Through the Rain, by Cinderella
I know it's hard
In a world gone bad
To find the truth
To understand
And I know it's hard
To turn the page
To walk the line
To have the faith
I know it's hard
In a world so cold
To feel the love
I know it's hard
And I know it's true
That in the end
We all find our way
And that's life my friend
But sometimes when it's light
And you can't see
Sometimes when this world
Just seems to be so cold
Sometimes when you're lost at sea
Drowning in your pain
Sometimes the sun shines through the rain
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
He Says, She Says
Benjamin and I made a trip to London recently; a holiday unlike any other, dedicated to food, glorious food! Ben has already posted his blog about our 3-day dining extravaganza on his website. For his version, click here. And for all the photos, click here.
This is my side of the story – a somewhat mak nenek, unprofessional version of the binge fest that took place.
Let’s get the facts right first. I’ll accept that the holiday was a birthday ‘gift’ for me, although it didn’t start out so… but I’ll just leave it as that. The focus of the trip was to makan at The Fat Duck, but I’m not the sort who knows her kappa from her carrageenan. So the whole dining portion of the holiday is what I’ll call Ben’s “search for (dining) perfection”.
Getting a table at The Fat Duck was the tricky part. Bookings are not accepted earlier than 2 months before a reservation date, and the phone lines are busy the minute the clock strikes 9 every morning in Britain.
On a day exactly 2 months before our preferred date, I made more than a dozen calls to TFD – one call every 10-15 mins till I finally got through about 3 hours later. At the same time, I had to have the British Airways online ticket booking webpage at the ready, so I could have a few dates to play around with. At least 5 of the dates I asked for were already fully booked by the time I got through to the restaurant. But I finally got a date for dinner that was ok, and we were good to go!
Imagine that – booking dinner at a restaurant almost 3,500 miles away even before booking our flight there. Growing up in Petaling Jaya, the furthest my family and I have travelled just for good food was probably the 50-min drive to Klang for bakuteh or a little further for seafood. So anyway, with our table at TFD set, I could finally book our flight, accommodation, and plan the itinerary. Now this is where that one fat duck multiplied into one grossly obese animal! Sebab nila se-itik…
There's a Malay saying that goes, "Sebab nila setitik, rosak susu sebelanga"
which is like the English "One bad apple spoils the bunch"
Like, since we’re gonna be in Bray, we might as well have lunch at another 3-Michelin-starred restaurant, The Waterside Inn. And since we’ll be in London first, let’s pick just one really good restaurant too. So we decided on Gordon Ramsay’s at Royal Hospital Road.
Our first 3-star dining experience was at the latter. And it was bloody amazing! After dining here, I don’t think I’d ever need to “search for perfection” anywhere else. Perhaps I’m just a ‘sua koo’, like a beggar who can’t choose. But nah… this is it! Absolute perfection!
I usually dread the idea of dining at a fine and expensive establishment. Firstly, kena pakai cantik-cantik, and then, kena act all proper and posh-nosh. Then be surrounded by uppity diners and served by snotty wait staff with put-on accents and plastic smiles. Ugh!
But NO, not here! I’m not saying the service staff here were like all lepak and bo chap lah. They were extremely professional, carried themselves very well, were confident, eloquent and just oozed charm like a diabetic with a nose bleed. They didn’t allow this confidence to seem anything like arrogance, or to be exaggeratedly charming that it made you feel awkward. As Ben puts it, they were genuine. I did not spot even one tiny ‘jeling’ (cynical/derogative glance) from anyone.
We only managed to get this dinner booked for 10.15pm. When we arrived, we weren’t treated as though we were late, or as if we were the losers who couldn’t get an earlier booking. Instead, we were welcomed with such warmth and grace, with the maitre d’ leading us into the dining room like VIPs, saying “Ahh, yes, we ‘ave a special table ‘ere just for you”. I’m sure he says this to all diners who come through the door lah, but for me, it was like, Dude, you had me at hello…
The amuse bouche, especially the cornet, was so darn good, it was like, Dude, seriously?!! You had me at hello again!
Each course a foreplay to the next, it just got better and better. A soothing, sensual build up to the main course, which was ‘blow-your-effing-brains-out’ out of this world! To make things even more enjoyable, there Ben was, making little mmmms and ohhhhs and ahhhhs as he almost licked his plate clean of the main course, plus the dreamy, half-stoned look on his face during the cheese course.
We were so full by the time the dessert came, but the Tarte Tatin was so freaking awesome that we just couldn’t help but stuff our faces till we got cross-eyed. I told Ben that if I drool in my sleep from now on, it’ll be because I was dreaming of that remaining portion of the tart that I couldn’t finish.
And yes, Jean-Claude the maitre d’ presented me with this little ball of mango sorbet with a candle in it, and very softly sang (like it was our little secret), ‘appy birthday to you… ‘appy birthday to ze lady who’s birthday eez next week… ‘appy birthday to you…
I truly have never had a dining experience this perfect. From now on, every fine dining establishment I visit will be compared to this one. I admit I’m not some globe-trotting foodie or gourmand, but I dare say it will take many more years and many more meals to beat, or even come close to this. Sweet, savoury, sensual dreams, are made of this.
It was with this feeling that I’d never eat the same again, that The Fat Duck and Waterside Inn had to welcome me and try to live up to that ultimate makan experience.
So here’s the no holds barred version of what I really thought of dinner at TFD as compared to how much Ben enjoyed it. I don’t know if I try to give excuses just cos I try to be nice. But by the next night when it was time to have dinner at Heston’s, I wasn’t feeling too good from lack of sleep (the sleepless flight over plus too much activity crammed into the first day and not enough rest throughout). Ben had a luxurious nap before dinner, whereas I, being as usually anal about planning and preparing, went through checklists and itineraries, did some packing/unpacking and spent some time chatting with the owner of the guest house while doing some ironing.
I won’t go into the details of the meal itself, as Ben has already done that. Some new tastes/sensations here and there of course, and overall, the food was really good. Perhaps I could say out of this world only because of how you look at it – snails on bright green porridge, ice cream that tastes like bacon n eggs… weird, but good.
However, I’d just like to pick at the “Sound of the Sea” and why I didn’t enjoy it at all. Heston Blumenthal’s cuisine is about involving all the senses – sight, smell, taste, sound, touch… and emotion, or memory. I suppose most people would really feel like they could almost be by the sea when ‘experiencing’ this course, recalling fond memories of happy days at the beach.
I love the sea, the beach, reef flats and the likes. But maybe I’ve seen, smelled, tasted, touched, heard and felt too much. Perhaps the “Sound of the Sea” jogged something in my brain, flashing an image/memory bank of worms, slugs, back-breaking pre-dawn Wildfilms trips, trudging through knee-deep mud, getting sand in all sorts of ‘cavities’ including all over my camera… And believe it or not, I love it! But the “Sound of the Sea” just didn’t work for me. Dunno why. I guess it proves that everything tastes different to everybody.
Now the gloves come off. I was terribly disappointed with the service. When we entered, we heard one staff tell the other who was showing us into the dining room, “just any table”. It felt as though we were tucked away into the corner of the dining room. It was actually a nice n cosy spot, and because it was by the window, we had a lot of natural lighting that proved useful for taking photos (non-flash photography is allowed at most of these restaurants).
In fact, when were in Bray the next afternoon, we noticed that another Asian couple were sitting at the same table. Maybe they just push all the Chinese dudes to this corner cos they know we'd be flipping out our cameras and snapping away at everything. And I mean, everything.
Anyway, only when I had almost reached the table, someone else came up to ask if I wanted my coat taken. He then took it from me as though my coat was a piece of snot-filled tissue to match his snotty attitude. You had me at hel-… No, you didn’t.
I suppose with all the smoke and mirrors that comes with this sort of menu, the service staff may start to sound quite robotic, repeating the same ‘script’ and jokes over and over and over again, at every table, every afternoon and every night.
To make things worse, two tables away, there sat the most annoying boy in all of England. At that age of adolescence when he sounded like a diseased duck being strangled each time he spoke, plus with a puffed-up know-it-all attitude, he annoyed Ben to bits! He kept giving the plot away!
Like when they were served the orange & beetroot jelly, even before his parents or sister could pick up their spoons, he bellowed out loud, "THE ORANGE ONE IS THE BEETROOT AND THE RED ONE IS THE ORANGE! I've read about this before."
Now, orange we glad we arrived early and are at least two courses safely ahead of Mister Smarty Pants.
There was only one wait staff whom I wish attended to our table more often. He was funny and seemed genuinely friendly. He probably would have made all the difference to how I felt about dinner.
Unfortunately, the young lady who served most of our courses was really fake. Although she didn’t have her head up her a** like the guy who took my coat, her smile was really plastic and she had this sort of haughty and critical glint in her eyes. She couldn't really hide that look of impatience each time we tried to take a picture of something.
By the end of the meal (about 4 hours later), I rushed Ben to leave. I was tired, and just wanted to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unwelcome. You had me at… No, you never got me. Or perhaps I just didn’t get it.
I feel kinda bad cos I know Ben was trying to linger and just sit there, soaking in the whole experience and the very fact that he had just dined at THE Fat Duck.
The next day, we had lunch at The Waterside Inn. By this afternoon, I was already suffering from the early effects of the flu, having a slight sore throat, runny nose and just that overall annoying droopy-eyes feeling. The restaurant here is sort of open air, looking out onto the terrace and the River Thames. It was a refreshing change to the usual dimly lit dining room that makes everything around you look sepia or jaundiced.
The service staff were more reserved (bordering on being aloof and detached actually), but at least not arrogant. Overall, the food was enjoyable but somewhat evanescent. Nothing really stood out except for the fact that ingredients were really fresh, but that was the same at the other restaurants too. Oooh, the desserts were yummy though!
