Lessons from my 100th post

As if by some karmic coincidence, I am writing my 100th post on my flight back to Perth, Australia. It has been almost exactly a year since I relocated temporarily to Singapore to be with my mother following dad’s passing… and this blog has been an avenue for me to indulge in my amateurish interests in food, photography and writing.

To say that the past year has been an emotional roller coaster ride is an understatement – I have, through stepping away from a job and life that I was so used to, learnt more about myself and my relationships than I would have ever imagined. Not surprisingly, food has been used as a metaphor through most of this… and in doing so, fed the words and squeezed the creative juices for my blog.

I have learnt first and foremost that my heart still aches whenever I think about my father, be it remembering him at his favourite restaurant to letting go of his liquor collection – but that I should be grateful that he still lives and resonates so strongly in my life.

I have discovered the joys of street food in Singapore – that I had only been a pretend foodie up till this point in my life without venturing out to the heartlands where ridiculously tasty and embarrassingly affordable food are whipped up by people who know and love what they do.

I have travelled across Japan, South Korea, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Jakarta, Kuala Lumpur and Melbourne … eaten myself silly through all of it but realising that the ingredients to a perfect meal don’t have to include pristine presentation or alluring ambience… that the comfort in food rests in finding your heart’s longing for something emotionally familiar.

I have in the process of my eating expeditions, discovered my deathrow meal of tonkotsu ramen in the charming city of Fukuoka. The Japanese are the most food conscious people in the world… period.

I have learnt that we can all stomach a little more tolerance and swallow our prejudices – the most delicious Singaporean dishes can be prepared by a Filipino domestic helper who’s passionate about the food of her adopted country – a person’s heritage doesn’t determine who they are and what they stand for.

I have learnt that being able to put food on the table through a job is a blessing, no matter how much you hate waking up in the morning and joining that rat race. Your job, like your life and relationships, is what you make of it.

I have, quite amusingly, learnt to eat slower to avoid the prospect of swallowing a star anise or chipping my tooth on a chopstick mid chew - CT scans of my thorax and dental work don’t come cheap.

And most importantly, I have come to understand why I am the way I am – that food has always formed a big part of my family and my life. Food, for as long as I can remember, has always peppered our conversations, garnished our relationships and flavoured our memories. The plate of life and the things that matter taste a whole lot better with food included in the serving - and maybe its taken me a year and a hundred posts to realise this - but that in itself is something that we should all be happy to be hungry for.

My Christmas Dinner

Roast organic aged rump marinated in rosemary, garlic and wholegrain mustard plus a roasted whole turkey… that was my contribution to our Christmas dinner last year. I remember rushing around making orders for the vacuum packed meats from my butcher in Perth so that I could fly with them back to Singapore… Just in time to cook up and share in a Christmas meal with my family.

Ever since my brother, sister and I started developing a love for cooking, we made it a point to prepare dinner at this very special time of the year when we all gathered back in Singapore to be with mum and dad. Not all our attempts were successes… and this was the case with the Christmas dinner of 2007. My turkey was slightly overdone and my roast beef… ever so under. But – it didn’t seem to matter… I remember my dad thoroughly enjoying the tough white meat and remarking how tasty the beef was.

You see - even back then we were already suspecting that it would be our last Christmas meal together as a family… Dad was starting to really deteriorate in health and had been told of the relapse of his cancer by doctors. And so – whilst the quality of the food was probably lacking… the appreciation for it was overwhelming. Food at that Christmas dinner was not just about how perfectly everything was done… but how perfect it was that we were all partaking of it at our family table. That night, we remembered stories that made us laugh… and for a moment, forgot about illness and suffering.

Fast forward 12 months to Christmas Eve and I find myself on a flight with my mum to Perth where we will join my brother and sister. Perhaps we have all been a little preoccupied of late… but even right now our Christmas dinner menu still remains unwritten. And whilst my dad won’t be joining us at the dinner table this year (he’s probably having a heavenly feast beyond our wildest imaginations)… my wish is that our Christmas meal will just be like our last… a blessing we’ll always remember.

