Raw Petai

Transitions

2008-08-24T22:43:00.007+08:00

It's been awhile, and that's because of the whirlwind of acitivities associated with moving some 9,000 miles from Petaling Jaya, Malaysia, to Berkeley, California, via Singapore and Madison. Along the way, J and I spent many wonderful moments with family and friends (often over a great meal), and endured some back-breaking flights, but there was beauty even in those, especially when we flew over the Bay Area salt flats (below), just before landing in San Francisco.

Stay tuned. More to come.

My Alfa and I

2008-06-29T18:23:00.004+08:00

Picture from Wikimedia Commons

[Updated, more grammatically conventional version.]

My first set of wheels was an Alfa Romeo 33. I had always been enamoured with Italian cars for their racing history, gorgeous styling and the wonderful sound of their engines. Well, not all Italian cars, actually. I thought Ferraris to be fatally wounded by their price – they may be wonderful machines, but too often they become symbols (or accessories) of wealth and power, or wee willy compensators.

Alfas, on the other hand, were a working man’s Ferrari. Sure, you can get some boy racers from the marque, but Alfa Romeo also produced saloon cars that were often the refuge for a regular guy on a budget and with family to support, but with a stirring in their soul for some romance on the road. Owning the early Alfas was certainly a labour of love and required infinite patience, for it started to rust the moment it left the factory, and you were liable to set off the windshield wipers when you flipped the signal stalk, so clueless were the Italians when it came to electrical stuff.

But when you stepped on the accelerator, the sweet sound of the boxer engine transported one away from the bills waiting to be paid, grocery shopping that needed to be done, or kids that needed to be picked up from day-care. The throaty roar was a product of necessity – Alfas, like other Italian makes, were constructed to tackle the hilly terrain with aplomb, and for that you needed incredible grip and lots of low down torque to whizz up those steep, bendy climbs.

My midnight blue, 1.7-litre 33 was already seven years’ old when I laid eyes on it. It belonged to a colleague, who was way over his head juggling a mortgage, car repayments, wife, kids and girlfriend on a salary that could realistically handle only three of the above. I tried to temper my glee when he handed me the keys, aware of the pain he must have been going through in having to give up this automotive mistress of his… but, looking back, I guess I didn’t try very hard, to be honest.

The 33 always brought a smile to my face when I got behind the wheel.

It was quick, nimble, and a whole lot of fun to motor around town and across the country. It was also the car in which J and I went for many long drives, talking and sharing our lives, or just listening to music in silence as the cool night slipped by.

The good times were not to last, though. On its 10th year, just months before I would have had to give it up as I was leaving for the US, the 33 vowed not to accept the ignominy of a wrecker’s ball, and decided to go out on her own terms - in a blaze of glory.

One morning, on my way to work, a driver behind me started flashing his headlights furiously. What (TF), I wondered, was the idiot doing? I was just toodling along, minding my own business, and this guy wants to Schumacher me in heavy traffic? It took a couple of seconds before I realised what was happening. Smoke was coming out of the engine compartment, and it had been escaping under the car to the back for all to see, except me.

I pulled quickly to the side, by which time the first flames were beginning to lick out of the front. I managed to save my bag and laptop, and sat on the grass verge in a daze watching part of my life go up in smoke.

Everything else that came after – repairs, insurance and all the nitty-gritty death arrangements – went by in a blur. I never did say a proper goodbye and was not not even collected enough to take pictures or pull out a badge for keepsakes.

Thankfully, John (who owned a Lancia at one time, so he was entirely sympathetic) was at the funeral and had a camera handy. And when he sent me these pictures recently, it gave me a chance for closure, seven years on.

So, goodbye, my 33. RIP.

Gathering around a hot pot

2008-06-09T21:30:00.005+08:00

This was our steamboat feast last night, ostensibly to mark the Duan Wu Jie, but really, do we need an excuse to get together to pig out?

Just an hour before dinner, Mum and Second Sis were busy with the last minute addition to the menu – home-grown lady’s fingers (okra) stuffed with Mum’s home-made fish paste. She prepared seven – one each.

Hey, we only have so many okra plants in our garden, you know.

Anyway, there aren’t many pictures of the event because the photographer was too hungry, and no camera’s image stablelizer feature can compensate for the shakes and shudders induced by a fiercely growling stomach.

But thankfully, steamboat dinners are a regular event at home, and we had one similar one on the third day of Chinese New Year. Although it was for five instead of seven, we had the usual mainstays of our meal. Pork…

… prawns, seasoned with a healthy dose of grated ginger …

… squid …

… and savoury tofu, cut into small pieces.

Other mainstays are a variety of vegetables, some sort of noodles, and beancurd wraps and beancurd balls stuffed with fish paste (yong foo chook and yong tau pok), pictured in the previous post. Essential to the meal are dips, which add flavour and zing to the food. We usually have three or four different types of dips around, one of them a spicy chilli sauce.

We use a Thai charcoal steamboat pot that’s not too big, which is good, as that means not too much soup will evaporate during the continuous boiling during dinner.

Brother usually takes care of starting the fire. He heats pieces of charcoal over a gas stove, and when they are sufficiently hot enough, he transfers them into the pot, which is placed in out bathroom, and proceeds to coax them into a high enough heat, with the aid of a hair dryer.

Then, the pot – with its raging charcoal and some soup that’s already gurgling away – is transferred gingerly to the table.

We fill the pot with more soup (vegetables, an old chicken and Chinese herbs boiled over many hours under Mum’s watchful gaze), add a bit of wolfberries (gei zhee) and the yong foo zhook and yong tau pok, and let it come to a boil.

Then we all dig in and eat away, always making sure to make space around the table for the Leftover Brigade.

When I’m away and I think of family dinners, I always invariably have a picture of this hot pot in the centre of our old round table, with all the fresh goodies waiting to be cooked, and everyone digging into a communal pot, serving food to others.

It is much more than just a meal, for it has a strong social element to it. So it is not surprising then that we’ve tried to replicate it some 9,000 miles away from home, among friends!

The fish balls and meat balls might have been store bought; ditto the fish paste (although we did the stuffing of the foo zhook and tau pok ourselves). The pot might have been a bit too big, running on a portable gas stove. But it was all good! We made the soup from scratch, like Mum, and the thinly sliced beef was from a Korean market and quite heavenly. We ate slowly, savoured the many bottles of wine at our disposal, and let the pot and conversation warm up a cool February night.

Bak zhang, steamboat and other seasonal goodies

2008-06-08T15:13:00.004+08:00

Today (Sunday June 8, 2008) is the fifth day of the fifth month of the Chinese lunar calendar, which is the Duan Wu Jie (端午节), also known as Dragon Boat Festival. For many, the occasion is marked chiefly by the making and eating of zhang (zongzi, 粽子) – glutinous rice and a variety of stuffing wrapped in bamboo leaves, and then steamed or boiled.

The quick and dirty history behind the festival is as follows. Upright Chinese scholar quits corrupt government. Wanders the country getting in touch with the people and writing beautiful poetry. Country’s capital falls to barbarians; scholar depressed; commits suicide by drowning as a form of protest against inept government (that’s what happens when you can’t join the opposition and contest in elections). People distraught. They throw glutinous rice into river so that bad creatures won’t eat dead scholar, under the theory that fragrant rice is better than rotting flesh. So, nowadays we eat bak zhang to remember this upright scholar. Well, actually, we eat them because they ARE YUMMY.

Anyway, for the full history behind the festival (and why folks race dragon boats during this festival), there’s always the most accurate, reliable and up-to-date onlinepedia in the world ☺.

I was going to write this very long post on the adventure of asking Mum to teach me how to make bak zhang, and the whole time-consuming process, but, sorry J, I got lazy. Basically, preparing the ingredients was not a problem; wrapping the bak zhang, however, proved too much for me. I just couldn’t get my fingers and hands dancing nimbly enough to produce a self-respecting version that has a semblance of some pointy corners, or learn how to tie them up properly to withstand the boiling. I was also so slow that in the time I took to make six, mum finished 30.

Most of mine turned out like the worst kind of politicians – shapeless, slippery and totally disintegrating when subjected to heat. Only two of my six survived the watery inquisition. Ancient scholar would have been fish feed if he had to depend on me.

There are today a gazillion varieties of savoury and sweet zhang on the market, but we eat a very simple version of the savoury bak zhang, with pork…

… oysters and chestnuts.

We have in the past added mushrooms, and most classic recipes for the savoury type will call for some (or all) of the following ingredients – Chinese sausage, salted eggs, dried shrimp and boiled peanuts. But our preference follows our family’s more stripped down taste buds.

We are also having a family dinner tonight to mark the occasion – a steamboat (or hot pot, or da pin low as the Cantonese call it) feast for seven. Mum started making her fish paste yesterday …

… so we’ll have homemade bean curd sheets and beancurd balls stuffed with fish paste (yong foo zhok and yong tau pok, below) as well as the usual assortment of seafood, pork, home-grown vegetables and noodles.

Sis is bringing frog’s legs and pork kidney to liven things up. It’s not quite the season, but San Francisco Bay Area Dungeness crabs would have been perfect!

I now have to go to the gym to train for tonight’s food fest!

Spiky!

2008-06-03T21:22:00.004+08:00

How much do durians cost in Tokyo?

That's 4,000 yen, baby, yen. Each. 一個。Yup. That's roughly 40 you ass dollars. Uh-huh. A hundred and twenty ringgit Malaysia. And folks here are complaining that the Balik Pulau specials are costing a wee bit more this durian season. I've been paying around RM9 a kilo for one of those beautiful Udang Merah (Red Prawn) varieties, and forking out the dough with a smile!

But if you have too much dosh to know what to do with (or you're a Premiership footballer), you can always fly to Shinjuku and get that 4,500 yen baby peeking at you from the background of the pix. Bet you it's one of the uniformly sweet Thai ones with no character and depth!

Reality TV at the US embassy

2008-06-02T11:43:00.003+08:00

[Warning: long post, no pictures, no food.]

You learn a lot, just by sitting and listening.

I had brought a book with me when I went to the US embassy for my visa interview last week. It was clearly stated on the website that it was going to be a long-drawn out process, and I didn’t want to be caught with nothing to do and staring aimlessly (and suspiciously) all over the place.

First, there is the hassle of queuing up and getting through security checkpoints. Yes, there are two checkpoints, less than 20 metres apart, demonstrating either (1) the embassy’s total lack of confidence in the first checkpoint; or (2) its faith in the ability of Malaysians to magically sprout dangerous materials in the 20 second walk from one checkpoint to the other; or (3) the dogged and bureaucratic adherence to recommendations by an overpaid security consultant firm helmed by the husband of the second cousin of a Senior Government Official in charge of worldwide embassy security (Malaysians can totally identify with the third scenario).

Once I jumped though the hoops, parted the curtains and entered the holy of holies – the Waiting Room – out came the book, which was a welcome distraction. After two chapters, I was commanded into the Interview Room, where my fingerprints were taken and I was asked to hold a black board up to my chin with my name scrawled on it in white chalk (okay, that last bit was from CSI).

I was then told to wait with 30 others to be called to any one of the four counters to be interviewed. So I settled into a chair and broke out the book, but before I could finish the first sentence of the new chapter, an American voice boomed out (with the aid of amplification) through one of the counters:

“How much do you earn?”

I stopped reading.

“Fourteen-five,” a short man in a dark blue suit favoured by senior government servant-types said confidently.

Hmm, doing well for yourself, Tuan Pengarah*, I thought. He had to speak up too, since a thick glass wall separated him from his interviewer, and Tuan Pengarah did not have the help of a microphone to make himself heard across the partition. I realised that in the small cramped room, we were all going to be privy to some of the more interesting conversations in Malaysia (well, technically, on an island of US soil in Malaysia). No secrets here!

*Honourable Director

There were all sorts of folks in the room – tourists, businesswomen/men, and students mainly. Most of the interviews were short (10 minutes) but the questions were pointed and designed to sniff out fake stories.

One lady was a middle manager on the way to the US to support some clients. Perky, confident, voluble and very well versed in business-jargon gobbledegook, she was asked what she would be doing, exactly, in the US.

“Well, [deep breath] oursupportsysteminvolvesmeetingoutclient’sneedsbyand
thefirsthtingwe’redoingistohavestrategicmeetingtoidentifythedirectionofthe
companyandhowwecanbettersupplytheupstreamservicesintheirsecondphase
productionplanandthemarketingchallengesthatare…”

“Okay, okay,” interrupted the frazzled Mr. Young Interviewer, after three minutes of this soliloquy that seemed to be gaining speed instead of coming to a resolution. “You haven’t said what you’ll be doing, exactly.”

“Well, [deep breath] weprovidetheplanningsourcingandorganisationalcapabilitiesforthisspecific
industryandmostofourclientsfinditmuchmorecosteffectivetooutsource
thesepartsoftheiroperationeveniftheyareintheUSandweareinMalaysia
becausewehavealonghistoryandtrackrecordof…”

“How much do you earn?” Mr. Young Interviewer apparently has given up.

Perky Manager’s voice drops, oh, four decibels, as she tries, vainly, to hide personal details (she’s married, has three kids, has no relatives in the US, her parents are retired, she went to school in Malaysia) from the rest of us. “Four thousand five,” she almost whispers.

Another middle manager-type, this time from a technical background, let on that he earned eight-plus. Moral of the story? If you don’t qualify under affirmative action policies that open doors to cushy civil service jobs, getting an engineering degree is better than a business degree in the long run!

One elderly Malay Malaysian couple was applying for a visa to attend their son’s graduation. “My wife doesn’t speak much English,” Malay Gentleman told Mr. Older Interviewer, who chatted with them in a jocular fashion. He even cracked a joke at the end, to which Malay Lady tittered a little.

“So, you do understand English, huh?” smiled Mr. Older Interviewer. “You’re pulling my leg here. Well, I’m sure you’ll understand this phrase – ‘Your visa’s been approved.’ Have a good day.” That was nice of him.

Students get different treatments depending on which schools they got into. When I applied for an earlier visa many years back, one meek Chinese Malaysian girl who was going to Ohio State got such a long grilling that she almost crumbled before our very eyes. This time round, another young Chinese Malaysian lass underwent the same sort of interrogation. Her crime? Having a university in Iowa accept her.

Why Iowa? What’s the advantage of studying there? Are you going to return when you graduate? How are your working-class parents going to pay for it? Are you sure you won’t spend more time working than studying? Are you going to return home? Where else did you apply? Any other acceptances? Why not study locally? Are you going to return home?

It was sad thing to witness. This is reality TV, but with real consequences, not hammed up acting for TV cameras. Many such parents who don’t earn a lot of money bust their guts to send their kids overseas because local university education is not an option due to the quota system. Some of these kids are from rural areas and being interrogated by a stern American bent on sniffing out potential overstayers must have been a harrowing experience. Not all of them get their visas approved. It’s so different if your parents are well to do, give you a good education, and you get accepted into one of the Ivies.

There was one preppy Chinese Malaysian lady who spoke with a distinct English accent, who had an English husband, and who obviously has lived abroad for some time. She wanted to visit a friend in Texas.

“How do you know the friend?” asked Another Young Interviewer.

“Through the internet,” she replied.

Oh no, I thought. Totally wrong answer. Internet friendships are so no-no. It just smells of mail-order brides. Didn’t matter that you spoke with a posh accent and have a foreign husband – you’re going to get the fifth degree. And so she did, getting the grilling that all could see was coming (When did she marry? How did she meet her husband? Any kids? Job? Salary? Who is this friend? Any pictures? And on and on and on.)

Exasperated, she snapped: “Well, I could have told you we went to school together and you would have been none the wiser.” Oooh, spunky!!! And I think she got the visa.

You couldn’t help but be self-conscious, overhearing all these conversations. But surprisingly, once it got to my turn, I ended up totally focused on the interview and forgot that everyone could hear my answers. Perhaps it is because you face the interviewer and your back is to the rest of the room, so you don’t see them. Maybe it’s because of the way the panels on your left and right cushion your voice around you, so that it sounds intimate, instead of an echo that wafts across the room. Anyway, by the time my interview was over and I turned around, I realised the room had thinned considerably, so I didn’t have a full house for Episode #274 of My Life.

The interview itself went smoothly. Madam Interviewer was extremely courteous, and even worked with me when we realised I didn’t bring one document – she asked me a series of questions to satisfy that those conditions were met.

As I left the air-conditioned embassy and walked into the spiky, muggy mid-afternoon KL air, I clutched my visa approval thankfully and realised that even though I didn’t make much progress beyond the first line of Chapter 3 of my book, I was much the wiser about the secret lives (and salaries) of a small group of my compatriots.

Lor mee, comfort noodles

2008-06-01T13:57:00.007+08:00

Mum made the quintessential Hokkien noodles lor mee for lunch yesterday… what a treat! Lor mee is a simple soup noodle dish in a thick-ish broth that is easy to cook and a staple fare in traditional Hokkien families. It is less well known than the dark fried Hokkien mee that KL is famous for, although a self-respecting fried Hokkien mee stall would serve lor mee, too.

The basic ingredients are garlic, pork, prawns, thick yellow noodles, whatever vegetable you can get your hands on (we used spinach this time round), eggs and black vinegar. Cut the pork into small strips and marinate with a little soy sauce and tapioca flour (or arrowroot flour if you prefer). De-shell the prawns. Beat up the eggs (we used two for the five of us).

Put a little oil (or, a lot of oil, if you are cavalier) into a heated big pot or wok, and cook the prawns. Remove prawns and then throw in come chopped garlic and the prawns shells and sauté until the combo smells heavenly and you’re reaching for some snacks to stay your hunger pangs.

Add in the desired amount of water (depends on how many people you are cooking for) and boil. Mum adds anchovies too to the soup to give it extra oomph. Add salt to taste.

After the soup has boiled and simmered for a while (oh, anything from 5-15 minutes, depending on how rushed you are), remove the prawn shells from the soup (use a sift) and then throw in the big fat yellow noodles and the pork, and bring to boil again, cooking for a couple of minutes. At this stage you might want to add a thickening mixture of tapioca flour dissolved into a little water. This gives the soup its dense, smooth character. Then throw in the vegetables (spinach cooks very quickly) and the cooked prawns, and simmer for another minute or so. Turn off the heat and stir the beaten eggs in evenly. Viola!

We eat lor mee with a couple of standard accompaniments. The first is fried diced shallots and ewe poke (or itsy bitsy pieces of lard). Mmmmmm, larrrrd.

The other is a combo of super hot chilli padi (Thai chillies), chopped garlic and soy sauce. Spicing the noodles up with some Southeast Asian heat marks the inevitable evolution of a community’s culture as it moves away from the motherland and assimilates and takes root in its new (chilli-eating) home.

The ingredient that makes the dish distinctive, though, is a generous helping of black vinegar. And not just any vinegar, mind you. Purists will insist on eng choon lao chor (in pinyin, yongchoon laocu, 永春老醋). This aged vinegar is one of the most well known products from Eng Choon/Yong Chun, an area in China’s Hokkien/Fujian province known also for its Mandarin oranges. I managed to sample both at its source over 10 years ago when visiting my grandfather’s ancestral village there. That was so gooood.

