ragingyoghurt

Author Archives: ragingyoghurt

4
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 March 2008 – 11:15 pm
Filed under around town, breakfast, dinner, lunch, nellie, snacks

the fizz is nice against the prickle. distracting, anyhow. for i am falling sick once again, and in need of distraction, from the sharp (in the back of the throat) and the cloudy (all around my head). my rose-print drinking glass is filled with rose-red fizzy. i’d been searching for a while, in a cursory and on-and-off manner, for a bottle of rose syrup cordial. this involved falling into any indian spice-and-video shop i might happen to pass, and not finding a tall bottle of red. last thursday, though, i got lucky. so. rose syrup + soda water = the bestest red fizzy ever.

thursday was lucky for several other reasons. first up, we dropped the kid off at playschool. and then nellie said, “let’s have breakfast at bourke street bakery.”

at the bakery’s broadway outpost, we lucked into the corner booth. well, the only booth. my sourdough toast with house jam came with a just-right portion of salty butter, wrapped up in a twist of waxed paper to look like candy. my hot chocolate came in a wide, low bowl. it was perfect fuel for a day of trudging through the rainy streets of surry hills.

a litany of old favourites unfurled. at object gallery, we found ceramic thongs hand-painted with intricate blue-and-white scenes. at christopher’s cake shop, we bought a bag of shortbread, filled with jam, dipped in chocolate. we moseyed, ambled up bourke street and down crown, and finally came to climb the galvanised staircase at fratelli fresh…

…to sopra. here’s a tip. get there a little way past two. the masses will have lunched and departed, and the water jugs, though empty, will be refilled with a smile if you bring one up to the counter.

the handwritten blackboard, as high as the ceiling, confounded me with choice, so i fell back on another old favourite: the antipasto plate. there are always four parts, and three of them change according to the seasons; the one constant is egg mayonnaise, which sounds a bit low-rent, but in fact it is a perfectly boiled egg draped in… silk. in the silky mayonnaise there are great chunks of chopped-up cornichon. it is great. great, i tells ya.

today, the lineup included some asparagus, pickled beetroot with gorgonzola, and boiled fennel with salsa verde. everything was simultaneously light and intense, the kind of delicious that makes you slowly whittle away at each element, one at a time, as you weigh up in your mind which you want as the final taste in your mouth.

as it turns out, the final taste in my mouth that afternoon was of an ethereal (and ephemoral) buttermilk pudding, which collapsed halfway into its own puddle of berry sauce.

we caught a break in the rain, and a bus to the city, and then another bus back out to get the kid, and after spending some time looking at pyjama pants and petshops, it was dinnertime. we had lured maeve to playschool that morning by promising a sushi-train dinner afterwards, and we are not girls who fall back on their word.

especially when it involves tomodachi. upstairs at broadway shopping centre, they do a fast trade in exotic sushi filled with schnitzel and cream cheese, or topped with blowtorched scallops and kecap manis. we had a plate of maki, whose crowning glory was a sliced of grilled cheese.

for dessert we pulled this off the train: an azuki mochi, divided into bite-sized portions, decorated with aerosol whipped cream and fresh strawberries.

it’s like all the fun in the world happened on thursday.

7
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 26 February 2008 – 11:18 pm
Filed under cake, chocolate

we walked up the steps from kings cross station with a cakebox in our hands. heading towards potts point, i lamented, “we still haven’t been to yellow.” but on this fine sunday, we weren’t too bummed; we were on our way to the 95th birthday celebration of an old family friend (uncle rowan has known me since i was four), and more importantly, our cakebox was from adriano zumbo patissier. inside it was an enormous chocolate-passionfruit tart.

it had been a slightly surreal morning. earlier on, we’d been watching adriano on kochie’s show, after a txt from trusty deborah alerted us to the fact. some moments later, the phone rang and my sister picked up. “this is adriano,” said the voice on the other line: the cake was running late. we’d called in to order it the day before, and on the receipt it said, “envious 8 inch”, chortle snort.

