A Yum Cha Birthday

Thankful I am that I got to go to one of my favorite places for a dim sum buffet during the month of my birthday. 

I'm not just glad that there's a buffet. 

I'm glad for the one who brought me there.

Because, if you're someone who loves dim sum (like me), a couple of baskets here and there ain't enough. 

You will want to have more, and you will want to have enough of them little bite-size pieces as much as you can until you feel like you've got enough.  

I don't know about you, but that's how I always feel whenever I go for dim sum- whether it be at Yum Cha, Swee Choon, 126 or elsewhere. 

This afternoon we were here for the buffet, and of course, we wasted no time ordering some of our favorites here. 

The buffet menu here at Yum Cha is one of the more interesting ones which I've seen. 

I'm not sure about the other places, but here you get the categories of fried, steamed, mains and desserts, all of which you can order from and as many as you like.

At another time I might go for the mains which include century egg pork porridge or a dish of vegetables, but today we decided we'd choose variety and so looked all over the menu to get the ones we wanted.

One of the very first things we ordered was the bean curd roll, which, with its gentle tear of the bean curd skin, brought the flavor of the prawn and turnip (I think it's turnip) fillings right into your mouth. Even someone who's not a fan of bean curd or tofu would find this roll tasty, crunchy and appetizing.

We also ordered the prawn puffs, which, when served to the table, were so perfectly fried that the skin gave you that satisfying kraaack sound when you bit into the edges, and was just as crisp with the prawns inside warm and hot upon first bite.

Amongst all these dishes that we ordered there were the egg tarts. 

Special mention must be made of these. 

They're one of my best loves. 

Here at Yum Cha they're served in threes, and although I think it's meant to be shared between a pair or a group, I alone ate them all- in the way that I like eating them these days- scooping up the custard with my spoon, then eating the pastry after.

Besides the egg tarts there was an order which I call the pork pie.

Okay, so I don't know its actual name but at first look it resembles a croissant of light pastry stuffed with minced pork inside. 

Think of it as a combination of East and West together. 

The great thing about this is the way it is cut- easy to pick up with chopsticks and everyone can get an equal share. 

We didn't just have the fried, of course.

There were two, or was it three, baskets of xiao long bao- which we usually try not to leave out whenever we're here- and then along with it, we decided to have a portion of their char siew baos. 

Don't chuckle at our choice.

Yes, there might be frozen ones out there on the shelves of the supermarkets but those here at Yum Cha have a fluffiness and a balance in the sweet filling to the degree that you know they're created for the dim sum diner, not run-of-the-mill from a well-oiled machine on the factory floor. 

But I guess we do have a special liking for the fried- because at the very last minute we decided that fried chicken wings were worth filling up our stomachs for, and we added the order. 

Come to think of it, we ought to have ordered them first. 

They are, after all, also a favorite of ours, and somehow I think we might have appreciated them better had we munched through those crispy, tasty, perfectly fried chicken wings when we were not yet this full. 

Still there was room enough for dessert, and boy, we pushed it, ordering a bowl of mango pudding, a bowl of guilingao and a bowl of almond jelly. 

Let's just say that the mango pudding was really very pudding, the almond jelly made me think of Chinese restaurant meals which I used to have a long, long time ago, and the guilingao was more power than we assumed it would be. :)

Peach Garden Dim Sum

So it's no secret that I love dim sum. 

And I'm not particular where I have it.

It can be at a coffee shop in Bedok Central, it can be at a coffee shop in Eunos, it can be at Crystal Jade or Yum Cha or Swee Choon or 126.

It don't matter to me just so long as the menu has variety and the prices make sense and are good. 

There're times in my life where I wish I could have dim sum every day.

But no of course not- there's the diet to think about- and so it becomes a very pleasant surprise when I find myself (on a weekday evening) in a place where I've never had their dim sum before. 

I've come to Peach Garden before for other meals at other times. 

But dim sum? 

And at 50% off? 

Nope. 

Not at all. 

So here I was, at Peach Garden on the 5th floor of Orchard's Heeren, for a dim sum dinner at 6pm because a friend told me they were having this promotion (fairly new two month old restaurant and all) and it seemed like a good deal. 

