the hotpots for LNY

 

 

 

No secret it is that I love my hotpots- I've written about them more than once- I've taken more than enough pictures of all the pots I've had- new ones, old ones, present ones, even ones that closed down before I wrote about them.

 

Yes, I know hotpot isn't as healthy as, say, some other cuisines, what with soup base and all, but I don't eat it as often as I say I do (haha) and I'm quite selective about the dishes I have.

 

To go on would mean digression from the title of this article, which I wish not to do, because, after all, the hotpots of Lunar New Year this year had only three items of choice- beef, fish maw, lettuce- and nothing else.

 

Two places we went for the festive occasion this year.

 

One was this place at Shaw Lido, or rather, Isetan, because it really was just next to Isetan on the 3rd floor. The decor was one of the grander ones, fanciful partitions, decorative elements on the walls, shiny gold-colored tablecloths on round tables and all. It was quiet when we got there- only one other couple- maybe because it was an odd hour between lunch and dinner.

 

We got a mid-sized table- round- already laid with chopsticks and napkins. The pot- also round- came just as we settled down and we got two soups- one collagen, one herbal. From the menu we picked three dishes- lettuce, fish maw and beef. My companion liked the fish maw, there being not many places where fish maw is on the menu, where it is fresh, and is fairly priced. The beef was thinly sliced, nicely arranged, and was fresh enough to be tender when gently cooked shabu shabu style.

 

Of course, we just had to order more of the fish maw.

 

Three platters of it in all, I think.

 

Second day of Lunar New Year saw us at this place in Chinatown. What name it was, I (embarrassingly) don't remember- I just know it was somewhere along Temple Street nearer to the South Bridge Road side. A quirky looking place it was, with an industrial cement floor, heavy wooden tables, wooden bench seats, and penciled artwork drawn on the walls.

 

There were just two groups- us and another trio of girls- in the place, and they seemed to be having a marvellous time with plates of cabbage, corn, carrots, green leafy vegetables, and prawns here and there in front of them.  

 

We looked at the menu- it really was substantial with lots of vegetables, meats, seafood and all the balls- but we decided on an order of just beef, and beef, and beef.

 

No matter that we didn't have vegetables or cheese tofu or seaweed or prawns or cuttlefish balls.

 

No matter that we didn't have lettuce or chicken or pork or fish even.

 

Because there was wagyu on the menu, the wagyu was reasonably priced,  it came arranged nicely on a round platter, and so why not whack it (two platters!) when other places don't carry this offering on their menus at all?  



New Year (lunar) 2020

 

 

 

 

I'll be honest.

 

The Lunar New Year of 2020 was a more subdued for me this year.

 

It wasn't because there was anything horrible going on. It wasn't because there were incidents that rendered the festivities meaningless. And it certainly wasn't because I had no love for the festival itself.

 

If anything, I'm someone who loves the celebrations of Lunar New Year as much as I do Christmas (okay, maybe I love Christmas just a little bit more) 

 

But, call it roots, call it family togetherness, call it any excuse to have a holiday whatever, I'm Chinese, I'm thankful to be Chinese, and so be it I shall indulge in the fun of the Lunar New Year. 

 

Why miss the festival, I say, even though admittedly this year, there were, shall we say, more random thoughts running through the brain, there were quiet, flat-voiced discussions of the practical sort, and yes, there were a wee little bit of tears.

 

Yet, determined I was not to let the emotions overwhelm, absolute I was not to wallow my poor mind and heart in worrying misery, so off to the celebrations I went.

 

In fact the celebrations began a week or so prior where we decided to go for a buffet dinner that apparently was some sort of a Lunar New Year tasting menu. It was pretty good; on each table they had placed a tiny little money plant symbolising wishes of prosperity for their diners, and there was  a mocktail of pineapple juice and orange for everyone. There were the seafood offerings of raw oysters, prawns, those little lobster creatures that scare the heck out of me, and mussels shining beautifully under the light. There was also sashimi of salmon belly, salmon and tuna. On the cooked food side there was this huge fish steamed with some sort of mala chili, there were stewed vegetables (that I'm sure symbolize something but I don't know what), and there were shiitake mushrooms in a very nice, shiny sauce.

 

Then, of course, we had hotpots.

 

Two places- one at Isetan, where we got two kinds of soup (I got collagen) and several platters of beef, and several more platters of fish maw (which picture I didn't take); the other in Chinatown run by mainlanders who offered two different kinds of soup (collagen and herbal) and where we ordered three platters of beef, including wagyu that came beautifully arranged in a circle.

