‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Galangal

I couldn’t believe my ears. Someone I couldn’t see in a room nearby had just broken out into what sounded like a line from one of my most-played songs of last year. In almost exactly the same way I’d gabbled the line in countless mad solitary post-midnight subwoofing dances in my room, she was saying “Galang galang galang”, and even managing a fairly good approximation of MIA’s singsong.

My first excited thought was that there might actually be someone in the office who listened to non-mainstream music. Although over the years I’ve grown used to having almost no friends who listen to the same sort of music I do, it’s still really nice to meet someone who does. My second excited thought was that with my now-pathetic grasp of current music affairs, maybe I was just unaware that by now Galang is mainstream music and it’s a hit! Either possibility would be cool.

And then the next line of the conversation burst both my hopeful little bubbles. She walked out of the room, followed by her friend, who was insisting “No lah, the best tau huay is at Selegie Road!” And what, then, did my ostensible fellow MIA-lover say? She repeated what she’d said before, same rhythm, same singsong – “Geylang geylang geylang!”

I’m crushed, but I might as well get something out of this disappointment – if you have a view on where the best tau huay is, please share.

[Note: This post is better understood if you are a) a music geek or b) familiar with places in Singapore, and best understood if you’re both.]

Art Of The Mix

On Alec’s previous visits here, failing to take him to a performance at the Esplanade was my most glaring omission out of many, but I finally remedied that on Friday. The SSO was doing Beethoven’s 6th, Schubert’s 2nd, and Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave from The Hebrides, and for the princely sum of $21.75 (that’s total, not each), we enjoyed sound so divine from the third circle that even a sub-par SSO sounded great.

[I don’t mean the SSO is generally a sub-par orchestra, I just mean they weren’t really on fire on Friday. There were little timing hiccups here and there; perhaps they didn’t gel with the guest conductor as well as they normally do with Lan Shui. Some harshness in the violins, and I think there was one clarinet screwup. Also the Allegro ma non troppo which starts the Beethoven felt a little too non troppo for my liking, but perhaps I was just too impatient to get to the rollicking third movement.]

My Esplanade bliss is nothing new, but being able to share the place that makes me happiest in Singapore with the person who makes me happiest in Singapore was rather lovely.

* * *

Chinese New Year reunion dinner on Sunday at Chef Kang’s Canton Wok confirmed the fact that not only my mother but my entire extended family seems determined to make my boyfriend fat by forcing multiple servings of everything on him.

I’m not convinced that Canton Wok is “the best cze char in Singapore” as the newspaper articles claim, because I don’t think I saw it at its best on Sunday night. I didn’t have a problem with the ambience – eating on a cramped walkway in the depths of a Hougang HDB estate (a public housing estate) is fine by me – but the service was pretty poor. We waited for more than half an hour to be seated despite having made a reservation far in advance. When the first dish arrived we had plates but no chopsticks or spoons to eat with, cue exaggerated pawing motions at red wine chicken until the staff got the hint. Neither moist towelettes nor lemon water accompanied the crab, so anyone who wanted the rest of their meal to be non-sticky had to venture inside in search of a rather grotty basin.

Food-wise, some dishes were great (red wine chicken, crab with glutinous rice, coffee pork ribs, abalone and spinach), and others were pleasant but forgettable (steamed motherfucking big cod, those brown noodles which I think are called yu fu noodles). I’d like to go back there again to try dishes which were featured in the food reviews and looked really interesting, but weren’t on the festive set menu. But anyway, Alec wasn’t complaining. His mouth was too full.

* * *

And now Saturday. Toxic Jungle Saturday.

The party started off quite normal. True, the birthday boy had chosen to interpret the theme (The Beast Within) by wearing a snake in his crotch, but apart from that everything was fairly civilized.

Jacob and his snake
Jacob’s trouser snake

I hadn’t bothered to tell people other than East-dwellers about the party, but was pleasantly surprised when Kelly and Patrick decided it sounded like an interesting change from Zouk and came along. Karen, who I’d never met, turned up too, en route to Thumper with Ken. Then Ida and David. Then Mayee and Shao and Hwee Yee and Evan.

Since I’ve never been much of a “Circulate, darling!” type, this would have been more than enough people to keep me happily and drunkenly and uneventfully chatting the night away. But Jacob had other plans. Soon after twelve he unveiled karaoke hour, as well as the girls he’d hired to be back-up dancers for the karaokers.

I think the plan had been for karaokers to stand on the small stage in the middle of the bar while singing their songs, and for the girls to then do their thang around the singer. Unfortunately, a problem soon emerged – people were singing soppy ballads instead of songs conducive to girls shaking boo-tay in knee-high stiletto boots. I was equally complicit in this bloody waste, having put my name down earlier for Nothing Compares To You. The girls managed some lesbian slow-dance action to this, but it still wasn’t playing to their real strengths, and I felt guilty.

So when Jacob came round again saying they needed more songs to finish up the karaoke hour, I decided to revisit Toxic. I had expected to sing the song comfortably from my seat, while watching the girls shake boo-tay on stage. But the girls had other plans, and I didn’t feel like forcefully resisting two girls wearing little more than knee-high stiletto boots and little strips of cloth covering their naughty bits. Who knows what may have given way in the course of a struggle.