I guess, like how the meal at Ramsay’s built itself up to such an apex, it would have been so much better if we reversed the order of where we dined first and last. ‘Cos now, everything post-Gordon Ramsay seems like one anti-climax after another. He'll always be 'the one that got away' (till I find another).
This is my side of the story – a somewhat mak nenek, unprofessional version of the binge fest that took place.
Let’s get the facts right first. I’ll accept that the holiday was a birthday ‘gift’ for me, although it didn’t start out so… but I’ll just leave it as that. The focus of the trip was to makan at The Fat Duck, but I’m not the sort who knows her kappa from her carrageenan. So the whole dining portion of the holiday is what I’ll call Ben’s “search for (dining) perfection”.
Getting a table at The Fat Duck was the tricky part. Bookings are not accepted earlier than 2 months before a reservation date, and the phone lines are busy the minute the clock strikes 9 every morning in Britain.
On a day exactly 2 months before our preferred date, I made more than a dozen calls to TFD – one call every 10-15 mins till I finally got through about 3 hours later. At the same time, I had to have the British Airways online ticket booking webpage at the ready, so I could have a few dates to play around with. At least 5 of the dates I asked for were already fully booked by the time I got through to the restaurant. But I finally got a date for dinner that was ok, and we were good to go!
Imagine that – booking dinner at a restaurant almost 3,500 miles away even before booking our flight there. Growing up in Petaling Jaya, the furthest my family and I have travelled just for good food was probably the 50-min drive to Klang for bakuteh or a little further for seafood. So anyway, with our table at TFD set, I could finally book our flight, accommodation, and plan the itinerary. Now this is where that one fat duck multiplied into one grossly obese animal! Sebab nila se-itik…
There's a Malay saying that goes, "Sebab nila setitik, rosak susu sebelanga"which is like the English "One bad apple spoils the bunch"
Like, since we’re gonna be in Bray, we might as well have lunch at another 3-Michelin-starred restaurant, The Waterside Inn. And since we’ll be in London first, let’s pick just one really good restaurant too. So we decided on Gordon Ramsay’s at Royal Hospital Road.
Our first 3-star dining experience was at the latter. And it was bloody amazing! After dining here, I don’t think I’d ever need to “search for perfection” anywhere else. Perhaps I’m just a ‘sua koo’, like a beggar who can’t choose. But nah… this is it! Absolute perfection!
I usually dread the idea of dining at a fine and expensive establishment. Firstly, kena pakai cantik-cantik, and then, kena act all proper and posh-nosh. Then be surrounded by uppity diners and served by snotty wait staff with put-on accents and plastic smiles. Ugh!
But NO, not here! I’m not saying the service staff here were like all lepak and bo chap lah. They were extremely professional, carried themselves very well, were confident, eloquent and just oozed charm like a diabetic with a nose bleed. They didn’t allow this confidence to seem anything like arrogance, or to be exaggeratedly charming that it made you feel awkward. As Ben puts it, they were genuine. I did not spot even one tiny ‘jeling’ (cynical/derogative glance) from anyone.
We only managed to get this dinner booked for 10.15pm. When we arrived, we weren’t treated as though we were late, or as if we were the losers who couldn’t get an earlier booking. Instead, we were welcomed with such warmth and grace, with the maitre d’ leading us into the dining room like VIPs, saying “Ahh, yes, we ‘ave a special table ‘ere just for you”. I’m sure he says this to all diners who come through the door lah, but for me, it was like, Dude, you had me at hello…
The amuse bouche, especially the cornet, was so darn good, it was like, Dude, seriously?!! You had me at hello again!
Each course a foreplay to the next, it just got better and better. A soothing, sensual build up to the main course, which was ‘blow-your-effing-brains-out’ out of this world! To make things even more enjoyable, there Ben was, making little mmmms and ohhhhs and ahhhhs as he almost licked his plate clean of the main course, plus the dreamy, half-stoned look on his face during the cheese course.
We were so full by the time the dessert came, but the Tarte Tatin was so freaking awesome that we just couldn’t help but stuff our faces till we got cross-eyed. I told Ben that if I drool in my sleep from now on, it’ll be because I was dreaming of that remaining portion of the tart that I couldn’t finish.
And yes, Jean-Claude the maitre d’ presented me with this little ball of mango sorbet with a candle in it, and very softly sang (like it was our little secret), ‘appy birthday to you… ‘appy birthday to ze lady who’s birthday eez next week… ‘appy birthday to you…
I truly have never had a dining experience this perfect. From now on, every fine dining establishment I visit will be compared to this one. I admit I’m not some globe-trotting foodie or gourmand, but I dare say it will take many more years and many more meals to beat, or even come close to this. Sweet, savoury, sensual dreams, are made of this.
It was with this feeling that I’d never eat the same again, that The Fat Duck and Waterside Inn had to welcome me and try to live up to that ultimate makan experience.
So here’s the no holds barred version of what I really thought of dinner at TFD as compared to how much Ben enjoyed it. I don’t know if I try to give excuses just cos I try to be nice. But by the next night when it was time to have dinner at Heston’s, I wasn’t feeling too good from lack of sleep (the sleepless flight over plus too much activity crammed into the first day and not enough rest throughout). Ben had a luxurious nap before dinner, whereas I, being as usually anal about planning and preparing, went through checklists and itineraries, did some packing/unpacking and spent some time chatting with the owner of the guest house while doing some ironing.
I won’t go into the details of the meal itself, as Ben has already done that. Some new tastes/sensations here and there of course, and overall, the food was really good. Perhaps I could say out of this world only because of how you look at it – snails on bright green porridge, ice cream that tastes like bacon n eggs… weird, but good.
However, I’d just like to pick at the “Sound of the Sea” and why I didn’t enjoy it at all. Heston Blumenthal’s cuisine is about involving all the senses – sight, smell, taste, sound, touch… and emotion, or memory. I suppose most people would really feel like they could almost be by the sea when ‘experiencing’ this course, recalling fond memories of happy days at the beach.
I love the sea, the beach, reef flats and the likes. But maybe I’ve seen, smelled, tasted, touched, heard and felt too much. Perhaps the “Sound of the Sea” jogged something in my brain, flashing an image/memory bank of worms, slugs, back-breaking pre-dawn Wildfilms trips, trudging through knee-deep mud, getting sand in all sorts of ‘cavities’ including all over my camera… And believe it or not, I love it! But the “Sound of the Sea” just didn’t work for me. Dunno why. I guess it proves that everything tastes different to everybody.
Now the gloves come off. I was terribly disappointed with the service. When we entered, we heard one staff tell the other who was showing us into the dining room, “just any table”. It felt as though we were tucked away into the corner of the dining room. It was actually a nice n cosy spot, and because it was by the window, we had a lot of natural lighting that proved useful for taking photos (non-flash photography is allowed at most of these restaurants).
In fact, when were in Bray the next afternoon, we noticed that another Asian couple were sitting at the same table. Maybe they just push all the Chinese dudes to this corner cos they know we'd be flipping out our cameras and snapping away at everything. And I mean, everything.
Anyway, only when I had almost reached the table, someone else came up to ask if I wanted my coat taken. He then took it from me as though my coat was a piece of snot-filled tissue to match his snotty attitude. You had me at hel-… No, you didn’t.
I suppose with all the smoke and mirrors that comes with this sort of menu, the service staff may start to sound quite robotic, repeating the same ‘script’ and jokes over and over and over again, at every table, every afternoon and every night.
To make things worse, two tables away, there sat the most annoying boy in all of England. At that age of adolescence when he sounded like a diseased duck being strangled each time he spoke, plus with a puffed-up know-it-all attitude, he annoyed Ben to bits! He kept giving the plot away!
Like when they were served the orange & beetroot jelly, even before his parents or sister could pick up their spoons, he bellowed out loud, "THE ORANGE ONE IS THE BEETROOT AND THE RED ONE IS THE ORANGE! I've read about this before."
Now, orange we glad we arrived early and are at least two courses safely ahead of Mister Smarty Pants.
There was only one wait staff whom I wish attended to our table more often. He was funny and seemed genuinely friendly. He probably would have made all the difference to how I felt about dinner.
Unfortunately, the young lady who served most of our courses was really fake. Although she didn’t have her head up her a** like the guy who took my coat, her smile was really plastic and she had this sort of haughty and critical glint in her eyes. She couldn't really hide that look of impatience each time we tried to take a picture of something.
By the end of the meal (about 4 hours later), I rushed Ben to leave. I was tired, and just wanted to shake off that feeling of being unwanted and unwelcome. You had me at… No, you never got me. Or perhaps I just didn’t get it.
I feel kinda bad cos I know Ben was trying to linger and just sit there, soaking in the whole experience and the very fact that he had just dined at THE Fat Duck.
The next day, we had lunch at The Waterside Inn. By this afternoon, I was already suffering from the early effects of the flu, having a slight sore throat, runny nose and just that overall annoying droopy-eyes feeling. The restaurant here is sort of open air, looking out onto the terrace and the River Thames. It was a refreshing change to the usual dimly lit dining room that makes everything around you look sepia or jaundiced.
The service staff were more reserved (bordering on being aloof and detached actually), but at least not arrogant. Overall, the food was enjoyable but somewhat evanescent. Nothing really stood out except for the fact that ingredients were really fresh, but that was the same at the other restaurants too. Oooh, the desserts were yummy though!
I guess, like how the meal at Ramsay’s built itself up to such an apex, it would have been so much better if we reversed the order of where we dined first and last. ‘Cos now, everything post-Gordon Ramsay seems like one anti-climax after another. He'll always be 'the one that got away' (till I find another).