 

Lunar New Year is not without the small bites and the snacks, of course, and for this year I'm thankful to say that we had quite festive a collection of cookies and pineapple tarts, including a durian almond one, a butter pineapple tart, a butter pineapple ball, a margarine pineapple roll, peanut cakes, peanut cookies, and love letters of two kinds.

 

Little things can be so important, traditions especially, I tell you, because even if your mood is a little down, even if you're wondering what and why things have to happen, just pulling yourself together to go to Resorts World Sentosa (because it's a tradition you do year on year) for wife biscuits and baked char siew bao is enough a reminder that nothing's changed, that you're strong, and that you'll cross whatever comes your way.  

the Mezzanine court(room)

It may be of little significance (today) to Miss Brown the purpose why she was there, and why she had to be there.

 

She knows, of course, that it was a very serious matter to speak of- one which made it necessary for her to be inside the Court rather than to be outside it as once upon a time it often used to be.

 

And even though the seriousness of the matter had been explained to her several times over the course of a few weeks, and even though on this particular day in the autumn of 2015, the neatly dressed lady in the Court had read the paper and explained it to her, to Miss Brown, the information (not to mention the details) were all a babble of words.

 

It wasn't only because the Court proceedings were complicated.

 

It wasn't only because there were so many people in the room and the Court was so crowded and noisy and busy with individuals and their family members.

 

And neither was it only because she didn't know what the heck was going on and how she'd ended up here.

To Miss Brown, the focus of the day at this Court was just one- and one only.

 

She was there to see her little girl.

 

She was there to see her little girl who had moved out from the family home over a year ago, and whom circumstances had not permitted for them to meet. Personal visits hadn't worked, family mediation hadn't worked, and even all her earlier attempts to gain admission into hospital had failed.

 

THIS- this event today- was an opportunity- because this event where her daughter, her family members, and herself were compelled to appear, no excuses allowed.

Never mind that she turned up clad in the blouse-and-shorts outfit of the hospital where she had been admitted for observation a few weeks prior.

Never mind that she had to be granted special permission by The Honorable who let her stand where she was and not have to come to the dock.

In between the time when the Honorable spoke her name aloud and read out what was necessary (with the help of the interpreter), she looked over at her little girl continuously, hoping that her motherly gaze would be strong enough to will the middle-aged lady to come across and reunite, or if not, even a glance of encouragement, or recognition, would do.

Miss Brown was heavily disappointed.

The girl didn't come over to hold her hand, didn't look across at her, didn't even turn her head towards her mother's direction. No words, no recognition, no acknowledgement, nothing whatsoever.

Fifty years of being mother and daughter reduced to a status not even worth a tilt of the head.

And yet Miss Brown would have accepted anything- Anything- even if it were a barrage of curse words filled with anger, hatred and bitterness flung out at her from the mouth of her daughter.
 
Even that (perverse) bit of comfort was denied.
 
Still, it didn't mean that Miss Brown remained completely unaware of what *else* was going on. She knew she was here for a very serious business. She knew that the statement which the interpreter had translated to her held consequences far beyond the norm. 
 
Because whatever The Honorable said resulted in her being tightly escorted by two female uniformed officers to an office downstairs where she sat between them, nervous as s***, until a gentleman came out from a room behind, brought her to a table somewhere, and carefully (yet gently) explained to her in Mandarin that because of her age, because there was no flight risk, and because of other considerations that they had taken note of, she was permitted to be responsible for her own self. 

Toasting the End of 2019

 

You'd know by now that I can be quite an avid (and amateurish) photographer who loves documenting her life in pictures- and word-, and so here above be a collection of pictures that summate the year of 2019 for me.

 

It was a good year.

 

There were times when I wish it could have been a better year.

 

There were times when I felt I wasn't going to make it, and had it not been for a group of very lovely friends and loved ones whom I'm remarkably thankful to- you know who you are- I wouldn't be able to keep my chin up and my spirits light.

 

Your presence spokk volumes to me, and I trust that I will be the same to you as much as all of you have been to me.

 

Never in my life did I think I'd have friends and loved ones this encouraging, this supportive, this present.

 

And so I'm thankful and grateful beyond words.

 

I would not be able to say that 2019 was a good year otherwise.

 

I would not be able to say that I lived through all 365 days of it.

 

And neither would I have the presence, nor the frame of mind, to sit here writing this on the 22nd day of the 2nd month of the Year 2020.

