My 1st Meal

Tadah! Here we are, after two-and-a-half hours of preparation and cooking, me still in my office wear, he so zonked he doesn't even know where the camera is.

... And here is a close-up...

In this next picture, the very burnt chicken wing was my tester wing. Other people would've used a bread crumb instead. But that's Ms Coddled for you. Half of the batch you see here were undercooked to varying degrees, and The Boyfriend somehow ate all of those.

And these is the dish I had the most problems with. First, I marinated the prawns in the sauce meant to be drizzled over the dish. Then, while frying the prawns, The Boyfriend noticed that they were drying up very quickly. Are you sure you're supposed to do it this way, he asks. I reply, yes, Alicia (my colleague and provider of recipe and cooking tips) said so. When do you pour the sauce in, he pursues. When the prawns are cooked, I say. Then he says, "I'd better pour some water into the sauce."

But clever me heard, "sumathing pour sumathing sumathing the sauce." And woo! In goes the whole thing, and let me tell you, grayish-pink prawns swimming in brown goo does not a pretty sight make.

He panics, I panic, and it took another 7 minutes or so before the prawns decided to curl up and blush in defeat. Here is the result:

Alicia will be very disappointed to see that I didn't arrange the broccoli neatly in a ring around the prawns. But by then, I didn't care. It was 9.30pm, for goodness' frigging sake.

P/S In case you were wondering, the soup was the best dish. No surprise there, it doesn't take an award-winning chef to throw in a few pieces of pork and lotus root and boil them in water.

P/P/S In case you were also wondering, no the food didn't taste horrid. (Disappointed now, aren't you?) In fact they were rather yummy, with the exception of the omelette, which was the first dish cooked and hence had to suffer the ignominy of my inexperience in front of the wok. (The Boyfriend actually had to come to my rescue, taking over for a few minutes. Oh, the disgrace of it all.) It was overcooked and, by the time we sat down to eat, hard and very cold indeed.

We've Turned Three!

Yesterday, The Boyfriend and I quietly wrapped up our third year as an item. A few simple sms-es exclaiming "Happy 3rd Anniversary!", a phone call, and that was it. But still, happy I was.

Okay to be truthful, we did our celebrating on Sunday 'cause he couldn't manage to take leave, but that was also a quiet, laidback affair. We'd intended to go visit the Sungei Buloh Nature Reserve that morning, but at 6:30am our eyes decided to do our weary bodies a favour and told us (him, rather. I just grunted and fell back asleep) that the skies were threateningly dark, and lo and behold, the next time we stirred, it was 11:00am. Woo hoo!

So we brunched together, after which we went back to our respective homes and scrambled to do some preparation of the last-minute variety of our prezzies for each other. I spent something like 3 hours putting together a menu of the meal I'm going to whip up for him next Friday, while he spent an hour ironing his clothes. Did I say we? Ok, it was just me doing the last-min preps.

But not without reason, okay?. Check out his prezzies!

And I like my presents too!

Not forgetting our lovely dinner at this French cafe off Little India (North Sturdee Road, I should think) called, well, The French Stall.

Looking yummy is this Roast Leg of Duck.

That's the best picture I got, which does no justice at all to the dish, but my chicken thighs tasted good too.

The only problem? No way am I ever going to get even remotely near The French Stall's standard with my cooking.

Yep, very quiet, very simple and very laidback. But still I felt blessed, contented and yes, happy.

My Neighbour is Such a Tease

He is, in fact, a highly inconsiderate man.

This person lives in the block opposite of mine, has no grilles on his windows, and uses bright florescent light to illuminate his room. Add to that the fact the he likes to sit, bare-bodied, in front of his computer for hours on end, and that makes for a very distracting view.

Not that he has rippling muscles or anything of the like; no, he is actually un-toned to the point that I always think that I'm looking at a woman's naked torso whenever I see his bare back.

Despite the definite regularity that this guy does this, my brain still gets tricked into thinking that there might be some tryst happening there somehow. But that dissolves into (dare I say it) disappointment when my eyes linger a few seconds longer.

Such a boring place, my neighbourhood is!