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Rambu Tan and Botak Chin
In the 70s, Malaysia had its very own "guwazhai", a notorious gangster named Botak Chin. Some considered him the Robin Hood of Malaysia, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but most describe him as a cold-blooded killer who took the law into his own hands.
My old Sejarah Malaysia textbooks told his story using words like penjenayah ganas dan kejam (vicious and evil criminal) and kongsi gelap (secret society).
When he was 15, he joined the kongsi gelap Gang 360 (or 306?), and later formed a gang of his own. After years of the usual "guwazhai" robberies, inter-gang rivalries and killings, arms-dealing and other kegiatan haram (illegal activities), Botak Chin was caught in 1976, and sentenced to death by hanging in 1981.
He's like Malaysia's original gangstah, and quite a household name lah. Since my surname is Chin, my two brothers have been called Botak Chin whenever they sported a crew cut when they were boys. My older brother takes on the Botak Chin tag quite seriously now with his bald pate.
So it's not surprising that the other Chin of the three siblings has also decided to go botak.
I've always liked my hair ultra short. It's either that or really straight and super long (rocker style!) which is not achievable for someone as impatient as me. Although I made up my mind to get my hair cut really, really short, I felt Ben might not be able to handle the sudden change, so I opted for a short but not too short style first.
I went to a hair salon at the nearby mall one afternoon. While sitting at the waiting area, I noticed that the salon also offered other 'beauty' services like waxing, and made a note to set an appointment for a bikini wax later. (A "Brazilian" here is just called a "full bikini").
A "shampoo girl" led me into the salon and washed my hair with REALLY hot water. She then placed a tiny hand towel on my head as water dripped down all over my face and neck while I stood in a corner waiting for a rather angry Lebanese stylist to receive me.
She was really clumsy and unprofessional, and kept dropping stuff - the hairbrush, the comb, the hairdryer, the hairbrush again, the hairclip, the hairclip, the bloody hairclip...
After she cut my hair, she asked, "Blow dry, or just blow?" Here, "blow dry" costs you an extra 20-30 Dirhams, and "just blow" is free of charge. During the "just blow" she held the hairbrush in one hand, the hairdryer in the other. Sometimes she had to free one hand to use the hairclip, so she'd clasp the hairdryer between her legs at her crotch! Seriously! Seriously... Like this:
Here's how my hair looked after she performed a "just blow":
Imagine how BIG my hair could be if I actually asked for a "blow dry"!
I'm definitely not going back to this salon for a haircut again, and of course, a bikini wax here would be absolute coochie suicide!
I had to bear with my 0biang-retro hairdo for four days till I went to a better hair salon to get it sheared. The stylist here is a Middle Eastern guy, probably Lebanese, and he asked about Ben, "That guy is your husband?" He knows you're getting your hair cut THIS SHORT?" I guess he was quite taken aback cos the Arab ladies here really love their tresses and big flying saucer fringes, and of course the men really love their ladies with flowing tresses (not so much the flying saucers).
Khalas! Although Ben now calls me "rambutan", I'm really happy and pleased with my new haircut. It's spunky-gangsta-chic!
My old Sejarah Malaysia textbooks told his story using words like penjenayah ganas dan kejam (vicious and evil criminal) and kongsi gelap (secret society).
When he was 15, he joined the kongsi gelap Gang 360 (or 306?), and later formed a gang of his own. After years of the usual "guwazhai" robberies, inter-gang rivalries and killings, arms-dealing and other kegiatan haram (illegal activities), Botak Chin was caught in 1976, and sentenced to death by hanging in 1981.
He's like Malaysia's original gangstah, and quite a household name lah. Since my surname is Chin, my two brothers have been called Botak Chin whenever they sported a crew cut when they were boys. My older brother takes on the Botak Chin tag quite seriously now with his bald pate.
So it's not surprising that the other Chin of the three siblings has also decided to go botak.
I've always liked my hair ultra short. It's either that or really straight and super long (rocker style!) which is not achievable for someone as impatient as me. Although I made up my mind to get my hair cut really, really short, I felt Ben might not be able to handle the sudden change, so I opted for a short but not too short style first.
I went to a hair salon at the nearby mall one afternoon. While sitting at the waiting area, I noticed that the salon also offered other 'beauty' services like waxing, and made a note to set an appointment for a bikini wax later. (A "Brazilian" here is just called a "full bikini").
A "shampoo girl" led me into the salon and washed my hair with REALLY hot water. She then placed a tiny hand towel on my head as water dripped down all over my face and neck while I stood in a corner waiting for a rather angry Lebanese stylist to receive me.
She was really clumsy and unprofessional, and kept dropping stuff - the hairbrush, the comb, the hairdryer, the hairbrush again, the hairclip, the hairclip, the bloody hairclip...
After she cut my hair, she asked, "Blow dry, or just blow?" Here, "blow dry" costs you an extra 20-30 Dirhams, and "just blow" is free of charge. During the "just blow" she held the hairbrush in one hand, the hairdryer in the other. Sometimes she had to free one hand to use the hairclip, so she'd clasp the hairdryer between her legs at her crotch! Seriously! Seriously... Like this:
Here's how my hair looked after she performed a "just blow":
Imagine how BIG my hair could be if I actually asked for a "blow dry"!I'm definitely not going back to this salon for a haircut again, and of course, a bikini wax here would be absolute coochie suicide!
I had to bear with my 0biang-retro hairdo for four days till I went to a better hair salon to get it sheared. The stylist here is a Middle Eastern guy, probably Lebanese, and he asked about Ben, "That guy is your husband?" He knows you're getting your hair cut THIS SHORT?" I guess he was quite taken aback cos the Arab ladies here really love their tresses and big flying saucer fringes, and of course the men really love their ladies with flowing tresses (not so much the flying saucers).
Khalas! Although Ben now calls me "rambutan", I'm really happy and pleased with my new haircut. It's spunky-gangsta-chic!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Eating our way through May
It's been a month of nothing but makan, makan, makan... As we celebrated our 2nd Anniversary in early May, Ben n I planned to splurge on a nice (iow, expensive) dinner and decided to dine at a place that serves "ultra modern" cuisine here in Dubai.
I suppose it won't be proper to be too critical about the food and I won't even mention the name of the restaurant or the dishes as it was sort of recommended by an acquaintance (and I guess there's some sort of unwritten rule between chefs not to criticise each other... much). I'll just show u pics of some of the courses we had and highlight a couple of things.
For instance, the restaurant manager who served us. He's a really friendly chap even though he speaks with a rather odd angmoh accent (for an Asian dude). He had quite a lot of talking to do too since almost every course came with detailed instructions. --- "First, pop the sphere... mix it... go for it" --- "You have to put the whole thing in... alright, cheers... go for it!" --- "Combine the flavours... Combine the textures... Go for it..."
We were mis-informed beforehand that dinner was the 9-course tasting menu cos the Chef served us a special, new 18-course menu. Yup, EIGHTEEN. There were so many courses that we didn't even know which was the main course, or if there was a main course at all since everything came in minute tasting portions.
One dish featured skate and I just learned that skate is the very atas name for stingray lah. And this piece of pari was TINY. Seriously! It was 2cm x 1cm x 0.75cm.
There were a couple of courses that stood out from the rest, but halfway through the meal, I felt pretty jelak and the only thing I could think of and wish for was an indecently huge slab of MEAT. A yummy, juicy, meaty steak.
I guess I'm really not the sort of person you can bring to a fine dining establishment. This has been proven a couple of times already. Once, when we had lunch at Les Amis and one of the rubber soles of my cheapo mary-janes came off in the restaurant. And a few days later, we celebrated Valentine's Day at Saint Julien n I felt very sick halfway through dinner from just half a glass of champagne.
So back to this dinner. One of the four different desserts we were served was this blackforest globe-thingie. Like the other globe-thingie (the red one pictured earlier), we were advised to "give it a light tap with the back of your spoon" to break it. And like its red predecessor, it needed A LOT MORE than just a tap.
So I tapped it... harder... and harder... no luck. I exclaimed to Ben, "Sounds like tennis ball!" Ben, who was trying another dessert, started choking and got into a laughing fit that took quite a while to pass. We were both giggling so much we had cramps, and tears in our eyes.
Overall, it was an enjoyable experience and even though we were stuffed by the end of the meal, I still craved a good steak. Since our anniversary falls on two consecutive days (officially registered at ROM on the 8th and properly married in Church on the 9th), we justified to ourselves that it would be fine to have our anniversary dinner two nights in a row.
So the next night, we had MEAT! Yeah... go for it!
We invited Seri (Ben's colleague) to join us for a hearty meal at La Parilla, the Argentinian restaurant in Jumeirah Beach Hotel. They're best known for their larger-than-life chunks of Angus beef - 500 gram portions to be precise. The restaurant manager is an extremely cheerful and very animated (and loud) lady named Margarita. She's really super, and it was really amusing each time she spoke, laughed or smiled. She practically grins from ear-to-ear with a beam that would probably outshine Eddie Murphy's!
I liked when she described the beef like it was the best thing in the world, like, "Ooh... ahh... Where I come from, we only eat BIG meat! Just roast the WHOLE COW... Oh... I LOVE MY MEAT!!"
So I decided to "go for it" and ordered the 500g tenderloin. Not wanting to feel left out, Ben ordered a 500g ribeye. That's ONE KILO of beef between the 2 of us! It definitely satisfied my craving!
Seri, who by now has made up her mind that we're absolute gluttons, ordered the more timid duck breast. Halfway through our steaks, I suddenly craved for an icy cold Coke and when I got it, I practically did a "slurp-and-ahh" thing cos it cleansed my palate way better than any wine or water could. Then I passed my glass to Ben and he did a "slurp-ahh" too and it felt so good that he passed the glass to Seri, insisting she had some too. So she had a sip, and even obliged us with a really cute n polite "ahh"! She probably didn't want to be the odd one out, what with us two going "WAH, SHIOK!" and all.
