Snaps from the road.

Something spurred me to check back on my very old travel blog to relive my globetrotting days. I wonder how I got the moolah and courage to go to some of the places I did, but I don't regret the seven years I've spent feeding my wanderlust.

The decision to re-ground myself – make more money-wise travel choices, that is! – is one that I've put off for long enough, and a necessary (albeit rather painful) one. I'll live with the restrictions when the time comes, but for now, I've got two epic trips to keep me going until 2012 comes around (with luck and planning I should be ushering it
in India).

I've definitely been slacking off the travel blogging, but here are my favourite snaps from the past nine months.

Christmas in Tokyo

Soy crazy with Ran

New Year prayer for my family

Kyoto in December

Nippon spirit

Lost in translation: Strangers on a train

Always good to have a friend on foreign land. :)

Ichiro-san, who's proof that chivalry is not dead.

Celestial sunset - Koh Klang, Mar '11

Work acquaintances turned friends in Krabi, Mar '11

Junjungan sunset, Apr '11

Bali roadtrip

Made's piglets

Inside Ketut's Ubud home

Georgetown in Penang, Jun '11

Why do I like such mambo jumbo?

The 60-year-old mountain climbing uncle from Penang

Bintan, Jul '11

Buses and trains.

image via weheartit.com

Are you more a bus or a train person?

Me, I've always fancied myself a bus kinda girl, and I thought I'd travelled enough on public transport to know – I may live right smack in central Singapore, but I've spent a good 9 years shuttling to both the east and west, first for school and then for work.

I have very fond memories of my bus rides to and fro Temasek Polytechnic – trading gossip with my hospitality course mates, late-night rides home snuggling up to my then boyfriend, solitary afternoons buried in a Nora Roberts novel or lost in my thoughts... I couldn't understand why anyone would choose the invasive chaos of a packed train over the undisturbed tranquility of a bus.

Things changed when I enrolled at university. Taking the bus to the extreme west of Singapore was no longer a choice, both for efficiency and the well-being of my behind. And so, I begrudgingly squeezed into a crowded carriage, and over time, assimilated myself into train culture – nudging my way into a seemingly packed peak-hour carriage, staying upright through hearty jerks without holding on to a pole, narrowing my eyes at over-eager seat grabbers, and perfecting the art of discreetly checking weirdos out. In fact, I'm quite sure you wouldn't spot the bus girl in me should you spot me on the train tomorrow.

I came to realise that trains can be unwelcoming, but also super efficient. They're fast and almost never prone to traffic delays (congestions maybe). And when I'm overseas, the metro system often makes more sense to me than the intricacies of a city's bus routes. Can you blame me for switching loyalties?

If I were more philosophical, as I was this evening, I'd liken the switch to the realist taking over the idealist in me. It is true. I'm always in a rush to make it from point A to point B these days (I fear I have progressively serious punctuality issues), I almost forget what it's really like to slow down and enjoy the ride.

That said, I would have been happy to remain a train girl forever (until I get my hippie VW beetle that is), but by some strange stroke of luck, I downloaded a gem of an iPhone app called gothere.sg last night and out of curiosity mapped my home to office route. The results changed my life. Instead of braving the peak hour train crowds for a 68-minute journey to work (of which I am constantly checking my watch to see if I've missed the feeder service), I could in fact hop on a bus for a 77-minute ride in relative peace.

Have I been rushing around like a crazed bee and fumbling my way into crowded trains for squat? No guesses how I'm going to work on Friday morning... I'm thinking it's time to slow it down a notch, if I can roll out of bed 10 minutes earlier.

It is impossible to watch a sunset and not dream.

07 Aug '11: Sunset on Raffles Place

One of my favourite things to do on a lazy weekend is to strap on my running shoes and... walk. While there is some form of sadistic euphoria that comes from pounding the pavement, walking brings with it a soul-soothing contentment, and a reminder that the simplest pleasures in life are often best savoured at your own pace.

