Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Let's talk about food.

Let's talk about food.

I haven't felt this motivated for awhile now when it comes to school, but the recent journalism assignments have sent me into a writing tizzy. Despite the frustrations, I'm fueled by the inexplicable adrenaline rush that comes from writing and rewriting my way towards my idea of perfection. I'm currently waist-deep in my cuttings book of food feature ideas for Magazine Publishing, and I thought I should rest my aching back and marker-stained fingers for a spot of blogging, which I've neglected of late.

And what better catharsis for food-related workaholism than an entry on food? Here's my overdue entry on my birthday dinner at Iggy's. I used to eschew snooty dining establishments, but dating a gourmet's changed all of that. And surprise, surprise - I actually quite enjoy the occasional dose of quality dining. The service was personable but not intrusive, the seasonal menu was served in just-right sizeable portions, and it was a treat to dress up after roughing it out in Vietnam.

No bad comments at all really, so enjoy the visual feast!


The October menu.


Hamachi - radish, sesame and fine herbs


Autumn Salad - with mushroom varieties, dehydrated mesclun and an uplifting citrus foam


My personal favourite - Sanma with wild rice, olive and thyme


Spaghettini - simple but tasty zucchini and smoked mullet roe


Lobster - with oats, gizzards and fennel


Tomato palate cleanser I didn't fancy because of my genuine dislike of the fruit


Wagyu - served with lady's fingers, trumpet mushrooms and tapenade


Feijoa - Gin and lime


Coffee - with banana, milk ice cream, passion fruit and Mascarpone


My little birthday cake


Lemon petit fours

Sunday, October 25, 2009

I'm not mean; I'm tired.

I'm not mean; I'm tired.


image from mrmen.com

I've been uncharacteristically mean of late. I'm not saying that I'm Little Miss Nice the rest of the time, but a touch of nasty has seeped into my replies several times this past week.

I haven't been sleeping well and my speech filter has been going on sudden temporary sleep-mode. All week long, I've ended up blurting things only to mentally picture hammering myself over the head. No one's hurt (yet) I think, but I'm really sorry if I've been rude. I don't dislike you - I'm just tired.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Bleak.

Bleak.

Words fail to describe the crippling pain that engulfs when you lose a loved one. I haven't experienced that since my grandmother passed away when I was nine, and we weren't even that close. However, the man slowly fading from my grasp is someone who's stood by me all these years. He's the person I call whenever I need company on a Saturday night, and the one who patiently endures my romantic grievances over coffee and carrot cake.

Seeing him barely lucid on the bed and a fraction of his jovial self leaves me helpless, but praying for him to have the strength to endure more pain seems ironically inhumane.

Would it be right to instead ask for his liberation?

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Expression.

Expression.


image from inmagine.com

When put into words, everything seems peachier in retrospect.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Riding Poppy.

Riding Poppy.

Today, I tore the plastic wrap off my candyfloss pink bicycle and christened it Poppy. There's something wonderfully hippie-ish about candy-colored bicycles, especially one that comes with a basket, and Poppy makes me think of riding aimlessly along fields of wildflowers with the wind in my hair.


image from inmagine.com

Turns out that the refresher course I needed didn't take that long, even though Poppy had a mind of her own at the beginning. I made P let go after awhile and I was soon riding in happy circles around the empty carpark. I'm still a little shaky and Poppy seems to favour freewheeling towards pillars, but we're all injury-free and I'm a step closer to that wildflower daydream.

It's been an emotionally draining weekend, but having the wind in my hair and the brief feeling of freedom put the smile right back on my face. I can't wait for our next bike date!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Limbo.

Limbo.

The first came as a shock, the second quite abruptly. The subsequent three brought surprise and resignation. I've skirted around the issue of visiting since my return, and just when I braced myself for today's visit, came the sixth this morning.

Numb seems appropriate yet inappropriate an emotion. The anxiety from the initial stages have ebbed but it is not quite indifference we are feeling even though we've been living in a limbo for awhile now.

What can we do, but wait?

Monday, October 12, 2009

My pink bicycle and lemon sorbet.

My pink Signora and lemon sorbet.



I've been meaning to revisit the riding skills I picked up two years ago under the tutelage of Jins and Jared. My new pink bicycle will allow me to do just that in the privacy of the multi-storey carpark, away from embarrassing stares I'm certain I'll get at public parks. And did I mention it comes with a basket?

Excuse me while I attempt to stay upright and eat lemon sorbet at the same time...

Sunday, October 11, 2009

School trip for adults.

School trip for adults.




The thing about traveling with 12 other almost strangers is that you have no escape route. "Sorry I've got an urgent meeting and I have to go now" no longer works as a valid excuse when you're all on foreign land, and this was what the control-freak-Monica-from-Friends in me feared. Thankfully, hanging out 6 days, 24/7 with the gang was bearable at worst and it certainly helped that my roomie's one of those chill, anything goes types.





Our lecturer joined us for a spot of Vietnamese cooking at Hoa Sua School, where we cooked up a dish of grilled fish, Hanoi style and sticky black glutinous rice for dessert. Cooking, to me at least, is messy and chaotic and somewhat haphazard, and the mechanical steps and stainless steel worktops just didn't do it for me. It was however still a morning well spent insulated from the chaos of the city.




I can't say the same about the baking class in the afternoon, which seemed to last an eternity. The only good thing was downing the profiteroles we baked in lightning succession, and of course the end of class.

It was the same day that I heard about the typhoon believed to be headed towards Hanoi. P, M and DX were in a mini frenzy back in Singapore, with DX calling up the embassy to check on evacuation procedures. I returned to the hotel that evening with an email notifying me that I was registered under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve these people...







The highlight of my trip to Hanoi however had to be dining at Restaurant Bobby Chinn. I am an unabashed fan of the celebrity chef but (and I am saying this without any biasness) the food at his restaurant was undoubtedly the best I've had in Hanoi. But I admit that the Buddha statues greeting me from nooks and crannies, and the petals in the toilet bowl, had me well won over before we even sat down to lunch. The Lotus Salad in Chilli and Lime Vinaigrette was sour and spicy on all the right levels, and the Mac & Cheese came interestingly served in a claypot. While the Pulled Pork Sandwich was only slightly above average with a distinctly smoky flavour, the fish curry was tangy, spicy and the best I've had in a long, long time. And it helps that their waiters speak the best English in what I believe is the whole of Hanoi.




Attempting to sleep on an overnight train has to be one of the oddest experiences ever. I am someone who finds it impossible to keep my eyes open once I'm lulled by the rocking motion of a moving vehicle, and I found myself waking up each time the train came to a stop. Falling asleep was also a tad difficult as lying horizontally atop rickety moving train tracks had the cheese crackers we munched on before bed rushing upwards towards my chest in a very uncomfortable way. And yet I slept.







I wasn't looking forward to navigating the hills in Sapa, and my deepest fears came true when we were faced with slippery mud and a steep descent about an hour into the trek. The local Hmong women ended up holding our hands and carving tracks for us with our walking sticks, and I swear my heart gave a mini lurch when a 50-year-old Hmong lady gently took my hand. Embarrassing as it may be to admit this, I honestly don't think I would have made it through those death hills without her help. I know they were helping us in hope of us buying souvenirs from them, but I gave away a tiny piece of my heart nevertheless when she kissed me on the cheek as we parted.

So there, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, and this trip has ascertained that Vietnam will never be at the top of my travel destinations. That said, I've developed an inexplicable liking for trekking/sliding around in mud and P has gamely agreed to my plan to conquer Gunung Batur on our trip to Bali next year. Me, willingly trekking? Now who would have thought!