The (re)awakening.

I started blogging here on sarongskirts 10 years ago, during my younger days when I really loved wearing sarong skirts. I kept the blog all the way until mid-2012, when I decided to restart on a new slate on Tumblr. At that time, I was seven months into my renewed yoga journey after a long hiatus, and I felt trapped by the identity I had created on the seven-year-old sarongskirts platform. Unknown to me then, I was experiencing all these subtle yoga-illuminated shifts inside, so I was finding it increasingly difficult to relate to the written world I'd created over the years – a world where luxury travel and trending eats were of utmost importance. Sarong skirts had made way for chic dresses and heels in my wardrobe, and online, sarongskirts no longer seemed like the right home either for my new brainwaves on yoga and its grand philosophies.

For two and a half years, I experimented with various domains and platforms, and at one time invested much effort in setting up sproutblog, a website that I believed encapsulated the mindful life. It was certainly the right home for all my thoughts on wellness and yoga, but the tipping point came very quickly when I realised that writing for sproutblog made me feel like I was back in magazine publishing. I didn't quite care for that, so for most of last year, I stopped blogging completely. Teaching yoga full time and sharing all those yoga-related thoughts in class had taken all the big words out of me – I was left with non-related musings, but I couldn't find a home for them on sprout.

Writing is like coming home – an intangible emotion akin to each time I step onto my mat. While 2014 was the year that I truly felt like I was beginning to live my dharma, the writer inside me was constantly unfulfilled. I thought of starting over, creating a new platform, and I spent a long time pondering over which new blog name would fit. Should it be about karma, or dharma, or santosha, or maybe something cute like Buddha belly? I played around with countless word combinations in my head, but nothing felt right. I kept coming back to sarongskirts, but a part of me resisted it, simply because there was too much history.

Yesterday, I taught a workshop on Manifesting Your Life, one about wiping the slate clean. After the session, an ex-classmate who attended it came up to me to share a memory of us from 15 years back, a memory from a time that now seems so distant and almost unreal. Listening to her, I realised that I was silly for wanting to lock away my past, silly for constantly looking for new writing slates. I can't feel more different now than I was in secondary school, but if not for that now unrelatable past, the two of us might not be standing in the same place here in the present, connected by yoga and its profound impact on our lives.

I found my love for writing here on sarongskirts, and that love has taken me to so many places. While I can no longer quite relate to the things I used to write about, it seems to me that it is only poetic justice to restart the slate on this good, old one. And you know what – it feels right.

The spark, the all-consuming spark.

Adrenaline. Discipline. The mounting momentum that negates all aches and tired eyes, and the silent race towards the finish. I've always taken pride in our ability to leave the office at a decent hour even during crunch time, but I found inexplicable joy tonight in working with the girls in a near-empty office, united by the common goal of sending our monthly baby to print.

To be perfectly honest, I'd slipped into a bit of a career funk in the past couple of months, and that unsettled the shit out of me. Having spent so many of my formative years identifying with my affinity with words, I couldn't quite put a finger on what it was that shaped me, if not for my crazy-eyed obsession with the written word and the ceaseless energy I derived from the publishing world. And yet, recent recognitions meant little, and gave me nothing but a short-lived ego boost.

However, tonight was a startling reminder of just how much this – this stripped down task of marrying words and pictures on paper – fuels me, and how magazine publishing, with its absurd juxtaposition of ever-shifting plans against a clockwork print schedule, reels in the mad hatter in me.

I think I got my mojo back. :)

Finding my food voice.

Around this time last year, I started lickthyspoon. I was then an eager, eager novice, having just signed on for the job of my dreams. I was very excited, but also a little daunted, by the steep learning curve that lay before me. I was a sponge, ready to lap up anything and everything that fell on my lap, and my plate.

lickthyspoon was my way of documenting my learning journey, but I took it down a while later as a lot of what I was writing professionally seemed to overlap with my blogging, and I really wasn't keen on navigating those grey, murky areas.

A year later and my portfolio's different enough for me to draw the line between my professional and personal writing. I also like to think that writing about food outside of work constraints will help me find and develop my professional voice. This may sound queer, but never question my always irrational mind!

I know my readership has dwindled greatly ever since I shut the blog down before the passing of my brother, but to whoever's reading - click on here and let me know how you like lickthyspoon. :)

The pantry diaries.

So, I was lounging on the couch with Sophie Dahl's cookbook on my tummy, mentally running through my pantry as I lingered over any recipe that caught my eye. This is a routine I've been through for several years, way before I began my career in food writing. I almost always end up dismissing the recipes as, more often than not, I do not have the ingredients in my pantry. The kitchen really is still the domain of my Peranakan aunt and I didn't see the point of stocking up on bottles of balsamic vinegar, apple cider vinegar and all those fancy schmancy things Western recipes ask for. Granted, I don't always want to cook the dishes, but being the female that I am, I like having the option of actually trying out a recipe without having to lug back a cartful of condiments I wouldn't use for another two years.