 

Late, yes, but better than never, no?

an Elderly's depression

There are some pictures of Miss Brown in our possession that, I can tell you, are not very pleasant to see.

 

They are not pictures that we want to print, frame, and proudly hang on the walls. 

 

They are not pictures that we flip through albums and excitedly show to others.

 

And they are not pictures that we will look at with a smile.

 

They exist- purely for archival purposes, documentation purposes, consultation purposes,  and nothing more.  

 

In one of them Miss Brown is seen wearing a baggy white faded tshirt, sitting huddled on her chair in the hall, her eyes gazing at the TV on the wall. One side of her face is covered with blue-black bruises, some turned a sickly shade of yellow. 

 

In another, she is lying prone, face down, in the hot sun, on the pavement outside a couple of shops in a residential neighborhood. Her face is partially shielded by the hat she wears, and her brown jacket insulates her from the heat of the ground.

 

There is one of her sitting upright on a red tiled floor next to a drain pipe. Her faded white tshirt- the same one mentioned earlier- hangs loose on her. Her hair is matted. In this blurred picture, Miss Brown is seen sitting there, her back leaning against the whitewashed wall, her face a picture of resignation and abject misery.

 

And there is one where she is seen lying prone, face turned to the side, on a grass patch in the middle of the road. Her hat shields her partially upturned face from the glare of the sun, her long-sleeved blouse covers her arms from the pricks of the twigs and the bladed grass, and she lies near the edge of the patch where her feet are on the road.

In all of these pictures she is haggard, drawn, sallow, thin and unhappy. Her hair, once neatly tied up and dyed a proud youthful black, has become locks of limp, greasy and unwashed streaks of grey that cling to her head.

What you see, however, is not what really is.

 

Because if you were to ask me what happened to Miss Brown after these incidents, I can tell you that after a seemingly long while, and after a bit of passive-aggression, she hauled herself up and continued on her own way as if none of them had occured.

 

Yes, there is more than what the picture captures.

 

You would not have known that a few days before she was sitting huddled on her chair with a bruised face, she had dumped raw egg yolks into the (unlined) hall dustbin and left them for an entire day there. The bin stank of rotten eggs. The house stank of rotten eggs. And it took her caregiver an hour over to clean out the split, sticky egg residue from the bin, and Glade spray the hall back to normal.

 

Neither would  you have known that a couple of minutes before sitting on the tiled floor of the building, she had in fact dropped down on her back on the rough concrete slabs of a canal covering, and had it not been for her caregiver's quick response by holding her neck up with some resistance, she would have a split second after banged her head on the concrete to let her head bleed.

 

What I'm saying is that all of this was deliberate- yes, the falling down, the accidents, the location of the event, the crowd, the props, everything- was calculated, planned and executed to a degree where she might have felt pain and hurt and discomfort- but it would have been bearable and she would not have died.

 

What I'm also saying is that all of this was done deliberately for a singular purpose: That either a member of the public would see her, take pity on her, offer her aid, and then she could appeal to them to ring up her daughter, or that she would be injured sufficiently to be admitted into hospital and then have the hospital staff contact her daughter (previously on record) whom she was sure they would then make her come down to take responsibility for her mother, and then once mother and daughter reunited, all would be well.

 

It is hard to imagine that these (might) have been the plans of an elderly to reach her desired goal.

And one could say that this is pure imagination, that they were genuine accidents and she might have had a physical issue more than a mental one.

 

But if you understand that at that point in time Miss Brown had been suffering from a condition of (what would later be diagnosed as) clinical depression where infliction of self-harm is a common behavior, you would understand that at that point in time, her heart and mind were fixated on only a singular person, a singular goal, a singular purpose, and nothing else.

 

Did she want to feel pain?

 

I don't know- Miss Brown has a notoriously high endurance for pain- and I have no idea whether she wanted to feel it, or whether she wanted the physical pain to numb away the emotional.

 

Did it think she might overdo her carefully planned tactics and hurt herself further?

 

Unlikely so- a person who is going through depression has either a wish for the problem to be entirely resolved (where their unfulfilled longing is met) or for them to be entirely removed from the current scenario and situation. (like a runaway of sorts)

 

In other words, she wouldn't have cared.

 

She wouldnt have given a d*** if, instead of merely lying strategically with half her body on the grass patch and half her body on the road, a car or motorcycle might whizz by, miss seeing her, and run over her.

 

Neither would she have given a d***  when having slammed her head on the rough concrete slab, that instead of just a mere external head injury, she might have sustained a more serious concussion and a much more serious internal bleeding problem.