Besides unhealthy stuff like soft drinks and junk food, Ben n I also love the caramel popcorn and nachos with cheese that are sold at cinemas here. They're very, very generous with the cheese - a rich, golden yellow, creamy cheddar. Sometimes we see a long queue for the freshly made crepes, so recently, we decided to try the turkey ham, mushroom n cheese crepe, and now we're hooked!
We love it so much that sometimes we go to the cinema just to "ta pau" it. The popcorn + snacks counter is beyond the cinema entrance (past security), so it's not normal for people to enter just to buy food. But sometimes we get permission to pop in just to takeaway the caramel popcorn and have our own movie marathon at home.
One time when I bought some popcorn and a crepe for takeaway, the Arab couple queuing behind me were baffled. The lady said to her guy in utter bewilderment (and a very pekat angmoh accent), "Why's she taking it AWAY???" Ben n I are still wondering if it's really that weird to take-out popcorn from a cinema or if there are other people out there who do it too. Anyone?
In mid May, we had Friday Brunch at Spectrum On One, in The Fairmont. Friday Brunch here is like your Sunday Champagne Brunch back in Singapore. Ya, even with champagne and all. It was a bad start for our first Friday brunching experience in Dubai cos first of all, they messed up our booking and did not have a table for us. We waited at least 15 minutes till they managed to clear a small table for us. Brunch costs AED450/person (about S$200) that includes free flow of champagne, organic wine and cocktails whether you want it or not.
The restaurant was packed. Unfortunately, we found out soon enough that the attraction here was definitely the free flow of booze, not the all-you-can-eat below-par food.
Sashimi was fresh enough, but like everything else at the Japanese section, nothing worth writing home about. I wanted some miso soup but it was displayed in a very shallow dish, not a deep bowl or pot. It was utterly idiotic to expect anyone to get any soup using the soup ladle. It would be like trying to scoop soup with a spoon served on a flat plate. Totally dumbass.
BL: Yorkshire Pudding. BR: Seaweed no longer seems that edible now that I've seen how it thrives on our precious but mucky shores in Singapore.
The seafood section served fresh oysters and cooked prawns, crayfish and Alaskan crab. There were also a few disgusting trays of cold, cooked seafood soaking in a pool of diluted ice. A waitress insisted on standing right in front of the oysters to promote alcoholic shooters that were so deeply coloured they looked like little shots of poison. She just stood there, practically denying me access to the oysters as she tried to push me some poison. I told her I wanted oysters, and she gave me TWO. Bloody hell.
The Chinese/Thai section shouldn't even deserve a mention here, but I shall since I had a small bite each from 3 very disgusting dimsum parcels - prawn, chicken, and vege. The vege one wasn't even real veggie. They filled the blinking thing with chives! We didn't try anything from the Indian section, and Ben had some roast beef with Yorkshire pudding from the Western side.
It is said that the brunch here boasts the best and widest array of desserts, and they also have a Cheese Room, much to Ben's delight. However, towards the end of brunch, we were terribly disappointed. The desserts were probably on display from 10 that morning, so pastries were soggy and the colder desserts were 'sweating'. We only enjoyed the tiramisu and creme caramel.
We started our meal at around 1.30pm and by 3pm, the crowd had dwindled, leaving behind only the alcoholics who were by now pretty pissed, and getting rowdier by the minute. The once enticing spread of cheeses had also vanished with the more sober guests, much to Ben's dismay. Most of the cheese boards were only left with the rind of what might have been a nice end to a terrible meal.
Brunch ends at 4pm but they stopped replenishing any of the food at around 2.30pm. Around this time, chefs could be seen gathering in little clicques far from the counters, chatting and ignoring most guests. Ben noticed how they would attend only to lady guests. Yes, there's a rather crude Hokkien term to use here that contains the letters C---H---.
TL: The Giant Broccoli was decoration. TR: a very foul n soggy coconut macaroon.
Anyway, the next day we met Mabel and Chee Lin for lunch. Dashidai, a dimsum restaurant here had just opened a new branch in Jumeirah Beach Residence, about 10 minutes drive from where we live. Mabel n Chee Lin have raved about Dashidai before, and luckily, the food here is quite good. Actually, just comparable to mid-range dimsum in Malaysia or Singapore, but very good for Dubai standards.
We tried the highly recommended Claypot Braised Beef and (chicken) Char Siew Pau which Ben thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, I had a bowl of chicken with century egg porridge that was terribly bland, almost bordering on tasteless. The next weekend, we went back for more charsiew pau!
Last week Ben told me he had about a week of lieu days that he had to clear from work and asked me to plan a short getaway. He specified "not anywhere in the Middle East" cos then it wouldn't feel like getting-away. With the Pound n Euro sky high, it was difficult to plan a trip to Europe without breaking the bank. I finally decided on Ireland but later we discussed and figured it wouldn't be much of a holiday either cos we'd have to cram so much within 4-5 days.
Then... I suggested something else to Ben... His face lit up immediately n just from his expression u could tell there were a million thoughts n feelings rushing n buzzing about in his mind at that very instant. He was so excited about it that he even cut his finger real bad while daydreaming at work the next day. And he says we should go in September to celebrate my birthday... That's my husband's sneaky way of taking the guilt of himself cos the whole idea of it already seems so lavish.
So the magic words? All I did was suggest, "How bout we travel to London n stay in Bray for just a few days, just to dine at The Fat Duck, and then fly back?" Heck, why not... Go For It!
So it seems we're not only eating our way through May, but are eating our way to Bray. :p
I suppose it won't be proper to be too critical about the food and I won't even mention the name of the restaurant or the dishes as it was sort of recommended by an acquaintance (and I guess there's some sort of unwritten rule between chefs not to criticise each other... much). I'll just show u pics of some of the courses we had and highlight a couple of things.
For instance, the restaurant manager who served us. He's a really friendly chap even though he speaks with a rather odd angmoh accent (for an Asian dude). He had quite a lot of talking to do too since almost every course came with detailed instructions. --- "First, pop the sphere... mix it... go for it" --- "You have to put the whole thing in... alright, cheers... go for it!" --- "Combine the flavours... Combine the textures... Go for it..."
We were mis-informed beforehand that dinner was the 9-course tasting menu cos the Chef served us a special, new 18-course menu. Yup, EIGHTEEN. There were so many courses that we didn't even know which was the main course, or if there was a main course at all since everything came in minute tasting portions.
One dish featured skate and I just learned that skate is the very atas name for stingray lah. And this piece of pari was TINY. Seriously! It was 2cm x 1cm x 0.75cm.
There were a couple of courses that stood out from the rest, but halfway through the meal, I felt pretty jelak and the only thing I could think of and wish for was an indecently huge slab of MEAT. A yummy, juicy, meaty steak.
I guess I'm really not the sort of person you can bring to a fine dining establishment. This has been proven a couple of times already. Once, when we had lunch at Les Amis and one of the rubber soles of my cheapo mary-janes came off in the restaurant. And a few days later, we celebrated Valentine's Day at Saint Julien n I felt very sick halfway through dinner from just half a glass of champagne.
So back to this dinner. One of the four different desserts we were served was this blackforest globe-thingie. Like the other globe-thingie (the red one pictured earlier), we were advised to "give it a light tap with the back of your spoon" to break it. And like its red predecessor, it needed A LOT MORE than just a tap.
So I tapped it... harder... and harder... no luck. I exclaimed to Ben, "Sounds like tennis ball!" Ben, who was trying another dessert, started choking and got into a laughing fit that took quite a while to pass. We were both giggling so much we had cramps, and tears in our eyes.
Overall, it was an enjoyable experience and even though we were stuffed by the end of the meal, I still craved a good steak. Since our anniversary falls on two consecutive days (officially registered at ROM on the 8th and properly married in Church on the 9th), we justified to ourselves that it would be fine to have our anniversary dinner two nights in a row.
So the next night, we had MEAT! Yeah... go for it!
We invited Seri (Ben's colleague) to join us for a hearty meal at La Parilla, the Argentinian restaurant in Jumeirah Beach Hotel. They're best known for their larger-than-life chunks of Angus beef - 500 gram portions to be precise. The restaurant manager is an extremely cheerful and very animated (and loud) lady named Margarita. She's really super, and it was really amusing each time she spoke, laughed or smiled. She practically grins from ear-to-ear with a beam that would probably outshine Eddie Murphy's!
I liked when she described the beef like it was the best thing in the world, like, "Ooh... ahh... Where I come from, we only eat BIG meat! Just roast the WHOLE COW... Oh... I LOVE MY MEAT!!"
So I decided to "go for it" and ordered the 500g tenderloin. Not wanting to feel left out, Ben ordered a 500g ribeye. That's ONE KILO of beef between the 2 of us! It definitely satisfied my craving!
Besides unhealthy stuff like soft drinks and junk food, Ben n I also love the caramel popcorn and nachos with cheese that are sold at cinemas here. They're very, very generous with the cheese - a rich, golden yellow, creamy cheddar. Sometimes we see a long queue for the freshly made crepes, so recently, we decided to try the turkey ham, mushroom n cheese crepe, and now we're hooked!
We love it so much that sometimes we go to the cinema just to "ta pau" it. The popcorn + snacks counter is beyond the cinema entrance (past security), so it's not normal for people to enter just to buy food. But sometimes we get permission to pop in just to takeaway the caramel popcorn and have our own movie marathon at home.
One time when I bought some popcorn and a crepe for takeaway, the Arab couple queuing behind me were baffled. The lady said to her guy in utter bewilderment (and a very pekat angmoh accent), "Why's she taking it AWAY???" Ben n I are still wondering if it's really that weird to take-out popcorn from a cinema or if there are other people out there who do it too. Anyone?