Don’t skimp on the vinegar – get in a good two tablespoon-full (at least) for the invigorating kick!

Why, you might ask (or you might not) are there no precise measurements for the instructions above? Well, I don’t pretend to be running a recipe site. And secondly, have you ever tried getting precise measurements from your Mum, especially if she’s been a homemaker all her life and doing this with her eyes closed?

Me: How much noodles are you using, Ma?
Mum: Depends. Are you hungry? [Yes, I was, so she added noodles!]
Me: And how much water did you put in?
Mum: Usually just short of the rim of the wok should be enough.
Me: And the pork?
Mum: I’m using a portion from a piece I bought the other day.

Hope that was helpful for you, too ☺

Our future holiday destination?

2008-05-30T18:06:00.003+08:00

The Borobudur, in all its festive glory during Vesak Day, must be a sight to behold indeed! Full story from The Star. Don't know if we can ever swing it, since May is not usually a vacation season for us, but for sure we are going here this December or January to visit Siti :)

Gandhi fusion

2008-05-29T23:54:00.007+08:00

UPDATE: Just realised that The Star covered the opening of Gandhi's Vegetarian Corner's latest location. I think his old joint is more charming!

When there are so many different cultures living side by side in Malaysia, there is bound to be some borrowing, adaptation and assimilation. Not enough, by some accounts, since the government of the day continues to cling on tenaciously to the racial divide and rule tactics of the colonial authorities. But where seepages occur and people start living across ethnic and religious lines, it is indeed a thing of beauty, and often, very delicious!

And so, we come to Gandhi. No, not the great man of history, but the vegetarian restaurant tucked by the side of a parking lot in Brickfields (Kuala Lumpur). Well, this was as of a month ago, since they were supposed to have moved (directions below) on May 1, so this post is a tribute to a humble lil’ shack where my family and I enjoyed many a wonderful meal.

Mr. Gandhi (yes, that is his name) has a simple operation. His shack opens into a parking lot, with tables and chairs strewn all over under his zinc roof (too hot to open for lunch) or beneath the stars, side by side with the car you just parked. The man himself is poised over a wok by one side, with the menu pasted on the board behind him.

You choose your food either by reading the menu and pointing to it, or peering into Mr. Gandhi’s wok and asking him what he’s cooking, or stealing furtive glances/staring rudely at what other patrons are eating and pointing at those dishes. Nobody really minds, since everyone’s in good spirits (vegetarians are like that, except blood throwing, fur hating PETA folks).

What is distinctive about this joint is that Mr. Gandhi has fused successfully Indian and Chinese vegetarian worlds. He caters to the Chinese vegetarian predeliction for faux meat made with soy or wheat products – note the presence of ‘chicken’, ‘mutton’, ‘fish’ and so on, on the menu.

But he cooks the dishes with a zesty Indian sensibility – the spices making the dishes sing in ways that elude regular Chinese vegetarian places.

Yet, what makes us go back again and again to Gandhi's Vegetarian Corner is also his warm and welcoming smile, his winning personality…

… and his near-perfect Cantonese! Word is that he learnt his trade in a Chinese restaurant, and picked up the lingo along the way. We love watching him catch new Chinese customers unawares by launching into full throttle idiomatic dialect. You can see an initial wave of confusion in their faces, followed amusement and a grin that lingers for a fair bit.

The décor is appropriately eclectic (rojak is a word we’d use). There is a row of Buddha images keeping watch over the historical Gandhi in black and white.

On another wall are extracts from the famous Tamil teachings on living an ethical life (doing the right thing), cheek by jowl with somewhat more irreverent Irish quips on drinking the right thing(s).

And of course, there’s a small Hindu altar by the fridge. As you can see, this is not white tablecloth dining!

Our favourites from the menu are invariably the spicier stuff. The ‘fish’ curry is highly recommended (the family guzzled it down before I whipped out the camera) – the curry smooth and perfectly balanced. We once had their assam ‘prawns’ which was quite the winner – the wheat-made ‘prawns’ doing a respectable imitation of the original while the sauce was again well-balance between sourness, spiciness and savouriness.

The fried ‘chicken wings’ is not merely amusing – the coiled soy sheets are deliciously unputdownable.

But the best dish I feel is this blog’s namesake – the stir-fried petai with tomatoes and a slightly spicy sauce. Getting good petai is a hit or miss affair – sometimes the pods are too old, too bland, too small. On the day of this picture, the petai was plump and had deep flavours that suggested the plant had led a good life in some secondary forest along the spine of the country.

Our other favourites are regular ingredients cooked simply and without fuss. The lady’s fingers with dried chillies…

… and brinjals with potatoes are both regulars at our table.

Mr. Gandhi manages to vary the spice mix so that his sauces never slide into generic anonymity.

The restaurant was to have moved to a more proper space nearby on the first of this month.

Here’s the close up map. We’ll be there this weekend!

Quick and easy BBQ primer

2008-05-02T10:35:00.000+08:00

What are the key ingredients to a successful home barbeque? Start off with some skewers, soaked in water, so they don't burn when you put them on the grill. Get a medley of vegetables (kinda like a ratatouille over an open flame).

Many folks like beef, which taste great paired with a juicy, lighter partner like pineapples.

Prawns...

... and pork chops are winners ...

... especially if they end up looking like this! Mmmmmm.

It's not all meat and seafood though. Get some brinjals ready.

Sweet potatoes and corn are always popular.

Start up the fire and get them buggers over the flame.

Arranging them neatly means you're sensitive to the wants and needs of amateur photographers the world over.

Get the oil ready, and baste occasionally.

Trot out the fish, if you have any. We had sole the other night.

Other key ingredients are a free-flow of wine, a group of hungry people, and a reason to celebrate – in our case, a friend's successful kidney transplant.

Oh, I forgot, you should also always have a Jack Russel or two handy, for all the bones etc.

Saves on the cleaning up!

A conga line of anago

2008-05-01T17:41:00.006+08:00

“A Taste of Tokyo” blared the Life! cover story headline of Tuesday’s The Straits Times. Yes, I am in Singapore, which has greeted me with the nastiest stomach flu bug I’ve encountered in a long time. I’d post a link to the article, except that ST has the pre-historic policy of charging for content. Even the NYT has abandoned asking for money to read its columnists, and while Maureen Dowd is worth paying for, the same cannot be said for ST. Anyway, here are the pages…

… that reminded me of the wonderful meals J and I had in Tokyo and Kyoto, which included sublime sushi and hearty monkfish nabe. Another memorable restaurant was Ginza’s Hakarime, which specialises in anago, or conger eel. J had been gripped by anago fever ever since reading this NYT article, and mentioned more than once that this was on her must-eat list. So, on a slightly drizzly Tuesday evening, after again walking around the block trying to find the address, we found our way going up a lift of a small building.

Hakarime is a long and narrow restaurant dominated by an impressive counter (pix below, copied shamelessly from their website).

Opposite the counter is a series of tiny rooms, many big enough only for two (seating for bigger parties are scattered over other parts of the restaurant). J and I got one of these cosy little spaces that were screened off, affording us a little privacy, yet placing us close to the action.

As usual, we were slightly overawed by the menu, and took the easy way out by ordering the omakase (chef’s choice) set. We were not disappointed.

First up were the trio of appetizers (below) – Hotaruika no sumi-tsukuri (top left), salted and fermented firefly squid and intestines with sepia (squid ink); sutamina nattou (foreground), which is natto mixed round with okra, yam and takuan (yellow pickled radish); and a pickled vegetable. The squid/intestines dish is yummier than it looks (trust me) and the fermented natto had just the right piquancy to open up one’s appetite.

By the way, we ordered a junmai-shu sake, Sougen, that was light, fragrant and medium dry, and the perfect companion for the meal.

Next up was conger eel sashimi dressed with shuto, which is salted and fermented bonito and entrails.

This was followed by the last ‘appetizer’, konjac, made from the starch of devil’s tongue, here dressed in egg yolk and mustard sauce. The smooth, jelly-like texture would be familiar to those who grew up with Chinese custardy type desserts!

A quartet of anago sashimi marked the start of the serious business at hand. . Like unagi, anago is popularly eaten grilled, with a sauce painted on it, and compared to unagi, it is milder and less oily in texture. This is not to say that anago sashimi is wimpy – when you bite into the slightly chewy slices, a mild and pleasant sweetness is released. This quartet was made up of standard sashimi, sashimi immersed briefly in boiling water, sashimi lightly roasted, and sashimi sliced so thinly (see the top of the picture) and so translucently, that it melts into the white plate! You can barely see it.

The best of the lot was without doubt the slightly roasted version. The sashimi was scored in such a way that only tips of certain parts of the cut was slightly blackened, leaving the rest of the sashimi raw. Grilling releases more flavours, and when the piece is put into one’s mouth, you can taste the roasty sweet portions melding with the fresh raw bits. Ummm, very good.

This was followed by a conger eel salad dressed with kombu (edible kelp) and Balsamic vinegar, refreshing because of the absence of the dreaded mayonnaise that seems to dominate most Japanese salads.

My first introduction to eel cooked Japanese style was the trusty ol’ broiled unagi, slathered with a rich dark sauce, in a bento box. I remember the unagi to be firm and the sauce sweet and delicious, if a little heavy. Having unagi (in Kyoto) and anago in Hakarime was a revelation, for the eel we ate was not firm, but soft, tender and delicious. We found that the better the sauce, the more likely it was used with restraint.

As you can tell from the picture above, Hakarime’s sauce is almost coyly applied, and why not? Why spoil a fresh ingredient that has been lightly cooked in respect to its natural flavours? The julienned cucumbers were a nice touch!

We also had the anago shabu (with mushrooms, tofu and herbs, above) taking care not to overboil the eel in the kelp flavoured broth (below). Again, light and a mild sweetness were the taste memories that come to mind.

And lastly, we were served the anago tempura, by which time we were frankly approaching full fullness, so we were glad for the restrained portions, the judicious use of batter and the expert frying (little residual oil).

Were we anago-ed out? Not at all. The meal was nicely paced; we had an early reservation, 5.30 pm I believe, and we finished sometime past 8. Our waitress was friendly and obliging, taking care to explain each course in detail. Our own little room was perfect – at once semi-secluded (you could peek into the other enclosures by your side) yet close to the counter action (the bustling sounds of the chefs at work and in conversation were a welcome background music). But the reason to go is to have a wonderful ingredient prepared in interesting ways with care and respect.

Check out the website for the address and full menu.

Ginza at night...

2008-04-19T06:48:00.002+08:00

Those twinkling, frenetic lights were magical, transporting us to another world. You couldn’t help but smile… well, grin, actually, at the explosion of neon. There was a certain innocence about the welcoming brightness, even as they drew you into their decidedly commercial arms. Ah, Ginza!

Six word memoir

2008-04-17T20:09:00.003+08:00

Tom couldn’t have chosen a worse time to tag me to write a six-word memoir. He hit me on what could possibly be the worse Monday of MY LIFE (okay, maybe the 21st century, or maybe just this year) – my laptop died on me, leaving me hanging for a couple of days wondering if the hard drive survived the meltdown; and I came down with the mother of all flus.

So my six-word memoir could have been “Damn you, motherboard and nasty bugs.”

Anyway, the memoir rules are…

1) Write your own six-word memoir
2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Had a hard time with this, not with coming up with six words but with something that seemed representative of a life lived (or being lived). I thought of generic pearls that I try to go by – “Aim for perfection; prepare for failure” but they seem too generic in a bumper-sticker, Hallmark-ish way.

Many combinations reflect concerns of specific life periods. “Renew marriage licences every seven years” comes from a less optimistic period of me and my friends’ lives, and reflects a belief that marriages would have a better survival rate if the piece of paper that binds two people together automatically lapsed after a certain period, forcing the couple to recommit their lives again if they wish to remain legally together (the Fraternity of Divorce Lawyers threatened to take out a contract on my life if I promoted this idea).

Love is often defined in grand gestures – dying on the cross for Everyone; jumping in the path of a bullet for family; giving up an organ; getting down on your knees with a 12-K diamond ring; throwing down your Armani coat on a puddle for the lady; buying 12 dozen roses on Valentine’s Day. But my parents taught me a different lesson about love, and they did it not by sitting me down and giving me A Big Lecture, but through their un-showy, humble actions. Love is “Serving in small ways, every day.”

Every mention of Dungeness crabs, Point Reyes, Alice Waters, the Giants, Frog Hollow Farm peaches sends me into the depths of homesickness. Is “I miss Half Moon Bay sunsets” a six word memoir?

But being back home with family has been a truly wonderful experience, especially gastronomically, as this blog stands witness to. So, my half a dozen-word summation of all that my life on earth has stood for, till this very day, and for many more to come, is:

“I’m only marking time between meals.”

Tagging: nomadicsonglines, JJ, kashgaria and John.

Thank God it's Sunday

2008-04-14T19:12:00.004+08:00

Yesterday, Sunday April 13, was a hectic day indeed, perhaps a microcosm of what multi-religious, multi-ethnic Malaysia is, or can be.

After church in the morning, where the pastor regaled us with some funny anecdotes in his sermon on how to build/maintain a good marriage, I rushed off to Methodist Secondary School in Brickfields, Kuala Lumpur, to lend some moral support to my siblings and friends who were manning their char kuay teow stall for the Ti-Ratana Food and Fun Fair Family Day.

This is the annual fund-raising effort put on by one of the most active welfare societies in Malaysia, which runs orphanages, old folks’ homes, a women’s shelter, community centres, and a mobile clinic, amongst other services. Ti-Ratana is a Buddhist welfare society, but its aims transcend any one religion, and the multi-ethnic, multi-faith support it receives is heartening.

I’d post pictures except that my hard drive chose to die on me today. ☹ For a taste of what our well-oiled char kuay teow stall looks like, here’s the gang in action during an earlier fund-raising affair.

I had hoped to attend the Save Bukit Gasing family day at 4 pm, but a storm forced me to stay indoors. The event, however, wasn’t cancelled – bless you brave folks – and made the front page of The Malay Mail today. More on this later, although you really have to laugh at the headlines (or shake your head, or smack your head, or yell ‘Alamak’).

You have to laugh, or rather, I have to laugh, to keep my sanity because to despair at the Mayor, and to despair at the many shenanigans of public officials and politicians here would send me into the depths of eternal depression.

Since Mum was vegetarian yesterday, we went out for dinner at our favourite meat-free place – Chinese-ish vegetarian food cooked Indian style by the irrepressible Mr. Gandhi, in Brickfields. Again, pictures when we resurrect the hard drive from the dead.

And finally, the visual highlight of the Sunday – witnessing the luminescent chariot that brightened our night here.

Chariot of fire

2008-04-14T18:55:00.007+08:00

Yesterday, Sunday April 13, was a day of prayers and festivities, with the Thais marking Songkran festival (also observed in Penang and other parts of Malaysia) and the Tamils ushering in the Sarvathari (or, Savithri/Savitri) year. Marking the latter in my neck of the woods was this blazing chariot the slowed traffic down, leaving onlookers quite overawed.

Taking pride of place on the chariot is an altar, softly cushioned by beautiful garlands of flowers, while a pleasing and subtle incense wafted through the air as the chariot passed by. Three priests stood on deck, accepting offerings from devotees; their movements slow, deliberate and worshipful.

Two stallions ‘pulled’ the chariot, although the real horsepower came from …

… a sturdy, modern tractor.

This second view of the front of the chariot is notable for the man on the right – he’s the barber who started cutting my hair over 30 years ago, and has seen our neighbourhood grow, and his customers grow up. He charges RM12 for a haircut.

Accompanying the chariot are musicians who kept up a steady beat and melody.

A man with a long pole walked ahead of the chariot, gently lifting up electrical wires to let the procession pass.

Devotees, many of them shorn of their shoes, follow the chariot with their offerings in hand.

The procession passed through multi-ethnic neighbourhoods and the expressions of the residents’ different faiths. For most parts, Malaysians of all beliefs live together without the friction that has torn many nations apart, despite attempts from conservatives of all stripes more interested in raising fences instead of building bridges.

When the chariot stops at a spot where some devotees have gathered, folks young and old hurl coconuts on the ground. An observer of a similar procession notes: “Participants take each coconut and violently smash them to the ground. Hindus believe that the shell of the coconut symbolises the illusions of the earthly realm, the meat corresponds to human "karma", and the milk represents the ego. Smashing the coconuts means renouncing the physical realm and offering oneself to Ganesha.”

One devotee stood in front of the chariot and broke open coconuts with a parang; the coconut juice raining all over the tarred road.

Some stand a little further back, raising their offerings…

… while others stand still in deep prayer.

Everyone, including the priests, found joy in the occasion.

Falling in love again

2008-04-12T22:32:00.005+08:00

A love under control, a passion within bounds: That was how I always viewed the emotional ties I have with Liverpool – not the city, but the football club.

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly how this attachment, support, fascination, mild obsession – whatever you wish to call it – how it all began. I know the rough time frame (impressionable early teen in the 1970s) and the medium (the delayed weekly highlights and the occasional live telecast of finals, grounded on daily reports in the back pages of newspapers). But the firing of an imagination, the falling in love; that will forever remain a mystery and the domain of poets.

What I do remember is being transfixed by Steve Heighway rampaging down the left flank in a red shirt. The centre forward-centre back duels were all physical, crunching tackles; argy-bargy, clashing of heads, Henry V stuff. Not my cup of teh tarik. Wing play, however, was pure wizardry. Speed of thought and nimble limbs led to defenders on their bums. Ghosted past and teased were adjectives used to describe the effect Heighway and his ilk had on flustered fullbacks. Poetry in motion? More like a sonnet in red.

Today, I shudder at the thought that I might have become a Manchester United fan, as I was equally enraptured by Steve Coppell, who flew down the opposite wing for the other team in red. I took the high road, I now realise, because the left is my reflexive position, in matters other than sport as well!

Leaving behind the comforting world of home and education, and plunging into the bad world of having to earn a living, coincided with the decline of John Barnes (another nifty lefty) and the club in general. My passion held strong – I watched the matches on TV, debated with friends, read the papers, devoured the British press online after online became a word. I even made it to Anfield, with an authentic Liverpudlian by my side…

Yet, Liverpool was no longer an all-consuming affair as it had to fight for space with so many other things that grips one’s life in adulthood. At the club’s depths, and there were many in the 1990s, I brooded but never came close to rage, despair or suicide. At the height of Liverpool’s current renaissance, the unlikely and fairytale triumph against Milan, I screamed as loud and lustily as any frustrated fan did that day, but I watched the penalty shoot out, willing Jerzy Dudek to stop every kick, with eyes wide open. I didn’t need to avert my gaze at the pivotal moments; it wasn’t like the be all and eand all of everything, you know.

Until this past Wednesday.

It was almost 4 am in the morning and I had been up for an hour or so, willing the Reds to beat Arsenal. In the wonderful game that was trying to cram all of life’s highs and lows into 90 minutes (that’s what it felt like), I was at the lowest of low when Adebayor scored with six minutes left. That’s it. Head on chest. We’re done. And then, penalty. For us. And as Gerrard placed the ball on the chalk that marked the spot, I brought my hands up. And covered my face while squinting my eyes. Couldn’t bear to look. Waiting to hear the roar (or collective groan) of the crowd.