... No Time, To Stand and Stare

Have you ever felt frustrated at not having enough time to do your own things? I know I have. And increasingly so. Ah, well. There never is enough time, is there?

My family celebrated my sister's birthday today. I'm by no means a very good conversationist, but it's always nice to have a family gathering once in a while, to catch up with relatives, and generally soak up the atmosphere.

I also had an extended lunch with The Boyfriend and Jarvis, just keng gai-ing about all and sundry. We also indulged in a little reminiscing, as is de riguer for us. Seems like it's much easier to engage in a bit of nostalgia than talk about the exciting things we have done lately (maybe it had something to do with the fact that there really were none to speak of).

So, very good la, but now I have to rush work that is due tomorrow. Serves me right. I have been putting it off a whole month.

And how did you spend your Labour Day holiday?

Dreary Day?

Suddenly, I felt totally ratted out on.

Maybe I Should Uproot

Just came back from Bangkok, and had a rockin' time there. I spent a disgusting amount of money on 7 pairs of shoes (sadly, all that I've worn so far will cause me to get arthritis prematurely), 7 skirts, 9 dresses and a countless array of tops and accessories. Actually, after the shoes, I'm not very sure if I got the figures right. I tried counting, really, but I started to get a headache. But 'tis ok, because I played the bloodsucking girlfriend for once and let The Boyfriend foot the bill for 'most everything else. And yet, despite this, I managed to blow in one week what my obviously more prudent other half spent in a month.

Of the aforementioned shoes, one of them gave me such gargantuan blisters that the next day, when I slipped on my normally comfy mary janes in anticipation of a day of walking at Ayutthaya, all I could do was wince from pain. I had to fashion a kind of bubble-wrap using handiplasts, and hobbled, duck-walked and whined the whole day. The Boyfriend did not once offer to give me a piggy-back ride, though I once jumped on anyway, but promptly failed 'cause of the constrictive nature of dresses.

We also visited this really cool, uppity bar sitting atop a posh hotel at The State Tower.

the best I could do without a tripod or flash

view from the top

I know it costs a bomb to spend a night at the hotel (which, for interests sake, I think is called lebua), but a glass of martini, at S$15, didn't really burn a hole in our wallets.

my promegranate martini

lovely balustraded balconies

I tried to take pictures at the outdoor portion at another pub 9 floors down, but they were marred by shaking (though well-intentioned) hands! Harrumph.

my best shot.

Well, at least I'm quite happy with this one. You can't tell from the picture, but we were wearing matching shoes. And why am I telling you this? I dunno!

On our last night in Bangkok, we went to the famous Cabbages and Condoms, a restaurant with food as yummy as its humanitarian cause was noble.

Instead of giving us mints after the meal, we opened up the bill book to find some dozen condoms gushing out, obviously an overzealous attempt to teach us safe sex.

Oh man, I loved Bangkok. Can't wait to go back.

My Inner Blonde

"Darling," I whined. "My scalp is itchy..."

"How come? I thought you changed your shampoo already?" The Boyfriend inquired.

"Yah, but I switched back 'cause the other one isn't colour safe," said I.

Audible sigh from the other side of the line.

"What is more important leh? Your scalp or your hair colour?"

Sheepish pause.



"Scalp lah..." said I, ashamedly.



Anyways, on an unrelated note, here's a shot of The Boyfriend enjoying himself amidst all the little children on his birthday.

Everyone turned out in their old school uniforms to mark this nostalgic guy turning a quarter of a century old.

Eugene had specially dug out his sec school uniform for Chye to put on. We were all amazed at how slim he is. Or, put another way, how much Eugene had gained.

Sheesh!

I'd always wanted to try my hand at smoking sheesha, so on Friday night Barry took me to this nice little restaurant tucked away in Arab Street. It had a nice chill-out vibe to it.

Listening to the band play (they used an interesting mesh of western and classical muscial instruments) while sipping on my hot glass of mint leaves, I felt like I'd been transported half a world away.