I usually take to the hiking trail when I'm on my own, but I like having my walking buddy with me when it comes to taking the long route through the urban jungle. It's nice to be in good company and, because CH is a voice of reason, it gives me a chance to regurgitate the thinking I do during my walks of solitude. Sometimes, I get a plan of action out of our conversations, like I did today; at other times I get a big, fat reality check, like I did today, too.

Me: So, I've given myself till my 25th birthday before I start living more responsibly.
CH: -does a double take- I never expected to hear you say that so soon.
Me: Why not? It's about time. It's been seven years. After Adelaide. Okay, maybe India.
CH: -unconvinced- Yeah, yeah, and what's planned for next year after India? You're always flying somewhere.
Me: Hmm. But can you imagine how rich I'd be if I didn't travel? All these years?
CH: Well...... Haha, yes.

- lapse into comfortable silence -

Me: Then again, I'll be cash rich but poor in terms of life experiences!
CH: Really? How "poor" exactly will you be if you don't go to Adelaide?
Me: Shut up.

Old friends. Gotta love them to hate them.

Time check.

I have 34 days to scrimp to splurge in Adelaide;
58 till the self-imposed end of my gypsy lifestyle.

picture from here

Pantry Puttanesca

It's been awhile since I cooked purely for pleasure, longer still since I made dinner for myself. Cooking for one is, rather ironically, a treat in the Khoo household. You see, making your own dinner takes some forethought, as there is always food of some sort on the dining table, but I was in the rare mood to spend some time pottering about the kitchen doing something unrelated to work.

Eschewing cookbooks and food websites, I flicked through my mental archive of toss-it-together recipes instead and almost immediately decided on pasta Puttanesca. Why, I have no idea. I'd barely skimmed through an article on it weeks, possibly even months ago, and all I remembered were these key words – tomatoes, anchovies and whore's pasta. (Culinary lore believes that Puttanesca was named after ladies of the night, who lured men into brothels with the sauce's intense aroma.)

I vaguely remember olives and fresh herbs in the equation, but I was too lazy to trek out to the grocer's, and really, isn't the absence of a recipe the best bit about non-work cooking? Somewhere along raiding my pantry and mentally rocking up a recipe, I decided to corrupt it all with a topping of garlicky breadcrumbs, just because there was panko in my kitchen drawer. This is bastardised Puttanesca at its worst, comforting home-cooked supper at its best.

Leigh's pantry Puttanesca
Serves 2

1 small box cherry tomatoes
4 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
¼ cup panko or stale breadcrumbs
Handful pasta (I used wholewheat spaghetti)
1 tin anchovies 
handful of baby spinach
handful of feta, crumbled (optional)
handful of basil, torn (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 200C. Toss the cherry tomatoes in 1 tbsp olive oil and ⅓ of the garlic. Pop these into the oven and roast at 180C until the tomatoes start to blister and shrivel. I didn't time, but it probably took me about 30 mins. Remove from oven and set aside.
2. Toast the panko in a small frying pan with 1 tbsp olive oil and ⅓ of the garlic, tossing or stirring occasionally until the crumbs are golden.
3. Cook the pasta until al dente in a pot of salted water. Drain and reserve ¼ cup of pasta water.
4. Heat the remaining oil in a pan and saute the remaining garlic until fragrant. Add in the anchovies and cook, stirring continuously, until they melt. Tip in the roasted tomatoes, give it a good stir and then add in the spinach. Cook, covered, for a min, and then add in the cooked pasta. Add a few tbsp of the reserved pasta water and toss to coat the pasta.
5. Crumble in some feta to taste, and stir through the basil, if using. Eat immediately, preferably in front of the telly! :)

Leigh's Meatless Mondays

I have all these half-arsed ideas about ethical eating and food politics, but I never quite got around to tangibilising my thoughts and making a scrupulous stand. I have, several times over the past few years, attempted to dig a little deeper, but it's hard to breathe in a whirlpool of discourse when you've got confusion sitting on your lungs.

