because she cleared her pipes that morning. WALAOEH. New stunt.
This season of thunderstorms isn't ideal. My poor Smol Girl cannot deal with the crackling thunder if she's alone at home. She has learnt to manage fine if we're home during a thunderstorm. It's a different story if she's alone. She's usually okay staying home alone, but not when it storms like this. I feel like I have to check the weather before I go out without her, and also dose her with the prescribed volume of Gabapentin to calm her nerves. Her storm anxiety when home alone is beyond the efficacy of a herbal calming supplement (NHV's Matricalm).
It was a very welcomed drink at Deadfall Bar at Barbary Coast. The bar welcomes dogs, so Choya came along. I had earlier snucked her into a restaurant along Boat Quay for dinner. Well, she strutted in. She certainly wasn't in a bag or a pram. Nobody batted an eyelid. Then we decided to randomly stop for drinks at Deadfall. One drink was all I needed. It was raining that afternoon and intermittently throughout the night too. But Choya was fine because she was with me. And often, she's calmer outdoors than at home.
On many days we've been hopping into D.O.P for dinner without a reservation because it's so convenient. Often, it's also with friends we happen to meet along the way who also wants dinner but haven't made any bookings anywhere. D.O.P is impossible to walk in and get a table during peak dining hours on Fridays and Saturdays. Avoid those days, and as long as you aren't in a large group, you should be pretty okay walking in.
One of those week day evenings saw a table-full of pasta and meats. Skipped the pizzas. We all hop in to get pizza take-outs quite often, so we tend to avoid pizzas when dining in. Tonight saw a fat burrata with parma ham and grilled vegetables, parmigiana, spaghetti with seafood, linguine with bottarga and vongole, seafood risotto, sliced beef tenderloin (perfectly portioned at 250g), and we even had room to share ONE limoncello cake. Heh.
Everyone wanted drinks, but nobody wanted to do heavy drinking. That mean, two drinks each. We had an aperol spritz and a glass of red. Nice. D.O.P is such a dependable restaurant because of its reasonable drinks and good food. It's got plenty of outdoor seating, and it's breezy out there. With floofs and such, many of us aren't bothered with staying indoors in air-conditioning anymore.
Since I'm not going to be able to watch many plays on West End or Broadway in the near future, I'd have to settle for live screenings. I can't get NTLive at home, I could only access NTatHome. NTLive is shown in the cinemas. Too bad we don't have a Curzon. The Projector, please do your magic. Booked a seat at Esplanade Theater to watch 'National Theatre Live: Prima Facie' written by Suzie Miller and directed by Justin Martin, starring non other than the versatile Jodie Comer.
I watched it really for Jodie Comer. I was totally caught up in 'Killing Eve'(2018-2022; four seasons) because of Jodie Comer's Villanelle. She is a brilliant actress on screen, and on stage too. In 'Prima Facie', she makes her West End debut. She plays a barrister who specializes in defending rapists, and we watched her perspectives shift after she was raped by a date one drunken night. (Reviews here, here, here and here.)
The screening started with a clip of a roundtable discussion between the actor, the writer, a detective and a criminal barrister about the play and its wider social context. Journalist Emily Maitlis chaired this roundtable — Jodie Comer and and writer Suzie Miller met with DSI Clair Kelland and criminal barrister Kate Parker.
This is by no means an easy show to sit through. From rape being an idea and someone else's pain, it became a lived-through personal experience. And we're exposed to the UK legal system that is strangely patriarchal and ill-equipped to punish sexual assaults. Offline, it was a very good academic debate as the friends and I discussed about the parallels of UK legal system and ours pertaining to sexual assault and sexual offenses. Who have our laws failed to protect?
In Singapore, married men had marital rape immunity till we repealed this law in 2020. Even the tweaks to this law in 2007 didn't see it repealed. It simply sought to introduce some exceptions to the immunity. It is only in May 2019 that we totally repealed marital rape immunity, with the new law coming into effect on 1 January 2020. 2020! It took us so long. Recognizing that marital rape happens isn't the same as repealing the immunity of such a concept.