There was even eye-candy. He's quite blurry in the picture above, 'cause he was so engrossed enjoying himself in the dance. The whole restaurant had a relaxed, familial air about it, as if we were guests at someone's abode. As the night went on, more and more people showed up - not as customers, but performers - and the band just made space for them on the stage or on the dancefloor by passing them another instrument or involving them in one of the dances.

Ah, yes. The sheesha I went for. I had an inkling that it contained tobacco, but I'd long wanted to know what it was like to smoke, even if I only did it once. I ordered an apple-flavoured one, but I suspect that the waiter just brought me something generic - the smoke was sweet and was not choking at all, as I'd feared it would. And although onlookers wouldn't have any difficulty seeing that we were novices, it was Barry who smoked more like a girl - you know, the way they suck in the smoke, hold it in their mouth for all of 0.25 seconds, and then spits it out with badly-veiled distaste. Meehee.

A short one.

Suddenly felt the urge to re-connect with my cyberlife again, but The Boyfriend is about to swing by for our night out at the movies, and *gasp* my hair isn't dry yet.

Anyway, this comes fantastically lake, but I was at Ha Long Bay, and here's a magnificent picture of the World Heritage Site.

And - I couldn't resist: Guess what this is? The correct answer will win - more self-indulgent pictures!

A Wee Bit of Nostalgia

Depending on how you look at it, looking back on times past this New Year is either highly inappropriate, or very apt indeed. And, by the title of this post, it's obvious which side of the camp I am on.

Yeah. Sentimental me. I can't even get rid of that old candy wrapper Junyu gave to me - although I only have a vague idea where I stuffed it. Which goes a long way in explaining why my room is in a perpetual mess.

And not from lack of trying, too. Today I embarked on another over-ambitious endeavour to give it some semblance of neatness and dustlessness, but was waylaid by so many of my own distractions over whether to clean this corner or that first that I ended up back-and-forthing between my computer table, my desk, the book shelf behind my desk, and pretty much everything else in between.

In the midst of all this sneeze-inducing work, I chanced upon an old relic that I (yet again) hadn't gathered enough nerve to throw away even though it had, through my overworking it, ceased to operate. That was a solid year and a half ago, at the very least.

My old Panasonic portable cd player. Yes, staring at me obstinately in all its obsolete glory. I decided I had to give it one last chance before relegating it to the bottom of my Mustafa Centre plastic bag, all agape in await of its latest, and most covetable, item.

Gingerly, I placed two 'AA' batteries into the old dame, grabbed the topmost cd lying on top of my cd player (which happened to be another dusty blast from the past - an Alex To compilation album) and inserted it in. I pressed play, and waited.

Nothing happened. The display screen defiantly flashed multiple zeros . Then, miraculously, it sputtered to life, sending the vibrations of the rotating cd into my hands.

I lowered myself slowly amidst my possessions and cleaning tools, put on my headphones, and juts soaked in the moment. I knew I had to. Looking down at the player, I recalled that day I bought the player, happier times with the person who tagged along with me, and the early days of my Varsity years, which coincided with the buy and which it also accompanied me throughout - those humid days and lonely nights I spent on buses absorbing module texts, mugging last-minute exam notes, pondering life and deliberating over relationships.

The songs of this once-adored singer, though now a faded star in the Chinese music scene, will always hold some emotional weight - for they played a part in bringing an innocent romance to a tentative start.

They say its Out with the Old and In with the New, but somehow, the old never really left me, even though the physical reminders may go. For the new is always connected in some way with the past, and somehow things always seem to come full-circle. Yes, 2007 is here (dare you believe it), and I am resigned to it rather than welcoming it with open arms. As I recollect the past year gone by (wasted) and consider the direction that I'm headed in the future (none whatsoever), it feels good to know that I have something to fall back on, that I can hide in the past and reminisce, just for a bit, if there's ever a need to, before heading out into the world again and forging ahead, knowing I can because I always have been.

"Compliments of the Season!"