Forgive me, Britney, for I have sinned

I certainly don’t think of myself as an exhibitionist (at least insofar as anyone who keeps a blog can be said to not be an exhibitionist), but I like to be a good sport. Frankly I’d do it again. The girls were great.

The party went on for a couple of hours more after that. I had fun comparing childhood objects of lust with Mayee and Shao. Got beaten at pool by Alec, fuck! Continued on to Jacob’s place after the bar closed for a prata and champagne supper. Then finally staggered home.

I like weekends.

Exactitude

After the ang moh food overload of Christmas, we headed to Joo Chiat today for belachan chicken, claypot seafood beancurd, sweet potato leaves, and, my favourite, fried lard with a bit of tau chio fish on the side. There’s been a lot of talk lately about Geylang spreading its Tentacles of Vice into Joo Chiat, but I didn’t really notice any more sleazy KTV bars and massage parlours there than there always have been.

However, the shop across the street from Joo Heng was called “Purplish Trading”, which made me happy.

Thank you God for my high metabolic rate

I am full.

More precisely, I am full of:
Peking duck
Suckling pig
Baby octopus
Jellyfish
Salmon sashimi (multiple servings)
California maki
Eel maki
“Monk jumps over the wall” soup
Scallops in spicy X.O. sauce
Coffee pork ribs
Deep fried marble goby fish
Steamed tilapia Thai style
Black pepper ostrich
Braised beancurd with mushrooms and spinach
Braised spicy eggplant with minced pork
E-fu noodles
Herbal jelly with honey
Almond jelly with longan
Ice cream puffs (multiple servings)

And all for less than £15 per person. I heart a la carte buffets.

People in Europe, eat your hearts out. Oh wait, it’s too expensive. Ha ha.

[Forgive the gloating at the end. It’s just part of my attempt to fend off a recent attack of Londonsickness (which still feels synonymous with “homesickness”) by reminding myself of the good things about being here.]

Spice Daddy

We walked out for dinner to the Yin Yang Palace which serves rather wonderful Chinese restaurant-quality food at coffeeshop prices. We had steamed tilapia in spicy nonya sauce, chilli kangkong, ma po tofu (in lots of chilli oil) and herbal mutton soup. Additional small dishes of chilli also came with the food. The herbal mutton soup was the only non-spicy dish. My dad dunked his mutton in the chilli before eating it.

The One Where Alec Does Strange Things With Food

The other day he popped out to get us some lunch. Standing in line in the cafe, reading the sandwich menu, he was delighted to see “fried banana” under “sausage” in the list of sandwich ingredients you could have. Elsewhere in his culinary explorations, he cooks a mean breadcrumbed bacon steak in whisky sauce, and apparently an alternative to the whisky sauce (although somehow we’ve never deviated from the booze route, you wonder why) you can actually do the bacon with fried banana.

So he reaches the counter, and happily orders a ham and fried banana sandwich, whereupon the poor confused cashier who is probably on the minimum wage and really doesn’t need this kind of weirdness goes “Huh?” and Alec rechecks the menu only to realize that it actually read “Fried sausage” and “Banana” rather than “Sausage” and “Fried banana”, banana presumably being sold in its capacity as fruity accompaniment to sandwich rather than actually lurking within, but by now it’s too late and he’s a bit confused too, so he says yes, he wants a ham and banana sandwich, and he gets this ham and banana sandwich and takes it back to the flat and says here, Michelle, a ham and banana sandwich.

Meanwhile, until recently there was a huge watermelon with a funnel in it on my dining table, and a bottle of Smirnoff. He was trying to infuse the melon with vodka.

Last Week

Every last week of summer in Singapore always seems like I’m packing in an entire summer’s worth of everything in a few days of frenetic activity.

Everything I eat must be carefully considered – can I get the same in London? If so, what do I have to pay, and how easy is it to find? In light of this, Sunday’s excursion to Rice Table for their S$12.80 (£4.50ish) a la carte buffet was time and money well spent, even though their tauhu telor (tofu omelette, a lot nicer than it sounds) is nowhere as good as Kartini’s (in Parkway). Mum grilled some stingray tonight, but we might also go for the real roadside thing before I leave – eating it at your home dining table with placemats and a tablecloth just isn’t the same as eating it on the pavement of East Coast Road under the night sky.

The shopping imperative, too, becomes that much more acute. I’m not going to have access to so wide a range of various frivolities at so low a price for the next year, not to mention the fact that everything in Singapore fits me wonderfully, while in London I have to scrounge and beg for size 8’s and 6’s.

This last week, the mix has been right. I’ve fed my frivolity during the day, divided nights between family and friends, and indulged my food fetishes pretty much all the time. Late at night I Internet and read (finally finished Kavalier & Clay, now on Amsterdam). Met scholarship and UCL folk on Sunday (Happy birthday Kaka!), lunched poshly with my sister (Saint Pierre’s, lovely) and bubble tea’d with Pei Ee today. Tomorrow I meet the Orgers for Goldmember and mudpies. Wednesday will either involve clubbing with Fay, or packing (boo), hopefully both. And Thursday I fly.