That night, Liverpool became life and death again.

Save Bukit Gasing - you can do it

2008-04-12T15:43:00.003+08:00

Here’s what dropped into my mailbox today, from a friend…

“Just went to climb Bukit Gasing this morning - what a stunning stretch of greenery hiding behind the rows of bungalows.”

Yes, Gasing Hill is truly a wonderful green spot for the increasingly overdeveloped and overcrowded Klang Valley. Those of us who live in its shadow may sometimes take it for granted and it would take a visitor to remind us how precious this green lung is.

However, it might not be that green, or breathing much, if the Kuala Lumpur City Hall (BDKL) has anything to do with it – they seem to be leaning towards approving development projects on their side of the hill.

Tomorrow (Sunday, April 13) at 4 pm, the Save Bukit Gasing folks are organizing a Family Day at the Gasing Indah playground.

Show up and make your voice heard. The old excuse of “What for, lah, nothing changes anyway” has been totally swept away by March 8.

We remember

2008-04-04T18:47:00.006+08:00

Today is Qing Ming, the day for honouring and remembering the departed members of one’s family by visiting their graves, cleaning them and offering prayers. As it is not a public holiday in Malaysia, most Chinese families observe the ritual on one of the weekends around the actual day.

Every year, we make a short trip to the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. Last Sunday was no different, as Dad and my siblings woke up early to join many families making a trip first to the market to buy roast pig and other delicious food to be offered to their ancestors, before heading to the many cemeteries around Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. We also bought vegetarian food for Grandma. It is usually a full family affair, although Mum has not made the trip these past few years ever since her mobility became somewhat restricted.

I was to have gone along too except that a severe bout of diarrhoea the night before confined me to bed. I have no problems whatsoever taking some part in these festivals, even though I observe a different faith from my family members. After all, much of the festivals and rituals that make up the Chinese way of life are not strictly religious but cultural. In fact, it is difficult to separate the elements of Confucianism, Daoism and Buddhism that make up a traditional Chinese way of life that is closely rooted to farming and the land as well as the changing of the seasons. I actually enjoy these family rituals – they remind us of the ties that are important and enduring.

When my parents were younger, we would all troop off to our grandparents’ grave on Qing Ming to find it, and all other graves, overgrown with chest-high lalang. Clearing it would be quite an effort since lalang is a particularly stubborn weed. As Mum and Dad grew older, and to spare them that onerous task, we began observing a two-step Qing Ming – Brother (and sometimes Dad) going a couple of weeks before Qing Ming to do most of the grunt work, leaving a token patch of weeds for clearing on the day itself.

I joined Brother early last month for the Step 1 big clean-up. It is relatively easy to find where our grandparents are resting – their plot is close to a frangipani tree.

When we got to the site…

… we found it in pretty good condition – no lalang, no mounds of rain-carried earth all over the concrete floors, no armies of ants making the many cracks and crevices their home! Still, we broke out the heavy equipment…

… to give the plot a good sweep. The wimpy weeds were cleared in a jiffy, and before we knew it, we were done.

Brother lit up a couple of bunches of joss sticks and placed them in front of Ah Ma and Ah Kong, before we left.

When J and I were in Kyoto a couple of weeks ago, we spent a very pleasant day strolling through the incredibly beautiful Kodaiji (temple) grounds. While tourists like us were breathing in the zen calm, the locals were visiting the adjacent cemetery and paying their respects to their loved ones. These were some of the most beautiful resting places I have encountered.

A much larger section of the cemetery is on a hill slope overlooking the city.

Family members first stop at the entrance to pick up a bucket, a scoop and some water.

Pouring water gently over the tombstones symbolises purification. The tombstones are then elegantly dressed with pretty flowers.

The plots may be tightly packed together…

… but the clean lines of individual tombstones and orderliness of the whole cemetery …

... evoked a sense of serenity and space instead of claustrophobia.

Going green

2008-04-02T21:23:00.009+08:00

My parents, both almost 80 years old, are leading the recycling and sustainability charge at home. Because of their natural thriftiness, everything has always been used for as long as possible, and sometimes even longer. (Handles fallen off those cheap red plastic buckets? No problem, there’s always raffia string.)

Every piece of paper and plastic bottle is recycled; rinsing water from the washing machine fill up three pails every morning, to be used for light flushing in the toilets; rainwater runs into huge vats to nourish the plants on dry days; whatever fresh food that can be composted is composted; and whatever leftovers that might normally be thrown away, well, we have five dogs.

In the old days, we always had fruit trees in the garden – one, sometimes two mango trees; a rambutan tree; a few papaya trees; a jambu tree once; and the ever-present lime (kalamansi) tree. Except for the lime tree, the others are no longer with us, replaced by all sorts of vegetables sprouting around the garden (long view, above). When you grow your own vegetables, you know you’re eating the freshest organic stuff money cannot buy.

Next to the driveway (below) is where we start the tour of our little farm, which by the way, is sustained largely by Second Sis, while Dad does his fair share of watering (and cutting the grass, and handyman work around the house and garden, after a day at the office – he’s 79 this year).

This is our little grove of ladies fingers, or okra. Standing chest high, it is a handsome plot that is a stout testament to Second Sis’ work.

Mum likes to make her own fish paste from scratch, and stuffing our own okra with it for a meal of yong tau foo is one of our favourite dinners.

At the back of the garden, near the clothesline, is this little plot (below).

Dominating this patch is your run of the mill bayam, or in Cantonese, yin choy. I love the Wikipedia entry for this vegetable since it tells us what this humble mainstay of Chinese cooking is called, and how it is used, in other cultures. I’d love to see the look on my neighbourhood restaurant owner’s face if I ever asked for a plate of ching chow (lightly stir fried) biteku teku!

Nestled among the bayam is the newest addition to our garden – a chilli plant that grew from seeds bought in Bangkok.

We were prepared to be patient with this plant, not being familiar with its characteristics. We have some experience growing these types of fiery hot tiny chillies – our mainstay plant has been with us for decades, and at one time grew to a height of about five feet, spanning six feet across, and when fruiting, was a riot of little red and orange dots.

But this Thai import has green fruit, and, more surprisingly started fruiting before the plant reached two feet high! And the chillies are relatively big, about a couple of inches (5-6 cm) long. They are as fiery as our old red faithful (below), and much bigger. Mum still prefers our veteran chilli as it has deeper and more varied flavours. The new green addition may not be as complex in taste, but packs a burst of freshness, to go with the heat. Now, we just mix and match the two at the dinner table, young and old. The old faithful, by the way, is stationed in the middle of the garden and still giving good service.

At the far end of this back plot, and in other parts of the garden, we grow a red-stalked creeper (below), called the Ceylonese spinach, or in Cantonese, saan choy (the name is more prosaic in Hokkien, simply ang chai, or red vegetable).

There’s a green-stemmed version, but that, understandably, is less visually appealing! This vegetable is supposedly a little diuretic, and thus good for cleansing the intestines and general human plumbing maintenance. But really, it tastes great, especially cooked in soup with some salted eggs thrown in. J really loves this veg for its velvety texture! I tried to take a picture of them creeping up the fence in the back plot, but failed because, burp, we had it for dinner last night!

We have a couple of other vegetables – one is sweet potato, which we grow not for the potatoes, but for the leaves (below), which are tender and flavourful, especially stir-fried with a light touch.

This quick growing patch is threatening to take over the whole garden if we don’t stop it (meaning, eat it) soon!

The other plant grown for its edible leaves is a variety of mustard that is known in Hokkien as kor ber chye, or bitter-stemmed vegetable (below). The bitterness is mild, and the veg stands up to vigourous cooking.

We grow two varieties of lime here.

The kalamansi (above) for its fruit…

… and the kaffir for its leaves. Some of the herbs sprouting here and there are:

Sweet basil

Pandan leaves.

Mint (left) and chives. The chives do look a bit unruly, like Cyndi Lauper’s hair dyed green, but they do produce the most delicate and beautiful flower (below), no?

Coming out to play on cosplay street

2008-04-02T00:00:00.005+08:00

We didn’t just eat, eat, and eat in Tokyo and Kyoto, you know. There was much to see, and anyway, there were always going to be a few hours in between meals, yeah? ☺

Some of those were spent in Harajuku, gawking at the youngsters dressed in their best cosplay outfits strolling down Takeshita Dori… well, not quite strolling, since the street was sardine packed that Sunday. The costumes ranged from the weird to the predictable – predictable only because so much had been written about them – like the Little Bo Peep costume, and the Maid.

On the Harajuku bridge leading to the Meiji Shrine, another favourite spot to catch cosplay, quite a number of those in funky outfits seemed a little shy, preferring to stand by the side and let their audience gawk as they walked by. One Miss, though, was not going to be a wallflower (no, that’s not a costume) that day.

The Maid With The Lollipop was standing smack in the centre of human traffic, drawing a huge crowd of admirers. The moment anyone whips out a camera, Miss MWTL bends a knee and strikes a pose, and there were many with cameras! Not content with just taking a picture, most of the tourists wanted to have a picture taken, too, with our young star.

Way to get into a lot of folks’ holiday pictures!!

If you weren’t the touristy type, and were feeling a bit down walking pass the madhouse scramble, do not worry. Help was at hand, for just a little to the left of this Maid, were another group of idealistic young ones who believed tha a little TLC would go a long way to solving the world’s problems.

Yes, folks, free hugs for everyone…

I should have waylaid the two ‘customers’ (with backpacks) and asked if they felt better after the hugs. After all, these weren’t the ‘Oh hello, how are you, haven’t seen you in a while’ wrap around the shoulders with a quick release type of hugs. These were the full bodied type that people who have just broken up/quarrelled with the boss/lost a pet need; ones that usually end up in someone having a good cry, type of hug. (By the way, what’s with the black and white stripped socks? They feel prison-y.)

Anyway, our favourite guy on the bridge was The Portrait Artist (can I call him Portart, like, you know, cosplay is from costume play, and Pokemon is from Pocket Monster?).

Mr. Portart draws these small kawaii caricatures that look something like this…

(You’ll have to turn your computer screen upside down, or stand on your head, to get the right orientation.)

One subject was a young and very attractive couple, who took their place like the others, kneeling in front of Mr. Portart.

Mr. Portart picks up a brown marker, grabs a tube and squishes a bit of paint on the marker, mixing colours. He then wipes of whatever excess colour on his right thigh (talk about well-worn jeans!), all the while rocking back and forth to a funky beat bellowing out of his yellow boombox.

I love the contrast between the brown face and the girl’s blonde hair and green eyes, rendered large and innocent.

He then takes out a few more tubes of paint…

… and sprinkles a bit of blue and green sky on his canvas …

… before adding a touch of orangey, yellowy rays of the sun, peeking through. Like fairy dust. Kinda neat, huh?

Anyway, the Sunday we were there was also St. Patrick’s Day, and Omotesando was awash in green.

I think they look more ridiculous than the cosplay girls, no?

Ouchi oishii!!!

2008-03-30T16:17:00.005+08:00

By our third day in Japan, I was getting antsy. We had had Okinawan food (noodles, stir fry, tempura), tonkatsu, kushiyaki and teppanyaki, with some wonderful strawberries thrown in, but we hadn’t sunk our teeth into any sushi or sashimi yet. Hello? Have we got our priorities right, I was thinking (sometimes aloud, to J)?

I mean, we are in Japan, after all, where the freshest of seafood is supposed to pass through its famed Tsukiji market, from wriggling prawns…

… to clams and shellfish of all shapes and sizes.

But the star of the show has to be the tuna shipped in from all over the world, fetching the highest prices in the auctions...

before being carted away by the middlemen to their stalls in the market itself to be butchered (with deft force)…

… into manageable chunks ready for chefs, fishmongers and other retailers to purchase.

We did eventually have our fill of fresh raw seafood, from specialty spots like Isegen and Hakarime (raw anko and anago prepared in many creative ways), to sushi restaurants ranging from the pricey to mid-level, to even the humble bento boxes we picked up at Kyoto train station for our Shinkansen ride back to Tokyo (the quality of the latter belying its affordability).

The highlight for me was Sushi Ouchi, which we visited on our last night in Tokyo. The Shibuya restaurant is all about organic food and sustainability, right from its inception in 1983, before those concepts became hip and politically correct. The restaurant’s popularity with visitors increased after it was featured in a Japan Times profile in 2005. What’s not to like, when master Ouchi Hisashi is strict when it comes to choosing what to serve – “fish caught from the wild; rice from organic farms; naturally brewed rice vinegar, shoyu, miso and mirin; sea salt sun-dried in old-style saltpans; and fertilized eggs from free-range chickens”, according to the article.

This is a tightly run establishment – Ouchi-san had only two helpers, as far as we could tell, and the English speaking one attended to us. The waiter was unfailingly helpful and courteous, even though he became increasingly busy as the Saturday night crowd drifted in. He handed us our menu and apologised for his inferior linguistic skills. We smiled a little, since his apology was delivered in flawless English! (Anyway, a common language or the lack of, was never a problem in Tokyo and Kyoto.)

You need not blow a fortune here – set sushi meals begin at 2,100 yen and range up to a 10,000 yen omakase set that had both a sashimi and sushi platter. Our sushi platter came artfully placed on very impressive bowl.

I asked J what she remembered of her experience:

“I remember:

The beautiful pottery the sashimi and sushi were served in and that were stacked high behind the sushi chef.
The small size of the pieces.
The loosely-packed sushi (really meant for fingers).
The perfect seasoning of the fish.
AJI!!!! Horse mackerel -- never thought I'd like something more than toro. Absolutely no fishy smell, lush and oily texture, smooth as butter.
The neighborhoody feel of the place, given the people that were there.

Can we go back?”

We had asked the chef if we could have otoro with our set (if it wasn’t already part of it). The fatty portion of the tuna belly did not disappoint – J was in closed-eye ecstasy – but, as she says above, we were swept away by the aji, and not surprisingly, we had seconds!!! She also liked the place because it was “not trendy at all, and the prices don't reflect a premium”.

Yes, we can go back. ☺

Sushi Ouchi
2-8-4 Shibuya, Shibuya-ku. Tel: 3407-3543.
Open: Noon - 1.30 pm; 5-11.30 pm.
Time Out Tokyo city guide (copyright 2007) says it is open every day; the (2005) Japan Times article says it is closed Sundays and holidays

Monkfish heaven

2008-03-29T23:53:00.003+08:00

We fell in love with monkfish when we had our first ankimo sushi in Berkeley’s Sushi Banzai. The liver was velvety and creamy, and when dipped lightly into ponzu sauce, was quite orgasmic. J and I could never stop at one… each.

So when we got to Tokyo, one of the restaurants I had to try was Isegen, which specializes in anko nabe, a monkfish casserole that is the perfect dish to warm one up during winter or a cool spring. In fact, Isegen serves its signature dish from September to April, so we went right at the tail end of the season.

Located in the greater Marunouchi area, Isegen has been operating out of its charming wooden premises since 1830 and serving anko from the fourth generation of owners onwards (whenever that is, you do the math).

The monkfish is not a delicate, willowy creature that is easy on the eye. Its meat, not surprisingly, is correspondingly firm, yet very succulent and full of character (which is another tactful of describing its looks). Isegen’s anko nabe is a cornucopia of various cuts of anko meat and skin, as well as generous servings of mushrooms, beans, radishes, gingko nuts and other stuff, in a light broth flavoured with shoyu.

Our middle-aged server spoke no English, which didn’t stop her from trying to carry on a conversation with us, and being generally helpful, friendly and obliging. She put the pot on a small gas stove on the table, and let us admire the dish, before turning on the gas.

La di da, merrily cooking away…

After a few minutes of boiling, I dug my chopstick into the pot just as she returned from the kitchen, and she immediately shushed me, in a kind matronly way, to leave it alone and wait for it to cook (meaning, she’s going to return and tell us when it was okay to dig in).

So, what to do? Prepare for the next leg of our trip, lor.

While we waited, we had a couple of side dishes as well, the highlight, not surprisingly, was ankimo dressed in subtle miso sauce. Mmmmmmmmmm.

The anko nabe didn’t disappoint when it was finally ready. I had feared the flesh was going to be overcooked, but it remained firm, juicy and flavourful. The skin was slippery and delicious – a wonderful texture food. An unexpected find were pieces of liver, which surprisingly stood up well to the cooking. It may not have had the creaminess of raw ankimo, but it remained somewhat delicate, and equally yummy.

The non-fish parts of the nabe were also a delight, having absorbed much of the goodness of the fish and the broth.

After finishing up every last bit of the nabe, our server returned to top up the pot with more broth and shoyu. She then put some cooked rice into it and turned on the stove again. After some time, as the consistency of the rice became more congee-like, our server returned, beat up to eggs, poured it into the pot and gently mixed it in. Just as it got done, she topped the dish with a generous serving of spring onions!

The rice/congee dish was a little salty for us, but still delicious and warming. J and I have relatively light tastebuds (I even like bland), so on hindsight, we should have asked our server to use more broth than shoyu when she topped up the pot for the rice dish. Having said that, Isegen was a winner all round!

[Check out Isegen’s website for details. When anko is not in season, the menu revolves around ayu, a trout-like sweetfish, and other freshwater fish, according to the Time Out Tokyo guide.]

No cherries but plums are pretty good too

2008-03-25T23:36:00.005+08:00

We left Japan on Sunday the 23rd, thus missing the cherry blossom season by a week or so. We had been hoping that global warming would accelerate the whole blooming process for our sakes – but who’d have though that this would be one of the coldest winters and springs of recent years? Bah!

But, as we say in these parts, ne’er mind. Shinjuku Gyoen may not be awash with a riot of colours when we walked through on Saturday, but there were enough blooms to bring plenty of smiles to old and young alike. Certainly, the plum tree was doing its darndest to make everyone forget about those pretty lil’ cherries that always seem to hog the limelight.

A crowd gathered around this grand specimen that was spreading its wings majestically and welcoming all and sundry to take shade under its gorgeous blooms. Go Plums!!

It is said that when the cherry trees are blooming, this and other favourite blossom viewing parks are packed with groups of admirers having a good ol’ fashioned party, quaffing copious amount of sake and beer, and one can hardly move among the throngs. I guess there was a sliver lining then in being a week early – Shinjuku Gyoen was not crowded on Saturday. Still, there were enough folks enjoying the fine weather…

… lounging on their mats or rope skipping.

I thought: Why should they be the only ones chilling out? I wouldn’t mind having a lie down myself, with or without (more like without, actually) mat or groundsheet. So, zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Then, *yawn*, gets up to find, hmmm, mucho mucho stuff on me back. J couldn’t stop laughing as she attempted to get rid of some of the hay. I feigned indifference, secretly cursing not bringing any sake to drown my sorrows.

Anyway, there were plenty of other flowers in the park to keep one occupied, from yellow stuff…

… to white stuff …

… to red stuff.

There’s even, can you believe it, red and white stuff from one single tree! Creepy! (In a cool way, of course.)

You might be able to tell, from my over-reliance on the word ‘stuff’, that I’m no horticulturist. So what? I bet the many folks whipping out their cameras (mainly mobile, mind you) to take pictures…

… wouldn’t be able to tell their umes from their sakuras. Or maybe they could, since they look like they could read the Japanese signs next to the trees.

