Moving on.

So I've started yoga classes, again. Yep, three years after my last class with Sunil, I've finally moved on and found my inner yogi another home.

To be honest, I'm not quite sure how I feel about it just yet. It's in a quaint neighbourhood not unlike Whatever studio and I'm at ease with the instructor. But like a great love relationship, those surreal Wednesday evenings at Whatever are quite a (seemingly impossible) feat to measure up to, though I can never be sure if I'm looking back through rose-tinted glasses.

But yes, move on I shall. And it really is quite a nice start to the weekend, even if I have to propel/roll myself out of bed to get to class by 9.

Make it from scratch.

Changes don't happen overtime. More often than not, they manifest stealthily, sinuously... kinda like vines creeping up wrought-iron fences. Some changes are inconspicuous, inconsequential, while others are huge, especially when cast upon unsuspecting ol' me.

It started off innocently enough. On Monday, I initiated a Messenger chat with a friend to arrange for dinner, having missed a gathering while I was away in Japan. She suggested that we pop over to hers for some nosh and I, in typical dessert queen fashion, offered to bring dessert. The dinner was set for Friday, and I immediately started plotting the logistics. Bake cupcakes on Thursday night after chap goh meh dinner. Zip home after work on Friday, make frosting and ice cupcakes, pack them and cab over. Easy peasy. And then I lost myself browsing recipes online.

Fast forward to a wet, gloomy Friday evening. My work had taken and left me stranded in the middle of the CBD where every other person was waiting/calling for a cab. I had exactly an hour to get home, conjure up a batch of icing, frost the cupcakes and leave the house. My feet were aching, and I was starting to feel like an underdressed clown amidst the sea of perfectly coiffed executives. Deciding to brave the rain, I eased out of the taxi queue and went off in search of a bus-stop. And guess what cranky ol' me had to flip-flop past? Three dessert places. Ice-cream. Pastries. Perfectly iced cupcakes.

That's when it dawned on me. I should have bought dessert instead! A box of macarons or chocolate truffles, or maybe a tub of ice-cream. That would have saved me the late-night baking sweatshop and a prior trip home. Instead, when I had volunteered to bring the sweets, I had, without any further thought, already set my mind on baking something. Buying a readymade dessert could not have been further from my mind.

Thanks to the string of work-related recipe testings, cooking and baking from scratch have become so ingrained in me that I never thought to consider non-culinary possibilities. For a person who loves convenience and efficiency, and who only in the past year roasted a perfect bird, fully overcome her fear of knives and really derived pleasure from cooking, this change is huge. It's monumental. And I love it.

Next up? Bread and homemade ice-cream, me thinks. Can't wait. And here they are, the babies born out of Thursday night's baking sweatshop. I couldn't be prouder.

earl grey cupcakes with vanilla bean and cream cheese frosting

adapted from Chocolate and Zucchini gâteau au yaourt, and a million other recipes

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}