Frankly speaking, I'd never even heard of the phrase before. And even after I recovered from the bewilderment of the statement, I couldn't bring myself to say it either, for fear that I'd turn into a freakin' walking Hallmark card. I feel quite bad for the nice lady who tooted forth the words half a room away, only to receive a too-quick "Merry Christmas!" from me. A faint look of confusion fluttered across her face, revealing my social faux pas. Oops.

But honestly, why couldn't plain ol' "Merry Christmas" do? I wouldn't even mind "Seasons' greetings", actually. But going "Compliments of the Season!" seems to me too businesslike and formal. Or maybe this is what the working world entails. Have you heard any other odd ways of greeting someone that threw you off a bit the first time you heard it?

But anyways, I'm seizing the fact that today's New Year's Eve(and hence not yet too late) to post up some pictures - and also to celebrate the fact that I did actually do something vaguely party-ish this festive season.

One-eyed Zorro shows us the way to partay.

At St James Power Station
Looking slightly double-chinny @ The Gallery Bar
Oh hey! I changed my hair. (In case you haven't noticed.)

Poetry in Motion

A damn good fart
While not acceptable in public,
Is necessary
And can be enjoyed in private
With others.

Dear Friends,

I know I have been tardy in updating this blog o' mine.
But know this!
I have not left it for dead.

Tokyo, baby! (The Third and Final Installment)

...Where I dump all the dumb miscellaneous things I didn't know where else to slot in, but simply have to share anyhow.

In the middle of the dry market, where the likes of vegetables and houshold items were being sold, we came by this curio of a store which sold and displayed a musky menagerie of stuffed animals.

The Old...

I remember the owners of the little provision shop downstairs used to make deliveries on such bicycles. I used to get on the tri-wheeled version while it was parked and made-believe I was out on adventures.

A little bookshop, seemingly being held together by not much else than the mesh commonly seen at construction sites.

The New...

Mounted on a pillar at the back of an opulent-looking Buddhist temple, for the benefit of those seated there during prayer sessions.

And The Rest...

Our South Asian cousins indulging in a bit of fortune-telling, Nippon-style. (From what I'd observed, instead of presenting your stick of bamboo, shaken out of a canister, to a reader/interpreter, you help yourself from a wall of drawers (see: picture below) according to the number on the bamboo. Then you read it - your fortune is available in a variety of languages - and tied it on the rack pictured above. Mum asks me how to differentiate between what you are inquiring about eg. wealth, health, love, and I she got me stumped. I didn't spend the requisite 100 Yen to find out. But still, I'm sure the Japanese thought up something as ingenious as the rest of this system to get past that little detail. Perhaps it's all on the one same slip of paper, telling your future.)

Neh Neh puddings, which were available at one of the many souvenir shops outside the temple with the novel fortune-telling system (imagine the calls of blasphemy that would invite if this were done anywhere else in the world). I almost bought one to bring home as a gift to Barry, but then came to the realisation that they weren't packaged with the kooky, and frankly, all-important, illustrations.

In Shibuya, I wandered into a street where all there was were shops with pachinko machines in them. Those playing were so engrossed I had no trouble snapping pictures, at all.

Japan has a fascination with machines and technology in more ways than one. First, the famed toilets:

This little contraption produces flushing noises to cover up whatever embarrassing ones you make on your own - I didn't have to operate it, though; it kinda worked on its own.

This one is quite self-explanatory: click to read.

Vending Machines

Language barrier? No problem. Just place your order on this machine, pay (it accepted my 10,000 bill when I slotted it in, thinking it was a 1,000 one), and hand the receipt over to the ladies over the counter. Easy, no need for pointing at pictures and making wild gesticulations trying to get them to understand you. The only shortcoming? It still eliminate the fact that I couldn't read/understand Japanese (read on to find out what woes this caused me).

Underaged? No need for any ID when you purchase your smokes at your friendly neighbourhood vending machine! Comes in a myriad of varieties except the one that you actually inhale.

Forgot it was your anniversary? All shops closed? Fret not, just sprint down to any "Flower Gift" vending machine, and buy a bouquet of roses with ease. Freshness not guaranteed.

Tikam machines!! This time, I managed to get Barry a 'lil something.

Language

In a little lingerie shop in Shibuya.