"I'll only eat happy meat or none at all." Now that's something I wish I could say with conviction, but I have a million questions running through my head. Are kampung chickens considered to be free-range? What about pigs? And cows? Is free-range even an applicable term when it comes to farming in Asia? The answers probably lie within the encyclopedia of information out there, considering the number of investigative journalists fighting to expose dark trade secrets, but inertia currently has an iron grip on me.

The next best option for a confused but concerned meat eater would probably be to not eat meat. I did attempt it for awhile, back when I was 21, living in India and getting into the yoga swing of things (and trust me, it isn't that hard to go veggie in India), but any green notion was lost to the wind the minute I set foot on Parisian soil. Steak frites? Oui! Confit de canard? Oui, oui! Foie gras? Oui, oui, oui!

And realistically speaking, vegetarianism is hardly an option now that I've made a career of knowing and writing about the flavour nuances in the infinite world of food, of which meat is a huge part of. The most conflicting part is perhaps how much I love and crave the whole process of tasting, learning and knowing.

Gone are the days when I would eschew a hearty burger (medium doneness, with a side of limpy hand-cut chips, please) in exchange for stir-fried greens. In the past year, I haven't had even the slightest conviction to going green, but a recent conversation I had with a friend has got me thinking that I could, amidst all this bumbling and self-doubt, let go of my nonchalant all or nothing approach and try to make a semblance of a difference.

This quite wisely sums out what I think:

image from here

So yes, I've decided I am going to embark on my personal Meatless Mondays, starting today. It's one hell of a baby step, and perhaps an inconsequential footprint in the world of food ethics, but I think I owe it to me. Salad, anyone?

Only human

The official changing of hands finally happened yesterday. Despite the two-month-long limbo I've had to wrap my head around the switch, nothing quite prepared me for the whammy of emotions that hit me, right in the heart.

The torrent of tears were unexpected and illogical, but understandable when one has to say goodbye to the best mentor a writer can ever wish for. The finality of it kick-started a mental reel of pivotal moments, all of which brought on a mix of reluctance and gratitude, along with fresh waves of tears.

So I gave in to them for a bit, then I fixed my makeup and hailed a cab to a press conference. I sniffled a little while sitting through the peak-hour jam, acted fairly normal amongst work acquaintances, went out to dinner, teared a little while waiting in line, shared a few laughs over coffee and a slice of murderous chocolate cake, and then went home and let it all out.

My tear ducts haven't been on overdrive like this in a long while, and it was incredibly bizarre and inexplicable, yet so cathartic at the same time. It was less a lament of loss, more a recognition of acceptance and change. So, I'm cutting myself some slack this weekend for being human (and a woman). Life will roll right along come Monday.

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. :)

Postcards from Penang

8am and blurry-eyed

Snaps of our converted shophouse hotel room - Straits Collection Residences on Stewart Lane

First meal of the day at De Tai Tong on Lebuh Cintra, where super friendly, chatty old ladies work the floor. :)

 Auntie Sim offers a peek into our futures. 4 kids for Ceci!

Chendol pilgrimage

Sunlit stroll back to the hotel after our foot reflex session.

Chilling at Kopi Cine on 55 Stewart Lane, right beside our room.

Restless conversations on paper.

Breakfasting by the roadside in Little India

More drinks while waiting for our pedicure.

Yummiest meal in Penang at Shing Kheang Aun Restaurant on 2 Chulia Lane. I think even the fussy Khoo bibiks at home would be satisfied.

Showing off our pimped out nails

Background: Livers fried in dark soy sauce.
Foreground: Assam prawns.

Ikan gulai

Friendly local who readily dished out foodie tips. He's 60 this year and hikes regularly. Respect!

Coffee and toast break in an alley kopitiam.

Street food: Lok lok - things on sticks. Kinda like steamboat meets satay.

All set for the "EPIC" train ride home. Well, we made it didn't we, babe?

17 hours

14:18 hrs
Somewhere between Penang and KL

It's a long journey home and for the past 7 hours, I've done little more than eat, read and nap. For 17 hours, my life is distilled into the simplest choices between feeding my body or my mind, or closing my eyes and letting the world, along with its cheery platform send-offs, pass me by.