There were a couple of sakura buds getting ready to burst through into the warm spring air.

Actually, it was okay to miss the cherry blossoms in their full glory. There’s always the next time. If one really needs a more immediate fix, there are lots of pictures on the Internet. Just Google it.

Happy birthday Mistuh President….

2008-03-17T08:18:00.002+08:00

So, we were walking along Omotesando when I stopped and snapped this window display for a lingerie shop.

J (slightly miffed): Why are you taking a picture of this?
Me: It’s a 10th anniversary display.

Grill heaven

2008-03-16T23:32:00.005+08:00

Japan post #1. Today is our second day in Tokyo and if we had checked its website, we would have known that Fukuzushi is closed on Sundays. So there we were in Roppongi wondering what to do for dinner, when we decided to take a chance on a restaurant that we had passed just a minute ago and had looked intriguing.

First off, we almost missed this restaurant, for there wasn’t any big neon sign (a rarity in Japan, for sure!) or even what appears to be a door. The whole façade looked like a side of a big barn, with very discreet slits cut into one side enabling you to peek into a counter full of boisterous folks enjoying themselves. The sliding door is cut into the wooden front, and you’d have missed it since the door handle is a shy little small black thingy.

Anyway, we thanked the heavens we saw it because we had our best meal in our short stay so far. Joumon (or Jyoumon as it is spelt on the menu) is a kushiyaki (grilled goodies on small skewers) restaurant, and we managed to find a seat on the counter right in front of the chef and his grill.

The Kurobuta pork was sinfully delicious, oodles of flavour cascading out of the small pieces of alternating fat and lean part. J was in a schizo mood – switching between moaning about how superb it was, to admonishing me about how bad it was for my health! We also ordered Joumon’s other signature pork skewer – this time Iberian, which had an equally rich yet different flavour signature from the Kurobuta. The Iberian was much leaner, yet juicy and deep, proving that good flavours exist not only in the fatty bits of meat.

Other sticks that passed our way had chicken thigh (ooh, yummy), chicken gizzard (my favourite) and duck with onions (this was the only one to come in below excellent). Of the non-meat stuff, we had gingko nuts and asparagus wrapped in a thin slice of pork (did I say non-meat?), but the standouts were the eringi mushroom and the zucchini, both of which were testament to the axiom that the very best fresh ingredients need only to be treated simply and with respect, in this case, lightly grilled.

The highligh of the night for J was the off-menu special, the grilled smelt (shishamo)…

… which had imbibed the roasty, charcoaly aroma and was juicy, tender and crispy at the same time. J wolfed down the tail half while I took care of the head bits, leaving no evidence of our gluttony behind. We loved it so much that we had seconds, and after that, stared accusatorily at a gaijin also sitting at the counter who had ordered the same fish but had nibbled a little at the middle parts and left the rest of it untouched. Sigh!

Overall, it was a happy experience, for we even managed to strike up a conversation with the young Japanese woman sitting next to us – no mean feat since her basic English was tonnes more than our non-existent Japanese! We've had some good yakitori in Singapore, and we used to be a regular at Norikonoko in Berkeley (an understated place with a mean robata menu), but Joumon is quite exceptional.

Joumon (or Jyoumon)
5-9-17 Roppongi
Minato-ku, Tokyo
03-3405-2585
Opening hours: well, we know they’re open on Sunday nights!
Most skewers are between 100 and 400 yen each.

Huff, huff, puff puff

2008-03-14T23:22:00.004+08:00

This past week, apart from being caught up with the excitement over the elections, I had hit the gym with a renewed vengeance. Part of the reason was the realization my cholesterol level was climbing, as I had begun to enjoy the wonderful street food a little too much. The other reason was my friend T’s running blog.

Specifically, this heart-thumping account of a 50 km race up the beautiful hills of Woodside, in the San Francisco Bay Area. As I read it, I felt swept along with T as he glided his way through a course that ran from narrow single-track trails to “a mixed forest up to a fire road cut through redwood trees and douglas fir. The trees loom tall, their tops lost in the canopy. The road does its best to reach the tops of the trees as it climbs steeply in this section.” When I read this, I closed my eyes and dreamt of spring in the Bay Area, of kayaking in Point Reyes, of being wowed by the giants of Muir Woods, of strolling along Half Moon Bay and buying freshly caught Dungeness crabs and of magical kites floating over the Berkeley marina.

Now, I’m not a runner by any means – my regular 5 km on the treadmill might get me to the first drinks station on a 50K race (or maybe not!). And the parts of Woodside I know revolve around and inside Buck’s, a wonderfully individualistic diner/restaurant in which Silicon Valley moneybags meet to seal mega-techie deals over flapjacks. Not surprisingly, it was T who brought us there.

Picture from restaurant website.

So, how am I ever to lose weight if even ironman runners keep feeding me all the good stuff?

Tokyo (and Kyoto), here I come!!!

2008-03-14T19:20:00.002+08:00

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go... For eight whole days, I won't have to think about musty ol' papers and the aftermath of the general elections. Hope to eat well (popping into places when the whim takes us), see some sights, take a few pictures, and maybe write a bit. But hey, I haven't even finished writing about Penang.

Cheers!

You be the judge

2008-03-13T19:24:00.004+08:00

We’re beginning to witness the first fruits of the political tsunami that hit Malaysia on the March 8 – the ruling Barisan Nasional, reeling from a major setback dealt by voters during the general elections, no longer has the monopoly on truth, particularly the non-blog variant.

Yeah, sure, the ruling party still controls the mainstream media, the English and Malay-language press being more subservient than others. But it will be hard to ignore the opposition now that they control five out of the eleven states in the peninsula. And not just any five either – the biggest and most important of the lot. I mean, you just cannot black out completely what five Chief Ministers are saying, can you? We are already seeing evidence of a less restrictive flow of information.

Take for example today’s headline news, in which Prime Minister Abdullah Ahmad Badawi warned the freshly minted Penang Chief Minister, Lim Guan Eng, not to make statements that could stoke racial tensions. So I thought to myself, what incendiary and irresponsible rhetoric has this Guan Eng chap been up to, that has so moved our Prime Minister to give him a firm ticking off? Has Guan Eng been waving a dagger in the air and declaring his fervent intent to protect his ‘people’? Well, judge for yourself. Here are a selection of quotes made by the secretary-general of the DAP since March 8.

[March 9] Guan Eng to be Penang CM
“We are humbled by our win and pledge not to disappoint the people of Penang.

“We also want to stress that the new government will be for Malaysians of all races. We will be fair, just and not discriminate against anyone – offering assistance to all in need. Talented Penangites can expect equal opportunity from a coalition that is united by a common love for democracy that respects basic human rights, political equality and socio-economic justice.”

[March 10] Thanking out-going Chief Minister Koh Tsu Koon for showing him around the office (what a stand-up guy, this Dr, Koh), Lim thanked his predecessor for “welcoming” the party into his office. “I appreciate and thank him for his willingness to accept the people’s decision and we welcome his views. The new administration is one for all Penangites, not just one particular party.”

[March 11] Guan Eng pledges to pursue investor-friendly policies
“The people demand transparency and accountability in the issuance of government contracts, and this new state government shall insist on an open public tender system.”

[March 12] Guan Eng sworn in as CM
After the swearing in, Guan Eng was driven to his new office, and when he sat on the chief minister’s chair for the first time, he quipped: “I already feel the heavy responsibility.”

Rabble-rousing stuff, isn’t it? And all these from reports carried by the government-controlled press. Reading this, do you feel an uncontrollable urge to rush out and incite some racial hatred? I think not.

What Pak Lah was really taking aim at was Guan Eng’s declaration that the state government was going to do away with the New Economic Policy, an ethnic-based affirmative action programme. If before, we would only hear one side of the story, now you can compare the quotes side-by-side and decide for yourself.

Pak Lah
The PM said that the NEP had in fact benefited everyone. “I would like to ask the DAP which community has been made poorer because of the NEP.”

Guan Eng
"The NEP is good but its benefits are only enjoyed by some as many Malays in the country, including those in Penang, are still poor. The implementation of NEP has only made the rich richer and the poor poorer due to malpractices.”

Pak Lah
“Do not marginalise the Malays. I want to ask Lim Guan Eng what his plans are for the Malays in Penang What are his plans for the Indians in Penang? What are his plans for other minority groups in Penang?”

Guan Eng
“When I said that I would run the government administration free of the New Economic Policy (NEP), I emphasised on asking the tender process to be made publicly. I do not think Malay contractors object to the open tender system as it is more transparent compared to the present process which is subject to corruption, cronyism and nepotism.”

See? It’s all hanging out there. We, everyone, especially the bulk of Malaysians who have no access to the Internet, can judge for ourselves. It is no longer possible to silence the other view. By swinging massively to the opposition, the voters not only ushered in a slew of fresh faces and new state governments, they may have ignited a new information era.

By the way, I hope the trend in a few opposition-controlled states to have two Deputy Chief Ministers representing the other ethnic groups catches on at the Federal level. Who’s for a Chinese Malaysian and Indian Malaysian Deputy Prime Ministers?

The end of the politics of race?

2008-03-10T22:13:00.003+08:00

If Malaysia’s 12th general elections marked the end of the politics of fear, what about the politics of race?

Malaysiakini ran a very optimistic piece today, headlined ‘Polls shatter race-based politics’ (subscription only). That would be a great dream come true if it were completely true.

The ruling coalition’s formula – mono-ethnic parties coming together to champion mono-ethnic policies at the (somewhat uneven) bargaining table – is still alive (if not well), as the Barisan Nasional still won the election, garnering 51% of the popular vote, and is forming the federal government. Yet, as this article in the New Straits Times points out, that 51% takes into account Sabah and Sarawak (in which the BN did very well); in the Peninsula, BN secured only 48.1% of the popular vote.

I would suggest that the polarizing politics of race as practiced by Peninsula BN is not the main feature of our north Borneo cousins. That Sabah and Sarawak BN won handily is in no way an affirmation of the entrenched peninsula-driven ethnic politics that BN says is the right formula to bring peace and prosperity to the country, but which did not bring in more than half the votes cast on March 8.

The swing to the opposition, though, was not entirely a swing towards multi-ethnic or non-ethnic politics. Of the three components of the loose opposition coalition, PAS continues to draw mainly from the religious/Islamic/Malay Malaysian vote. The DAP still draws a good portion of its support from the Chinese Malaysian community and has seen its small but important Indian representation and support grow. Its best move, however, was the roping in, especially for urban areas like Petaling Jaya, of NGO activists, community leaders and professionals, who do not reflexively see the world through the lens of race.

And finally, there is the rise of the PKR, which initially was almost solely a vehicle for the promotion of Anwar Ibrahim after his fall from grace. Encouragingly, the party has broadened its scope (and personalities), and is evolving into a credible multi-ethnic party, the likes of which have never been seen on the Malaysian political landscape. It won 31 parliamentary seats, up from one the last time, and is set to be part of five state governments (in coalition), leading one (Selangor).

Whether its multi-racialism has legs remains to be seen; it is still very much a work in progress. Critical to PKR’s survival, and probably the survival of this iteration of multi-racialism in Malaysia, is whether its ideology is resilient, or whether the party lapses into its original intention.

So, no, March 8, 2008 did not mark the end of the politics of race. But we’re getting there, hopefully.

Sek kali farn*, or the end of the politics of fear

2008-03-09T14:35:00.008+08:00

[*Cantonese for ‘to eat rice with curry’]

This general elections, Malaysia’s 12th, saw a political tsunami, a phrase used first by veteran opposition leader Lim Kit Siang of the Democratic Action Party in his blog last night as the first unofficial results rolled in, indicating that a wave of change was sweeping across the country.

The opposition alliance of DAP, PKR and PAS not only made huge strides in the parliamentary elections, denying the ruling party its well-abused two-thirds majority, but also swept into power in five of the more populous and important states in the peninsula.

This is significant for many reasons, but to me, the most telling was that it signalled a defeat of the politics of fear.

In one of the rallies I attended, one speaker (whose name I did not get, so apologies Mr. Speaker) talked about how, when he stood on the opposition ticket in the 1980s, he had come up against the ruling party’s fear mongering. Vote for the opposition, they would tell Malaysian Chinese, and your vote could be traced, and soon you will spend many years eating rice with curry, a Cantonese colloquialism for being thrown into jail.

“But people are different now,” he continued. They are more sophisticated and these tactics no longer work. Many have voted for the opposition, indeed, many have joined the parties and stood up for what they believed in, and have not been a guest of His Majesty’s Prison Service.

He is only partially right though. Folks continued to be gripped by a more mundane, yet real and insistent fear; that if the opposition swept into power, the world will turn upside-down, and there may perhaps even be violence and death. One well-educated ex-classmate of mine said of the three opposition parties: “I can't imagine them forming a coalition government assuming they won more than 50% of the seats between them. There'll be absolute chaos with each side going their own way.”

At the same time, folks holding that view believe that stability could only be guaranteed by the current ruling party, which has a monopoly on institutions of armed power.

I have to confess that even we were not immune to the politics of fear. As it became clear what was happening last night, my brother and I rushed out to withdraw some money from the ATM, just in case.

The best thing then that happened this morning was, well, nothing. No victory rallies, no chaos, no race baiting – the latter in large part because significant portions of ALL ethnic groups in the peninsula turned against the ruling party. The opposition party leaders were not gloating; the outgoing Chief Minister of Penang conceded gracefully while the Prime Minister acknowledged, without hints of retribution, that the tide has turned against them.

This morning, Mum and Second Sis went to Tesco in Puchong. There weren’t any instant noodles left on the shelves – there must have been a run on Malaysia’s favourite fast food last night (this particular supermarket closes at midnight). But the situation was calm this morning as they went about their shopping – no panic buying; very few worried faces.

No more fear.

[Update]

The Star seems to have taken a shine to the phrase 'Political Tsunami' as well. Tsk, tsk. People will start talking, you know, if the MCA-controlled paper starts using the rhetoric of its sworn political enemy! ;)

An auspicious day

2008-03-09T13:28:00.006+08:00

The writing was on the wall for the ruling Barisan Nasional party in Malaysia's 12th General Elections; well, at least, it was hung on our wall. The Chinese calendar for polling day...

... March 8, 2008, had a detail that foretold what would become of the hopes for change in this country:

I should pay more heed to my wall calendar. It tells me when it is good day to pave the road, marry, bury the dead, and blog. Well, three out of four ain't bad.

Polling day

2008-03-08T14:48:00.004+08:00

The day has arrived. March 8, 2008, polling day for Malaysia’s General Election. There are straight fights in both my Petaling Jaya (PJ) Selatan parliamentary and Bukit Gasing state legislative seats: incumbent ruling party MP Donald Lim against Parti Keadilan Rakyat’s relative unknown Hee Loy Sian in the federal contest; while incumbent Barisan Nasional chap Dr. Lim Thuang Seng comes up against local boy, the DAP’s Edward Lee.

On the drive to the polling station this morning, after breakfast had been nicely tucked away, the roads near the school were lined festively with banners and posters.

Flanking the entrance to the school/polling station were two booths, one for the ruling coalition and the other for the opposition. Crowds milled around the Barisan tent, checking the PCs for their names, I presume. The opposition tent had much fewer folks there, by comparison.

We’ve been living in our house since 1966, so my parents have been voting here for a long time. They could tell you many stories about elections and candidates – it seems to me they are fence sitters, waiting to see the quality of the candidates as much as the party they represent. They have idiosyncratic ways of making up their minds, which I guess is the beauty of the democratic system. Two nights ago, at around 3 am, a convoy of cars and motorcycles zoomed noisily through our neighbourhood, shouting the slogans of one particular party (I’m not naming the party, since it’s not clear whether they convoy was from that party or from the rival group, masquerading and irritating the residents). Mum was rudely woken up and had trouble falling asleep, and spent the whole of the next day grumbling about them. I think they lost her vote.

Despite being in their late 70s, they made it to the polling station, with a little help from Second Sis.

There were a steady stream of voters coming and going – not so busy as to make parking impossible, but big enough to create a buzz. We already knew which room we were voting in, but if you weren’t sure, you could check at the polling station.

Voting itself was painless and fuss free. Ushers and policemen were willing to help you along, and once you got to your room, you joined the queue, which wasn’t more than five deep when we were there. Once you turn came, you entered the room.

One of three ladies checked my Identity Card against the roll, and called out my name, IC and registration numbers once she was satisfied I wasn’t a phantom. The second lady tore the ballot papers out (one magenta; one orange), while the third punched a hole through them, carefully sweeping the punched bits into a neat little mountain on her table, before giving me the ballot papers.

As I was about to X the ballot papers, I reflected on how Malaysia was indeed much better than Myanmar, as Donald Lim strove to remind his voters a week or so ago. With that in mind, I made two crosses, stuffed the ballot papers into the box (with a lady hovering near me with a ruler in case I was incapable of competent stuffing), and exited the room.

There, all done. In 5 minutes. I wonder why we don’t get close to 100% turnout, since voting is so easy and painless (and so is registration, nowadays). Are people so apathetic?

Election feevuh

2008-03-06T00:54:00.011+08:00

Just got back from another opposition ceramah in Taman Petaling earlier tonight (Wed, March 5). In the previous rally I attended, I had missed Edward Lee, the DAP candidate for the Bukit Gasing state seat, so I was determined to hear him at least once before polling day on March 8. Incidentally, his opponent, the incumbent Dr. Lim Thuang Seng, was holding an event a few streets away.

Just like that last rally, this one was held alongside the area's weekly night market, taking advantage of the higher foot traffic. The DAP pick-up truck was parked in front of Kam Keng Restaurant, a popular PJ joint, and right next to a Thai restaurant as well. The audience could mill about across the street, or they could have their dinner and quaff a few beers while listening to speeches.

Speaking of speeches, there were quite a number at the rally, of varying quality. The best from the first half of the night was undoubtedly Haris Ibrahim, popular blogger, social activist, and a prime mover of Get An MP, a citizen initiative to kick some political butt.

Clad in his trademark Barisan Rakyat tee-shirt, Haris vowed the crowd with his fiery oratory, his dream of a Malaysia rid of race-based politics, and his call to action.

Preferring not to climb on top of the pick-up truck (“I’m afraid I’ll fall down because I move around too much”), Haris stood at street level and eyeballed the crowd. If there weren’t cars passing by now and again, I bet he would have walked straight into the throngs and roused each one of us individually. The crowd, by the way …

… lapped it all up, punctuating his speech with whoops and cheers.

The highlight of the evening for me was the last speaker, Edward Lee.

Edward took the mike to loud cheers. Amazingly, Edward did not sound like a polished and well-rehearsed orator, a mover of crowds like Anwar Ibrahim. Instead, he spoke like an Everyman.

He used an English that your regular, PJ middle-class neighbour with a steady job would use – simple, plain and straightforward, using a typical educated Malaysian accent of an earlier vintage that is authentic and comforting. One could feel large sections of the crowd connecting with him, and I wouldn’t be surprised if many of his constituents share his background and concerns.