In mid May, we had Friday Brunch at Spectrum On One, in The Fairmont. Friday Brunch here is like your Sunday Champagne Brunch back in Singapore. Ya, even with champagne and all. It was a bad start for our first Friday brunching experience in Dubai cos first of all, they messed up our booking and did not have a table for us. We waited at least 15 minutes till they managed to clear a small table for us. Brunch costs AED450/person (about S$200) that includes free flow of champagne, organic wine and cocktails whether you want it or not.
The restaurant was packed. Unfortunately, we found out soon enough that the attraction here was definitely the free flow of booze, not the all-you-can-eat below-par food.
Sashimi was fresh enough, but like everything else at the Japanese section, nothing worth writing home about. I wanted some miso soup but it was displayed in a very shallow dish, not a deep bowl or pot. It was utterly idiotic to expect anyone to get any soup using the soup ladle. It would be like trying to scoop soup with a spoon served on a flat plate. Totally dumbass.
BL: Yorkshire Pudding. BR: Seaweed no longer seems that edible now that I've seen how it thrives on our precious but mucky shores in Singapore.The seafood section served fresh oysters and cooked prawns, crayfish and Alaskan crab. There were also a few disgusting trays of cold, cooked seafood soaking in a pool of diluted ice. A waitress insisted on standing right in front of the oysters to promote alcoholic shooters that were so deeply coloured they looked like little shots of poison. She just stood there, practically denying me access to the oysters as she tried to push me some poison. I told her I wanted oysters, and she gave me TWO. Bloody hell.
The Chinese/Thai section shouldn't even deserve a mention here, but I shall since I had a small bite each from 3 very disgusting dimsum parcels - prawn, chicken, and vege. The vege one wasn't even real veggie. They filled the blinking thing with chives! We didn't try anything from the Indian section, and Ben had some roast beef with Yorkshire pudding from the Western side.
It is said that the brunch here boasts the best and widest array of desserts, and they also have a Cheese Room, much to Ben's delight. However, towards the end of brunch, we were terribly disappointed. The desserts were probably on display from 10 that morning, so pastries were soggy and the colder desserts were 'sweating'. We only enjoyed the tiramisu and creme caramel.
We started our meal at around 1.30pm and by 3pm, the crowd had dwindled, leaving behind only the alcoholics who were by now pretty pissed, and getting rowdier by the minute. The once enticing spread of cheeses had also vanished with the more sober guests, much to Ben's dismay. Most of the cheese boards were only left with the rind of what might have been a nice end to a terrible meal.
Brunch ends at 4pm but they stopped replenishing any of the food at around 2.30pm. Around this time, chefs could be seen gathering in little clicques far from the counters, chatting and ignoring most guests. Ben noticed how they would attend only to lady guests. Yes, there's a rather crude Hokkien term to use here that contains the letters C---H---.
TL: The Giant Broccoli was decoration. TR: a very foul n soggy coconut macaroon.Anyway, the next day we met Mabel and Chee Lin for lunch. Dashidai, a dimsum restaurant here had just opened a new branch in Jumeirah Beach Residence, about 10 minutes drive from where we live. Mabel n Chee Lin have raved about Dashidai before, and luckily, the food here is quite good. Actually, just comparable to mid-range dimsum in Malaysia or Singapore, but very good for Dubai standards.
We tried the highly recommended Claypot Braised Beef and (chicken) Char Siew Pau which Ben thoroughly enjoyed. Unfortunately, I had a bowl of chicken with century egg porridge that was terribly bland, almost bordering on tasteless. The next weekend, we went back for more charsiew pau!
Last week Ben told me he had about a week of lieu days that he had to clear from work and asked me to plan a short getaway. He specified "not anywhere in the Middle East" cos then it wouldn't feel like getting-away. With the Pound n Euro sky high, it was difficult to plan a trip to Europe without breaking the bank. I finally decided on Ireland but later we discussed and figured it wouldn't be much of a holiday either cos we'd have to cram so much within 4-5 days.
Then... I suggested something else to Ben... His face lit up immediately n just from his expression u could tell there were a million thoughts n feelings rushing n buzzing about in his mind at that very instant. He was so excited about it that he even cut his finger real bad while daydreaming at work the next day. And he says we should go in September to celebrate my birthday... That's my husband's sneaky way of taking the guilt of himself cos the whole idea of it already seems so lavish.
So the magic words? All I did was suggest, "How bout we travel to London n stay in Bray for just a few days, just to dine at The Fat Duck, and then fly back?" Heck, why not... Go For It!
So it seems we're not only eating our way through May, but are eating our way to Bray. :p
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
French Fries
Since Ben is more inclined towards traditional French cuisine and knows its history – stuff like why Opera cake is called Opera, etc, I asked him why French fries are called French fries. Like you have Penang Hokkien Mee which is prawn mee, and then Singapore Hokkien Mee which is something completely different. So why don’t we have Spanish fries and American fries? What’s so special about French fries when they don’t even come from France and are probably made from US potatoes?
Ben can’t sleep for days when I ask him these weird questions. And he actually goes and gets answers for me if he doesn’t have it at his fingertips.
Like once, I asked him if British royalty have a surname. Like y’know, Queen Elizabeth, Prince William… It can’t just say “Prince Charles” in his passport right… Does he even have or need a passport? So Ben actually asked one of the English boys, and he told him “It’s Windsor”.
Really? Seriously? So it’s Elizabeth Windsor? William Windsor? Hmmm…
Now since we’re on the subject of French stuff, did you know that before I met Ben, my friends were oddly eager to introduce me to French-speaking guys? I have no idea why! First there was Shan, who asked me to meet her for dinner. Then just before she picks me up, she says, “Wear something nice” which when translated means, “I’m introducing you to a guy against your will so don’t come in your jeans, rock t-shirt, without make up and with your hair looking like crap”.
So on the way to dinner she says, “Wah… He can speak French!” So what? He could be speaking Mandarin to me and I still wouldn’t understand a word. So this dude turns out to be a really nice and very Singaporean-ised angmoh, but he was like 12 years older and the only thing that seemed truly French about him other than his name was his Zidane-ish hairline.
Then after that, Shorbs and Raena tried to pull an “oh-you-must-meet-this-guy-thing” on me. This time, it was a Chinese fellow who speaks French, has a good job, is really nice and single (oxymoron?)… It’s a good thing their little plot fell thru ‘cos the only things French I like are French onion soup and French toast, and the only French-speaking guy who’ll ever get my attention is Johnny Depp. Ooolala…
Then I worked at GC, and the boss there said, “Ooooh… my Chefs are cute and they speak French you know” Enough already! These two “cute” French-speaking chefs she was referring to were Ben and David, who can’t really speak French lah – just a bit of cursing n swearing they learnt from Chef Julien.
They probably just said something like “Le mis en place escargot café au lait dauphinoise crème brulee thierry henri champs elysees…” to 'bedek' the ladies lah.
I remember when I had to do some food shots, and Ben was describing the starters that were on display. Pointing to the ratte potato with a ‘pekat’ French accent, “This is a rrrraahh potato, best potato in the world”. He only found out later that all he had to do was speak 'Yoda-ish' to impress this girl.
So the answer to why French fries are named so? Thomas Jefferson introduced fries to the colonies in the late 1700s, and the term French fries simply evolved from Jefferson’s description, “potatoes, fried in the French manner”. However, there’s no evidence that fries originated from France, with other countries like Belgium and Spain also claiming its origin.
Ben can’t sleep for days when I ask him these weird questions. And he actually goes and gets answers for me if he doesn’t have it at his fingertips.
Like once, I asked him if British royalty have a surname. Like y’know, Queen Elizabeth, Prince William… It can’t just say “Prince Charles” in his passport right… Does he even have or need a passport? So Ben actually asked one of the English boys, and he told him “It’s Windsor”.
Really? Seriously? So it’s Elizabeth Windsor? William Windsor? Hmmm…
Now since we’re on the subject of French stuff, did you know that before I met Ben, my friends were oddly eager to introduce me to French-speaking guys? I have no idea why! First there was Shan, who asked me to meet her for dinner. Then just before she picks me up, she says, “Wear something nice” which when translated means, “I’m introducing you to a guy against your will so don’t come in your jeans, rock t-shirt, without make up and with your hair looking like crap”.
So on the way to dinner she says, “Wah… He can speak French!” So what? He could be speaking Mandarin to me and I still wouldn’t understand a word. So this dude turns out to be a really nice and very Singaporean-ised angmoh, but he was like 12 years older and the only thing that seemed truly French about him other than his name was his Zidane-ish hairline.
Then after that, Shorbs and Raena tried to pull an “oh-you-must-meet-this-guy-thing” on me. This time, it was a Chinese fellow who speaks French, has a good job, is really nice and single (oxymoron?)… It’s a good thing their little plot fell thru ‘cos the only things French I like are French onion soup and French toast, and the only French-speaking guy who’ll ever get my attention is Johnny Depp. Ooolala…
Then I worked at GC, and the boss there said, “Ooooh… my Chefs are cute and they speak French you know” Enough already! These two “cute” French-speaking chefs she was referring to were Ben and David, who can’t really speak French lah – just a bit of cursing n swearing they learnt from Chef Julien.
They probably just said something like “Le mis en place escargot café au lait dauphinoise crème brulee thierry henri champs elysees…” to 'bedek' the ladies lah.
I remember when I had to do some food shots, and Ben was describing the starters that were on display. Pointing to the ratte potato with a ‘pekat’ French accent, “This is a rrrraahh potato, best potato in the world”. He only found out later that all he had to do was speak 'Yoda-ish' to impress this girl.