Can I tell you how delighted I was to see the plate of chye tow kuay radish cake on the table on a Monday? 

And can I tell you how happy I was that we had ordered some of my favorites when it comes to dim sum? 

There, in quick succession, came our orders of radish cake, yam puffs, beancurd skin-something, salted egg custard buns, and the puff with the big prawn inside.

It's not often that I get to have all this on the first day of the week.

Most of the time I don't even get to have this on the weekends. 

So you can imagine just how much I enjoyed the meal.

The salted egg custard buns, when served, were warm to the touch and the custard lava flowed smoothly out when my chopsticks (with decorum) gently pried open the top of the bun. 

So warm and smooth was the custard that I was tempted to put aside my chopsticks, pick up the bun with my hands, and gently slurp the salted egg filling out. 

But I didn't.

Oy, I was in Peach Garden after all. 

They've got standards in this place, that I know, in the sense that whatever's supposed to be crunchy is crunchy, whatever's supposed to be crispy is crispy, and whatever's supposed to be soft and warm is soft and warm. 

Some dishes were a mix of both.

Like the radish cake, which, by the way, I absolutely loved. 

See, the mark of a good chye tow kuay/chye kuay is that it has to be crispy on the outside, crispy at the edges, but soft on the inside. 

Perchance that there had been disappointment from time to time (at some supposedly good places too), this one here at Peach Garden however was delightful. 

Right from the moment my chopsticks pierced through the thin upper layer crust of the radish cake as I broke off a chunk, I knew it would be crisp and hot on the outside, warm and soft on the inside.

That same standard that marked the salted egg custard bun and the radish cake was there in the yam puff and the prawn puff as well. 

Where at some other places I might have had lukewarm yam puffs with tough, chewy skin, the ones here were hot when served, and easy to eat. 

And where at other places the skin  of the prawn puff might taste artificial and icky, here it didn't have any awkward taste, and it was sufficiently crunchy as well. The size might have been small, but the prawn inside was huge. 

Even the beancurd skin, which I thought sounded kind of ordinary, like no big deal, had its own significant charm in the way of a thin seaweed strip. 

I didn't know a piece of seaweed this small could make such a difference in way of flavor, texture and taste. 

But it did. 

That tiny little hint of umami, maybe. 

I liked it.

Sometimes it really is the little things that matter the most. 

Like the seconds that mark the difference between a well steamed pau versus a non-fluffy one.

Like the seconds that make the surface of a radish cake crispy versus an overly soft, or overly hard one. 

And like the little orchid petals garnishing the plates that bring a little bit of natural beauty to the bright, appetizing yellows of our food. 

A Handphone Story

So I found these two babies whilst clearing out some stuff in my bags couple of weeks back, and boy, was I surprised.

Maybe because I wasn't expecting to find them amongst a pile of books and clothes that I hadn't looked at in a long while. but there they were, both of them in one of those pouch bags bought from Daiso, together with another third phone which I had particularly liked when it was first introduced to me, and which I was a little sad for when it had to be decommissioned to make way for a new phone.

Seeing these two brought me a sense of nostalgia that I didn't know I had. 

Not so much the use of the phones themselves, but the places where them two had been.

I remember the excitement when I first got the Nokia- it ran on the 3G network, making auto-roam so much easier. It didn't matter where I was calling from- I could now call a landline from nearly anywhere in the world without having to worry whether the network could sustain it or otherwise. 

Happier yet, Japan had jumped onto the 3G network not too long before, and now I didn't have to switch to Docomo or another network when making a call home whilst transiting at Narita International Airport.

This phone was the one that went with me to Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego and New York City.

I'm not sure if it went with me anywhere else. 

Maybe Bangkok, in 2011. 

Or maybe it was the LG Lollipop phone that went.

Things get kind of blur between 2009 and 2011.

But I know the Lollipop was with me in 2012, as was the Blackberry, which went with me in April of that year to Taiwan.

I actually liked the Blackberry. 

Not for the stiff business-like formality that its image presented, but the fact that it had a physical keyboard, and buttons whose touch I fancied. It had (surprisingly) rather adorable looking fonts too. 