But as I flitted through the beautiful Sophie's book today, it dawned on me that a good portion of the ingredients the recipes called for were already in my pantry. Balsamic vinegar, check. Fleur de sel, check. Rolled oats, check. Grapeseed oil, check. I may not have nicely fillet pieces of sole waiting in my fridge, but as far as condiments and dry ingredients go, I am pretty much covered.

And that, my friends, is the beautiful byproduct of the many recipe testings I have to do every month. A job in publishing may hardly pay the bills but boy, does it stock your pantry!

{image from weheartit} 

In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high.

Now that I officially write for a living, writing purely for my own pleasure is no longer as cathartic as it used to be, but it is still a good form of release whenever and wherever introspection strikes.
I've been at this job for awhile now and it hits me, every now and then, just how lucky I am to be doing what I love. And I try as much as I can not to take it for granted and to grasp on to that tiny bit of magic beneath the daily grind. There are times when I bumble about trying to find my footing; others when things go so well I feel like I own it - the former keeps me in check and serves as a reminder of how much more I have to learn; the latter serves as a tiny pat on the back on my growth so far. Most importantly, the fluctuating balances keep me on my toes so I don't slip into a rut.

I will be embarking on one of my career's firsts in less than two days - something short, but nonetheless exciting, thrilling and just that bit nerve-wrecking. Thank you stars, for aligning the way you do for me. :)

Maybe, finally.

Maybe, finally.

No prizes for guessing what my first commercially published, non-intern piece is about. :)

Surprise revelation.

Surprise revelation.

More often than not, the person who gave you the most grief ends up being the person who teaches you an important lesson. When it comes to lecturers, Duffy definitely topped my list last semester.

I am not exactly subtle about my lack of appreciation of the irrelevance of the modules we take, but I really enjoyed his magazine publishing and travel writing classes. While I often griped about how he was a pain when it came to refining my ideas and writing, I suppose I did enjoy being stretched and challenged artistically by someone who's been there and done that. And surprisingly, I think I took away a lot more from his seemingly frivolous modules than I thought I would.

Bumping into him today for the first time this entire semester and sharing my writing plans drove home a point he always stressed back in class - writing for your reader. I won't go into details of kismet and what nots, but it's funny how that lesson subconsciously became the fundamental concept that guided and led me to my current job.

In fact, I think it is possibly the most important and life-impacting lesson I'm taking away from my four years in school. Man. How's that for a revelation?

In between chaos.

In between chaos.

Hello world. It's been a while hasn't it? One moment I was dreaming up grand plans to spend a lazy Wednesday afternoon reading; the next I was fervently hammering on the keyboard while my mind whirled with a list of people I had to hound. That's almost done thankfully, so I'm taking a moment to luxuriate in the fact that I no longer feel the urge to check my email every three minutes.

And I gotta say that I don't fancy how emails seem to lose their way in cyberspace from their sender's mailbox to my Yahoo account? Perhaps it is time I took up D's suggestion to switch to Gmail.

Anyway, I have a tendency of getting so wrapped up in my writing that I just want to hole myself up at home and type away, so much so that I wished for a moment that I didn't have to go to Lawry's with the ladies who lunch yesterday. It's pathetic I know, but thank goodness that folly lasted only a second.

Lunch was waaaay better than my last visit to the old Paragon establishment; and it is certainly comforting that it's one-for-one with a DBS credit card. ;)

Off I go to terrorise the last lady. Bless her soul.

Project Wine.

Project Wine.

                                                                                           picture from inmagine

  

Writing is by comparison a small part of food writing. The greater and undoubtedly more important part is food knowledge, without which a brilliantly written article can only be superficial and mediocre.

Everybody knows how to eat and select foods to please temperamental palates, but the art of eating is another thing altogether. It is not enough to enjoy a dish and subsequently hammer out a 300-word review where more words are dedicated to the chef and decor than the food. It is equally, or if not more so, important to know the produce, the tools and the techniques the cook has harnessed to create that particular dish. Only then can the review be a fair critique.

And this is exactly where I'm lacking. While I grew up in a family where food is celebrated and the dining table never empty, it wasn't till my summer in France in 2008 that I truly embraced it. I have certainly learnt a lot more during and subsequently after my food writing internship last year, but what I know now is just the tip of a giant iceberg of food facts. It can be daunting but the challenge is exactly what drives my passion - knowing that there's still so much more to know, taste and learn out there that would aid me in becoming a better food writer, it will be a long time before I stagnate.

Wine is possibly my greatest pitfall in my quest to become a bona fide foodie. At a recent beer workshop, I was surprised that I could detect the different tasting notes the brewer mentioned. I have never been able to detect ANYTHING (apart from fermented grapes) in wines. That has thankfully been changing slowly but gradually - I detected my first undertone of apricots in a glass of Pinot Gris at dinner last Monday.