One-actor / shows are a tremendous challenge to any actor. What more a one-woman show. Jodie Comer is spectacular in this play. She delivered in spades. The script paled in comparison. The pacing felt okay in the 90-minute show. The text was a tad ponderous and the lines were hmmm... could have been better phrased, but the actor delivered it with panache. Her change in attitude and demeanour after the sexual assault and her thoughts during the three-day trial were marked. What brilliant acting.
The menu for Earth Shop and Cafe's Ethiopian Supperclub looked fairly interesting and we decided to pop by. Held at Crane Joo Chiat, Chef Shweta helmed the kitchen for this dinner. We don't get to taste African food much. Most of our recent African food experiences were had in Seattle and London. I don't know much about the differences in African cuisines. I can't tell what's the highlights of food from each area. Needless to say, I had to google about Ethiopian food too.
Happy to check out the menu of this Ethiopian Supperclub in Singapore. The hosts said that this was the eighth iteration of their Ethiopian menu, and the flavors and all had been fine-tuned. Well, this isn't a restaurant in that sense. It's a homey supperclub. It's pretty much your friend's home kitchen, albeit a slightly bigger version that could serve about 40 guests.
The meal was served on a communal plate, like it is traditionally done. On that giant plate, there were potato samosa, Ethiopia's national dish of doro wat — spicy chicken stew with eggs, fish goulash, lentil stew(misr wot), spiced carrot and cabbage stir-fry(tickel gomen), and mixed salad. All these were served on Ethiopian flatbread(injera). The injera was difficult to make because of the teff required, and fermentation needed to give it those bubbles. This gluten-free base went so well with the food. No further carbs needed.
I was really looking forward to tasting the doro wat. It was supposed to be fiery spicy. In this version, the chilli had been toned down. I only had one piece of chicken. Left the rest to the man for his protein intake. The man loved the lentil stew so much that he asked for a third serving. The potato samosa was spicier, I thought. The samosa was FANTASTIC. It was a big samosa and I simply loved it. Each diner was allocate ONE. This was the one item that the kitchen didn't allocate seconds, but they found an extra for me. Yayyyy! I loved that fish goulash. Noms. Asked for seconds of that. They used snapper, which was tasty in the marinade. The Ethiopian berbere spice blend is delightful.
I had to hurry up to finish the prosecco before the after-dinner coffee arrived. Those flavors would clash. It was an Ethiopian cold brew with popcorn. As much as I enjoy Ethiopian beans, I was a tad frightened of drinking more than three sips. Caffeine still has an effect on me. BUT. I drank it all. It was delicious. (I went to bed at midnight, but couldn't fall asleep till 3am.)
Had a little shudder when I read 'Tiny, Meaningless Things' by Marisa Silver published in The New Yorker issue of October 24, 2022. Would that be me when I'm seventy-four too? Would I be regretful and start living in the past? Or analyzing which parts of my life had gone wrong?
While the author described the relationship (or the lackthereof) between a seventy-four-year old widow Evelyn, and a seven-year-old boy Scotty who lives across the hall, it isn't so much a story about him. It's more of a story about Evelyn. It talks of how she lives, and her thoughts reminiscing about the past, as well as going about in the present being involved in the lives of her daughters.
Evelyn had a routine and a daily schedule of chores to complete. Scotty helped Evelyn with her chores, and he felt good hanging out there being useful, something he doesn't get being at home with his messy mother. When he was done with the chores, he would slowly eat a cinnamon toast Evelyn prepared.
She knows almost nothing about him. She doesn’t know when his birthday falls, or the name of his school, his favorite color, or the name of his little brother. She doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up. It would embarrass them both for her to ask the condescending questions adults normally come up with to pretend they’re interested in children’s lives. The crudity of superficial intimacy would make what goes on between them inconsequential. No, her relationship with Scotty is something else. It is unencumbered by the baggage of the past or by other attachments. They exist for each other only during the time when Scotty helps her with her chores and eats his toast.
The bare relationship between Scotty and Evelyn ended when she noticed things missing at home. Small things. A pack of tissue, an eyeglass chain, Q-tips, an old seashell, a tube of toothpaste, a pen, and finally a silver corn holder that her husband loved. She went to speak with Scotty's mother. She got her things back, and Scotty never returned to Evelyn's apartment. One day, she realized that Scotty and his mother had moved out, and a new family had moved in.
