Happy puasaing!

No food pictures because it is Ramadhan, yet again, that glorious month-long period (or ordeal) of restraint and reflection (or starvation), where I cannot look at pictures of food for fear that I will drool all over my laptop. I know. Sexy.

All the familiar signs of a KL Ramadhan have returned: my stomach's deafening rumbles of hunger are being studiously ignored by my office neighbour; traffic in KL has gone back to being predictably bumper-to-bumper between the hours of 5pm and 7pm due to the exodus departing the city to make it home in time for buka (good luck, what with said traffic jam); I enter a food coma every 8pm on the dot and have to face the dilemma of whether I should just let myself fall into a state of delicious, satiated sleep, or whether I should suck it up, be a (wo)man and get dessert to make up for the lack of sweet food intake during the month. Also and very importantly, pasar ramadhans have returned, though this is a topic I get more excited about in theory than practice, because when I don't have food, I am just not in the mood to push and elbow my way through crowds of people. Not even to get murtabaks and different kinds of ayam goreng.

I spent the first few days of Ramadhan in a tortured state, being enticed by practically every kind of food I saw or smelled... but this feverish madness seems to have passed, and the obsessive fixation on such random foods as cempedak goreng, Daikanyama sushi, and feta cheese and olives (in fact I just finished my little jar of heaven yesterday; heavenly because this little jar has feta cheese AND olives in it and I don't have to share it with anyone! Heaven!) has morphed into the altogether more monstrous and infinitely more terrible (for my wallet) obsession with the Mulberry Alexa. I just can't win. Unless I finally decide on whether Oak or Black is better and buy this bag of course. Then I most definitely will win, because it's SO pretty.

Tiramisu; Jerudong Park Polo Club

Who goes home, eats the homecooked food that she loves so much yet is incapable of reproducing because she can't cook to save her life if ever she were to participate in an event in which one must cook savoury meals to save one's life (it could happen, okay), attends her sister's wedding vow ceremony and wedding reception with yet more albeit not home-cooked food, and then very cleverly forgets to take pictures of anything?

That would be me.

Though I did get to take a picture of the tiramisu at the wedding reception. You might not see it at first glance (because this dessert is like one of those really trippy optical illusion pictures of coloured landscapes that my third grade teacher Mrs Gibbons used to show her class, wherein one little third-grader at a time would shout out that they saw all manner of elusive objects camouflaged in the landscape, when all I ever saw was.... a picture of a coloured landscape. I was so traumatised by being such a failure at seeing things in these kinds of pictures, so agonised about why, why, WHY I did not see these things that everyone else seemed to see, was there something wrong with me, was I not looking hard enough?!, that I used to join in and lie and say I saw all those things too. When I didn't. I confess, Mrs Gibbons: I was a optically challenged competitive little third-grader), but in fact:
1. Those two letter Ss in the background are actually biscuits trying desperately to be kissing swans. My sister, who picked the menu, confirmed that they are biscuit SWANS, people, SWANS, while I can confirm that they are doing a poor job of being swanlike, because if anything, they look like kissing snakes;
2. That little teacup of what looks like black coffee is actually tiramisu; and
3. That dark imposter of a teaspoon is actually a chocolate, urm, teaspoon.

Okay, so perhaps hidden object #3 is, upon further scrutiny, not so hidden and kind of obvious, but seeing as I have historically had problems with seeing what is always so annoyingly explicit to everyone else (I'm not still bitter about this at all, no no), I was pretty awed by this tricky little tableau.



And after I ate my dessert with my chocolate spoon, I ate my spoon! How many times in your life can you see your sister get married AND type out that sentence? (Rhetorical question as I have two more sisters, both of whom seem matrimonially inclined, and can foresee many more edible utensils in my future, now that I know of their existence.)

A Mango; My Desk

Am too nauseous, ill and queasy to look at pictures of fatty foods.

This is nobody's fault but my own because I didn't leave enough time to have dinner before going out last night, because I took a nap in the evening and as the boyfriend unfortunately knows, naps in the evening are the Mr Hyde catalyst to my normal Dr Jekyll state, because I love sleep, hate waking up, and especially hate being woken up to get ready and go out because that just seems like climbing-Mount-Everest-like unnecessary effort to sleepy Iman Hyde when the alternative would be stay in bed status quo, so I snapped at the boyfriend (he is very long-suffering) every time he tried to wake me up, and then finally woke up totally cranky, and then spent far too long getting ready because in my cranky Hyde state I was convinced I looked like a hideous monkey who would be turned away from Zouk, and had to be reassured by the boyfriend that I was not hideous and could I just find something to wear because I probably would be turned away from Zouk if I didn't put some, any kind of, clothes on, and then by the time we got to where we were supposed to be, the event was at full house capacity and we couldn't leave it to grab a bite to eat and now I have a splitting headache because I didn't eat dinner and stayed out too late on a weeknight.

The moral of the story is I should not take evening naps. Will I heed this moral? Of course not, evening naps are totally delicious and rejuvenating, and I am always eventually convinced that I am not a hideous monkey. But the point is I know what the moral is.

So no food, but I found the sweetest smelling mango on my desk today. Which is totally appropriate because I'm in the middle of Midnight's Children, which features a protagonist with a giant nose and superb sense of smell, as well as copious amounts of mango chutney. I will very much enjoy eating this mango while reading this book when I feel brave enough to face food again.

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.