In a convenience store in Narita.

And finally, this takes the cake, Fear Factor-style. My colleague introduced us to this sushi shop. At 105 yen (about S$1.50), Sakae Sushi-style, we had to commit to eating at least 7 plates in order to be allowed a seat. Once seated, they time you: 20 minutes if you eat 7 plates, 30 if you eat 10 or more. The coolest thing was, our server was also the sushi chef, kneading the sushi at lightning speed right before your eyes.

Meet Sushi Man san.

Some way into our promised 20 minutes, my companions and myself found ourselves having stacked up only 3 to 4 plates, with nothing to eat, some of the sushi looking like it had been alive only seconds before. Sushi Man san, sensing our hesitation (and maybe trying to take advantage of the situation and get rid of some stock), pushed a few plates of sushi towards us, uttering forth a mouthful of Japanese, the only word of which we understood was "oiishi".

My companions gingerly take a few of the choicer offerings. Unsure, and not wanting to seem rude, I picked another one out. I almost fainted when I took a closer look:

The photo does it no justice. White, mushy-looking and very, very raw, the vile-looking concoction sat there, daring me not to eat it. I had no choice - I couldn't put it back on the conveyour belt because I'd stupidly used it as a dish for my excess soya sauce, and I felt Sushi Man san's eyes on me, waiting to scowl in scorn if I left my seat without touching it.

Bravely, one of my companions picked up her chopsticks and picked up a bit of the mushiness. She put it in her mouth. A few agonising seconds passed as she chewed thoughtfully.

"Okayyyy," she ventures finally. "It's tasteless and melts in your mouth. Totally gross."

I wanted to cry.

"Okay la, I help you eat one. We eat together, ok?"

Salvation! I'd only have to hurl once.

We commemorate my stupidity she so graciously decided to share with me with a snapshot.

I take the plunge.

Immediately, I gag. All the negative anticipation didn't help one bit. I gesticulate wildly, indicating that I wanted to spit the monster out, but no one came to my rescue with a waste-basket or barf bag. In my desperation not to regurgitate whatever it was I'd already downed earlier, I decided to block out all emotions and chew. And chew, and chew.

With my nose pinched.

Sushi Man san laughs and points at me.

My eyes are watering.

I chew for dear life.

And finally, I swallow. In goes a mouthful of green tea, a chopstick of wasabi, to drown out the rawness of the sea on my tongue. Ughhhhh.

Tokyo, baby! (Part Two)

Finally, a day with the time and inclination to blog. Unfortunately, inspiration's still missing from the formula. (Maybe if I just inundate the post with lots of pictures, no one will be the wiser.)

Two young women wake up at the crack of dawn in a bid to catch a fish auction.

the normally crowded trains are empty, save for a few sleepy passengers.

the notice the ladies should have paid heed to before entering the market.

At the designated stop, they trail a bunch of camera-wielding ang mos, into the delivery stations of the market, and already find themselves in the midst of a hive of activity. The auction was over, but the day had just begun.

a scooter swerves past them, its rider determined to deliver as many goods as he can within his stipulated timeframe.

Stepping into the narrow aisles of the wet market, they realise they have to compete with produce-laden delivery vehicles, the widths of which fit snugly within the aisles - hence leaving little space for manouevrability, especially if you get caught at the crossroads with three or four of these machines coming at you, one after another.

one of said machines, its driver catching a breather outdoors & reading his latest sms

But from what greeted their eyes after the dust from the wake of the machines settled, the two knew that having less than 5 hours' rest the night before, splashing around in murky water, getting lost and eventually missing the auction, was all worth it:

the fishmonger at this stall pinched the crabs' load & offered it to the two ladies, who declined politely. they then watched in amazement as next, he popped the fresh roe into his mouth, chewed, and thereafter declared (with much relish): Oiishi.

more roe, but this time without the drama.

Sea urchins (as supposed)

big huge fish. below is a (badly-taken) video of the fishmonger slicing it up.

the first time Ms Coddle's seen red prawns this fresh. the first time she'd seen fresh red prawns, period.

meet the fish with the big sad eyes.