Food With Friends

So I finally decided to act like the social being anthropologists tell me I’m meant to be, and got a life.

Friday lunch with Vikram at a Chinese in what I think is now called H20 Zone, where our suspicions that we’d been given a tourist menu (photos accompanying every menu item) were confirmed when we peeked in another menu (which they told us was for “drinks”) and found it photoless and about $2 cheaper across the board. So we ordered our crispy baby squid (another ticked item on the summer food list) and sambal brinjal conspicuously from the photoless menu, and were charged accordingly.

Dinner with the Twins and their parents involved more ticking of the food list once they’d discovered a list existed and insisted on getting me satay and a baby coconut in addition to my chicken rice. We drifted and lounged and chatted around the Raffles Town Club pool, probably well-raisined by the time we got out to do girly things like hair masques and steam-rooms. There was the pleasant feeling of lives that had moved on and developed almost wholly independently of each other but which could still be described out of more than politeness (because we wanted to), and responded to out of more than avoiding awkwardness (because the connections that power conversation were still there). They still refer to me as “hoggie”, short for hedgehog, because I am apparently “prickly but cute.” I would have suggested just “cactus” instead myself, but suppose old friends are allowed to do things like tell me I’m cute without being killed with blunt objects.

Eating Agenda

I am slowly working my way along the eating agenda. Yesterday I was able to tick off Alvin’s Claypot (oyster chicken, oldie but goodie on their menu) and Oreo McFlurry (they’ve got a Chocomint one now too! London McPowers That Be, I’m begging you…). Dad’s been spoiling me with expensive durians. Sister has bought two 6-packs of Pokka peppermint green tea. Mum has stocked up on Uncle Toby muesli bars. On the Day Of 14 CDs I had a green apple bubble tea (1997 restaurant in London Chinatown tries to do these too, but they’re a poor, poor substitute). On Sunday I had deep-fried Shanghai dumplings for dinner. All’s well on the food front. Which reminds me, I really must start my fitness regime.

Stop laughing.

Welcomed Home

I walked in the front door and was greeted by our traditional cheesy family banners for returning graduate children – 1ST CLASS MICHELLE! in the hall and WELCOME HOME MICHY! on the door of my room. The first ever banner in the tradition was made 13 years ago by my mother and I, for my sister. While we were making it we rearranged the letters of WELCOME HOME BETHY! to HELCOME BOM WEETHY! (I was 9 and found these things amusing), and ever since then I call her Weethy from time to time.

We went to one of my favourite restaurants on East Coast Road and the salt and pepper squid had fundamentally and disappointingly changed. I would have felt a bit stupid saying “wo3 de jiao1 yan2 sotong mei2 you3 jiao1 yan2!” (literal translation: My “add salt squid” had no added salt!) to the waitress so I contented myself with the Hainanese chicken rice, which was as good as it’s ever been.

Plans for this time at home are mostly unformed. There’s mum’s birthday to celebrate, a cousin’s wedding to attend and play the violin at, a national debating tournament to judge, a multitude of friends to catch up with, a neighbourhood to fall back in love with, a plethora of favourite foods to eat too much of (see below), a Great Singapore Sale to bankrupt myself at, a Singlish accent to enjoy using again.

Slightly less positive features about the next month and a half are that it’s too bloody hot, my eyes have already gone red (I’m having flashbacks to the horrible summer of ’99 where 4 eye doctors couldn’t do anything to lessen my misery), I was reminded right from entering Singapore by the unsmiling passport control officers that random politeness isn’t appreciated here (they were more interested in continuing their conversation in Malay than responding to my hellos or thank yous or even registering my existence beyond the fact that I was a recurring troublesome feature of their job), and I have to find a way of not missing Alec.

—

Michelle’s summer food list:

  • Alvin’s claypot oyster chicken (Parkway Parade food court)
  • Ocean Fish Head Curry (Ceylon Road)
  • Hainanese chicken rice (Ghim Moh hawker centre)
  • Murtabak
  • Chilli kangkung
  • Sambal everything
  • Small crispy fried squid
  • Barbecued stingray
  • Baby octopus
  • Satay
  • Lots of Mum’s dishes that I can’t name but describe as “that chicken in the gravy that stains everything yellow”
  • Bubble tea
  • Luan Qi Ba Zao (explained last summer, scroll down to NoBlogLove post #2)
  • Bee-Bee (does anyone else from Singapore love this, or even remember it? It’s still 10 cents – childhood price – it comes in a small orange packet with a picture of a sparsely-haired plump man savouring something that looks like a gigantic piece of Bee-Bee, and it’s only available from small provision shops and some kacang puteh stands including Orchard Cineplex. I can’t be the only person keeping its sales alive by buying crates of it once a year!)
  • Uncle Toby’s muesli bars
  • McFlurry’s with Oreos (London, get with the program already!)