I had thought some of them would have left before he began speaking, since it was getting late and many had been there for quite a while. Instead, they stuck around to hear Edward speak passionately about serving the people, words that rang true because of his lengthy track record as a neighbourhood organiser and volunteer, away from the self-serving spotlight of politics. When he mentioned how his opponent would pop up at the last lap for a photo shoot after the residents’ committees had successfully fought the council on this or that issue, I immediately thought of the thick and glossy booklet that landed in our mailbox yesterday showing the incumbent in many pictures shaking hands with this and that group! What great timing!

Anyway, the Parti Keadilan Rakyat candidate for the Petaling Jaya Selatan parliamentary seat, Hee Loy Sian, spoke before Edward.

Sensing a need to balance out the English-heavy speeches, Hee spoke in Malay and Mandarin, sounding much more confident than when I heard him last week. His speech was standard Keadilan stuff – rising petrol prices, promises of a minimum wage etc – that appears consistently in all of Anwar Ibrahim’s speeches.

It suggested that the party has some measure of ideological discipline, with its many members staying on message.

The crowd was promised an appearance by Anwar’s daughter, Nurul Izzah Anwar, who is standing for the Lembah Pantai parliamentary seat, which borders the Bukit Gasing state seat. Nurul Izzah was stuck at another rally and couldn’t arrive before the approved time limit for the rally had expired, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Could this be why they were hoping for her to make an appearance?

She’s a beaut, ain’t she?

☺

Pasar malam and opposition rally

2008-02-26T23:44:00.003+08:00

If you want to know anything about the opposition in Malaysia, forget about turning to the mainstream media, more so during this election season. For example, in today’s Star, one had to enjoy 17 pages of pro-government coverage before the first reports, usually negative, on the opposition appeared.

I wanted to hear what Edward Lee, the DAP candidate for my constituency, the Bukit Gasing State Assembly seat, had to say, and so, I made my way to Section 17 earlier tonight (Tuesday) for a rally/ceramah. The opposition seemed to have settled on a strategy of holding their rallies on the same nights as the weekly pasar malam (night markets) around Petaling Jaya. It makes sense – foot traffic is high, and you can rope in locals out doing their spot of shopping. Parking is a b***h though!

The posters are already up, with the better-funded government parties out-hanging the opposition. I was a little early, so I spent a few minutes exploring the pasar malam, getting bags of keropok lekor and apum balik to munch on while listening to speeches. Small groups of party workers carrying DAP and PKR flags (it was a joint rally) trawled the night market, handing out leaflets and urging residents to make their way up the road for the rally.

Edward Lee, well-known to locals in these parts as a community activist, had a slick handout, in English, that touted his background and explained his manifesto. His helpers who handed them out were equally well-spoken in English – Edward knows his constituency well! Pity about the DAP mascot, though. I know it’s supposed to be a cute version of a rocket, the party symbol, but it still looks like a logo for a prophylactic maker.

The ceramah was held along the small road next to PKR’s operations centre. As I approached the rally area, I could hear the MC trying to rouse the crowd up with a PKR song/chant that was simple and earnest, if a little clunky. After the warm-up act had done his job rousing the crowd, the main action began with Tony Pua, DAP’s candidate for the PJ Utara parliamentary seat.

Tony, Oxford-educated, blogger and a successful entrepreneur, got a rousing welcome – I would have said a standing ovation, if not for the fact that we were all already standing on the street! He was smart and eloquent, often using phrasing and cadences not unfamiliar to those regularly exposed to good preaching. When a party worker passed a box around for donations between speakers, I thought I was at Sunday service!! Many gave willingly and generously (I peeked!), knowing how high the odds were stacked against the opposition.

The arrival of PKR leader Anwar Ibrahim soon got the crowd excited, and the former Deputy Prime Minister did not disappoint. Anwar was predictably eloquent and entertaining, in both English and Malay, and had the crowd in his hands for much of his speech. Anwar’s charisma is more readily accessible since his speeches are available on his party’s website and Youtube, and he did not stray much from his standard speech tonight.

I never did get to hear Edward speak though. After Anwar left, his party’s candidate for the PJ Selatan parliamentary seat, Hee Loy Sian, starting speaking, in Mandarin and Malay. I was overcome by tiredness, so I left after shaking Edwards hands and wishing him all the best.

Tian Kong

2008-02-16T14:54:00.003+08:00

Election fever has gripped Malaysia, so I was pleasantly surprised this morning to see that the lead feature in the Metro section of The Star was not on some government MP or Minister handing out even more bri.., I mean, goodies, but on the Thni Kong See, the Hokkien community’s celebration of the Jade Emperor (Tian Kong)’s birthday.

As with many Hokkien families, we stayed up late on the 8th day of the Chinese New Year (Thursday, February 14) to wait for the stroke of midnight for the ceremonies to begin. Mum had done all the prep work and cooking earlier in the day, and it came down to assembling the table once the hour drew near. After dinner, Dad had taken all the fruits and carefully given them a wipe. The special bowls and cups used for prayers were also carefully washed.

The furniture in the living room is rearranged to open up a space at the main door, and the altar table is placed facing out.

A festive cloth adorns the table, and one by one, we bring out the ingredients carefully, making sure nothing drops onto floor, with Mum watching like a hawk.

The Thni Kong See is more festive than the eve of the New Year rituals in our household – note how we were almost running out of space on the table.

The Star article quotes an 80-year-old matriarch: “The food offerings are arranged in a certain order on tables placed facing the main gate - the entrance to the house,” before going on to expand on the placement of each detail. Unfortunately, the online version of the article does not have the picture that shows her household’s table – which is two tables joined together, with the back one holding the meat dishes – chicken, fish, pork and so on. I remember the second table from my younger days, but ever since Mum started embracing a purer version of Buddhism, she has let go of the meat elements of this ritual.

One more thing that needs to be done is placing red stickers, or auspicious red characters on the offerings. Once that is done, the table ends up looking like this…

Sis and hubby, H, turned up at 11-ish, and we all had a good time chatting away until midnight, when the family, starting with Dad…

… and Mum …

… lit joss sticks and made their prayers. From a nearby neighbourhood, fireworks were let off (they are illegal, but what the heck, it is election season, and which government officer wants to crack down on voters exercising their rights to practise their culture?) and we resumed our chit-chatting till 1 am, ignoring the fact that some of us had to work on Friday.

SENSATIONAL! Ripped from the HEADLINES!!!!

2008-02-09T10:20:00.000+08:00

Unfortunately, there isn't any sex, violence or celebrity news here. Just a short item tucked away in the inside pages of today's Star newspaper, about a Malaysian pastor on a ride to raise funds for a school for homeless children in Thailand.

Pastor Cheah (picture copyright,
The Star newspaper).

Pastor Cheah Chee Moon (no, guys, not related to the Moonies) has been involved in helping orphaned and destitude kids in Thailand for over 20 years, and is trying to raise awareness and funds for a permanent home by riding on his dinky little motorcycle from Thailand, through Malaysia, and onto Singapore, before heading back.

Pastor Cheah's story struck a chord in me, for he embodies faith in action. So many folks use religion as a tool, sometimes heavily laced with intolerance, to create "gated" social, cultural and political communities that look inward and that creates a moat between 'us' and 'them', rather than reaching out. It baffles the mind how seeking a spiritual dimension to one's life - seeking God - can lead to such hardening of the heart. When Jesus walked this earth, he didn't hang out with the equivalent of church leaders and religious elite of his day, carving out institutions with high walls that kept out unbelievers. Instead, he walked with the sick, the poor, the reviled - tax collectors, prostitutes, fishermen and the like - ministered to their needs, and was an activist for their physical, social and economic rights, in the face of authority.

A favourite phrase of the 'religious right' has been "What would Jesus do today?", used as a guiding principle to police morality and personal behaviour. Well, Jesus would have gotten onto his rickety motorbike to raise funds for a home the voiceless children.

Chinese New Year's Eve

2008-02-09T01:32:00.000+08:00

First of all, Giong Hee Huat Chye – Happy Chinese New Year – to everyone out there. May you have good health and the company of your loved ones in the Year of the Rat.

This year, our family’s New Year celebrations began, as it has done as far back as I can remember, on the morning of the Eve (Wednesday, Feb 6), when Mum woke up early to offer prayers to our departed ancestors.

Mum cooked some vegetarian dishes for the offerings, and after her prayers, the family had some of the food for breakfast. I had woken up earlier, and was famished, so had gulped down a packet of instant noodles by the time breakfast was ready . Bad move, that!

It used to be that the highlight of the Eve was the reunion dinner, when every member of the family, no matter how far away they lived, would return to their parents’ home to partake in a feast. Some years ago, Sister and Brother-in-law offered to host an expanded reunion dinner at their home, which was fine by us, since it allowed us to shift our nuclear-family dinner to lunch, and enjoy a bigger feast with the extended family a few hours later!

And so, the morning was spent preparing for lunch. Mum used to do all the heavy lifting, but with her advancing years, everyone else stepped up to ease her load. Second Sis took care of some of the prep work…

… while Brother manned the wok to whip up a delicious meal.

Even Lychee (one of our five dogs!!) lent a hand, if “waiting for scraps” qualified as helping out with the workload.

We had pek zham kuay, or boiled chicken (with golden yellow skin), …

… some very fresh and crunchy beans; fish maw with bamboo shoots and chicken stir fry (a very Hokkien dish); braised pork trotters and ribs with sea cucumber (another classic Hokkien dish); a soup; and tee ah ker, a springy steamed flour cake that goes incredibly well with the sauce from the braised pork trotters.

What a spread!

Dinner that night brought together two extended families – ours and that of our aunt and her four children (our first cousins), and their families (four generations in total). The meal kicked off with a lo hei …

… in which everyone gets together to toss a yee sang (a raw fish salad) – the higher you lift the ingredients with the chopsticks and toss it while uttering auspicious wishes, the better your fortune will be. There were so many of us that we couldn’t all get around the table!

After a hefty meal (I am too zonked out to go into the details) and some wonderful time catching up with cousins we haven’t seen in a while, we returned home to wait for midnight.

We cleared the living room, opened the front door, and laid out an altar facing out, preparing to welcome in the New Year.

Our prayer table has become streamlined over time (note, though, the two characters that Brother had a calligrapher pen for us the day before). When Grandma was alive, she practised a religion that was typical of Chinese families – a fusion of Daoism, Buddhism and Confucianism that is more a way of life than a compartmentalised “religion”, as the term is understood today. Our New Year’s altar table then reflected the richness of the syncretic way of life/religion – it was elaborately stocked and decorated, and we burnt a lot of gold and silver paper money as offerings (the kids’ job was to fold these “gold and silver paper” in certain ways). We would be setting off all manner of fireworks, creating a welcome din (deemed to be auspicious).

Mum inherited and continued these traditions, but over time, she moved closer to a purer form of Buddhism, and the family rituals lost some of their (Daoist) elements. Time (and a government ban on firecrackers!) has tempered the more flamboyant aspects of Chinese New Year for us!

At the stroke of midnight, Mum would start her prayers, and family members would light a set of joss sticks to pray alongside her.

After the short ceremony, we would usually sit around and chat for a while, while the incense burned. We would wish each other Giong Hee Huat Chye, Sin Teh Kong Kian (Have a Prosperous New Year and Good Health) or something to do with passing exams if we were still in school. Mum and Dad would hand out ang pows to us, too, which was always worth the staying up!

This year, the Eve had been a long day for the family, and all of us were more than a little tired. Still, it was good to be part of the ushering in the New Year again after so many years of being away.

Chips off the ol' bulb

2008-02-05T22:21:00.000+08:00

One of our favourite Chinese New Year snacks is nga ku (arrowroot bulb) chips. Nga ku chips have a distinctive taste, and are very addictive. To satisfy a whole family and the many guests expected over the festive period, we sometimes fry up two or three big batches (the store-bought ones just don’t pass muster).

They’re a bear to make, though. The tedious part of the job is cleaning, peeling and slicing the bulbs (above). Second Sis however has perfected the art; in fact, she’s taken over making most of the snacks and cookies from Mum. The skill lies in making sure the thinly sliced nga ku are fried evenly, with as little oil as possible clinging on to them.

The trick then is to fry in small batches; to make sure the oil temperature is moderately high at first, and to ensure the slices do not hit the oil clumped together, making it difficult for them to be evenly cooked. To that end, we lay out one layer of nga ku slices on a largish platter, making it easier to slide them quickly into the oil almost individually.

Second Sis keeps a hawk’s eye on them, making sure they’re all feeling the warm love evenly. Just as they start to brown a little, she removes them from the wok, and shakes off all the extra oil. Meanwhile, she turns the heat up high, waits for the oil to boil again, then throws the chips in for a last quick fry that browns them evenly and quickly without the oil seeping into the chips. Then it’s up again and onto the side, for any more excess oil to drip away. Yummy!

Safe and sound

2008-02-05T16:36:00.000+08:00

When Chinese New Year comes around, Brother usually makes this calligrapher in Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown one of his stops. He gets The Master to write a couple of auspicious words for us to paste on our front doors. You can get the pre-written ones, or get a kick out of requesting something done on the spot – be prepared to wait a while, though, since the ink needs to dry. The Master recognised brother, asking him why he didn’t come by last year. Well, The Master keeps moving around, that’s why!!!

The coming year will be the Year of the Rat, and so our man with the brush has the character for rat displayed prominently. Note the tail!! Note too the many newspaper articles about his work on the corner of his table.

Anyway, this year we went with the traditional phrase 平安, which means safe and sound.

It's a red, red world

2008-02-05T15:37:00.001+08:00

Chinese New Year is just two days away, and Kuala Lumpur is gripped in a frenzy of activity.

The shops selling lanterns and all manner of festive decorations are crammed with all things red.

Folks are flocking to Petaling Street to stock up on essentials, from flowers …

… to dried seafood stuff for reunion dinner on the eve. Back home, there was some cleaning up to do…

… but at least we had done our annual spring cleaning before Christmas, so we did not have to turn the house upside down to get it ready for the New Year.

Second Sis had finally completed making, over a period of weeks, the many snacks that now sit invitingly on our living room table (more on the snacks later), and she now turned her attention on making those origami birds that dangle from the most unexpected places in our home.

For the birds to be infused with the full dose of prosperity and good fortune, they have to be made from ang pows. Cut the red (or in this case, red and yellow) packets into the desired shape, twist, turn and fold them, and, viola, lil’ birdies all ready to take flight. How’s that for step-by-step instructions?

Raw cockles and char koay teow

2008-01-31T21:47:00.001+08:00

Penang Post #7. It is Day 2 of our Penang adventure, and we had just ingested the Ayer Itam assam laksa and gone for a drive around the island. It was not durian season, so there weren’t any roadside vendors along the winding backcountry roads, hawking the King of Fruits harvested from the jungles and plantations of Penang. J was hugely disappointed, as brother-in-law had held out hope for the stray fruit to fall on her lap.

No matter. There was the business of finding the perfect char koay teow after all. We already had two plates the previous night, one of them an absolute disaster. This time, we headed for the famous Lorong Selamat char koay teow, fried by a lady in a red hat who parks herself just outside the Loh Eng Hoo coffeeshop (the signboard doesn’t actually carry the name in English, but has the words “Kedai kopi dan ice kacang”).

However, as we walked into the coffeeshop, we passed a sweaty guy furiously woking up plate after plate of char koay teow. No woman to be seen, much less the Red Hat. Undaunted, we ordered a plate…

… which came with four HUGE prawns (the fourth one is peeking out under the bean sprouts). J was circumspect at first – Where’s the Red Hat Lady? Where’s the Red Hat Lady? – but all reservations melted away when we dug in.

The danger of overcooking large prawns tossed into a superheated wok is real, but this one turned out to be juicy and fresh. The noodles were of the usual silky and smooth standard, the bean sprouts crisp, and the lup cheong tasty and meaty. The whole combo was nicely dry-fried, with little hint of oil sticking to the bottom of the plate. J had remarked that the Song River char koay teow we had the night before was a touch undersalted, but this one had just the right amount of soy sauce to bring out all the flavours.

We asked the coffeeshop’s lady boss, who was taking our ice kacang order, what happened to the Red-Hat char koay teow vendor. Lady Boss’ face turned a little dark, and she flicked her hand dismissively while snapping: “She’s moved.”

Later that night, we decided to check out the char koay teow stall on Lebuh Kimberley, stationed just outside Sin Guat Keong coffeeshop. Its distinguishing feature, according to the Star guide, that the vendor uses seafood-infused oil to fry the dish.

By this time, I had noticed that the cockles in our plates of char koay teow so far were a tad overdone. Cockles cook in an instant, and are best eaten raw, like oysters. A good compromise for the squeamish is for the cook to throw the cockles into the wok when the noodles are done, and plate the dish immediately. The heat from the dish would take away some of the rawness, but leave the shellfish deliciously plump. However, the Penang char koay teow sellers seem to be leaving the cockles in the wok for much too long (anything more than a second is too long, actually). The prawns were getting the star treatment while the cockles were definitely the stepsisters.

So, beginning with the Lebuh Kimberley stall, I took to ordering char koay teow with “raw” cockles. It worked a treat as both the prawns and the cockles were perfectly done (or not done, in the latter’s case). All the flavours were there – and very enjoyable flavours they were too – but what the guide promised to be a “slightly sticky” version of the dish was its Achilles heel. Slightly sticky simply meant that we were having a slightly wetter char koay teow – not damp like the Singapore version, but certainly not the wok-dry, almost roasted versions Penang is famous for. We realised that this was entirely a personal preference texture-wise, since all flavours were all there, and we left it at that.

Earlier that afternoon, when the Lady Boss turned snappish, she inadvertently flicked her hands in the direction that pointed us to where the Red-Hat char koay teow lady had moved – the same street, no more that 50 metres away. And so, the next day, we returned to Lorong Selamat to Heng Huat coffeeshop, to taste her expertise.

Unfortunately, the woman wearing a red cap wasn’t the one manning the wok, but the helper to a male cook. Obviously, the famed Red-Hatter was taking a day (or three) off, and we had to make do with The Apprentice. There wasn’t anything wrong with his char koay teow – great koay teow; a hint of charcoal in the flavours; crunchy bean sprouts; luscious prawns; and more importantly, note the juicy and raw cockles peeking out – but it didn’t feel quite as “together” as, surprisingly, the low-profile Substitute who had taken over the Red-Hatter’s original spot.

Perhaps it had something to do with the elusive wok hey – frying the dish at the correct high temperature so that the dish still retains the heat some time after it leaves the cast iron wok, melding the flavours together. Maybe The Substitute just had the perfect balance of good components. Or perhaps we were having char koay teow overload (me more than J), and were ready to declare a winner!

And so we did, and it was The Substitute on Lorong Selamat that came in first in our totally arbitrary, small sample contest; with Song River and Red-Hatter’s Apprentice tied for second; followed by slightly sticky Lebuh Kimberley. Don’t even mention the other one.

P.S. Some of us in the informal eating group we call The Family and Friends fancy ourselves as half-decent char koay teow chefs, and have been running a stall the past few years at the Nasam Charity Fun Fair. Watch this space for the 2008 edition. Meanwhile, read ‘em and salivate!

Loh Eng Hoo Kedai Kopi dan Ice Kacang
84 Lorong Selamat; 11.30 am - 6.30 pm

Kedai Kopi Sin Guat Keong
On the corner of Lebuh Kimberley and Cintra Street; stall open from 6.30 pm till midnight.