but so there we were, scurrying through the back streets of the cross, thinking about cake. we got to rowan’s to find our aunt unpacking curries from her car: a fine chicken vindaloo and a sweet pumpkin-cashewnut affair, it turned out, but they were only formalities before the main event.

rowan had been receiving guests all morning, and each one had brought him a cake. on the dining table in the formal dining room sat a modest sponge, layered with cream and dulce de leche. it had already been divided into dainty slices, and a third of them had been eaten. beside it, the hummingbird cake, presented personally by simmone logue — who lives downstairs — was still intact, the birthday greeting writ large on a plank of white chocolate. the envious had begun to sag during its trip east, so we whisked it into the fridge. shortly after, another guest arrived, with a large cakebox in her arms. the sticker on the packaging read, “yellow”! it was shaping up to be a most impressive birthday cake buffet.

i know you know i was excited about the zumbo chocolate-passionfruit tart, because i’d had it before, and i knew that it would be great. the yellow cake, on the other hand, was mysterious and new. well, it was a large brown brick, and we saw raspberries. the top was smooth dark ganache, adorned with three bits of goldleaf, crumpled just so; the middle was layers of chocolate mousse (wherein lay the raspberries) and sponge; the base was a flavoursome dacquoise — i’m calling it hazelnut. it was extremely enjoyable.

the caramel sponge was an interlude of innocent fun. (and i made no overtures towards the hummingbird cake, because, um, it’s healthy?)

but the envious: look at it! truly a celebration cake. it reminds me of jesus riding into jerusalem, with all those palm fronds waving about, and the bounty of golden macarons. the pastry is crisp and perfect, the filling full and rich. it hits you all at once, this tart burst of passionfruit, and then the low notes of caramel and chocolate, and then your mouth is empty, the last vestiges melted off your tongue so you are immediately ready for more.

i couldn’t eat more than the two tiny slices i’d had right then, but when my aunt took charge and divided the remaining cake amongst the guests (“he has diabetes! he will die if he has to eat all of this!” is what she said), i did not protest too much. after dinner that night, i thought i’d straighten up the giant wedge of envious that had come home with me, but as i trimmed a little bit off this side and then that, my destiny became clear. at some point i thought i’d save the mini macaron for later, maybe even for the kid, but nah. that went too.

6
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 24 February 2008 – 11:39 pm
Filed under ice cream, trip

we got to changi airport early, because nellicent had to buy a computer, and i had to buy a soft-serve soy milk ice cream. five or so weeks ago, in transit on the way between london and sydney, i had popped out into the non-business side of the painfully gleaming new terminal three, to have a crystal jade shanghai dinner with the olds. our post-dinner explorations unearthed, on basement two, a mr bean outlet, offering not just a range of traditional chinese soy milk products, but also new-fangled curiosities like roasted hickory-smoke-flavoured soy beans and soft-serve soy milk ice cream.

well!

i was extremely curious at the time, but had eaten too much dinner, and so with great regret i had to walk on by. but now, here we were, three hours before flight time, dinner long gone, in need of a quick sugar burst for a modest bout of duty-free shoping.

i must tell you that soft-serve soy milk ice cream is amazing! it is not that awful, chalky western soy milk, mind, but the light, refreshing and, above all, beany asian soy milk. you know tauhu fa? the wobbly pudding version of soy milk? this is the frozen version, in a wafer cone, with a topping of finely chopped peanuts or chocolate sprinkles, if you so desire. at SG$1.20, an absolute bargain, and immediately after fighting off the kid and finishing off the last, pointy bit of the cone (the ice cream went all the way to the bottom), i considered — quite seriously — getting another.

but i did not. so i was able, in the departure transit mall, to sample one of these ice cream mochis. at the mochi creamery stand, they were set out like jewels in the display case, a selection of pretty pastels in flavours like green tea, or chocolate-vanilla, or passionfruit. i picked azuki bean and warmed it in my hands for a few minutes before splitting it three ways with nellie and the kid. the mochi skin, evenly dusted, was soft and chewy, and not sweet; the ice cream within was. the dainty confection was perfect all ’round: small and pink, for starters, and grainy with red bean.