How long I used the Blackberry I too cannot remember- it might have been about a year, a year over, maybe. 

But I know I used the gear until the buttons fell off. 

By then, however, I was more than ready to change the phone- primarily because it wasn't compatible with Facebook anymore, and in any case, the BB was really more of a handheld computer/word-based piece of equipment, excellent for messages and emails but terrible for social media, visuals, camera functions and everything else. 

So off it went. 

And a (second hand) Samsung Galaxy III came in. 

Hanare by Takayama @ Takashimaya

Couple of months ago a friend introduced me to this place on the 5th floor of Takashimaya. 

I was surprised. 

Not because I didn't know that there were restaurants on the upper floors of this well-known, more-than-a-century-old department store, but because these restaurants were not places this friend would usually go.

But an introduction is an introduction, and so we went. 

One of the first things that caught my attention when we got to Hanare by Takayama was the decor. 

At first glance it looked atypical- like what a good many Japanese restaurants and dining places tend to be- but it didn't take me long to realize that she had, in fact, embodied the colors, ambience, and atmosphere of Japan's four seasons into her decor. 

Right at the entrance you were greeted by the cold, chill grey-black stone of winter early and late, but inside, amongst the tables, within the atmosphere, there was the warmth and cheer of spring, autumn, and summer. 

It being my first time there, I didn't know that the concept of Hanare by Takayama featured "traditional and homey dishes that highlight seasonality-driven and exquisite ingredients."

Only much later did I find out, and when I did, the beauty of everything I'd eaten that evening began to click.

Like for instance, we had started our dinner with an order of Assorted Sashimi where thick cuts of Maguro, Kampachi, Hotate and Salmon served cold and fresh and chill came served on their pretty rectangular plate. 

Perhaps the sashimi that I remembered most from that evening was the Maguro, and the Hotate. 

It isn't that I don't like salmon (I love it).

Neither is it that I don't like trying out new fish like yellowtail.

But simply because I like scallops prepared all ways, and I like bluefin tuna when prepared in this cold, fresh, almost raw kind of way. 

Between us, who was it that took more of the Salmon or the Kampachi, or the Maguro, I don't really know. 

We were both too busy appreciating the thick, tender cuts that  we dipped into soy sauce and wasabi. 

After this there was an order of Wagyu Beef Salad, which, if you ask me, was a bit of a surprise, not because I thought the dish wasn't good, but because my friend is not someone who orders salad whenever he eats out at dinner. 

But in this dish there were slices of Aburi Wagyu (exactly what it was we were going for) and deep fried potato. 

I liked the Aburi Wagyu, I liked the potato- it was so crisp- but I liked the lettuce and the pickles even more. 

There's a good reason why salads often make a good appetizer- they're a great palate cleanser, and if they're anything like the sliced radish and spicy sesame dressing that I had in this wagyu beef salad, they actually whetted the appetite more. 

It doesn't matter if you're not into beef.

Here at Hanare you've got the alternative of Tofu and Deep Fried Whitebait Salad, and Bonito Tataki Salad as well.

Honestly, if we hadn't been taking the beef, I might have chosen the Bonito Tataki for it's ginger citrus dressing, and what they call the Orange Supreme.

Our next course moved on to Tempura, and here, instead of having either the Tiger Prawn or the Vegetable, we decided to have both, and so got an Assorted Tempura which had two pieces of tiger prawns sitting delicately above a bed of vegetables, including eggplant.

Eggplant Tempura is one of my favorites when it comes to Tempura, so imagine my delight when I was given an extra portion courtesy of my friend, and I got to eat it with the salt-grilled salmon belly that arrived at our table not too long after. 

This salmon belly might seem like a simple dish- but it's not every day that I get to have salmon belly, and it's not every day that I get to have soft, tender, melt-in-your-mouth salmon belly that's been beautifully salted, perfectly grilled. 

The fish didn't have a taste that seemed too clean, too tasteless, or on the other side of the scales, too extreme.

Everything was perfectly balanced.

Perhaps it is their use of exquisite ingredients that makes the difference. 

Because whilst the offerings might be familiar to anyone who has experienced Japanese cuisine, it takes a skilled, sensitive palate to understand the importance of well-balanced textures, and well-balanced flavors.