So the answer to why French fries are named so? Thomas Jefferson introduced fries to the colonies in the late 1700s, and the term French fries simply evolved from Jefferson’s description, “potatoes, fried in the French manner”. However, there’s no evidence that fries originated from France, with other countries like Belgium and Spain also claiming its origin.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The toys come out to play
Back when I often stayed up from night till morning, then slept during the day, I went to the mall thinking I'd "start" my day early one morning. However, I was a little TOO early, and none of the shops were open yet, although the mall was already lit. It was really weird, walking around the empty mall, its large halls echoing the sound of my footsteps and the occasional cleaners passing by.
I passed store after store, some shut and in complete darkness, others with its window displays brightly lit. Looking at all the mannequins made me think of Amelia Jane and golliwogs or whatchamaycallems. You know, those Enid Blyton stories of the toys coming out to play at night, or if you never grew up reading Blyton, then, like how the displays came to life in Night At The Museum.
In a weird way, it may make sense if they did come to life, after all the trouble it took to deck them in the latest fashion apparel and what not, and with such a huge mall to run around in.
The "girls" could finally meet the "boys", especially 'em tall, dark and handsome'uns from Hugo Boss or Debenhams. The kid mannequins could play with anything in the toystore, and sit on the funrides for free. And the "flying man" could finally really fly, instead of being suspended from the ceiling all day :o)
I passed store after store, some shut and in complete darkness, others with its window displays brightly lit. Looking at all the mannequins made me think of Amelia Jane and golliwogs or whatchamaycallems. You know, those Enid Blyton stories of the toys coming out to play at night, or if you never grew up reading Blyton, then, like how the displays came to life in Night At The Museum.
In a weird way, it may make sense if they did come to life, after all the trouble it took to deck them in the latest fashion apparel and what not, and with such a huge mall to run around in.
The "girls" could finally meet the "boys", especially 'em tall, dark and handsome'uns from Hugo Boss or Debenhams. The kid mannequins could play with anything in the toystore, and sit on the funrides for free. And the "flying man" could finally really fly, instead of being suspended from the ceiling all day :o)
The Long and Winding Road
This is one spot in Dubai that I actually like and MAY miss when we decide to finally leave this place.
It's a street near our apartment that leads to Ibn Battuta Mall, and is a longer route compared to walking along the main road, as it snakes through the Gardens villas. But in the evenings, just before dusk (and only during the winter months), walking along this street makes me feel like I'm back home. Something about how green it is, with trees and shrubs lining the entire stretch, and even patches of green moss on the areas of earth not covered by turf. Imagine that, moss in a desert city.
At twilight, just as the streetlights are lit, it's cool and windy, and walking along this stretch just takes you to another place. Seriously. You no longer feel like you're in Dubai, and forget that the rest of the city is mostly grey, brown and dusty, its streets full of traffic, its skyline dotted with large construction cranes and concrete structures. So I'm enjoying my weekly walks to the mall while I can, cos once the cool months are over, walking ANYWHERE in Dubai only takes you to the nearest airconditioned environment to escape the heat and humidity.
It's a street near our apartment that leads to Ibn Battuta Mall, and is a longer route compared to walking along the main road, as it snakes through the Gardens villas. But in the evenings, just before dusk (and only during the winter months), walking along this street makes me feel like I'm back home. Something about how green it is, with trees and shrubs lining the entire stretch, and even patches of green moss on the areas of earth not covered by turf. Imagine that, moss in a desert city.
At twilight, just as the streetlights are lit, it's cool and windy, and walking along this stretch just takes you to another place. Seriously. You no longer feel like you're in Dubai, and forget that the rest of the city is mostly grey, brown and dusty, its streets full of traffic, its skyline dotted with large construction cranes and concrete structures. So I'm enjoying my weekly walks to the mall while I can, cos once the cool months are over, walking ANYWHERE in Dubai only takes you to the nearest airconditioned environment to escape the heat and humidity.
The Parable of the Big Flood and Two Loaves
It rained on Sunday, drizzled on Monday, and on Tuesday, it rained all day from morning till night. That's really not much rainfall if compared to the cats n dogs we get back home, but by Dubai standards, 24 hours of light rain equals flooding throughout the emirate.
People in Sharjah probably had to swim to Dubai, and many roads in Dubai were accessible only by big vehicles like 'em Hummers that the locals love to drive. Ben said he saw a Ferrari stranded near our home, left to "soak" by the roadside. Imagine the earful he gets when this dude explains to his wife why he came home, sans-Ferrari. "Lah illah ha illallah... How many times have I told you, Limo on weekdays, Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati on weekends, but take the H3 out on rainy days, habibi".
The weather has finally caught up with the rest of the northern hemisphere, with temperatures dipping to as low as 1 degree Celcius in places like Al Ain. I'm now thinking of nice yellow Phua Chu Kang boots to keep my feet dry, and gloves to save my fingers from icy petrification.
Along with the cold, comes colds - the dreaded winter sniffles. Luckily, unlike the usual flu, most of us just have a runny/blocked nose and slight cough, minus the fever and phlegm by the bucketloads. The best remedy is, as always, lots of liquids, and keeping warm. I've been cooking soups and stews a lot. Nothing like a warm and hearty stew or soup for dinner during winter. I even managed to find "kiamchye" (sour mustard) here, so we had the usual post-Christmas turkey bones with kiamchye soup recently.
All we did last Christmas and New Year was eat... Actually, all we do most of the time, any time of the year is eat! We baked a lot in November and December - cheesecakes, lemon pies, sugee cake, cupcakes, cookies...
And Ben says Christmas isn't complete without a lorry-load of chocolates, so we stocked up on chocolate biscuits, caramel-filled chocolates, fudge-like chocolates, mint chocolates, praline- nougat- semisweet- assorted chocolates... even chocolates shaped like Santa Claus... You get my drift.
This last Christmas however, we had something really special, brought all the way from Singapore - two loaves of Gardenia bread!
Our friend Jac had her parents over just before Christmas, so she asked Ben if he wanted anything from Singapore. "Gardenia! Gardenia!" Ben's been craving for Gardenia sandwich bread since he heard that Chee Lin and Mabel brought TEN loaves over when they moved to Dubai, cos the bread here is terribly dry... It's so dry, you could wipe your nose with it when suffering from winter sniffles.
In fact, local bread is so dry, they should line the streets with it to solve the flood problems. "Yulla, yulla, throw the roti out the window, habibi... Khalas!"
People in Sharjah probably had to swim to Dubai, and many roads in Dubai were accessible only by big vehicles like 'em Hummers that the locals love to drive. Ben said he saw a Ferrari stranded near our home, left to "soak" by the roadside. Imagine the earful he gets when this dude explains to his wife why he came home, sans-Ferrari. "Lah illah ha illallah... How many times have I told you, Limo on weekdays, Ferrari, Lamborghini and Maserati on weekends, but take the H3 out on rainy days, habibi".
The weather has finally caught up with the rest of the northern hemisphere, with temperatures dipping to as low as 1 degree Celcius in places like Al Ain. I'm now thinking of nice yellow Phua Chu Kang boots to keep my feet dry, and gloves to save my fingers from icy petrification.
Along with the cold, comes colds - the dreaded winter sniffles. Luckily, unlike the usual flu, most of us just have a runny/blocked nose and slight cough, minus the fever and phlegm by the bucketloads. The best remedy is, as always, lots of liquids, and keeping warm. I've been cooking soups and stews a lot. Nothing like a warm and hearty stew or soup for dinner during winter. I even managed to find "kiamchye" (sour mustard) here, so we had the usual post-Christmas turkey bones with kiamchye soup recently.
All we did last Christmas and New Year was eat... Actually, all we do most of the time, any time of the year is eat! We baked a lot in November and December - cheesecakes, lemon pies, sugee cake, cupcakes, cookies...
And Ben says Christmas isn't complete without a lorry-load of chocolates, so we stocked up on chocolate biscuits, caramel-filled chocolates, fudge-like chocolates, mint chocolates, praline- nougat- semisweet- assorted chocolates... even chocolates shaped like Santa Claus... You get my drift.
This last Christmas however, we had something really special, brought all the way from Singapore - two loaves of Gardenia bread!
Our friend Jac had her parents over just before Christmas, so she asked Ben if he wanted anything from Singapore. "Gardenia! Gardenia!" Ben's been craving for Gardenia sandwich bread since he heard that Chee Lin and Mabel brought TEN loaves over when they moved to Dubai, cos the bread here is terribly dry... It's so dry, you could wipe your nose with it when suffering from winter sniffles.
In fact, local bread is so dry, they should line the streets with it to solve the flood problems. "Yulla, yulla, throw the roti out the window, habibi... Khalas!"
Saturday, December 01, 2007
HSBC SUCKS!!!
HSBC in Dubai is the #$%*!+^!! worst bank in the world. It is ****ED UP. Ya, I'll say it again just to stress my point - HSBC UAE is ****ED UP. All banks here are ****ed up. This whole place is one big **** up. I know my timing sucks cos I just happen to be pissed off with this country on the eve of its national day, but TOO BAD!! YOU SUCK!!!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Parklane Pai-kia
The older we get, the more our memories fade. First we forget little details, then moments, and eventually even huge chunks of time. When I was around 21, I started some sort of journal, something I call my “I Remember… Book” in which I listed little bits of memories from as far back as I could remember. Every now and then if I remembered something, I’d add it to the list. Most of them were memories of the antics of my brothers and I as kids, like how we’d fling my Mom’s rotan (a thin but wicked strip of bamboo that she caned us with if we misbehaved) up onto the roof of our house. Quite often you’d hear my Mom yelling, “Si gin-na! Where did you hide the cane this time?!!”
Anyway, this post isn’t about my childhood memories, as I already have most of them jotted down in that journal somewhere in Singapore. Instead, here’s something from Ben’s ‘archives’. I may not get all the facts right since this is a second-hand account, so if anyone finds something wrong or really offensive, please do let me know.