an hour earlier, the pure white soy milk ice cream had made me almost buy a shiny white computer at the duty free apple shop, although sanity and bank balance prevailed and i finally settled for a dazzling mighty mouse. kids, i am scrolling with my fingertip!

after relinquishing the last melty bit of pale pink mochi to the kid, on the way to the departure gate, i bought myself some fancy paul smith perfume, which smells of roses and green tea.

and then the beef pastrami croissant served up by the tardy flight crew at 2.30 in the morning, and the fitful slumber crammed into the economy class seat, and the rude old bags pushing their luggage trolleys into our persons… and once more we find ourselves in sydney.

2
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 19 February 2008 – 11:34 pm
Filed under ice cream, trip

let’s call this the holy grail. i’d been trying to visit icekimo for the last two or three years, ever since my sister thrust a slightly dog-eared business card of theirs into my hand. and perhaps i didn’t try hard enough. i mean, this is an ice cream cafe pretty much in the next suburb from the family home, but it was never the right time, or there was just no time (no time for ice cream! whoulda thunk!), or… see, there’s just no excuse.

but we finally made it. saturday night after korean bbq, we circled the block twice looking for parking, ran across the big street in the path of fast cars, ducked beneath the scaffolding that armoured the building, and finally stepped into pink, corrugated, c u t e icekimo.

there were more flavours that i wanted to try than i could reasonably expect to consume after korean bbq, but fortuitously, nellie and the kid sorted themselves out in a most agreeable manner.

maeve had an enormous “small” scoop of bandung, a rich and rosey concoction in a most fetching shade of pink. my sister intoned “dino milo” at the counter for some time before picking cempedak, which was just as i had hoped. it was a sunny orb of yellow, and the perfume of the fruit filled my mouth when i licked a proffered bit off the little plastic paddle. they’d been generous with the chunks of cempedak all the way through.

me? i had a scoop of teh tarik, and a scoop of jasmine. both were light and milky, and comforting in the way of a cup of tea. there was wistfulness as i scraped away the last dregs at the bottom of the paper cup.

singapore has been good to us… except for that moment on friday morning when my permanent residence visa was revoked, finally, after almost thirty years. “um. our records show that you are not employed in singapore,” said the auntie behind the counter at the immigration department. “yes,” i said, and she was almost apologetic. “try and come back to work before may,” she suggested, “and if you stay for a year or so, we may reinstate your status.” so that’s it then.

tomorrow night we leave, our bags packed with such treats as apple kitkats, strawberry marshmallow oreo chocolate pies, a muji shirt, moomin candy. several bags of quality german xmas gingerbread just to keep the japanese contingent in check. when i next return, way, way after may, i will have a bedroom here, and a bank account, good times and treats, a mother and a father… and an unsettling feeling that i won’t be able to stay for as long as i’d like.

2
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 18 February 2008 – 11:55 pm
Filed under around town, breakfast, kid, lunch, trip

this is how the holiday goes: you arrive, and the three weeks are spread out before you, full of promise and possibilities. your life slows down, a little. an early morning trip to the wet market with your mother, a meal at a little pink cafe… this could be your everyday life. and then suddenly you’re three days away from the plane trip out, and there won’t be a return visit to the little pink cafe, and — even worse! — you have not had a single dosai, nor a bowl of meepok, and the opportunities to slot these meals in are diminishing fast.