I'm no connoisseur- I just eat- but after dining here at Hanare, I think I'm beginning to understand just what, and why these dishes are so special, and why some of them seem a little more expensive. 

It isn't because they're on the 5th floor of Takashimaya.

It isn't because they're not a typical restaurant chain.

But it's the way they make their food, and the exquisite ingredients they use, that even the simplest, most commonplace of dishes taste like gourmet.

I should know.

I've not been able to see an Agedashi Tofu in the same light that I once used to. 

Sure, it's really just Deep Fried Tofu served in Dashi soy sauce and Bonito Flakes, but somehow the one here at Hanare hits different. 

Don't ask me why. 

Maybe it's the texture of the skin. 

Maybe it's the way the cube of tofu had been deep fried. 

Whichever it was, I found a new appreciation for this Agedashi Tofu dish the same way I found a brand new appreciation for the Salmon & Ikura Kamameshi that came directly after. 

It's kind of hard for me to describe just why I found this dish remarkably special, but let me just say this- the menu here might have a variety of mains that you can choose from, like the Sakura Ebi Pasta, the Tempura Udon, or the Sukiyaki Kurobuta Pork, but if it so happens that none of those appeal to you, then their Kamameshi is something that you must not ignore. 

A mixed rice dish slow-cooked with the Chef's dashi stock in an iron pot, each Kamameshi features Koshihigari rice from Niigata, and it's got the finest ingredients (by season) that will embrace you, fill you up gently and not overwhelm you. 

There're a good number of choices for Kamameshi which you can make.

Like the Unagi and the Kagoshima Wagyu. 

Like the Sweet Corn, the Abalone, and the Braised Pork Belly. 

Or even the Sakura Ebi, the Chicken or the Salmon & Ikura. 

At another time I might go for the Braised Pork Belly or the Kagoshima Wagyu (they sound rather interesting), but this evening we decided on the Salmon & Ikura, which, when the iron pot was brought to our table, I discovered, to my delight that there were also finely chopped mushrooms, some other vegetables and spring onions in the rice beneath.

We decided to have the server mix up the rice and divide it for us. 

And even though I felt it like too small of a bowl (for me), it was a fantastic, warm, homely dish very much reminiscent of homecooked food- a bowl of delicious, soul-satisfying rice that you would want to come home to at the end of a long, tiring day. 

Story of a BATA Bag

Couple of weeks ago whilst in the midst of packing my stuff, I decided that this bag, like the other one, too had to go. 

At first I wasn't sure.

It still was in quite a good condition, it still could be used, and more importantly, this bag, actually, wasn't mine.

No doubt I had been using it for almost 6 years, even hanging a little lion stuffie on it, but in fact it was on a borrowed status, and this bag originally belonged to a lady who bought it 9 years ago during a very trying season when she was rehabilitating from a stroke and going through physiotherapy to recover the use of her affected left leg and arm. 

In a season like that one tends to buy a lot of things. 

So at the BATA store in Peninsula Plaza one day she picked out this bag from the shelf, fished inside her old bag for a 50 dollar note, and paid for it. 

How long she carried this blue handbag for, I cannot remember now- probably a year give and take- but one day she decided that there wasn't any much of a point carrying this bag out anymore, so aside the bag went. 

There it sat unused for a season of time- probably about two years or so- until one day I was desperately looking around for a handbag to carry to a last minute professional meeting, and (with permission from her family) I borrowed it.

Time passed and the bag (sort of) became mine after a while. 

But a few years after I had to stop carrying it. 

Not because I felt like I shouldn't borrow it or use it but because the bag somehow seemed very heavy after my day to day belongings were placed in it, and despite my best efforts I found it hard to brush away the uncomfortable ache spreading over my shoulders.

Eventually other bags came into place and this one became left behind.

I haven't used this bag in probably over two years. 

It's just been sitting there. 

You know, one of the questions I asked myself before tossing this bag away into the bin was whether I would use this bag again in the future.

The answer was no. 

It wasn't the only question I asked. 

I asked myself too whether it was something the original owner still cherished. 

The answer too was, in all likelihood, no. 

Maybe she might recognize it, maybe she might not. 