Sometimes Ben recalls something from his past, not so much from early childhood but mainly memories from his ‘strayed’ adolescence, and happily goes on a long rant about it. Give him a couple more years and I’m quite sure he’ll forget more and more of these snippets of the past that he already vaguely remembers now.
Recently he told me about how he and his friends would go to Parklane every Saturday when they were teenagers… to just lepak or act cool or make a nuisance of themselves, I suppose. A whole group of about 20 of them would ride the double-deckered number 14 SBS bus from the East side of Singapore to the city and back. They would usually take up the entire top deck and… lepak, act cool, or make a nuisance of themselves lah. Back then, most of the buses weren’t air-conditioned yet, and this served these boys well since they could have the windows open, act cool, and make a nuisance of themselves some more.
The bus route would also take them past a particular house in Katong which always seemed to be having a ‘party’ on weekends. So they’d shout, “Oi, party bo chio!” (loosely translated to “got party, never invite”) It was only much later (in life) that they discovered this was a Sai Baba house of worship.
While waiting at bus stops, they also had this “sabo-routine” where all of them would stand in a line in front of the bus stop. As a bus came by, if one of them was standing where the bus door opened, he would be forced to dance in front of the bus. As fate would have it, the bus door would open in front of Cyril almost every time.
Around this same stage in their clueless teenage years, Ben and friends also picked up a Hokkien phrase from Desmond’s Mom. Apparently, she would sometimes be heard saying “Kam kio!”, which literally translates as “suck brinjal” in Hokkien. I guess we’ll have to check with Desmond if it was to be taken literally, or if it was just a figure of speech, like “holy shit” or like how my Mom and aunts always use the meaningless term, “ua-ko” (bowl-cake). But trust Ben, Desmond and guys to make use of this ‘colourful’ new-found term to their delight.
Sometimes, they’d hail taxis for no reason at all. The taxi would stop and then they’d say they didn’t want to take it. Or they’d mention absurd locations like “Uncle, Johor?” But the favourite joke on taxi drivers would be, “Uncle, ai kam kio?” (“uncle, wanna suck brinjal?”) The taxi driver would then say, “Ang Mo Kio?” and they’d say no and ask again, “Ai kam kio?”
So for our next trip back to Singapore, we have a short list of things to do:
1. visit ‘that’ house in Katong
2. ask Desmond’s Mom the real meaning of ‘kam kio’
3. get Cyril to grace us with a dance
Anyway, this post isn’t about my childhood memories, as I already have most of them jotted down in that journal somewhere in Singapore. Instead, here’s something from Ben’s ‘archives’. I may not get all the facts right since this is a second-hand account, so if anyone finds something wrong or really offensive, please do let me know.
Sometimes Ben recalls something from his past, not so much from early childhood but mainly memories from his ‘strayed’ adolescence, and happily goes on a long rant about it. Give him a couple more years and I’m quite sure he’ll forget more and more of these snippets of the past that he already vaguely remembers now.
Recently he told me about how he and his friends would go to Parklane every Saturday when they were teenagers… to just lepak or act cool or make a nuisance of themselves, I suppose. A whole group of about 20 of them would ride the double-deckered number 14 SBS bus from the East side of Singapore to the city and back. They would usually take up the entire top deck and… lepak, act cool, or make a nuisance of themselves lah. Back then, most of the buses weren’t air-conditioned yet, and this served these boys well since they could have the windows open, act cool, and make a nuisance of themselves some more.
The bus route would also take them past a particular house in Katong which always seemed to be having a ‘party’ on weekends. So they’d shout, “Oi, party bo chio!” (loosely translated to “got party, never invite”) It was only much later (in life) that they discovered this was a Sai Baba house of worship.
While waiting at bus stops, they also had this “sabo-routine” where all of them would stand in a line in front of the bus stop. As a bus came by, if one of them was standing where the bus door opened, he would be forced to dance in front of the bus. As fate would have it, the bus door would open in front of Cyril almost every time.
Around this same stage in their clueless teenage years, Ben and friends also picked up a Hokkien phrase from Desmond’s Mom. Apparently, she would sometimes be heard saying “Kam kio!”, which literally translates as “suck brinjal” in Hokkien. I guess we’ll have to check with Desmond if it was to be taken literally, or if it was just a figure of speech, like “holy shit” or like how my Mom and aunts always use the meaningless term, “ua-ko” (bowl-cake). But trust Ben, Desmond and guys to make use of this ‘colourful’ new-found term to their delight.
Sometimes, they’d hail taxis for no reason at all. The taxi would stop and then they’d say they didn’t want to take it. Or they’d mention absurd locations like “Uncle, Johor?” But the favourite joke on taxi drivers would be, “Uncle, ai kam kio?” (“uncle, wanna suck brinjal?”) The taxi driver would then say, “Ang Mo Kio?” and they’d say no and ask again, “Ai kam kio?”
So for our next trip back to Singapore, we have a short list of things to do:
1. visit ‘that’ house in Katong
2. ask Desmond’s Mom the real meaning of ‘kam kio’
3. get Cyril to grace us with a dance
A bitter pill
I caught the flu bug two weeks back and did not visit a clinic or see a doctor for medication. I usually self-medicate, and only see the doctor when I need an MC, need to stock up on painkillers, or am really sick and have no idea what I’m suffering from.
Another reason why I especially don’t like to visit a doctor when I’m suffering from the flu/fever is cos I don’t take antibiotics. I have a phobia of swallowing pills, and till now, still crush my pills to a powdered pulp to mix with a bit of water and then swallow in liquid form… no matter how bitter or gross it is.
So if I tell a doctor this, he gives me the same look that my Dad does, like it’s really such a crime to have a phobia. I really think it’s kinda unfair to be judged and treated like a kid just cos I take my meds like a two-year old. Some people are afraid of heights, needles, blood, rats, the supernatural, or whatever.
So I think I’m pretty gungho if compared to quite a lot of people, since nothing much scares me… except big cockroaches, pills..... and dirty old men.
Quite often the doctor just prescribes me pills anyway, even when I say I can’t swallow them. Like my Dad again, the doctor will say, “You shouldn’t have any problem swallowing it, it’s not that big… or it’s just a capsule”. In fact I can’t remember the last time a doctor has agreed to give me meds in liquid form like the gross pink or yellow goo that they force on kids.
So sometimes I don’t even bother telling the doctor that I can’t swallow pills. I just see him to get an MC and then throw away whatever meds he gives me. That’s why I never take antibiotics, cos I would definitely never finish a course.
We recently had dinner with Ben’s supplier Rohit and his wife Geetha. They’ve been living in Dubai for 16 years and told us that doctors and clinics here suck big time. So it turns out the lack of knowledge and efficiency isn’t just restricted to banks and governmental institutions. It really applies to everything in Dubai. Big and small companies, local and multinational, across all the various fields/industries.
Geetha had the flu two months back which developed into pneumonia and she just recovered about a week ago! It seems the doctors here are really, really useless. They never give you the proper medication that’s meant to cure you immediately. Instead, they’ll give you “Cocktail A” which you take for 7 – 10 days, then prescribe you with “Cocktail B” when you find that you’re not getting any better, and after almost a month of all sorts of drugs, they decide happy hour’s finally over and present you with “Cocktail C”.
And the few doctors who are supposed to be good are booked so far ahead that if you were sick today, he’d be able to see you two weeks later. So I can’t imagine why people would say he/she was a good doctor if they only visited them after making an appointment weeks before, meaning patients are either well by the time they see these “good” doctors, or close to dying, or plain psychic.
Since I’m not working now, I treated my flu with lots of rest, liquids, vitamin C, honey, lemon, Panadol Cold & Flu, and Lemsip Max. I guess doing it this way takes longer than if I ‘nuked’ it with real drugs from a doctor. The flu took about 10 days to pass from different stages of fever, body ache, headache, blocked nose, plus lots and lots of green stuff…
I stopped taking cough syrup after ten days cos apparently that’s the maximum amount of days you can take cough mixture continually, and if it’s not cured by then, it means the cough has already developed into an infection or whatever.
However, the cough that develops during the course of the flu for me always lingers on for much longer, sometimes up to two months, and I usually just wait for it to pass without any medication. This post-flu cough of mine usually ‘sounds’ really bad, like a whooping cough, where I’d have a really deep cough that sounds like an old car with a loud and rusty engine followed by wheezing and shortness of breath. This time around though, it doesn’t sound so bad but it ‘feels’ quite bad.
Since yesterday, my chest has been hurting a lot. First it hurt when I coughed, then by the end of the day, it just hurt, like I had a huge internal blue-black. It's never hurt this way before and Ben's kinda worried and wants me to see a doctor about it, but I'm still hoping it'll heal itself in due course.
Anyway, I just learned that they’ve just gone and banned 4 different flu meds and a few other cough meds, including Panadol Cold & Flu. Like how Decolgen was banned a few years back, apparently these recent additions to the list of banned drugs cause some pretty serious side effects, like heart failure or some scary shit like that.
This kinda stuff gets you thinking…. These are approved drugs - tried, tested, approved, and sold over the counter for years. Every year, hundreds of different drugs are taken off the shelf cos some ‘genius’ discovers that it has potentially dangerous side effects.
So how the hell do drugs get approved only to be later “discovered” unsafe? Well, most drugs are already known to be potentially harmful, and its side effects are usually stated in the fine print on that small piece of paper that come with meds that we don’t bother to read.
And you know how we have some friends or relatives who always bombard us with forwarded emails about the dangers of this and that? Like, oh, don’t microwave such and such a thing cos it will release some sorta toxin that will cause cancer, or don’t consume such and such a thing cos it contains such and such an ingredient that’s the same stuff that’s used to clean industrial machinery. Half the time these emails warn of cancer-causing materials/ingredients. Then there are the emails that highlight the qualities of certain products/ingredients and how it combats cancer or any disease/ailment known to man.
