Mama's Beef Bolognese Spaghettini; Delicious

Who's going home tomorrow?! I'M going home tomorrow!!

The lovely unpolluted-cause-there-isn't-enough-industry-going-on-the-country Brunei skies are calling me! My bed is ready to be slept in (I lie actually, I no longer have my own bed, so what I mean is my sister's bed is ready to be slept in), my brother is ready to be cuddled (I lie again, in hopeful vain, because the monkey doesn't like being kissed and hugged anymore; what is up with that? It's not cooties if it's from your sister) and my little sister is ready to spill to me all her deep dark 16 year old angsty secrets, which I shall then divulge to my other sisters and my mother, because we know best, and really 16 is a cuh-razy hormone-fuelled age and experimenting is bad and testing your boundaries is unnecessary, because I can tell you exactly where your boundaries are by telling you not to do anything naughty.

And if those things AREN'T ready, they have approximately half a day to GET ready, because that is what I'm coming home for!

Along with home cooking, which I have missed dearly. My old maid used to make the best spaghetti bolognese. (See relevant photo below of sample spagbol). And my mom makes the best mee cina becak. Which sounds racist, but nobody knows what else it's supposed to be called so I think that gives us a pass. And my aunt makes the best tiramisu. And my grandmother's maids make the best tempeh goreng ever. And we always have feta cheese and olives in the house, which I try to replicate in my own home, but it's not the same eating feta cheese and olives at midnight without gossip and sisters.

I seem to be getting homesick, so it is a good thing I'm GOING HOME TOMORROW!

Random Desserts, Sands Expo and Convention Centre

Work Conferences: An Analysis

CONS:
1. Notwithstanding that there are lies, damn lies and then statistics and that I have absolutely no scientific basis for this factoid, I'd say that 80% of the population are terrible at public speaking and giving presentations. I'd also say that 20% of the population love the sound of their own voices. Furthermore, I'm pretty sure that the two segments aren't mutually exclusive, and you have a kind of Venn diagram cross-section of the overlapping segments which would be made up of THE MOST ANNOYING PEOPLE ON EARTH to give a presentation.

So first work conference con: You are BOUND, statistically, to endure at least some presentations by terrible public speakers, as well as terrible public speakers who ramble on at length and with no foreseeable end or point in sight, bypassing time limits, shrugging off schedules, continuing doggedly to just speak on... and on... and on.

I must have aged 5 years during one particular presentation by a CEO who blithely informed the audience that he was going to keep it short, and then went and did the exact opposite.

2. The rooms are always too cold.

3. The coffee is always watery and terrible, not that that stops me from drinking cupful after cupful to ward off soporofic effects of terrible public speakers.

4. I immediately tune out of a presentation after I see more than one exclamation mark or question mark in a row. If you have to "!!!" or "???" you sound more like an overzealous marketer or excitable teenaged girl than accomplished presentation speaker to whom I should be listening. Unfortunately this means I tune out of quite a few presentations.

PROS

1. It breaks the monotony of going to the office.

2. The knowledge gained. Theoretically, anyway. And by theoretically, I mean, as perceived by your bosses who sent you there.

3. The dessert bars at the buffets! Obviously, I saved the most important pro for last.

Cookies and Cream Cheesecake, Coffee Bean (Singapore)

Yet more compelling evidence to stack onto Singapore's side in the eternal rivalry that is Malaysia vs. Singapore, in addition to super efficient infrastructure (I am so jealous everytime I get on the Singapore MRT, because I deal on a daily basis with the giant brainfart of an idea that is the Malaysian LRT), impressively manicured landscapes (I realize I am totally weird for coveting this, but whenever there's green in Singapore it's cultivated, clipped, garden green, which really appeals to my Type A side, and is in stark contrast to Malaysia's more laissez faire attitude to gardening), significantly lower crime rates (my taxi driver who has not ventured into Malaysia for 20 years for fear of being carjacked reaffirmed this fact for me, and everyone knows taxi drivers are always right), totally and thoroughly masterplanned city (that I am also in awe of, as Singapore has now become like a real-life Sim City which I used to really like because I could play God and design entire cities; I tried to graduate to the Sims, but generally people are less easy to control than cities, and thus have lower appeal. Which now makes me wonder if I didn't really want to be God so much as a dictatorial town planner), and generally awesome robotic nature: cookies and cream cheesecake that I found in Coffee Bean in Singapore that, as far as I know, is NOT available in Malaysia.


It looks speckly and freckly and is not the most photogenic cake around, but in absence of Malaysian boyfriend I turned to Singaporean cake and eclairs and waffles. Yes, I am unfaithful and a fatty and much to my dismay suffer from separation anxiety upon being separated from said Malaysian boyfriend. Even more to my dismay, evidently I fill up that empty void in my heart with sugar.

Going back to KL tomorrow, thank goodness. Malaysia has one giant pro going for it that will keep it trumping Singapore every time: it's home and my life is there. Also this damn exchange rate is bleeding me dry.