Heng Huat Kafe
A stone's throw from Loh Eng Hoo, especially if you're the disgruntled Lady Boss throwing the stone.

Blanket coverage

2008-01-31T15:21:00.000+08:00

Earlier this week, Mum spent a whole day mending this blanket…

… a handmade quilt, that I had been using since I don’t know how long ago. As you can tell, it is made up of scraps of cloth cut into triangles. Two triangles each from two pieces of cloth make up a square. Mum would use the leftovers after making clothes for her four children, or would get odds and ends from cloth shops. She also had to find large enough pieces to make the borders (see pix below) as well as the base. All of us used these blankets, and I seem to have inherited most of them – there are four in my room.

Mum had to repair this blanket because quite a number of the triangles were torn or had disappeared, from some 30 years or more of usage. If you look at the first picture, you can spot a few obviously new-ish looking pieces – in terms of design and age – that seem a bit out of place, post-restoration.

These blankets bring me back to an earlier time when our family got by on Dad’s meagre salary. We ate simply at home; we had nothing beyond the bare necessities; there was no pocket money for me in my first years of schooling, and all of my clothes were made by Mum. She was and is an intelligent woman, who if born today, would have excelled in school and made a name for herself in whatever profession she chose. But she lived during a time when women were given little or no education, and were expected to master the role of wife and mother – the highest achievement they could attain. Thus, Mum spent her day running the household – sewing clothes, cooking, cleaning, managing the finances and so on.

Sis recently revealed that she was very sad when termites ate her stash of Mum’s quilted blankets. These quilts are our own little family heirloom and very treasured because we have few objects left from those days. My practical and unsentimental parents have discarded many of the old stuff because we no longer use them and they have become teen ter, Hokkien for “in the way”.

So, I have packed away that old blanket of mine, and am using another of Mum’s creations – smaller and of newer vintage (above).

Thanks, Mum, for everything.

In search of perfection

2008-01-23T00:07:00.000+08:00

Penang Post #6. After pigging out at Pulau Tikus market for breakfast (previous post), we decide to head off to Ayer Itam for lunch. This gave us a chance to see the Kek Lok Si temple, a sprawling hillside complex of prayer halls, outdoor statues and pagodas before checking out the well-known assam laksa stall in the market there.

We were a little apprehensive though, since I had heard one or two mutterings about it – too touristy, not as good as before – and even Robyn had blogged about her taxi driver’s sneer at the mention of this stall. But J was on a quest for assam laksa heaven and could not be stopped.

After working off our breakfast walking through the Kek Lok Si temple, we settled on a table by the side of the market. The stall had been in existence, according to Rasa Rasa (which recommends it), since the 1950s and is now run by a father and son team. They operate not out of a coffeeshop, but just on the five-foot way alongside the market.

While the assam laksa did not blow our minds away, it had many things going for it. The fish-based soup was thick and flavourful, although it was sweeter than we expected. The balance of the ingredients was just about right – tart and spicy, without either overwhelming the other. The mix of fresh ingredients – onions, ginger bud, lettuce, cucumber, mint – is added to provide a welcome contrast to the strong soup and the dollop of hae kor (prawn paste) that is usually mixed into the broth. The fish, however, pieces were too small, and I wouldn’t have minded more fresh ingredients. But we were ultimately bothered by the sweetness of the broth. Was this a concession to its hordes of Singaporean customers mentioned in the guidebooks?

I asked the father if I could take a picture or two. He broke into a wide grin and said it was sure, sure. He then very obligingly proceeded to model for me, going through the motions of preparing a bowl (even though there weren’t any orders waiting to be filled at that moment), and making sure to look up in my general directions now and again. The man has great PR! Customer service: A+; food: B+.

In our drive around the island that afternoon, we passed through Balik Pulau, and remembered that this quiet neighbourhood on the other side of the island is well known for two assam laksa stalls. Alas, it was a Wednesday, when both normally close.

It would be the next day when we ate our second (and last) bowl of assam laksa for the trip. This was at the stall run by an old lady and recommended by Robyn’s taxi driver. She operates out of G Town coffeeshop on the junction of Jalan Burma and Lorong Kinta.

You can tell visually that this was somewhat different from the Ayer Itam version. The soup was lighter, there were more of the chopped fresh ingredients, and the fish pieces were chunkier. Although the lighter broth was flavourful, it lacked that extra depth and heft that is needed to carry the dish. The fish pieces were delicious while the onions, cucumbers, mint and other fresh ingredients provided a pleasing burst of lightness that moderated the sourness and spiciness of the dish. A– would be a fair grade.

As we hopped from one cluster of street stalls to another during our four days in Penang, we noticed that almost all clusters had a few standards – char kuay teow, prawn mee, koay teow thng. But in smaller clusters of stalls, there was often no assam laksa stall, probably because dish is so damn difficult to cook, as I found out one day when trying to learn how my brother-in-law does it. Shadowing him in his kitchen from morning to evening, I took copious notes, then swore, much to J’s disappointment, that I would never, ever try to replicate it (especially in lands far away) – it just takes too much work to do it the right way.

Alas, disappointed at not finding assam laksa heaven, I called my sister to find some sympathy. She ventured that perfection was to be found not in Penang, assam laksa's spiritual home, but in her kitchen! And so, some days after we returned from the island, we drove to a quiet suburb in Petaling Jaya, and had the perfect bowl of brother-in-law assam laksa.

Happy and contented

2008-01-17T18:16:00.001+08:00

Penang Post #5. With the kerabu beehoon settled nicely in our stomachs (see previous post), we set off for a short but mazy and distracting stroll through the compact Pulau Tikus market, marveling at the fresh produce, meat and seafood on offer. The experience typifies the food we’d been having… modest in size but rich in content.

At the other end of the market are three coffeeshops with their stalls doing a brisk business, augmented by other vendors parked just on the sidewalk or on the street. We plonked ourselves on some rickety stools in front of a chee cheong fun stall just outside Kwai Lock (which means happy) coffeeshop, and ordered one of J’s favourite foods.

The Penang twist to this simple, familiar dish is that it is served with hae kor (a thick, creamy prawn paste that is also essential to assam laksa), in addition to the chilli and sweet brown sauces. J proclaimed the flat rice noodles to be some of the best she’d ever eaten, smooth, bouncy and silky.

Curry mee was the next ‘course’. This would turn out to be one of my favourite dishes, not surprising since I have a soft spot for all things curry and anything noodley. In the Penang version, the soup has less coconut milk and is thus lighter than the curry laksa found in Kuala Lumpur and Singapore. Another distinctive ingredient is the pig blood jelly, which is arranged along with prawns, cockles, tau pok, cuttlefish and mint leaves as the top layer of the bowl, making a rather inviting visual treat suggesting bountiful flavours.

I am reminded of the scene in Tampopo where the ramen master teaches his charges the correct ritualistic manner in consuming a bowl of ramen. First, behold the ramen, caress it with your eyes. Then tap the chopstick on the side of the bowl and press the char siew gently into the soup. Give it a gentle twirl… and on and on (you get the drift; if not, you MUST rent that delectable spaghetti Western and watch it on an empty stomach).

Anyway, gazing at the perfect bowl in front of me, I felt inspired to invent a whole ritual for the humble curry mee – first, poke the cockle to see if its alive; introduce the cuttlefish to the prawn, and so on. But my hunger got the better of me and I plunged in like the rest of the folks sitting on the other tables. Just remember to stir thoroughly that dollop of chilli paste into the whole soup – it gives the already tasty broth added spine!

We had a light snack as well – a pancake called ban chan koay, in which a batter of flour is cooked in a small pan with toppings that run from the basic peanut and/or sugar, to sweet corn, brown sugar, bananas and anything else that strikes the vendor’s fancy or imagination. It could be a cousin of the apum we had the night before.

Our vendor operates out of a van (look for the name Tan Hao Shen written on the passenger side door) parked just right beside us. He starts making the koay after you place your order, so you’re not getting anything that’s been sitting around for a few minutes getting soggy. We kept ours simple – just ground peanuts – and was rewarded with a light and crispy (on the sides) batter, and a flavourful centre. Folded after it leaves the pan, the koay arrives in a handy size, easily wolfed down in two bites. Wolf, wolf!

Kedai Kopi Kwai Lock
295B Jalan Burma (on the junction with Slk Moulmein); breakfast and lunch; open every day.

Early morning spice

2008-01-17T11:12:00.000+08:00

Penang Post #4. Apart from the books we packed for this trip, we consulted many friends and family members, Penangites and frequent visitors to the island. Among them were Robyn and Dave, whose sense of adventure, sensitive palates and a curiosity for the people behind the food (or just the people!) lead them to some amazing stories that even locals never unlock. They swooned over the Pulau Tikus kerabu beehoon in their blog posting, and strongly suggested we set the alarm clock early enough to try it, a recommendation if roughly translated into Malaysian-speak, would sound like this: “Die, die must eat."

So, here we were, blurry eyed at 7-ish, at the Hup Guan Café, abutting the Pulau Tikus market. I had gone to park the car, dropping J off with the responsibility of ordering. The storekeepers were amused that she was ordering for two (doesn’t anyone eat double portions here?), and something must have transpired between them, for when I arrived, they gave me that kind of winking, knowing grin! For a night owl like me, such cheeriness in the early morning is disconcerting (and somewhat accusatory, I might say).

Kerabu beehoon is rice vermicelli tossed with a blend of sambal belacan, dried shrimp, lime juice and chillies; and garnished with boiled large prawns, chopped shallots, kaffir lime leaves and mint, among others. Hup Guan’s version came without the large prawns and has an unassuming air about it, but it packs wallop of tastes – the herb garnishes providing a fresh counterpoint to the spicy, prawny taste that clung on to each strand of beehoon.

Like for many of Penang’s dishes, finding the balance between spiciness and sourness is at the heart of kerabu beehoon. Hup Guan’s version was just a tad too high on the heat – not evident at first, but by the end of the meal, you could feel the insides of your mouth burning. Surprisingly, J, not really a chilli queen, lapped it all up and was grinning ear to ear at the end!

It was a great wake-up call to the senses, and after a second cup of coffee, sipped leisurely as we read the day’s papers, we were set for our first full-day Penang adventure.

Hup Guan Café
46A Jalan Cantonment, Penang. From 7 am, closed Mondays.

Gurney highs and low

2008-01-14T23:56:00.001+08:00

Penang Post #3. The locals we met all shake their head when we mention the words “Gurney Drive” and “food” in the same sentence. Their usual rejoinders contain “tourists”, “rip-off”, “stupid” and other words to that effect. However, Song River Café manages to still maintain some street cred among the locals.

We strolled there after our first dinner stop at Pulau Tikus market, hoping that the 20-minute walk would help extend our eating capacity! It was a relatively quiet Tuesday night, good for sampling the char koay teow there, painstakingly stir-fried one plate at a time by a middle-aged lady who had time for a quick smile as she took my order.

Penang char koay teow is one of the standard bearers of the island’s street food. It is basically stir-fried flat rice noodles with oil, soy sauce, garlic, bean sprouts, chives, chilli paste, an egg and cockles, cooked in a large cast-iron wok sitting on top of a red-hot stove, preferably, using charcoal as fuel. Some might consider sliced fish cakes and lup cheong (Chinese sausage) as standard ingredients too. A few hawkers offer jazzed-up versions with squid and other seafood. [For the googlers out there, I am using the Penang spelling of the dish – koay instead of kuay or kway.]

It is the mission to find the perfect char koay teow and assam laksa that drove J to the island. I too favour the Penang version (using only light soy sauce and fried very dry, without sauce or gravy) over the fast-disappearing darker Kuala Lumpur version (which, I admit, has its charms) and the sweet, dark and wet bastardization that Singaporeans love so much.

The Song River lady’s version was remarkably tasty considering that she was quite restrained in her deployment of oil and soy sauce (J said she wouldn’t have minded a tad more of the latter). The koay teow was smooth, the bean sprouts crunchy (a not easy feat since it cooks quickly), the prawns large and juicy, the lup cheong not overcooked. We were off to a good start!

We ordered two other dishes, a fried oyster omelette (oh chien, above) and a bowl of prawn mee. The oysters were succulent, but we found the eggs much too starchy – hold back on the flour, bro! However, there is greater variation in how oh chien is prepared (unlike char koay teow), and different folks swear by different iterations of this dish. J couldn’t stop thinking (rapturously) of the one we had in Klang…

… with its wonderfully thin and crispy crepe-like edges (above, the photo not doing justice to it at all). We also had a curious (at least to us) version sometime last year in a Bangkok Chinatown alley …

… where the omelette and oysters were separated coyly like young boys and girls at their first school dance. J, not a fan of oysters cooked or dried, picked at the eggs, and left it to me to finish the mound of oysters that August night. *Burp*.

Song River’s would turn out to be the only plate of oh chien we had during our four-day stay in Penang, which was a pity, but reflected the hard choices we had to make when faced with the astonishing variety of street food on offer.

I tried ordering our bowl of prawn noodles, or hae mee, with extra spare ribs (which the vendor had) and small intestines (no luck there, the vendor complaining about how in these health conscious days, fewer folks are ordering these ‘spare parts’).

The success of this soup noodles lies largely in the stock – made from carefully boiling deep-fried prawn heads, shallots, a cook’s own concoction of sambal paste, and bones, bones and more bones. Garnishes include fried shallots, hard-boiled eggs, prawns, ribs, bean sprouts, kangkong, chicken meat and the increasingly hard to find intestines. I had given up on eating hae mee in Singapore – so many of the hawkers there are making their stock from a paste sold by a large chain. But Song River’s regained my faith in a well-made soup – complex and flavourful, with the right balance of prawn and pork bone flavours, spiced up with just the right amount of chilli.

Our night ended in disappointment, though. We had foolishly ventured into the very touristy Gurney Drive hawker centre, hoping that the famed Ah Meng char koay teow would live up to the hype. The signboard bore a line drawing of the veteran master, but he was not manning the wok. In his absence, his deputies served a disastrous version – overall, the dish was much too salty, the prawns small and overcooked, the cockles also overcooked until it had the texture of rubber. On top of it all, it was served on half a styrofoam container, not on a proper plate. That one serving - a small and stingy portion - was almost twice the price than Song River's. What a rip-off.

On hindsight, we shouldn’t have been too surprised actually. After all, the hawker centre sat right opposite a glitzy seafood joint.

Gurney hai

2008-01-12T18:16:00.000+08:00

Penang Post #2. We got a nice little room on Gurney Drive, the touristy seaside promenade that, to be fair, is still thronged by locals out for a jog, a stroll, or to get close to their loved ones on a bench under a faulty street lamp. As befitting our location and our mission to eat the best local street food on offer, the first food pit stop we made was…

Just kidding! This joint’s tagline really cracked us up: “If it swims, we have it.” Really? Some of my ex-bosses swim, and I wouldn’t mind seeing them skewered and roasted.

Okay, I should stop knocking these glitzy, touristy-trappy seafood joints. Oh wait… why should I? They are like sitting ducks (some of which swim, you know), what with their OTT signage, their picture menus and beer girls with short skirts.

Our first stop was actually not Gurney Drive but the Pulau Tikus market, where a small but impressive collection of some 15 stalls that operate only at night attract a steady and appreciative crowd of locals. We took advantage of a balmy evening to take a short, 10-minute stroll there, figuring that we were going to need all forms of physical activity, no matter how modest, to balance out our food-chase.

We headed for the stall selling duck meat koay teow thng, or flat rice noodles soup. Apart from the duck meat and fishballs, you can also add duck blood jelly, duck liver, duck giblets and pig’s small intestines – tasty stuff, all – according to Rasa Rasa Penang, for the business class version. I had decided earlier on Rule #1 for our trip: don’t complicate matters when approaching a stall; just order a dish without elaboration, mainly to see what constitutes a vendor’s standard fare.

In this instance, the tactic backfired as we got only the duck meat and fishball version, which were great in itself – the soup wonderfully flavoured without a hint of the usual shortcuts (MSG or too much salt); the koay teow silky and smooth (you’ll see this description applied again and again to the koay teow in Penang and Ipoh), and the fishballs tasty, without the artificial bounciness of additives. We just wished we had broken Rule #1 to get the complete version of the dish, but decided to adhere to Rule #2 – order only one bowl for the two of us, so we can taste more. Sigh, next time then.

While we were waiting for our noodles, I spied a young woman making apum, “a sweet pancake with an egg added, made mainly from slightly-fermented rice flour cooked over low heat in an earthern pot with a lid” (quoting Rasa again). A much older lady (her grandmother?) was sitting opposite her, keeping an eye on the till but also making sure her charge wasn’t slipping up.

I asked if I could take a picture, and the Woman in Blue ignored me. Said Grandma: “Sure, sure, can.”

Pause. Then, to the younger lady: “Taking picture, lah. Smile, smile.”

No smile. I take my picture, nonetheless.

Grandma cracks up, winking and laughing, then says conspiratorially to me: “Shy, lah.”

I smile back and walk away nonchalantly with my apum, not wanting to be mistaken for propositioning marriage over a pancake, which by the way was feather light – crispy on the edges, soft and medium rich in the centre without being cloyingly sweet.

Pulau Tikus market
On the corner of Jalan Pasar and Jalan Cantonment. Night food stalls open from 5 pm onwards.

Mainland appetizer

2008-01-10T20:14:00.000+08:00

Penang Post #1. By the time we had arrived at Restoran Cheang Kee in Nibong Tebal, it was 3 pm and we already had lunch in Ipoh (more on that in a later post) on our drive up from Petaling Jaya. J was at first reluctant to stop in this old-style Teochew restaurant, eager to hit the island proper and its wonderful street food. But I had eaten here some years back on the recommendation of my food-obsessed family, and was sure it would not disappoint.

There was one problem, though. We were a little full and were in no shape to sample all of Cheang Kee’s specialities, including a mouth-watering crab and seafood soup; steamed pomfret with sour plum, fresh chillies and salted vegetables; as well as mussels, manila clams and other types of shellfish and snails cooked a variety of ways.

We settled instead for their boiled octopus and Teochew porridge with frogs’ legs.

The octopus is boiled just right – still tender and juicy. It is topped with a modest amount of lard that added a bit of richness to this simple dish. You could also take it up a notch by dunking those lovely tentacles into the peanut-topped chilli sauce, flavourful and restrained in its heat level.

I guess our stomachs were less stuffed than we thought, because when our porridge arrived, we attacked it with a vengeance and finished half of it before realising that bloggers interested in posting about food should whip out their camera before their chopsticks and spoons. So, in the absence of a picture, use your imagination, lah.

In Teochew porridge, rice is not boiled until it becomes mushy, soaking up most of the water. Instead, each grain of rice should ideally be fully formed, collectively resting at the bottom of the bowl, topped by the broth (plain or flavoured). Cheang Kee’s savoury porridge, available with any seafood (crabs and prawns are the most popular), was as ideal as it can get.