Well, I guess now I know that perhaps there’s some truth to some of these emails and as much as I’m sometimes annoyed by the bombardment of forwarded emails, I also have to remember that it’s usually sent by thoughtful relatives and friends who may seem like hypochondriacs at times but I guess the bottomline is that, they worry, and they care.
I’m not gonna turn into a hypochondriac, but I recently read an online article from The Ecologist about Lemsip Max Cold & Flu Capsules that really got my attention since I’m an over-the-counter-drug-junkie when it comes to the flu. The Ecologist has a regular “Behind The Label” article that features the potentially harmful contents found in all sorts of products. This recent article highlighted over-the-counter flu meds, especially since it’s Winter and the flu bug is going around.
According to this article, most over-the-counter remedies “have been found – through objective, scientific studies – to be useless”.
“Crucially, people who regularly purchase cold and flu remedies are usually ill when they make their purchases, and this phenomenon, known as the ‘distress factor’, is a real boon to manufacturers. Sick people don’t think, they simply want relief – immediately.”
“So, in spite of the fact that nothing you can buy will cure your cold, a huge number of us have succumbed to the hit-it-hard-and-hit-it fast remedies such as the Lemsip ‘Max’ range, which predominate on the pharmacist’s shelves and promise that you can happily continue to work long hours and enjoy a full social life, even if your body is telling you to slow down.”
The article takes Lemsip Max as an example, and lists its ingredients with descriptions and side effects. You can find the full article here.
Medical and scientific studies have shown that the best cure for the flu is rest, warmth and lots of liquids. But with our busy lifestyles, we seldom have the luxury of taking more than a day or two off work to cure a cold. So we rely on over-the-counter remedies that only offer temporary relief.
The scary thing here is not that these drugs don’t actually cure you, but that in the long run, it may be harmful to your health. Perhaps that’s why my cough is so bad. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) believes that if a cough is suppressed or not treated correctly, it will remain in your body and may eventually develop into something worse.
"According to TCM understanding, many conditions can have their origin in an untreated cough: asthma, diabetes, and even cancer." [Ref: article about Cough and TCM]
So now, I’m desperately waiting for an alternative cough remedy to arrive from Malaysia. My Mom has mailed me a packet of tong sum (Codonopsis root) to be cooked based on a recipe of tong sum, ginger and lean beef, stewed for half a day as a herbal broth to cure bronchitis. Let’s hope this works, cos I’d really rather not see a doctor (especially since they don’t have that “power” black cough syrup here cos most drugs here are alcohol-free).
Another reason why I especially don’t like to visit a doctor when I’m suffering from the flu/fever is cos I don’t take antibiotics. I have a phobia of swallowing pills, and till now, still crush my pills to a powdered pulp to mix with a bit of water and then swallow in liquid form… no matter how bitter or gross it is.
So if I tell a doctor this, he gives me the same look that my Dad does, like it’s really such a crime to have a phobia. I really think it’s kinda unfair to be judged and treated like a kid just cos I take my meds like a two-year old. Some people are afraid of heights, needles, blood, rats, the supernatural, or whatever.
So I think I’m pretty gungho if compared to quite a lot of people, since nothing much scares me… except big cockroaches, pills..... and dirty old men.
Quite often the doctor just prescribes me pills anyway, even when I say I can’t swallow them. Like my Dad again, the doctor will say, “You shouldn’t have any problem swallowing it, it’s not that big… or it’s just a capsule”. In fact I can’t remember the last time a doctor has agreed to give me meds in liquid form like the gross pink or yellow goo that they force on kids.
So sometimes I don’t even bother telling the doctor that I can’t swallow pills. I just see him to get an MC and then throw away whatever meds he gives me. That’s why I never take antibiotics, cos I would definitely never finish a course.
We recently had dinner with Ben’s supplier Rohit and his wife Geetha. They’ve been living in Dubai for 16 years and told us that doctors and clinics here suck big time. So it turns out the lack of knowledge and efficiency isn’t just restricted to banks and governmental institutions. It really applies to everything in Dubai. Big and small companies, local and multinational, across all the various fields/industries.
Geetha had the flu two months back which developed into pneumonia and she just recovered about a week ago! It seems the doctors here are really, really useless. They never give you the proper medication that’s meant to cure you immediately. Instead, they’ll give you “Cocktail A” which you take for 7 – 10 days, then prescribe you with “Cocktail B” when you find that you’re not getting any better, and after almost a month of all sorts of drugs, they decide happy hour’s finally over and present you with “Cocktail C”.
And the few doctors who are supposed to be good are booked so far ahead that if you were sick today, he’d be able to see you two weeks later. So I can’t imagine why people would say he/she was a good doctor if they only visited them after making an appointment weeks before, meaning patients are either well by the time they see these “good” doctors, or close to dying, or plain psychic.
Since I’m not working now, I treated my flu with lots of rest, liquids, vitamin C, honey, lemon, Panadol Cold & Flu, and Lemsip Max. I guess doing it this way takes longer than if I ‘nuked’ it with real drugs from a doctor. The flu took about 10 days to pass from different stages of fever, body ache, headache, blocked nose, plus lots and lots of green stuff…
I stopped taking cough syrup after ten days cos apparently that’s the maximum amount of days you can take cough mixture continually, and if it’s not cured by then, it means the cough has already developed into an infection or whatever.
However, the cough that develops during the course of the flu for me always lingers on for much longer, sometimes up to two months, and I usually just wait for it to pass without any medication. This post-flu cough of mine usually ‘sounds’ really bad, like a whooping cough, where I’d have a really deep cough that sounds like an old car with a loud and rusty engine followed by wheezing and shortness of breath. This time around though, it doesn’t sound so bad but it ‘feels’ quite bad.
Since yesterday, my chest has been hurting a lot. First it hurt when I coughed, then by the end of the day, it just hurt, like I had a huge internal blue-black. It's never hurt this way before and Ben's kinda worried and wants me to see a doctor about it, but I'm still hoping it'll heal itself in due course.
Anyway, I just learned that they’ve just gone and banned 4 different flu meds and a few other cough meds, including Panadol Cold & Flu. Like how Decolgen was banned a few years back, apparently these recent additions to the list of banned drugs cause some pretty serious side effects, like heart failure or some scary shit like that.
This kinda stuff gets you thinking…. These are approved drugs - tried, tested, approved, and sold over the counter for years. Every year, hundreds of different drugs are taken off the shelf cos some ‘genius’ discovers that it has potentially dangerous side effects.
So how the hell do drugs get approved only to be later “discovered” unsafe? Well, most drugs are already known to be potentially harmful, and its side effects are usually stated in the fine print on that small piece of paper that come with meds that we don’t bother to read.
And you know how we have some friends or relatives who always bombard us with forwarded emails about the dangers of this and that? Like, oh, don’t microwave such and such a thing cos it will release some sorta toxin that will cause cancer, or don’t consume such and such a thing cos it contains such and such an ingredient that’s the same stuff that’s used to clean industrial machinery. Half the time these emails warn of cancer-causing materials/ingredients. Then there are the emails that highlight the qualities of certain products/ingredients and how it combats cancer or any disease/ailment known to man.
Well, I guess now I know that perhaps there’s some truth to some of these emails and as much as I’m sometimes annoyed by the bombardment of forwarded emails, I also have to remember that it’s usually sent by thoughtful relatives and friends who may seem like hypochondriacs at times but I guess the bottomline is that, they worry, and they care.
I’m not gonna turn into a hypochondriac, but I recently read an online article from The Ecologist about Lemsip Max Cold & Flu Capsules that really got my attention since I’m an over-the-counter-drug-junkie when it comes to the flu. The Ecologist has a regular “Behind The Label” article that features the potentially harmful contents found in all sorts of products. This recent article highlighted over-the-counter flu meds, especially since it’s Winter and the flu bug is going around.
According to this article, most over-the-counter remedies “have been found – through objective, scientific studies – to be useless”.
“Crucially, people who regularly purchase cold and flu remedies are usually ill when they make their purchases, and this phenomenon, known as the ‘distress factor’, is a real boon to manufacturers. Sick people don’t think, they simply want relief – immediately.”
“So, in spite of the fact that nothing you can buy will cure your cold, a huge number of us have succumbed to the hit-it-hard-and-hit-it fast remedies such as the Lemsip ‘Max’ range, which predominate on the pharmacist’s shelves and promise that you can happily continue to work long hours and enjoy a full social life, even if your body is telling you to slow down.”
The article takes Lemsip Max as an example, and lists its ingredients with descriptions and side effects. You can find the full article here.
Medical and scientific studies have shown that the best cure for the flu is rest, warmth and lots of liquids. But with our busy lifestyles, we seldom have the luxury of taking more than a day or two off work to cure a cold. So we rely on over-the-counter remedies that only offer temporary relief.
The scary thing here is not that these drugs don’t actually cure you, but that in the long run, it may be harmful to your health. Perhaps that’s why my cough is so bad. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) believes that if a cough is suppressed or not treated correctly, it will remain in your body and may eventually develop into something worse.
"According to TCM understanding, many conditions can have their origin in an untreated cough: asthma, diabetes, and even cancer." [Ref: article about Cough and TCM]
So now, I’m desperately waiting for an alternative cough remedy to arrive from Malaysia. My Mom has mailed me a packet of tong sum (Codonopsis root) to be cooked based on a recipe of tong sum, ginger and lean beef, stewed for half a day as a herbal broth to cure bronchitis. Let’s hope this works, cos I’d really rather not see a doctor (especially since they don’t have that “power” black cough syrup here cos most drugs here are alcohol-free).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)