Waffles & Ice Cream; Hartamas

Yes. So. Contrary to popular belief, or rather, the total radio silence MIA AWOL where the fuck did she go now, I did not die. (Unless you count being totally swamped with work as death, which I am inclined to do.) I just got lazy about it. And then lazier. And then even lazier. And the fact that my office network blocked blogspot did not counteract the laziness, and then before I knew it, I hadn't blogged in a year, and now I miss it.

So I have returned, dear loyal readership of two (my mom, and maybe my aunt: hello!), and as I have not been starving myself over the past year (I will now be grudgingly honest and say that is DEFINITELY not the case, and if you would like proof, please behold my increasing derriere; baby got back and IS back), and could not rid myself of the irritating habit of snapping pictures of my food before I devour it, I now have many many food pictures of which to post.

A lot has happened in a year, and I feel that I have grown in many aspects of my personality and have matured as a human being.

For example, I used to dislike waffles and ice cream, or at least used to deny that I liked it, but now I like it and have come out of the closet. This took much time and effort, as I had to grapple with the fact that I cannot and will not bite ice cream (you're supposed to lick it! Tongue not teeth! It's cold and melts, which means it is liquid!) and it is a difficult, trying task, attempting to get your mouth to bite the waffle but lick the ice cream. But I persevered, learned to mouth multitask, and now present to you a picture of my new friend, waffles and ice cream.

There are, of course, many other ways in which I have grown and matured, all of which are as remarkably important and terribly interesting as this one, but my blog wouldn't be my blog if I didn't veer wildly off topic and write rambling soliloquies about nothing in particular while pretending to write about food. Right?

Pandan Tiramisu; KL Convention Centre

Things One Should Know About Me In Order To Properly Understand My View on Pandan Tiramisu:

1. I freaking love tiramisu, but feel very strongly that because it is so classic, the urge to improvise to differentiate makes it all too easy to fuck it up completely (shout out to Dome of the horrifically crap tiramisu)

2. I am a big fan of fusion (theoretically, at least), as mixing one good thing with another good thing should in theory produce a good squared thing (shout out to algebra)

Cases in point: Malay-Arab-Persian weddings with traditions/costumes from both (shout out to my cousin and new cousin-in-law!!!); fusion food

3. I freaking hate Malay desserts, and most Malay dessert ingredients (pandan, coconuts, santan, gula melaka, durian-as-a-dessert-ingredient-not-as-a-fruit, rice-as-a-dessert-ingredient-not-a-savoury-food, yam?! corn?! red beans?! What would possess anyone to stick these into a dessert?!)

Given the illustrious and super enlightening list above, it makes sense that my view on the pandan cheesecake I ate several days ago is (still, several days later) very bemused. On the one hand I kept eating it because my mind was like score, tiramisu in a martini glass! On the other it was like dude that is PANDAN and it's GREEN.


So I only ate half. Too pandan to finish and too tiramisu not to eat. BEMUSING.

Eton Mess, the Apartment

Also known as dessert for the lazy sugarlover, because it's just meringue, strawberries, cream, and more meringue, slopped together with minimum effort and maximum sweetness. And because it contains almost all of my favourite dessert ingredients (sorry, chocolate; you're on the favourite dessert ingredients list but didn't make it into the Mess) and because it sent me straight into a very potent sugar shock, it is also my kind of dessert.

Though it may also be my kind of dessert because of its inherently sloppy nature that I may or may not share, because I may or may not try to be neat and organized, but recent living arrangements may have resigned me to the fact that despite my well-intentioned and best efforts I am just not; and I may or may not make messes and am terrible at housework and will, against better judgement, stuff too many clothes into too few drawers and dump my belongings wherever I feel like it and like sloppy desserts and am not ashamed. MAYBE.

This Much I Know

(Thanks PP! Though ultimately traced back to the Observer)

Iman, Aspiring Dictator/Feta Cheese Lover, 24, Kuala Lumpur

- I miss blogging. Though I fell, and hard, for the seductive wiles of twitter, I miss having the freedom to ramble on for more than 140 characters at a time. I have thus returned in a prodigal-son-like manner. Little foodie blog, mama has come back! Cue fanfare and joyful anticipation... or maybe not, because I may get bored and stop doing this in about a week or so.

- I know blogs and twitter and myspace and facebook status updates are manifestations of how grossly narcissistic the human race has become, but my god I like writing random things and releasing them into the random spaces of the internet and I do not apologize for it. Also I am not GROSSLY narcissistic as I don't use facebook or myspace (anymore and at all, respectively), I am merely as harmlessly narcisstic as the next blogger/twitterer.

- The best comfort food is spaghetti bolognese. Though this may only apply to me, because that is the food I most associate with my childhood. And that, in turn, is because my sisters and I were brats who would not eat rice more than three nights a week and spaghetti was the easiest alternative food.

- Growing up is nothing like I thought it would be, and all the insecurities and flaws that I thought would magically disappear when I turned 21/started working/graduated college/moved to KL have instead been magically magnified. Dammit!

- The most important thing to have in the whole world is an open mind. The most important thing to know how to do in the whole world is how to balance your own opinions with keeping an open mind.