[ takes a deep breath. ]

so this morning — noon, really — even though we had scheduled leftover popiah at home for lunch, we called halftime from our mustafa excursion and froggered across the street to a shiny indian vegetarian cafeteria, gleaming with anticipation.

a dosai makes any day a good day; a rava dosai is even better, crunchy with semolina, and embedded with a festive mix of sliced green chilli, mustard seeds, minced onion, ginger and whatever else the house mix might be. a ghee rava dosai is a magnificent and superior being, surrounded in a golden halo that comes from being fried in clarified butter.

one ghee rava dosai and a cup of syrupy masala chai later, i laid my head on my mother’s shoulder. oh! such contentment. we would have come to little india sooner, but my mother had been gravely concerned about the chikugunya-riddled mosquitoes that had colonised the area recently. fresh out of the car, she brandished a tube of mosquito repellant at us. but we live on the edge, dammit! look at us, choosing bindis with not a care in the world, trying on amusing shoes in the basement.

so today, we snuck in two lunches. but here’s what i snuck in last week.

on our first morning in port dickson, a roti bom. breakfast of champions: an extra buttery paratha, sprinkled in sugar. it came with a puddle of dhal and a slurp of fish curry gravy. unwrinkle you nose; the tangy, peppery curry is a most suitable companion for the crunchy, sweet bread. the kid drank half my teh tarik and then ate enough of the roti that i felt i needed to order another. i didn’t right then, but i couldn’t wait until the next day so that i could have it again.

as it turned out, i did not, because a murtabak presented itself, stuffed with dry chicken curry, with extra chicken curry gravy for sloshing around in. it was big enough to feed five, i believe, but i ate it all. the kid did not eat any of it, naturally, or any of her sardine murtabak (which i’d persuaded upon her in the guise of something a cat might enjoy), but she did drain most of my beaker of teh ais.

T minus three days and counting, i’ve finally learnt my lesson. my masala chai today was all mine, because the kid had her own golden column: mango lassi, which she drank in a single slurp. and then we did get home — late — for popiah. i had the best intentions to wrap modest little rolls, but they took on a life of their own. you start spartan, with a lettuce leaf, but then the turnip-carrot-tofu-beans, and the sprouts, the shredded cucumber, fat baby sauce, minced garlic, crushed peanuts, sprigs of coriander, fried shallots, crabmeat, prawns, an extra drizzle of sauce… and you are sunk.

2
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 17 February 2008 – 10:11 am
Filed under around town, dinner, shoping, trip

port dickson (say it, now, in the malaysian way: poddick son). it’s a hell of a town. at the tail end of the development boom of a decade ago, my father bought a holiday flat here, which swiftly went to seed. a corner on the tenth floor of cell block c — that’s us.

but once you look past the mildewed exterior walls, and the eerie green tint of the swimming pool, it is possible to live it up. the two hours of traffic jammed down the highway from kuala lumpur — fully explained when we passed by a rainbow bus in the ditch — became mere hiccups of the past the moment we set foot in billion pasar raya, a behemoth in the middle of PD town, crammed full of cheap everything: children’s clothing fashioned from lurid nylon; brown-paper-covered notebooks; small aluminium curry pots; big, ugly shirts for big, ugly men; that primary school paste of my childhood, in little tubs of primary hues, with matching applicator paddles (i had to buy a pack, just for the smell. if they’d had those lotus-scented erasers, i would’ve bought those too.) and let’s not even get started on the grocery section on the ground floor. i lingered too long at the self-service bins, a wall of familiar savoury crackers and sweet biscuits, and left, eventually, with nothing.

but there was no shortage of food of course — two nights brought us two slap-up seafood dinners for not very much money at all. the first night, in the fabulously faded restaurant of the terribly nostalgic hotel merlin, the classic cantonese dishes competed against a backdrop of pink and green.

the next night, at a much newer establishment — built to an exact match of the adjacent chinese temple — we were serenaded by the karaoke caterwaul from upstairs, and the operatic new year salute to the gods next door. we had a dish of mean little crabs in chilli sauce, but we got them back by chomping right through their brittle belly shells. there was a steamed pomfret, in the teochew style, all strips of salted vegetable and chunks of tomato — and a piece of lard, we were assured by our mother — but the kid ate her share, and mine, and quite a bit more. there was squid in crunchy batter, and the lightheartedness and glee you get from fried food, until we discovered a tiny, inquisitive snail making its way across the lettuce garnish.