Having been sated with a, to quote J, “transcendent” seafood meal a few days previously, we opted for frogs’ legs instead of crabs in our porridge. The light broth had the depth and complexity of a stock that had been carefully made over many hours using bones and shells of various kinds. Lightly salted so as not to overwhelm the flavours, the broth, topped with scallions, was easy to drink. The rice grains were delicious, having absorbed some of the broth. The comment often heard about frogs’ legs is that it tastes like chicken (what doesn’t?), but ours had the texture of steamed fish.

What we liked about this small restaurant is that despite its relative fame, it has not become overrun with tourists or out-of-towners, but continues to faithfully serve this bustling, working class town. Locals having a simple bowl of noodles or porridge, or out with the family for a full meal crowd the joint. Sitting on the five-foot way, a provision shop and a taxi stand flanking us, we felt a little like anthropologists (but without the theory) on a field trip.

Restoran Cheang Kee
113 Jalan Atas, 14300 Nibong Tebal, Seberang Prai, Penang.
Tel: 604-593-4768. Noon – 10.30 pm, closed Mondays.

In Penang

2008-01-10T20:10:00.001+08:00

J and I are here for a short getaway, and we plan to eat our way to nirvana (small ‘n’) with the help of these guides…

Rasa Rasa Penang (Briolinks: 2006). A fairly recent and fairly extensive guide to local street food and restaurants that the editors estimate would take a visitor five one-week trips of marathon eating to exhaust. It is divided by geographical location and has helpful maps as well as explanations of the types of food for the uninitiated.

The Star Guide to Malaysian Street Food (The Star: 2007). As the guide covers the whole country, the Penang section is much smaller than Rasa Rasa, but as an indication of the endless eating choices on the island, it has many recommendations the other book leaves out. This section is a scaled down version of the more detailed Flavours May-June 2006: Penang Street Food Guide (The Star: 2006).

Penang, Ipoh – The Popular Food Guide (Norvum Organum: 2007). This is an English and Chinese guide to these two popular food destinations.

Streets of George Town Penang (Janus: 2001), by Khoo Su Nin. This is a wonderfully informative guide to the many historic streets of Penang, with many historical anecdotes behind some of the well-known landmarks of the island.

Much of the nitty-gritty details of the places we eat – addresses, hours of operation and so on – are from these books. They’ve done the work, and they can take the blame if they are wrong ☺.

Boon time

2008-01-07T20:57:00.001+08:00

J is in town, and she has a list of must-eats. It’s a long list, and we have too few days. As we go around checking off one spot after another, we hear the dreaded footsteps of Gluttony hounding us and the Ghost of Pants From An Earlier Smaller Waist Time whispering in our ears. To ward off the evil spirit Guilty Conscience, we make a pact with the Lord of Sweaty Joints, paying our daily dues huffing and puffing at his temple for an hour or two a day. Sometimes, we pay for parking too.

Was it worth it, all this cosmic bargaining so detrimental to one’s soul? Oh yes, it is. Yes, yes, yesss, YESSSSSSSS! All for this dish…

What, you say? For a mere pomfret in bee hoon (rice vermicelli) soup? Not for sharks’ fin, truffles, lobsters or creamy liver from a force-fed duck? No, no, not for us the merely sinful. This was, to quote J, “silky and pillowy.” The fish perfectly boiled just a little past cooked, its flesh melting and gliding into one’s mouth along with the broth perfectly balanced between tartness and spiciness. In between, one scoops up spoonfuls of bee hoon that has been happily swimming in and soaking up the delightful broth. Ah, perfection.

It was a cool, breezy Klang night, and we were the only ones seated al fresco at Boon Tat Seafood Restaurant. (Everyone else seemed to prefer the air-conditioned dining room.)

Klang is one of many culinary destinations in Malaysia, boasting enduring favourites like bak kut teh that tempts travellers of all ilk, even well-travelled "Sg girls." However, being a seaside town and home to the busiest port in Peninsula Malaysia, seafood restaurants are plentiful in this prosperous royal enclave, and everyone has their favourite.

Boon Tat is a destination of those of us who prefer small, family-run establishments to the garish mega seafood centres big on glitz but not much else. Boon Tat is known for its limited seafood menu – a few well-cooked standards that resist seasonal fetishes (like egg yolk crabs, the current rage in town). At one time, they didn’t even bother to serve white rice!

A popular starter is the deep-fried squid – juicy pieces not dunked in too much batter. However, we much preferred…

… the steamed clams in wine, garlic, green onions and chilli padi (fiery hot tiny Thai chillies) to wake up our tastebuds.

Prawns perfectly steamed – the meat firm and succulent – is another must-have, but one of Boon Tat's more distinctive dishes is the oh chien, or fried oyster omelette.

The photo above does not do justice to the generous servings of scallion-laced fresh oysters laid gently on a thin but very crispy and yummy bed of egg and flour (a “crepe-y edge, like Saturn’s rings” was how J described it).

Yes, they do vegetables too! But remember to save room for the zinger that is the chilli crab – call ahead, for they may run out…

Boon Tat Seafood Restaurant: No. 6, Jalan Soon Huat Jetty, Off Jalan Papan Pandamaran, 42000 Port Klang. Tel: 603 - 3168 7116

[This post scrutinized, copy-edited and improved-upon by J.]

Christmas overload

2008-01-03T14:45:00.000+08:00

This past festive season was as much hectic as it was merry, which is probably in sync with the rapid and giddy growth that is driving Singapore of late. The 10 days all went by in a blur, with little time for reflection.

Christmas Eve dinner: A turkey the size of Australia, a leg of ham of comparable modesty, another (a tad smaller) roll of ham, 12 mince pies, a fruit cake, a log cake, a couple of chocolate Santas and some other dessert stuff – all for the 5 of us... Yes, you read that right – FIVE.

We had a salad, though…

… washed down with some champagne.

Breakfast: The next morning saw us mark another recent family tradition – breakfast cooked by B, who served us a sausage casserole (with ciabatta, cheese and eggs) with a side of grits (made with two cheeses), accompanied by Peet’s Major Dickason’s Blend, a nostalgic reminder of Berkeley, California. We held off on the salad this time – that would have been a touch too excessive, don’t you think?

Two years ago, B attempted a Christmas morn breakfast, but she short-circuited the oven, and when she put the hot glass casserole pan onto a cool surface, it cracked, and glass pieces got mixed in with the food. She cried. I went out and bought mee pok, instead.

Gifts: This year, without a proper Christmas tree, we placed the presents...

… under the television set, which seemed somehow appropriate.

We caught up with different parts of our extended family through six separate gut-expanding lunches/teas/dinners. We also met friends here and there, including a Boxing Day party thrown in a futile attempt to make a dent on the turkey/ham/cakes leftovers – friends just brought along more chocolate cakes.

In between all that were endless rounds of Christmas shopping amidst listening to taxi drivers complain endlessly about how it took 45 minutes to negotiate the gridlock when attempting to drive from the taxi stand of one Orchard Road mall to another, merely half a kilometer away.

One meal offered a respite from the feeding frenzy… a leisurely dinner, at Mushroom Park, consisting mainly of mushrooms, vegetables and tofu cooked in a light herbal broth.

What was missing throughout it all was any meaningful contemplation and appreciation for the reason why Christians celebrate Christmas in the first place – to mark the moment God became man so as to bridge that unbridgeable gap between them; to mark, in effect, the birth of the faith. For this oversight, it would be easy for us to blame capitalism, or society, or consumerism, or even the Singapore Tourism Board. But the fault was all mine and J’s, I fear; all a matter of wilful, personal choice.

So, here’s to next Christmas, then.

Cheers?

Courier service in Singapore...

2007-12-24T15:32:00.001+08:00

Shipping made easy around the world? Indeed!

Bowled over

2007-12-09T17:10:00.000+08:00

I was going to pen some original thoughts about a recent trip to Restoran LYJ in Sungai Buloh to have poon choy, a riot of foods cooked in one (huge) bowl, usually served during festive occasions. But I broke one of my cardinal rules of blogging – I googled the term before I started writing. And as expected, the torrent of information that flowed made my stillborn creative attempt small, old and superfluous.

However, all is not lost. Beaten BUT NOT broken, I present to you The Best of the Rest, a plagiari… I mean, aggregate hodge podge (much like the dish itself, actually) of what you will find when you type “poon choy” into Blackle.

But first, a picture, which at least I can claim authorship (Pictureship? Imageship? Okay, ownership) of…

What, then, is poon choi or poon choy? According to the Internet’s most reliable source of information (one that is constantly and only policed by experts in their fields who despite their busy workload spend their precious free time updating, without payment, public-access information for the benefit of mankind while being bombarded with requests to donate to that very same site), the dish is a layered kalaidescope of “pork, beef, lamb, chicken, duck, abalone, ginseng, shark’s fin, fish maw, prawn, crab, dried mushroom, fishballs, squid, dried eel, dried shrimp, pigskin, beancurd and Chinese radish”, served in one gigantouraus basin or bowl.

[You know how those Buffet Buffoons scurry around and cut queue so that they can pile their plates high with all the best stuff on view, then stagger back to their seats while performing a world-class balancing act? Well, this is like someone’s done the scurrying, stacking and carrying for them!]

It seems the dish came about when the Cantonese served it to the retreating Song Emperor, who was then fleeing the Mongol expansion. Putting all the goodies together could have been a form of tribute, or maybe they just ran out of plates [J and J, take note: this last reference comes from a New York Chinatown restaurant blurb – look for the A&B Lobster King House on the page]. Or it could have been that the wily pro-democracy southerners were sending a subtle message to their northern overlord, forcing him to experience eating cheek by jowl with his underlings from one bowl.

A blogger, who I take at face value is a Babe and lives in the city with her boiboi, gives a detailed description of the make-up of this restaurant’s version. But if you're the type that learns best visually (or you're just plain lazy to read more text), here's another view of the dish, taken from another angle, which gives you a different picture because it is truly huge!

Now, logic tells us that it would be impossible for all the stuff in the poon choy to be uniformly excellent. Every dish is unique and needs careful and different preparation from other types of food for it to sing when it touches our palates. And so it was with this poon choy – most of the components were good, as befitting the excellent kitchen – but not all hit a home run.

But as legitimate as this observation was (by the fastidious J), I felt the point of this dish was more social than gastronomic. You need to bring together 14 other people you enjoy being with, so that tucking into this Feast In A Bowl becomes an uproarious special occasion. Eating poon choy is a shared culinary adventure as a whole table picks through a communal basin, the wonderment of discovery heightened by a generous amount of beer or wine. There was a lot of “Oooh, look, I found this,” and “Here, you on the other side of the continent, you gotta have that” going on that night.

Of course, the food itself has to be good to make the merriment worthwhile – and it was. We know, since we ordered a roast suckling pig and a braised claypot fish off their a la carte menu as well!!

Yeah , yeah, there wasn’t enough food already, huh? We were as happy as stuffed little emperors that night. Anyway, we’ll be back there next weekend, to feast on their other wonderful non-poon choy stuff.

I should leave the final word to Miss Babe, who helpfully gives the address of the restaurant, on a napkin!

Silence, and then it begins again…

2007-11-24T17:45:00.000+08:00

In this dog eat dog world of a zillion voices and opinions struggling to be heard and to be different online, one quickly becomes irrelevant unless one adheres to the three cardinal rules of blogging – update, update and update. Every day, at the very least, or, if you fancy yourself as citizen journalist, every hour or with every new development in a big story.

So, my 20 days of silence has been an eternity. But, you know, I haven’t been lying on the beach, sun tan lotion on my side, Corona in hand, admiring the sunset.

Life trotted along and things (though rarely, thankfully, shit) happened – some of them personally significant, others of social, political and national interest that touched me in unexpected ways.

Two developments have been gobbling up the hours and minutes of the day – getting into the groove work-wise, and making a concerted effort to get some exercise into my life by joining a gym and embarking on a programme. The second new thing required an initial boost to get over procrastination (one needs to just do it and stop making %&*&%$^ excuses), but the payback has been almost immediate – better energy levels, better sleeping patterns.

Getting into a work groove was as much a relief as it was necessary, since in the months before, I have alternated between being distracted (family, travelling, friends, this and that stuff) and depressed (not getting significant work done).

But now, it’s all good, it’s all chillin’.

First up (or down, since you have to read below), is the Bearded Warrior of Kelantan, and below that, getting crabby and Lucky.

Is there such a thing as an objective past?

2007-11-24T17:39:00.000+08:00

Today, for benefit of its readers who might want to stretch their legs a little, The Star, featured the historic Tok Janggut Trail in Kelantan, a state in northeastern peninsula Malaysia. Tok Janggut (which the writer of the article translates as ‘The Bearded One’, although One seems a pale version of Tok, an honorific accorded to those of who are particularly wise and respected, and who are no longer young punk warriors) was a local warlord who led a rebellion against the British colonizers around the turn of the 20th century.

The meaning and significance of his act is shrouded is some controversy, as the title of the book written by an expert (who is quoted in the article) shows: Tok Janggut: Revolutionary or Traitor?

A monument to
remember Tok Janggut by.
(Picture copyright: The Star.)

But what struck me about the article was the way in which history is again being spun in the service of the present. Here’s how the writer, reflecting the State-determined standard accounts of history of today, puts it:

“Arguably the first person to revolt against the British in the Malay Peninsula back in the early 1900s, Tok Janggut did in a way anticipate Aug 31, 1957.”

But a close inspection of the details suggests that linking together Tok Janggut’s rebellion to Malaysia’s independence from Britain requires some suspension of critical thinking.

Tok Janggut’s beef was as much against the British as it was against the Sultan of the day, and rested on local issues like taxes and local autonomy. His rebellion could be seen as part of a long tradition of maintaining a balance of power between the ruler and the local lords. The ruler, rarely all-powerful unless he was especially charismatic, won the support of local chiefs by promising them titles and legitimacy, while extracting taxes (in goods and manpower) from them. Levy too high a tax, and the chiefs revolted.

So the jury is still out on whether he is a modern anti-colonialist hero, or a local warlord seeking to exploit a weak Sultan.

Also, the Malaysian (or more accurately, Malayan) parties involved in the negotiation for independence, hardly resembled the violent and radical Tok Janggut. The British identified and chose to negotiate with a group of conservative elites (quite a few of them who had studied in England), and who were amenable to the Queen’s interest after the Union Jack had been lowered.

Ah, the devil is in the details…

Lucky, lucky me

2007-11-24T17:18:00.001+08:00

One of my supervisors emailed me recently asking for the address of this blog – he said he had heard I was writing about food. This is the person who once packed a ton of rendang from Sumatra to take along with him on his 9,000-mile journey home (and we got to taste it at a party he threw!!). The point of this aside is that while this is not strictly a food blog, I’m beginning to feel the pressure to deliver!

Lucky me, I am eating well, both at home (Mum’s cooking!) and outside. One of our favourite joints is this unassuming steamboat (alternatively known as hot pot in certain parts of the world) restaurant in a corner shoplot not far from home.

They have sets, depending on the number of diners, that include fish, prawns, meats of all sorts, vegetables, tofu, stuffed tofu, beef balls, fish balls, eggs, noodles etc. We normally add to their sets or order off their non-steamboat menu.

Steamboats are simple dishes, really – the success depends almost entirely on the quality of the ingredients since all of them are boiled lightly, and not subjected to heavy cooking. Luck Kee Steamboat takes pains to ensure all the ingredients – especially the seafood – are fresh and of a better grade. Here’s a close-up of the pot just as the lid is being taken away…

The above pictures are from 2006. Just recently, we went back to have their non-steamboat food. We’ve always ordered their crabs as a side dish (yeah, right, crabs as a ‘side dish’). This time we decided to go the whole hog [actually, you can order braised pig’s trotters (chee keok) from a nearby stall (bak kut teh) too].

We started out with a plate of khau yoke mai fun – bee hoon/bihun (vermicelli) stir fried with strips of braised pork belly; a dish with deep flavours that one can appreciate with just a few mouthfuls. You might think it strange that the noodle dish appears first, since noodle and rice dishes appear at the end of fine Chinese banquets. But when you’re having a crab meal, the crabs are usually served last, during which all conversation stops and everyone is all hands on deck, literally.

Next came the yim kook har, or salt encrusted/baked prawns. (I am getting terribly hungry as I write this, sigh!). Deep-fried to the right level of crispiness, you can throw the whole thing into your month, chomp on it, and swallow everything – head, eyes, legs, tail, meat, stock and barrel. (You’ll need a fairly big mouth of course, or a way to unhinge your jaws.)

A plate of vegetables also arrived at this point, but I felt sure my salt-encrusted fingers should not be touching the camera.

Then came our chilli crab. We held our breath. I said a silent prayer for the folks in the San Francisco Bay Area – the side of a tanker had scraped against the Bay Bridge, and oil spilled out of a huge gash, sparking an environmental crisis that led to the restriction of the Dungeness crab season, much to the dismay of the locals there.

And then we tucked in! As expected, all conversation stopped, until the arrival first of the mantou (bread) to soak up the chilli crab sauce, and then the piece the resistance…

… our steamed flower crabs (fa hai). Flower crabs are soft-shelled crabs that have a more delicate flavour, which makes them less suitable for the robust treatment handed out to their bigger and meatier cousins (stir-fried either with chilli; peppercorns; curry leaves, ginger and spring onion; and so on). Instead, flower crabs are best steamed, on a bed of egg white whipped with Chinese wine, and sprinkled with some fresh spring onions.

Man, was that a feast!

Chemor is still relevant today

2007-11-04T11:48:00.000+08:00

Okay, so I have a soft spot for old towns and places with a bit of history. They're a window not just into some sepia tinted era that has little relevance to today, but they show us how the people who came before us lived their lives even as they built for the future – that it, built the world we live in now.

We are inextricably linked to the past, individually and collectively; linked even to those who are not family, who lived in places far away, in unfamiliar circumstances. That's why the feature in today's Sunday Star on Chemor, caught my eye. This is a story not just of a town living in some time warp, but a glimpse into the very real and concrete lives of the men, women, teachers, labourers, students, town officials and others in this small Perak town.

The grand Chemor Theatre once staged
Chinese opera and Malay bangsawan shows,
explains Law Siak Hong of the Perak Heritage
Society. – Caption and picture copyright
from The Sunday Star newspaper.

The accompanying story is on the Mandailings, who fled from Sumatra in the 19th century and made their home in Chemor (and other parts of Perak, too). The Mandailings have striven to preserve their cultural identity and uniqueness, an effort that has sometimes at odds with the official project to construct monolithic "Malay" identity/ethnicity.

The political parties in Malaysia, both governing and in the opposition, are formally, or effectively mono-ethnic (the latter may claim to offer a multi-ethnic platform, but their support is often derived largey from one ethnic community), and thus it serves their purposes to perpetuate the idea that "Malay", "Chinese", "Indian" are large homogeneous groups that march to one ethnic agenda and spring from one particular cultural heritage.

This is patently not true, as the Chemor/Mandailing articles and the Johan Jaafar lament that I talked about in my previous post shows (Johan recounts how the Javanese were seen as a very distinct and different ethnic group in his village).

Of muhibah, kampungs and the slow travelling movement

2007-10-20T10:59:00.000+08:00

I don't normally do news round-ups - see Jeff Ooi for that - but a few things caught my eye today.