For 17 hours, life exists and revolves around this tiny carriage with chattering old folks and petulant toddlers. I've found my place right here – 10D by the window – and I stay firmly in my seat, watching the changing scenery outside the train doors. I contemplate crawling over my sleeping companion to stretch my legs, but the hypnotic blur of passing shrubs and the soothing lull of a moving train keeps me rooted, at least for another minute.

The feeling of staying put yet simultaneously moving is an odd but comfortable contrast. It's a soothing balm for a restless spirit, and an unshackled grounding for a gypsy heart.

Sing me a song again, daddy.

"Once when my younger heart was broken, your shoulder was there to cry on.
Sing me those songs I know will linger, long after you have gone."

He never had to use harsh words or to hold a cane in his hand, but his strong silence was very effective in keeping a young, feisty girl in check. I used to think that I feared him, all those nights I stayed past my curfew and stared at my ringing phone with trepidation, but now that I've grown up, I realised that it wasn't fear that had me scurrying home. It was respect.

Something he told me when I was really young has stuck with me all these years. I was no more than 9, and it was just another ordinary night at the dinner table. I can't remember the context of our conversation, but I do remember him turning to me and saying, very matter-of-factly. "Respect is something that has to be earned, not given. For example, I want you to call me papa because you respect me, not because you have to."

We've had our differences – we still do – for I've made some unconventional choices through the years. But in his quiet way he's stood by me through all of it – sending me off at the airport to India (muttering under his breath about the dangers of an uncharted land), sending me off at the airport to Paris (grumbling about the strange Frenchman who stole my heart), and rubbing my shoulders in comfort when I returned home from a trip sobbing over a heartbreak (no, not the Frenchman). Very calmly, he put down the evening papers and held out his arms when I dropped my backpack at the front door.

In recent years, I feel like we've swopped roles, now that his strength is gradually slipping away with age. But when I slipped my hand into his this morning as we walked home from breakfast, I felt it – the rock-steady spirit I know I can always rely on, even when he doesn't look it.

Isn't he amazing?

Foodie perks and fangirl moments.

A few months ago, I had the chance of meeting Poh Ling Yeow. For the uninitiated, Poh's a MasterChef Australia (season 1) finalist and the host of Poh's Kitchen on TLC. I've been a fan of her vivacious TV personality and I was chuffed to get to interview her for my column. It took a hell lot of restraint not to blog about this that very weekend, and after what seems like forever, our June issue's finally out on the newsstands.

Apart from all that eating, getting to meet and pick the brains of foodies and chefs has got to be one of the best perks of my job. The excitement never gets old, although I like to think that I've developed a bit more poise since the year I ran across a ballroom just to get a picture with David Rocco. Coincidentally, my dear photographer friend Sook Wai, who egged me on to cop a shot with Rocco then, was snapping for this event as well. This is me, immortalised on film.

I burst out laughing when I first saw this. So this is what I really look like when I'm in food heaven.

Speaking of MasterChef, Ran and I attended a cooking class organised by Cookpad International last Sunday. It was organised team competition style, which was new but kinda fun, in a Masterchef-y sorta way. The kitchen zen I so enjoy while slicing things up eluded me and I found myself alternating between fervently checking the clock and anxiously thawing-frying-grilling beef. It almost felt like I was back at Saffron, 'cept that there was no nasty-tempered head chef staring holes into our backs. It was quite a Sunday evening and one thing's for sure – there's no way in hell I'm ever signing up to be on Masterchef, ever!

My team of lovely ladies.

Our tomato salad and under-caramelised onions.

The burgers turned out pretty well, though.

Jacqui treated us to her awesomely yummy cupcakes. That's the salted caramel and vanilla bean.

And that's Jon, the event organiser and director of international product for Cookpad, Inc. Within 5 minutes of Facebooking this shot, I had two very enthusiastic texts from my female friends asking who that hunk of a man was. Focus on the food, women!