i’d like to tell you that all our prior reservations about port dickson were vanquished during our short time there, and for the most part, in a purely superficial way, they were. late on the second day, we overcame our misgivings about the glowing green water in the swimming pool — a man languidly walked the perimeter that afternoon, flinging ladles of what i took, trustingly, to be chlorine from a bucket hanging off the crook of his elbow — and splashed about to no ill effect. we made sure to keep our heads above the water at all times, and this is how we did not miss a tabby cat by the pool’s edge, thrown back by violent convulsions before vomiting up a disagreeable something or other.

we walked uphill through the rainforest of cape rachado to a historic lighthouse, talking all the way of monkeys, and coming across none. we got caught up in banking hijinx. we bought cake boxes at billion! we stayed clear of the beach, fearful of the blinding sun and the warnings from concerned relatives about the high levels of e coli in the surrounding waters. so we took long naps in the afternoons, and that always makes things better.

we had driven past the fixtures of a military history on the way into town, but on the way out, it was villages and dusty brown all the way to the highway. the schoolkids walked along the road to get home, the chinese and indian girls in bright blue pinafores, the malay girls in baju kurung and headscarves, the harsh afternoon all around. we were heading home too.

2
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 16 February 2008 – 9:58 pm
Filed under lunch, snacks, trip

the first day of the new year, we joined the convoy of nice, nice 2 and nice++ buses up the highway to the shimmery hot centre of kuala lumpur. it was past lunchtime when we finally arrived at my grandmother’s house, but lunch was there waiting for us.

just in the door, we caught up with our once-a-year cousins on the unyielding rosewood chairs, but our mother, always straight to the point, was already at the big round table, hunched over a small bowl of new year noodles. what it is, is meesua, roughly hewn bits of chicken, and a whole, perfectly hard-boiled egg. it was only the first of many meals to come.

because what else is there to do when it’s shimmery hot outside? we did venture out, full of bravado, to the playground across the street one morning, but we were quickly humbled. so we visited the old aunts, the ones who confuse us year after year. third grandaunt on the grandmother’s side? fifth grandaunt on the grandfather’s side? i thought i had it finally worked out, but now… nothing. next year, we start again.

one thing that is constant: the glass jars of salty pistachios. the kid discovered a taste for them, and a monkey-like trick to open each nut with the half-shell of the preceeding one. anything else was a random bonus: sarsparilla cordial, or van houten scorched almonds, each one coated in a thick shell of wax-glazed milk chocolate. twenty years can go by, and these are the tastes you remember. soft, juicy dragonfruits, an unnerving red on the inside — these are new, but whisked out of a gentle aunt’s well-stocked fridge, they are slurped up, already a favourite.

and every few hours, it seemed, we returned to our grandmother’s house for another feast. one lunchtime it was assam laksa, the ingredients meticulously sliced and laid out for fine-tuning the flavour; the pungent broth simmering in an enamel cauldron just beside. one lunchtime — our last — there was a fish, and acar, and otak otak. stuffed crabs and lobak. jiu hu char wrapped in lettuce leaves. two soups: one of porkribs and salted vegetable, and the other an innocuous broth of pig intestines. three generations of relatives came and ate in three waves, and i sat through them all.

there was a neverending jelly, multilayered, and each layer tasting of itself: coffee, or evaporated milk. pink even… we made it down to the last sliver on the afternoon we left, sitting around the big round table with our once-a-year cousins. the older one talked about the iron man competition she is confronting in a couple of weeks; the younger one whisked the paiseh portion — left purely to be polite — out from under our noses.