I don't know. 

I'm not sure whether she still remembers it. 

And even if she does, I'm not sure whether she wants to be reminded of a time where she tried so hard to be strong, carrying all the things she thought she might need, every day, to CART at Tan Tock Seng Hospital, even though the design of the bag probably tired her out and made her commute more challenging than she assumed it would be. 

Backpack ~2000s

I threw this backpack away couple of weeks ago.

It was time. 

Time to let go of things, time to let go of mementoes, time to let go of stuff because their original owners had already let go of them. 

I took a good look at the backpack before tossing it into the bin.

It had, after all, gone with me to places that I previously had not gone before, and in all honesty, I don't hate it nor resent it.

But times have changed, my preferences have changed, and I no longer appreciate this backpack the way that I used to. 

That doesn't mean that I don't remember the circumstances that led to me buying this backpack, or that I don't remember at where I got this backpack from.

I remember it all very well. 

Is there a significance to this blue and black colored, padded strap backpack that I bought at a shop on the second floor of Larkin Bus Terminal? 

Yes.

Because she's a memento of a time when The Family and I were going up to Malaysia nearly every weekend. 

I'm not reminiscing romantically about those times. 

But they did happen. 

And because they did happen- Saturday mornings to Sunday nights four times a month- we've got this story of the backpack to which I never really gave it a name.

It's one thing to pack for a 7 day trip and get on a coach that will take you point-to-point directly to your destination.

It's another thing, however, to pack the same size of bag for a 2 day trip and take three buses before you finally get to the place you were planning to go. 

The journey would've been much easier had The Family decided to take direct coaches from the (now-enbloc) Golden Mile Complex at Beach Road. 

I could have then tossed my green gym bag overhead my seat, or even in the luggage section below. 

But they preferred to do it the organic way and so four times a month we boarded a bus to take us from our home to Queen Street Bus Terminal, where from there we took another bus- 170 or Causeway Link depending on which queue was shorter- and then after that from Larkin to whichever town we were going. 

Maybe I wouldn't have minded it so much had it not been for this chonk of a green gym bag resting like a heavyweight on my right shoulder. 

But as it was, that's what I carried when we first began traveling to and fro, and trust me, quite a chore it was to balance the bag with one arm up and down the steps of the bus more than five times. 

First time was when I got up SBS Transit's bus to get to Queen Street.

Second time was when I got down the SBS Transit at Queen Street. 

After that there was the boarding up 170 and/or Causeway Link to get to Woodlands Checkpoint. 

Then at Woodlands Checkpoint there was the disembarkation to enter the hall where my passport got stamped.

When that finished, I got back up the bus again to cross over to the Malaysian side. 

When we reached the Malaysian side the process repeated itself, down and up, before finally reaching the Larkin Bus Terminal. 

But that was only the first half of the journey. 

There was still the journey on the domestic coaches before we got to the town we were planning to go.

All in all, it made for a tiring journey, made none easier by the weight of the gym bag that I was lugging along.

What bothered me the most, however, weren't the bus steps, but the queues at Immigration on both sides, because the queue moved one step forward every time someone cleared their passport, and there was no way I could put my bag down on the floor unless I picked it up every time, or used my foot to kick it along. 

I wouldn't have minded doing the latter, honestly- it wouldn't have done the bag any harm- but The Parents were there and they weren't the sort to close an eye. 

So I found myself carrying my luggage the entire time both sides of the Causeway, and on weekends, trust me, the crowd was there. 

I don't know how many times I switched between my left and right shoulders whilst standing in the queue waiting to get my passport stamped. 

And then there were still the bus queues at both Queen Street and Larkin Bus Terminals, the bus queues at both Checkpoints, plus the walk from the town's bus station to our hotel.

It was very tiring, I tell you. 

And this was only one way! 

How many weeks I used this green gym bag on our weekend sojourns to Malaysia I no longer remember. 

But I remember paying RM40 for the backpack, and I remember the second floor shop where I bought it from.

Traveling upcountry to Malaysia got so much easier after that. 

No more did I have to content with my luggage clunking me uncomfortably on my hips whenever I walked. 

No more did I have to shift my luggage left to right and right to left whilst queuing at the counters. 