- I find it hard to forgive wilful ignorance paired with rude behaviour. I'll let it slide if you have the misfortune of being afflicted with one or the other, but I pretty much automatically hate you if you are both.

- Yell at pervert misogynist douchebags on the LRT, because if you do not, the regret will haunt you forever. Also they may be perving on some other unsuspecting person that they may not have been perving on if your yelling had successfully scarred them for life.

- To-do lists make everything easier, more manageable, and will save you from jumping off Level 37 of Petronas Twin Tower 2 due to stress. When in doubt, list it out.

- Running in heels is one of the most useful talents a woman can have. Applying make-up in a moving car with only the aid of a compact mirror is another. I consider it a huge achievement that I have mastered them both, and yes, I say this in all seriousness.

- I am (evidently) not great at this whole This Much I Know thing, because I don't think I know anything of great consequence, but I do know that everyone would go crazy with the chaotic state of the world unless they kept their eye on the ball. Find your ball, and keep your eye there. Mine is a goose who is a crankypants in the morning, but I graciously overlook that as he performs his ball function.

- Everything is kismet, and if that thought doesn't make you feel don't-worry!-be-happy! and a-okay, then the last resort is always dessert.

Christiano Ronaldo is a Pumpkin Pie

I haven't done a football-cake inspired comparison in a while although I've been thinking about this particular comparison for a few months now.

Pumpkin pie: kinda yuck, kinda leathery looking.



Christiano Ronaldo: kinda yuck, skin kinda leathery looking.

C.Ron wondering whether his manhood is still intact after 4-1 drubbing by Liverpool over weekend. It isn't.

Portuguese Ikan Bakar; Uptown

Portuguese Ikan Bakar at Uptown, or: What I Ate While Being Serenaded by Guitar Toting Hippie at Food Stall.



(Shout out to Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, which in my opinion is the most awesome movie title EVER. That is totally unrelated to this post, as per usual. I apologize: I am evidently a failure at staying on track. I was talking about the Dr. Strangelove movie last night while explaining my very convoluted and evidence-backed dissertation on the central theme of Watchmen to goosey, who is, unfortunately for him, the favoured receptacle for my half-baked ideas on life, the universe and everything. So now I have the movie in my head, because the war room scenes in the Watchmen were just like the war room scenes in Dr. Strangelove, minus crazed character with phantom hand. Also now I am talking about Watchmen again. I apologize again! I have an obsessive personality and inability to STFU! Also I blame this on the book, which I started reading last night. Actually I blame this on a colleague who somehow persuaded me to buy the book during lunch yesterday although I had made up my mind to be patient and wait for a copy from goosey's brother.)

Anyway! This guitar toting hippie sang, specifically, Hotel California and Wonderful Tonight and Belaian Jiwa and a bunch of other old songs of which my faulty memory does not permit recollection. And maybe it's because these were the songs that I used to coerce my father into playing for me on his guitar every night before I went to sleep (I am very capable of making up my own bedtime stories, but am not too proud to request for help on the bedtime song front) when I was young enough to get away with such extravagant coersion, but as soon as he started playing his songs and I got my ikan bakar the night became a little bit balmier and a little bit prettier. It is surprisingly romantic being serenaded by an aging bohemian while eating in an outdoor food court of questionable cleanliness on a sultry KL night with my kind of comfort food, baked fish and rice, in front of you, and a gooselike significant other all to yourself. I very much recommend it.

Must mentally step away now from hybrid happy place of my bed in my bedroom in bungalow in Brunei at 12 years old seeing father's silhouette in doorway holding guitar, and random food court in Uptown with fish and goosey, and return to the excel spreadsheets that are chanting my name in ominous tones.

Spicy Prawn Olio Spaghetti; Bianco

You know that feeling when you're pressured into eating something you don't really want to eat but then feel compelled to not only pile on copious amounts of whatever you are eating but also lick the plate clean upon finishing? Usually occurs when grannies, elderly makcik auntie types and temperamental chefs, all of whom cook the food in question, are around?



Yeah that's sort of what I felt when I ate this pasta. I actually wanted to try their kung pao chicken pasta which was the special for the month, but when I ordered it, the waitress was like, "Really? Really you want to try that? The chicken? Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?" like I was submitting a Final Answer to the Million Dollar question on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire or I was about to read out my "I Do" vow in a wedding to a mass murderer who would surely kill me on my honeymoon or I was about to sign my soul away to the devil or something.

So I got understandably freaked out by her creepy questions and in my state of freaked-out-ness somehow ordered the dish that she recommended in lieu of the kung pao chicken. And then because she recommended it and kept coming over to check if I liked it and how fast I was eating it, I felt pressured to scarf the whole thing down although I felt fairly ambiguous towards it.

Which really brings to head a couple of key issues:
a) the trick to getting me to do something is to confuse me and make me doubt myself. Definitively ordering me to do something will not work, and if she had ordered me to order the spicy prawn olio pasta I would have been like NO who do you think you ARE, my MOTHER?! (though not even my mother orders me around precisely because she is aware of the trick that I am in the midst of revealing)
b) did the kung pao chicken really taste that bad or did she just want it for herself?

Makes you wonder, right?