4
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 7 February 2008 – 12:39 am
Filed under dinner, trip

the year or the rat is upon us — my year! this evening’s reunion dinner got a little bit out of hand with a sashimi salmon first course and a magical cauldron that never boiled dry. a worthy procession of farmyard animal, fish, fowl and funghi — sliced fine — was dipped in bubbling chicken stock, and then a bright green sauce composed primarily of bright green chillis. i ate eight bowls, and then discovered, upon standing, that my centre of gravity was decidedly fluid.

the biggest discussion over the last couple of days has been about the distribution of angpow. my sister, recently married, has heard that she is exempt from issuing funds for the first year of marriage; that she should give angpow to all unmarried relatives; that she should only give to those who are younger than she is; that she should only give to the generation after ours. no-one knows what rules apply to someone who is not married, but has a kid, the father of whom has removed himself from the equation. “who asked you to live your modern lifestyle?” she asks, because she is helpful, my sister.

this time last year, i was clinging to the rim of a hotel toiletbowl, purging my insides of the poison burger from a roadside reststop. we are making that pilgrimage to malaysia again this year, and i am prepared. i have a bag of muji mini soyabean poundcakes, a couple of mandarins, and some slices of bakkwa. with any luck i need eat nothing else until we are tucked safely into my grandmother’s enormous rosewood table, with the lazy susan piled so high it can barely turn. no matter — what is directly before us will undoubtedly be delicious.

3
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 6 February 2008 – 10:21 pm
Filed under ice cream, snacks, trip

the days go by, all at once fast and slow, and accordingly we are dilligent and lazy. which is to say, we are doing plenty of nothing.

we hang out at the local playground — just before sunset the previous evening, a small boy practised his trumpet, solo; this morning, three high school kids smoked cigarettes and thrashed about to tinny metal — and we go to muji, and we eat.

yesterday, post-dimsum, we fell into a booth at a japanese dessert cafe and ordered treats all-round. mine was a maccha parfait: from the bottom up, clear jelly, maccha jelly, whipped cream, corn flakes, more maccha jelly, a scoop of maccha ice cream, a swirl of maccha soft-serve, two slices of tinned peach, and a crisp wafer.

(pre-dimsum, we ate too many slices of kaya toast at the kaya toast place in the belly of the local mall.)

7
Posted by ragingyoghurt on 4 February 2008 – 10:26 pm
Filed under around town, lunch, trip

“it is 34 degrees today,” txted singapore girl, “so aircon is good.” just before noontime, thursday, we met in the air-conditioned wonder of miracle supermarket in chinatown, to stock up on hello kitty rice crackers and green-tea salted-plum candy (and to consider the possibilities of durian mochi), and then we walked a couple of blocks westward to the air-conditioned wonder of mamak.

we were shown to a table in the back, directly beneath the air-conditioner. “it will be cooler here,” said the waiter, but still, it wasn’t quite cool enough to order any of the familiar and comforting numbers on the menu. not today, the sambal kangkong, or the sambal sotong, or a murtabak even, which was available with a chicken or lamb filling. it might have been different if they’d offered a sardine murtabak; back home, the roti uncles fill it with mashed-up fish, straight from a tin, sticky-rich with tomato sauce.

but it was too hot for anything meatier, so i picked something light: the roti bawang, stuffed with slices of red onion. and a teh ais.

the tea showed up first, a beer stein of sweet condensed-milky tea. sweeeet. the roti, when it arrived, came with two curry sauces — a homely chicken curry gravy, and a welcome and excellent surprise of an assam curry hiding little bits of fish.

oh, it was good! the crunchy and succulent just-cooked onions in flaky pastry, the alternate mouthfuls of contrasting curries. by the time it was over, i was sorry to discover that there was no room inside of me for dessert — none of the sweet rotis on offer, or the ais kacang which promised rose syrup instead of a generic sugary flavour. sigh.

so i will be back. it’s great to have found this shiny red restaurant, and its litany of old favourites. it’s only a little bit less great when we think about how much this food costs in singapore.

but here’s the thing — i am in singapore. surprise! me and the kid flew in on saturday, gliding in on a wave of vomit. there are so many things to eat we don’t know where to begin. this afternoon i had a sardine sandwich in the cutest pink cafe ever, followed by a cup of tea and a share of a limonata cupcake, and a chocolate one. i wanted nothing more than to move in.

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