And no more did I have only one hand free to hold the seat rail in front of me whilst standing squashed between other passengers on the public bus back to Singapore. 

There was now no more dead air space inside my luggage bag to make my clothes roll untidily around. 

There was now no need to balance it with a hand on my shoulder whilst standing or walking. 

And I could finally feel more mobile, get up and down the bus easier, be more capable to dash up the bus if necessary, and even if there was no sitting room, there was lesser fear of falling because now I had both hands free. 

It's been more than twenty years since this backpack went upcountry to Malaysia, and now she'll never get to go again. 

But, as someone said not too long ago- she has once been- and for that, I guess, even whilst I refuse to reminisce, it is up to me now to revisit (reconquer) some of those towns that this backpack went to all those years ago, and see it again, with new eyes, and with a new (Decathlon) backpack this time. 

Moving OUT

You know, it's only been about three months thereabouts that these pictures were taken, and yet, somehow, it feels like they had been taken a very long time ago.

Could it be because we packed at a rapid pace and got things moving at a rapid pace? 

Could it be because we were busy with work stuff and all kinds of stuff around the time that we were supposed to move (around end August) and so each of us did it in such a way that whilst it might have been phase by phase, it was also an adrenaline drive sort of thing?

I don't know.

I just know that the last fortnight of August and the first week of September was nothing I had ever experienced before. 

I'm not complaining.

I'm not saying that it was a bad thing. 

I'm just saying that with the kind of life I've lived, I'd never moved from one space to another space before.

I'd never lived my daily life with my things half packed here and there.

I had no idea what it was like to sort things out and pack them into boxes within a very short period of time.

And I had no idea what it took to clear off section by section by section of the house and sort stuff into boxes and cartons and piles and bags. 

It was a bit of a nervous thing for me. 

But because I'm the sort who does things bit by bit by bit- instead of the one-off blitz method which The Hedgehog applies- one of the first things I did was to clean out the top two shelves of the pantry cupboard. 

Let's just say that there were a lot of biscuits (not mine) and a lot of coffees (also not mine) that I threw away.

After that things got a little more systematic- I cleared out a shelf in my room, I unpacked an old carton box in my room to make space for other stuff, and I began clearing out stuff from drawers that I seldom used, throwing away uneaten and expired food that I was keeping only for mementoes' sake, and tossing out things that I no longer cared about and no longer had a meaning to me. 

Let's just say I was glad when these large carton boxes were taken out from the storeroom because I knew I could have more things sorted out, packed in, and- if necessary- thrown out. 

Let's also say I felt that deep sense of satisfaction when I sorted things out into these huge plastic boxes and clipped their lids shut. 

Funny how it is now that I don't remember now what went into where, but the yellow suitcase I've still left unopened as I don't need the things yet inside. 

Perhaps the thing that overwhelmed me most were the piles and piles and piles of paper that were here, there, everywhere. 

I had no idea there were so many letters and papers lying all around the house. 

But there they were- some ready to be packed into boxes, some ready for the shredder.

I think we must have had at least four or five bags full of shredded paper by the end of it all. 

Looking at these pictures, I wonder now how it is we managed to get rid of all the stuff that needed to be gotten rid of, how it is we managed to sort everything out, how it is that we managed to pack what we needed to pack, and how it is we managed to find space for the clothes to the toiletries to the kitchen stuff to the knick knacks lying around here and there. 

It's a miracle that we somehow managed to clean up and empty out the apartment within the span of (more or less) within a week.

I won't soon forget just how natural the "mess" in the house surfaced.  

How empty spaces here and there became space filled with random stuff here and there, and how as we neared towards the move-out date, even the long (show) couch  became so filled with stuff that there was only a tiny little corner for me to sit on. 

I won't go into details of what we kept and what we threw- by that time I was no longer in the spirit to document anything- but let's just say that there were multiple trips to the dustbin downstairs, including, if I may say, our still fully decorated six-year old Christmas tree.

There were a couple of things we didn't take along.

Like the clock on the wall.

Like some of the cleaning stuff in the cupboard underneath the sink

And odds and ends like the safe, a sackful of plastic bags big and small, and four bags of water.