The first is Johan Jaaffar's lament on "Those long-gone days of muhibah in the kampung" in today's New Straits Times. Johan's point is not new: In the past, during more innocent times, before and just after Malaysia gained her independence in 1957, it was not unusual for families of various ethnicities to not only live cheek-by-jowl with each other, but have genuine interactions and friendship. This pining for the good old days is particularly prevalent among Malaysians of a certain vintage as well as politicians out to mask their tendency to fan ethnic chauvinism with empty rhetoric of multi-cultural harmony, or muhibah.

I highlight Johan's lament because my friend John is right now undertaking a ride across the country in search of that muhibah spirit, and is at this very moment, passing through Muar, the setting for Johan's commentary. What was remarkable about Johan's picture of an idyllic kampung was that "in 1948, the area surrounding my village was the scene of the worse racial turmoil the country had ever known."

Meanwhile, two Morrocan scouts are walking through Asia to promote "love, peace and tolerance", and has arrived in Malaysia. What is it about people taking the slow road to spread positive messages? Is it because the physically draining act of walking and cycling humbles a person and makes him or her more sensitive or self-aware? Is it that the slower pace allows one to truly appreciate the worth of every single human being one encounters? Or is one just too darned tired to argue?

Riding is of course an environmentally-friendly, low-impact way of playing tourist, as this feature on Pulau Ketam bike tours attests. My recent post on the charming island failed to include some of the nitty-gritty travel details that good, responsible bloggers are supposed to have provide. Oh well, *shrug*.

But I did have a pix of pepper crabs! :)

P.S. If any of the links to the articles become broken, leave a comment and I'll fix it!

Sinful

2007-10-18T16:56:00.001+08:00

In an earlier post, I had commented on the irony of serving char kuay teow for a charity event raising funds for survivors of stroke (as well as our ex-Prime Minister asking for equally sinful Malaysian street food after his heart operation).

You see, the ingredient that makes char kuay teow sinfully delicious is, well, lard! But isn't this such an innocuous ingredient? It's just so white, and pristine! So harmless looking.

All you have to do is to just cut a big piece into cute little tiny cubes...

... and have them simmer in a wok over a gentle fire.

And before you can say "angioplasty, pshaw!", they've turned into lil' golden brown snacks, leaving behind the liquid that adds that indescribable extra to char kuay teow and countless other favourites. How bad can they be? ;)

Fortunately, in this health conscious age, more and more cooks are consigning this naughty booster to the realm of memory ("Oh, food tasted so different in my time"), although it is threatening to make a comeback.

Still, its widespread absence has enabled even survivors of strokes to have a plate of char kuay teow now and again without their nutritionist having a heart attack.

And he's off!

2007-10-15T18:52:00.001+08:00

Updated version: I had blogged earlier about my friend John who planned to ride from the southernmost to the northernmost part of peninsula Malaysia in a journey to uncover his place in his nation and his nation in him. Well, he left this afternoon and you can follow his progress in his own blog.

The southernmost tip of Malaysia is Tanjung Piai, a National Park that has visitor friendly boardwalks criss-crossing parts of the 526 hectares of coastal mangrove swamps and canals.

A Ramsar certified site, Tanjung Piai is also the southernmost tip of the Asian continental land mass.

We headed out to Tanjung Piai at mid-morning and reached there just before noon. John, Mei and I decided to play tourists for a while and we walked along the boardwalk marveling at the swamp and the rich animal and plant life it sustained.

We finally reached the southernmost point, a stark, soulless jetty with concrete floor, bizarre sayings nailed onto the railings, and ...

... a globe that looks like it has seen better days in a 3rd rate amusement park. John, though, seemed transfixed by it, perhaps plotting his next trip?

After a lacklustre lunch in Kukup at a seafood restaurant designed to relieve unsuspecting Singaporeans of their dollars, we headed back to Tanjung Piai for the real business of the day... The Journey.

First off, getting the gear out of the car. "Hmmm, I seemed to be missing something?"

After much moving things about...

... out comes the frame and the bags.

Take out the second wheel...

... and make sure there is enough air in it...

... before securing it to the frame.

Tyre pressure check for the back wheel.

And make sure all the bags are secured properly.

Now it's time to put on the right gear, starting with shoes.

Load the bags at the back...

... making sure they are balanced.

Put on the funny little thingamajig they call a bicycle helmet...

... and some mean gloves....

before taking a swig of holy water, blessed by the patron saint of cyclists, St. Wheely.

Give the ol' gal a good, long hug. Notice how I cleverly focused on the background, rendering the tender moment in soft focus, something I totally intended to do when releasing the shutter of my idiot-proof camera.

Then it's time to climb on board, test the gadgets and go for a quick spin.

All set, the man flashes his trademark cheeky grin...

... and he's off. Good luck, John. Be safe.

Char Kuay Teow for stroke charity!!!

2007-10-12T13:44:00.000+08:00

Last month, on September 9 to be exact, some family and friends got together to man a stall at a fundraising carnival for the National Stroke Association of Malaysia (Nasam). For the past few years now, the team has put together a food stall selling mainly char kuay teow (fried kuay teow noodles, for you non-Malaysians out there). The stall is almost always a hit – the aroma of one of Malaysia's favourite street foods being fried fresh to order draws a long queue.

This year, apart from char kuay teow, the team decided to add pasta to the menu. The two woks used for frying and the pots used for cooking the spaghetti and keeping the sauce warm, were all laid out in a line, oodles of noodles being conjured up under the tropical sun. (To help move the pasta, we recruited an American lady, from Wisconsin, to cajole passers-by. No, it wasn't Wisconsin cheese she was adding; just cheddar!)

But back to the char kuay teow. The set up was pretty basic - a cook and a helper manning a wok surrounded by ingredients, neatly laid out.

The star of any char kuay teow is of course the see hum (cockles, bottom right), freshly removed from their shells the night before by a team resembling Santa's elves in December. Apart from oil and soy sauce, other ingredients include sliced fish cake, peeled prawns, chili paste and garlic...

... not forgetting also the "green" ingredients, chives and tau geh (bean sprouts).

We had many helpers taking orders, preparing and replenishing the ingredients (like eggs), and taking shifts over the wok. All in all, we sold out the 200+ plates we aimed to fry, and the carnival in total raked in some MYR 100,000.

Now, some of you might find it a little ironical (or you might be just plain ol' horrified) at the idea of serving char kuay teow at an event aimed to raise funds for the rehabilitation of stroke victims. After all, char kuay teow is one of the most cholesterol-laden indulgences around (which makes it so yummmeee!).

However, we are in good company. When Dr. Mahathir Mohammad, our ex-Prime Minister, was able to take solid foods after his recent heart operation, he asked for his first meal, the equally artery-busting roti canai and subsequently char kuay teow. His daughter, Marina, had to explain rather sheepishly in her blog that the roti and char kuay teow her Dad was consuming were hospital-cooked version that passed the inspection of eagle-eyed nutritionists!

Certainly, the team at Nasam made sure we controlled the amount of the "bad stuff" in our char kuay teow (oil being the chief culprit), but I am sure it was far more delectable than any hospital food out there!

Goodbye, Ah Huay

2007-10-02T20:36:00.000+08:00

Our family cat, Ah Huay, died last Friday. She was a little under two years' old. She wandered off as usual in the morning to walk around the neighbourhood, and was hit by a vehicle. We only found out on Saturday, when a neighbour told us.

Ah Huay was a spunky little girl. She thought and behaved like a dog... not unusual since she had five older canine siblings. She meowed loudly everywhere she went, announcing her presence in no uncertain terms. We would often find her at our feet, looking for a tummy rub, and meowing if three seconds had passed and she hadn't gotten one.

One of her favourite perches was on top of the car bonnet, looking into the house. She had a panoramic view of all that went on in her kingdom.

When she wasn't sleeping blissfully on Dad's chair, stretched out like a, well, cat, she would find any number of chairs in the house, hang out and observe what was going on. The kitchen was always a hive of activity.

One day, as I was attempting to make the classic Hokkien noodle dish mee hoon kuay from scratch, Ah Huay sat across watching eagle-eyed, not very impressed with my technique on the dough. She wasn't far wrong... I sucked.

Goodbye Ah Huay, we will miss you.

Fighting for Burma

2007-09-29T11:12:00.000+08:00

Sitting on the steps leading to Wheeler Hall, waiting for our Political Science class to begin, Min Zin started telling me the story of how he had spent most of his teenaged years on the run from the Burmese junta. From age 14 onwards, he had hidden in temples and underneath floor boards in the homes of sympathetic villagers, keeping still for hours on end, afraid not only for his own personal safety, but for the fate of his protectors, who had nothing much to begin with, but were putting all that they had at stake for a belief.

He was a student who turned to activism and journalism (The Irrawaddy) when his world came crashing down with the arrest of his older siblings in the 1988 crackdown on Burmese university undergrads. He was already in his late 20s when we spent nine months trudging from lecture hall to lecture hall in 2001/02. Yet, being older and having had his formal education prematurely halted had not dimmed his desire for learning.

Since then, Min Zin's story has become fairly well known. He continues to work as a journalist for Radio Free Asia, and when I see the shocking images of monks and ordinary Burmese being gunned down by soldiers, I think of Min Zin feverishly trying to get the story out to a world already weary of war, destruction and killing.

Picture credit: Copyright USIP

Going crabbin'

2007-09-24T14:04:00.000+08:00

A scene from one of the many small wooden bridges on Pulau Ketam.

One of our favourite excursions is a day trip to a fishing island just off Port Klang, about 40 km west of Kuala Lumpur. Pulau Ketam, or Crab Island, is home to a community that has lived off the sea for over a hundred years, and continues to do so. Life seems slower and one catches a glimpse of 1950s Malaysia as one strolls through the homes built on stilts.

According to an “official” website, a “long time ago” Pulau Ketam was a deserted island full of mangrove swamps, before three fishermen, who went crabbing on the island, found the day-long journey back to the mainland too taxing, and built homes on the island, sometime in the mid-19th century.

Thankfully, nowadays it only takes about 30 minutes to get there from the mainland jetty, using a speedboat (above). This is a long craft usually packed with locals bringing provisions from or catch to the mainland. The bustle inside the enclosed boat is heightened by the Mandarin or Hokkien karaoke blaring away from the front. Plonk yourself on the wrong seat – under an aircon vent – and you’ll be blasted with an Arctic chill. Both the karaoke volume and the air-conditioning seemed stuck on Maximum!

On a trip to Pulau Ketam in the 1990s, the journey to the island took well over an hour, on an open wooden boat that chugged along serenely. We could then sit on benches at the back, hang out with the pilot, or perch ourselves at the bow, feeling the breeze on our faces and taking in the picturesque sea and mangrove swamp views. This time, we were cooped inside, and could only look out through small round windows that were either frosted, scratched or dirty. The price of progress! Thankfully, once the boat slowed down and was hopping from jetty to jetty along the island, the boatmen opened the doors, and claustrophobic locals and eager tourists crammed the small openings to breathe in fresh air or to take pictures.

The houses on Pulau Ketam are built close together, and are connected by a warren of raised, narrow wooden (and, increasingly, cement) paths, on which pedestrians, bicycles and motorbikes jostle for space. The population is mainly Chinese Malaysians, although there are a growing number of Indonesians working alongside the local fishermen.

Right off the jetty is the main town, with its administrative offices, market, food stalls, homestays, tourist offices and places of worship (above, the Hock Leng Keng temple). The social life of the Chinese inhabitants revolve around the temples, and in this tightly knit community, the temples sit cheek by jowl (below) with the congregation they serve.

At the time of our visit, the temple folks were busily preparing for a big Hungry Ghost celebration. It wasn’t just the two-legged creatures who were enjoying the whole fuss – the temple’s resident tortoises were in on the act as well…

However, it is the eight-legged delicacy, which gives its name to the island, that is often the highlight of any trip to Pulau Ketam. One cannot wander by the restaurants without being drawn to a colourful pail containing freshly caught crabs.

Before...

... and after! Yummmmmm.

Our meal for the four of us that day, at the restaurant just next to the jetty, also included…

… bamboo clams (above), home-made fish ball soup (below; we had two orders!!) stir-fried kangkong (water spinach), and curried large prawns.

The ceiling fans and ice-cold beer kept us cool as we ate our lunch on the large restaurant verandah. The meal finished, we sat back and took in the panoramic vista.

Another of Ketam’s well-known products is dried shrimp, small in size but packing a wallop in flavours, and a favourite of Malaysian cooks. All the stores in the town sell them (below right)…

… but if one is more adventurous, one can walk through the village and stop by any fisherman’s home and buy it off him. However, on that particular day, there were no dried shrimp in view, and we walked a fair bit before finally spotting some laid out and baking under the sun. See the many decks below jutting out from the homes? They’re all usually filled with sun-tanning shrimp, but on that day, only one deck was golden hued.

We walked towards the deck for a closer look.

A lady came out from the nearby house and explained to us that the fishermen were not having much success catching shrimp those past few weeks. (Was it because of the Hungry Ghost month, we silently thought?)

She grumbled something about the unpredictably of depending on the sea for one’s livelihood, while giving us a quick socio-historical slice of the island community. As for the shrimp, well, her husband was having better luck than most; he and his crew had left that morning at around 2 am and had returned just after lunch. They had cleaned and cooked the shrimp and had just laid them out in the sun, so that day’s catch was not quite ready for the market yet.

Instead, she arranged to have her neighbour’s previous day’s catch brought out and, without much persuasion, we took a good chunk home. It doesn’t get fresher than this!

A man and his dream,

2007-09-19T17:42:00.000+08:00

…to go on a journey to uncover and rediscover what brings us together, not what keeps us apart. If we want to make a difference, we should get off our butts and do something, like putting them butts on a bicycle seat, for instance!

He knows his art

2007-09-18T20:44:00.001+08:00

You couldn't make this one up!

Reading through old newspapers is like taking a peek at another age, another social climate, another set of values. Yet it all looks so familiar – the towns, the names (even if the spelling is rather quaint), the bits and pieces of clothing. We laugh, we cry, we’re in despair, and sometimes we’re freaking disgusted at what went before and what we’ve become.

But enough of the soap-opera psychology. Let’s roll the tape. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a little snippet from Page 4, The Malay Mail, Wednesday October 17, 1956.

(Full text below pix)

(Headline)
Stripping can be an art – says magistrate

IPOH, Tuesday. STATING that a strip-tease act cannot be indecent merely because it is shocking and objectionable to certain people, the Ipoh Magistrate, Inche Abdul Kadir bin Yusuf, today acquitted three of four strippers who claimed trial to a charge of indecent behaviour during their performance.

The three who were acquitted without their defence being called were Wong Fun, 20, Lee Pui Fong, 30, and Leung Mei 21.

Kong Koh Yum, 20, who appeared with the other girls, was asked to make her defence on the charge that she behaved indecently during her performance at the Hong Kong Au Yong Hoong Revue at the Capitol Theatre here last Thursday night.

The Magistrate, in his long judgement, said that his decision was made difficult because he had to determine what was indecent behaviour. The dictionary was not much help, he said.

The test

Inche Kadir said: “I think that the test of whether certain acts are indecent or not is to find out whether the alleged act as described by the witnesses tend to corrupt the minds of those who saw the act.

“An act cannot be said to be indecent merely because it is shocking or disgusting or is in bad taste or because certain people think it undesirable. The act must have a tendency to corrupt.”

He acquitted Lee and Leung because there were “serious discrepancies: as to which of them took part in the acts that were described in court.

As for Wong and Kong, the magistrate said he was satisfied that they had been identified in connection with their dances.

But he would also acquit Wong without calling on her defence because, he said, he did not consider the lifting and lowering of her G-string indecent as it was part of her strip-tease act.

The Magistrate said: “strip-tease is an art and by a clever actress it can be amusing. It cannot be indecent and it cannot be obscene.”

Kong is defended by Mr. F. C. Arulanandom, who also represented the other three girls.

Jungle jive

2007-09-17T16:06:00.000+08:00

A couple of months ago, some family and friends spent the weekend camping on the fringes of the Endau-Rompin National Park, run by the Johore state government. The camp, a collection of basic huts situated along the very picturesque Sungai Lemakoh, soothed our weary, urban souls with panoramic views of glistening pools that seemed to shimmer as the first rays of sunlight gently alighted on it. At other times, we could hear the gentle gurgling of the river as it flowed by in no particular rush to go anywhere, except when it rained.

Upstream view (view) from the campsite.
Many pools (below), large and small, can be
found along the river just a few minutes walk away.

The camp is run by Buyin and his wife Ami, with help from their children and nephews. Buyin, an Orang Asli (the indigenous people of Malaysia), is a minor celebrity, and has been featured in some press and online articles on eco-tourism. This particular one showcases Buyin’s original camp that stood before the floods of early 2007 struck Johore and damaged it. Buyin rebuilt his camp and we were one of its first visitors.

The camp itself is made up of a collection of open wooden huts – a large dining/social hall with an attached kitchen; two communal sleeping huts; a shower; three bathrooms and a useful changing room just by the river. One can spend the day following guides on treks along the river or into the jungle; making a day trip to the Orang Asli kampung; swimming in the pools; or just doing nothing…

… except lying on the long benches, contemplating the meaning of life or admiring the sun-lit patterns on the roof of the huts.

Buyin takes care of all the food, and the oohs and aahs during mealtimes is testament to his and Ami’s cooking skills. Apart from our yummy daily three meals Buyin also provided numerous tea breaks: This must be what it's like in the civil service. Elevenses, mmmmm.

One of the treats was the BBQ dinner we had one night – chicken, beef, lamb etc.

You cannot go on a diet here. It’s impossible.

Come night time, Buyin puts up the hurricane lamps. After dinner, with no Astro (satellite TV) to kill all conversation, normally tired worker bees like us actually had long conversations around the dinner table and had some low-tech fun.

No, we were not trainees for the new Singapore casinos (oops, sorry, the Singapore government would like them to be called Integrated Resorts). We were literally playing for peanuts!

On one of our days there, the heavens opened up in the afternoon and subjected us to a typical tropical thunderstorm – a dramatic downpour with appropriate audio and visual accompaniment that lasted all of 20 minutes. It turned dark-ish really quickly, and one of the seven dogs that came with us scurried under the table. We were in awe at the display of nature’s power and quite a few of us just sat quietly and watched the rain.

What better way to spend a weekend.

A Royal Treat

2007-09-16T17:21:00.000+08:00

Food looms large in my consciousness, but even more so now. When not attending to what I’m supposed to be doing (if you’re reading this and you’re somehow connected to appraising what I’m doing, then I’m doing what I’m doing VERY HARD, sigh), I’m discovering and reacquainting myself with the many wonderful makan joints around.

One spot that I’ve been frequenting is the ikan bakar (grilled fish) stalls behind the Istana, on Jalan Bellamy (“Just let the sambal flow…”). This is a popular KL haunt, and since the roads around the Istana are narrow, go during lunchtime at your own peril. We normally try to get there by 11.30 am. You get the whole range of stuff – different types of fish, prawns, squid etc.

I can't begin to name all the fish they have. During this particular trip, we had catfish as well as ikan terubok.

Catfish (left) and terubok

The latter is a challenge to eat, since it has many small bones, but he who perseveres is likely to be rewarded with a rich-tasting fish (sorry, don’t know it’s English name, lah).