Scotty will forget what happened. He’s seven, after all, and there is so much ahead of him that will consume his attention. If he remembers her at all, it may be years or even decades from now. He’ll eat a slice of cinnamon toast and have a vague impression of an old lady, or the warmth of a freshly ironed shirt, or maybe a slight feeling of regret. But before he can place the memory something will distract him. And then he’ll forget all over again.
Evelyn is the mother of three adult daughters — Naomi, Ruth and Paula. As life goes, she has a strained relationship with them. An interview asked if this relationship is a result of generational distance, or simply rigidity or blindness on Evelyn's part.
Yeah, Evelyn is not an easy one! She is a sharp-edged, emotionally guarded woman. Even when her actions cause great friction, as they have with her youngest daughter, Paula, she’s unlikely to blame herself. In today’s parlance, we’d say that she has not “done a lot of work on herself.” She’d scoff at that idea! As she would at the notion of dwelling in your feelings. She would tell anyone who asked that she loves her daughters, and I think that’s true. I think they are the most important people in her life. But she can’t (or can’t yet) empathize with their sadness or struggles, because that would require her to examine her own.
When one goes through life, at seventy-four years old, there'll be plenty to think about. One literally has a lifetime of experiences to share, but would that be dismissed as being ignorant, being outdated or being simply being annoying?
I would need to ensure mobility and health to spend my golden years in the way I want, and not in the cliché of only hospital visits and staring at the television set. In this age, we chart our own path, and in 'retirement' and at our supposed golden age, we would need to keep our wits about us equally sharp too.
There was a time, after Frank’s death, when she found herself watching other people—a man dragging a garbage can to the curb, a woman putting coins into a parking meter. Her fixation on them was so intense that often they noticed, but she couldn’t help it. She was mystified by the way people went about the simplest tasks, the ones that had once seemed so minor to her as to require no thought but that she now had to talk herself through, step by step, as if she were a stroke victim who couldn’t remember how to use a fork. Once, when Ruth was home from college, she found herself moving a lock of hair out of Ruth’s eyes just the way a woman at the post office had done for her daughter. Ruth pulled back and gave Evelyn a funny look, as if she’d registered the inauthenticity of the gesture, which left Evelyn wondering if she’d ever been the kind of mother who did such a thing. She’d been prepared for Frank’s death—his decline was slow, the end inevitable. When it finally came, she didn’t feel “lost” the way people often said they did after a tragedy. No, it was that she lost herself. She wonders if the person she’s been for all these years is only a vague approximation of someone she never found again.
Gathered for dinner at Shikar with M and V. Everyone took turns falling ill, even during M's birthday week. We had to postpone two dates over two months, and finally we made it tonight. Hurhurhur. It was fantastic seeing the friends to catch up on their lives.
The restaurant is housed within a refurbished 100-year-old building on Murray Terrace now operating under the Garcha Group and Marriott as The Maxwell Reserve Hotel. We weren't brave enough to venture here till half a year later when we thought the operations have stabilized. It has, but manpower is still lacking. Service was lovely, but they were severely understaffed. To that, we were glad that the kitchen got their logistics right, and we didn't have to wait too long for our food.
Started with tikkichaat of roasted sweet potatoes and goat cheese, and kale chips. Couldn't resist the paneer either. Loved those huge chunks. Ordered biryani, but also requested for steamed white basmati rice since we had some curries to go along first. Had a dhal makhani and a tangy seafood curry of mussels, prawns and scallops with lots of chillies. The beautifully-sealed lamb dum biryani came with a generous bowl of raita. NICE. I like it that they specified which cut of lamb they used — saddle and shoulder. The meat was so tender. Ordered extra basmati rice to go with the sea bass roasted in lotus leaf with tamarind, chillies and an onion-tomato rub.
Ahhhhh... food was excellent. Thankfully, the table went a bit more on carbs. M was carbo-loading this week for a 1000-km ride in Malaysia, so he was happy to pile on the rice and all. Oof. Everyone passed on alcohol tonight and had sparkling water instead. Opted for a hot pot of masala chai to end the meal. Desserts of a pistachio rose kulfi and jamun with hazelnut mascarpone suited the sweet tooth(s).