 

All of this didn't matter  to her by then.

 

To Miss Brown she had nothing more to lose.

 

What she cared for most, what she held on to the most (for half a century, no less) was already gone. If she could get her back to her side never mind what risks she took, Miss Brown would have deemed her strategy as a success. If she couldn't get her back to her side and the reality outweighed her risk, there was nothing for her to lose either.

 

If we understand what clinical depression, or any form of depression for that matter, is, then we will understand that life to the person is meaningless, pain to the person is more of a neurotic than a trigger, and it doesn't matter to them what they are, how they look to others, or how they look to themselves.

 

They don't give a flying f*** to their lives or the conditions of it, and that's as plain as it sounds to be.

 

Fortunately for Miss Brown, the frequent falls and the dangerous situations that she was placing herself in, were very worrying to her caregivers who felt she had to seek clinical psychiatric help.

 

And so she did.

Japanese at Enggor

 



A gamble it most certainly feels like when I am in this area of Tanjong Pagar on the weekend and want to come here for Japanese.

 

Because even though it is in Tanjong Pagar, this little nook actually sits on Enggor Street behind 100AM right next to the building where Cold Storage is, and which can be considered so near to Shenton Way and Anson Road that (like how Shenton Way is) it can be devoid of foot traffic on the weekends.

 

But the food is really, really good, so I take the chance anyway.

 

We've tried several items off their menu- and I know I took pictures of our food during our previous visit- but I think they're stored elsewhere and so there aren't any pictures of the yakitori or the tamago that we had the last time.

 

The yakitori comes recommended. We've tried the shitake mushrooms- they're dry with a slightly smoky burnt aftertaste. We've had the grilled scallops. We've also had the chicken and the beef and something that comes nicely wrapped in bacon but what I can't remember.

 

We've also had the tamago, and can I say that I really like the way they do it here? The size is just right, the egg is delicately sweet and has none of the standards that you have at the fast-food types.

 

One thing we always go for is the salmon sashimi, and the salmon sashimi belly. They serve it really, really cold, and really, really fresh, and it is so smooth and soft that I almost feel like it melts easily away.

 

This time we ordered the beef cubes- the fat was delicious, I tell you, and yes, I ate it. The cubes were cut in such a way that made it easy to pick with our chopsticks and were perfectly done on all sides. The meat was tender, it was all skilfully salted, soft  to the palate and with just a gentle hint of smoky grill in each bite.

We also had something with cheese and mentaiko. The something was scallops, and yes it was good- this I am sure- they do serve up good tasting food, but because we had in fact ordered the dish purely for the cheese and the mentaiko (my companion likes the latter) it is these two savory elements that I particularly remember.

Also the fact that we picked up every crumblet of grilled cheese with effective chopstick skills and made streaks across the mentaiko in an attempt to finish as much as possible. 

a burger at Capitol

 

An all-American 50s diner this place is over at Capitol Theatre, of which I have unfortunately forgotten its name. The place, however, is easy to find- just down the line along the stretch where the blue bakery is by the swinging doors- and you'll find it.

 

We hadn't planned to have lunch there, my colleague and I, but it being the lunch hour, it being that we had an errand after, and it being us feeling hungry no less, decided that the menu looked fine, and so, why not?

 

But here's the irony: I've forgotten the name of the burger.

 

It might have been a Philadelphia-something like a Philly Cheese. It might have been named after Marilyn Monroe or some other superstar of Hollywood reputation. It might even have been named after a legendary , Academy-Award winning theatrical release. 

 

Whichever it is, I can't remember the name. 

 

What I do remember is the size of the burger.

 

It was HUGE (for me).

 

And it had a very juicy, very tasty patty of Angus beef, a carefully melted slice of cheese, fresh lettuce that brought a burst of green juice to the smoked-feel meat, two slices of perfectly grilled crispy bacon, a very delish sauce (no, it wasn't BBQ), and a soft, fluffy, buttery, bouncy bun.

 

On top of the burger, and which I feel might be purely for the sake of the camera, were two large rings of onion.

 

The portion was so large that I decided to eat it the way I do when I am faced with large burgers- first, put the onions and the garnishing aside, split the burger into top and bottom, slice the cheese into half, slather the sauce on both sections, and eat it like two mini burgers.

 

Compromises the experience of eating a large, American-sized burger, I know, but there're no real rules, there're only preferences, that's how it works for me, and that's the way I am.