And while I'm guessing it'll be some time before wine will be my tipple of choice especially when in direct competition with beer or mojitos; training and educating my palate doesn't have to be a chore. In comes the perks of having foodie friends who are always up for a meal. Come Thursday, I'll be hosting the girls for our first Project Wine session where I'll cook dinner (chance to brush up on kitchen knowledge) and we'll taste a bottle or two of wines with tasting notes from P's wine book.

I'm thinking mushroom crostinis, roasted garlic pesto pasta with grilled shrimp, and a chilled sabayon I saw on Anna Olson's Fresh just this morning...

Happenstance - A long time coming.

Happenstance - A long time coming.

I thought of becoming a writer seven years ago, but my road towards getting my foot in the publishing door has been quite the arduous journey. My early attempts saw me sending out countless internship resumes, many of which went unanswered; spending a summer lugging fashion bags around town for an unpaid internship; and at times squeezing myself dry over freelance pieces that went unpublished. I felt like a true writer only on the rare occasion - most times I just felt like one of the wannabe-actresses in Hollywood waitressing while waiting for their big break.

Seven years and several hard knocks later, I finally get it.

Today, in the very same Starbucks where I got my first freelance assignment three years ago,  the editor whom I had previously passed up the chance to train under offered me a position as a food and travel writer.

I have never in my wildest dreams imagined I would be able to secure a food (not to mention travel!) writing position, and on top of that write for an audience I can relate to. Anybody who knows just how passionate I am about food and just how much I love traveling would know how much this opportunity means to me. It's been a long time coming, but the wait has made it so much sweeter and the rewards so much greater. I. Am. So. Bloody. Stoked!

Enough is enough.

Enough is enough.

I've spent the past several weeks writing, writing and writing. I've revised one article, and am now left with the last. It's almost 3 but I can't sleep because the strive to perfect my every piece consumes. Perfecting a piece really eats one up alive doesn't it?

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

Expression.

Expression.


image from inmagine.com

When put into words, everything seems peachier in retrospect.

It's past 1 in the morning.

It's past 1 in the morning.

I've been hammering away at the keys since I opened the reference books I got from the library and the countless tabs I've opened in Flock. I have been avoiding getting down to the piece because of the sheer amount of information out there and the perplexingly broad scope of my assigned topic.

I spent a good seven months living, breathing and loving how I had to constantly churn out articles and it is contrastingly ironic how I've put off a travel writing piece for the entire week. Then again I am reminded that I had nothing to do but write at that time, while a million other unsexy things (media law readings and project work to name a few) vie for my time and attention these days.

The good old days eh?

In Matcha lies the cure.

In Matcha lies the cure.

The realization of a 1500-word organizational communication essay rounds off my term break to-do list to a perfect 10. Between dates, project meetings and my beach routine, I've ridden on my writing roll over the weekend to churn out my travel writing assignment and an internship cover letter. That leaves me with 8.5 more assignments to tackle over the next seven days.

It is reminiscent of the crazy poly days, and I am oddly enjoying it. It's inexplicable how I feed off being consumed by a piece of writing. It zaps and restores my energy levels all at the same time, and I'm a sucker for this feeling.

The week before term break is almost always deadline haven, so between lessons and Japanese takeout, the babes and I had a bit of a breather mucking around with Erwin's new Woody Allen glasses.





Nothing like a spot of laughter to put things back into perspective.

That night, bitch and I caught up over some late-night frappuccinos at Starbucks.



For a few hours before I had to rush home for a midnight online meeting, I could push most thoughts of work to the back of my mind, and to enjoy my Green Tea Frappe. I've been stuck on the drink ever since Rai introduced it to me several weeks ago.

After errands and two pages of my travelogue, I met B for dinner and to catch Mamma Mia! on Friday.


poster from http://www.flickr.com/photos/divxplanet/2598031284/

I wouldn't have taken the "feel-good movie event of the year" phrase on the poster seriously if I hadn't seen the movie for myself. Despite the umpteen cheesy moments, the catchy tunes had the audience singing along, and clapping when the credits rolled. It was an unlikely movie-going experience.



"Are Singaporeans always like this in cinemas?" a clearly surprised B whispered sometime through the show. I wish!

After a semi-grueling Saturday morning meeting and a cholesterol-laden Carls' Jr lunch, I headed home for more travel writing and an energizing cat nap, before meeting a bunch of CS peeps for "cultural immersion" at Geylang Serai. Zak was our friendly tour guide of the day, and the most inspiring moment of the evening would have to be watching a whole kopitiam of Muslims breaking fast together.

I don't know if it was the lack of sleep, but Lanxi and I only managed 2/3 of our usual beach route, before calling it a day and heading back to the city for our sushi lunch. And a scoop of ice-cream, green tea flavor for me. If anything, at least I had substantial doses of antioxidants over the past few days to last me through the pile of work that awaits.

Flop.