 

The loveliest memory of having this burger for lunch wasn't just the great-tasting Angus beef patty or the sliced cheese or the onions or the sauce.

 

It was the serving of sweet potato fries by the side.

 

Maybe because the fries were hot and fresh and crisp. Maybe because the chef had scattered just the right salt and the right amount of salt all over the fries. And maybe I so happened to be feeling peckish that afternoon and nibbling on a very long sweet potato fry actually took the jumpiness over and away from my side.

Christmas: Trees of 2019



Those who know me will know that I have a special, special, special love for the Christmas season and all things related, including Christmas trees.

 

Perhaps it stems from the one that we always have at home.

 

As early as end November, The Parents made it a ritual every year to lug out the tree from its box in the storeroom, take out the decorations, the lights, and then, to the music of Christmas carols playing on the hi-fi set, set up the tree in the living room right next to the main door.

 

It was always a wistful day when the season ended and we had to take the tree down.

 

These days we have a much smaller tabletop tree that comes with its own  cosy decor and which we'd bought from the department store because we wanted a new tree and I thought it looked really wintry and cosy and warm.

 

But I have a ritual of my own year on year.

 

I build my own collection of pictures of Christmas trees that I snap from just about anywhere. It depends on where I happen to go, be it a mall, a store, a decorative store, a hotel lobby, or even a hospital.

 

The tree doesn't have to be huge or glamorous or shiny or filled with intricate ornaments. It can be heartfelt, homely, cosy and built with love. But my heart tends to lean towards the glittery, golden ones. Not because they symbolize luxury (as most might think) but because seeing them in pictures makes me want to reach out and touch their golden lights, and when I do, the glorious little light on a tree so big leaves me a warm, fuzzy feeing inside.

 

This year my life was simpler, and so I got to go on a round robin around the various five-star hotels in Orchard, in the Downtown Core and in the Bay Area.

 

There was the tree of real needles and real pine in the lobby at Bugis. There was the gigantic one of red and gold at a lobby that's full of sun-filled light. There was the one which the staff decided to place near the lifts instead of the lobby and which I had to spend a couple of minutes looking around whilst wondering if they had decided to forgo the tree this year. Then there was the one somewhere in Orchard which- because of its American heritage- does a majestically glorious tree year on year that takes centrestage in its lobby and which glimmered with interesting decor (golden pine cones anyone?) and lights red and gold.

 

I wish I could have gone to more lobbies, but hey, that's how it was, I'm just thankful I got the time and mood to go, and this is precisely what I'm in it for.

Christmas: Cakes of 2019

 

You know, I was going to just plonk down the pictures of my cakes for the Christmas of 2019- and leave them there.

But then I realized that if Year 2019 Christmas was going to be the Year of the Log Cake, then maybe I should write a little more.

So here I am- with a bunch of pictures showing off my cakes for Christmas.

The first was a gift.

A very special gift from a few people who knew just how much log cakes mean to me.

See, I'm soneone who has pleasant memories of log cakes at Christmastime. The Family always had one year on year- it was either chocolate or vanilla during those days- and because there would be a good number of us at whosever house we gathered at, it was always lovely to see which family member got the first cut.

Very often it was the host.

Cakes for Christmas have evolved very much since then. I'm seeing all sorts of flavors at the confectionaries, the hotels, and even the supermarkets. Salted Gula Melaka, Red Velvet and Salted Caramel seemed immensely popular last year.

What I got, however, was a traditional one with thousands and thousands of chocolate flakes nicely laid over a log of moist chocolate sponge, fresh white cream, and rich blueberry filling that had blueberries inside.

It became breakfast and dessert for the next five days. :)

The second cake- called a stump cake- was a cake that I'd gotten for The Family. And I love it so much I've talked about it at least four times to anyone and everyone who would listen. See, we are a small Family unit that, whilst we do share foods with each other but we love our independence and like to divide them up equally too. 

That's how we roll.

That's the route we take for our Christmas cake every year.

In previous years, I've done some of the other bakeries, but this year I chose Polar for a special reason. Because when you have a dear friend who wielded her pen, her words, and her computer power to influence the management honchos to keep the individual cakes for the season, you honor the friendship.

And you honor the cake.

Not just for the friendship, but for The Family too.

Which is why this little stump cake becomes an extremely memorable one.

For not only did we get to have our own cake each- which comes in its own cute little box and is easy to carry around- not only did we get to try different flavors off each otehr's portion, we still got to keep allll the cake decor plus the stickers- three times over.

Tell me, what's not to love? :)