A toast to my father

$4,600. That’s how much was offered for my dad’s confusing collection of liquor since the 1980s. Not being a drinker himself, he was nevertheless showered with gifts from friends and business associates who thought it was the right gift to give. But these bottles, which consisted of cognac, rare whiskey and other hard liquor that have names I can only pretend to pronounce, have always been scattered in the bar area in our apartment like white elephants - grazing on our helplessness at what to do with them.

But the time had come – since dad’s passing and our recent decision to move to a new apartment at the end of the year, we started thinking of ways to hush this herd of beverages to new pastures. But of course, not knowing a thing about prices for liquor (or white elephants for that matter), we scoured the papers for interested buyers that might find them a new home. And so, one by one, the potential buyers came into the wilderness - patting, inspecting and scrutinising every detail on these placid creatures. We discovered that some of these were gems – you could tell from the way they were handled - accompanied by common pauses and clearing of throats. Others turned out to be worthless – these were often tossed casually aside without a second glance. I realised that we never once looked at the collection as individuals, each with their own unique value and story.

Then came the bidding. Prices ranged quite dramatically and proved that one man’s treasure may not necessarily be viewed (or priced) as another’s. We were offended at some of the offers - almost as if they had insulted what we had unconsciously watched over as part of the family for so many years.

And so – we settled on the highest bidder. As the thick wad of cash was handed over… I couldn’t help but feel a little saddened at the crates of bottles being carted out of our apartment. Afterall, these bottles, no matter how seemingly pointless, had been with us since we were kids and represented a small part of my dad.

The day after the exodus of the white elephants, mum and I decided it was best that we donate the proceeds from their exit to a worthwhile cause. Whilst it was tempting to go out and splurge it on new designer furniture for the new apartment, we decided that this was the right thing to do. After all... its comforting to know that just like my dad, the bottles have gone to a better place... and left the world a better place than when they first arrived.

You are what you eat

This is a CT scan of my thorax. A friend recently told me that I should show more of myself in my blog - so here I am - literally pouring out my inner most self on display for the world to see.

But aside from showing off the damn fine specimen pictured above, I obviously underwent the scan for a reason. You see, this will be my second post on mishaps while enjoying my favourite past time - eating.

Obviously not having learnt from the chopsticks incident (see previous entry for embarrassing details), I once again found myself eating too quickly - and on this occassion it was a slow cooked Chinese braised beef that I had made for dinner. The recipe called for bean paste, oyster sauce and a bunch of aromatics, including cinnamon, bay leaves and star anise. Again unable to control my ravenous self when it comes to meal times, I found myself unintentionally swallowing what else - but a chipped star anise.

What followed was a few days of denial - that surely it can't be that bad. I was adamant that my body could take care of itself and that this foreign object would somehow be purged naturally (because our bodies do this sort of thing all the time). But I continued to feel pain everytime I swallowed and soon became slightly breathless. What also followed in these few days was constant mockery and jesting from friends and family alike - unable to believe how incredulous it all sounded.

Staranisititis afterall, is not a disease you come across everyday.

I also received a bunch of suggestions which were bordering on the ridiculous - from swallowing larger food objects whole to gulping spoonfuls of honey - but strangely these sounded entirely plausible in an absurd situation.

I consoled myself with more unbelievable thoughts - like how you are what you eat and since I had swallowed a star anise... I was one step closer to being... a star? (or somebody's niece for the cynical amongst you) Or maybe just like Spiderman, the ingested spice would grant me powers which I had yet to discover (like spraying Chinese five spice powder from my wrists at will). But I soon conceded that there was no radioactive spider involved - that I was talking about a spice used in Chinese cooking - and that I was a moron for swallowing it.

Thankfully, the doctor gave me the all clear and said that I probably had a scratch in my oesophagus which was causing the pain. Disappointingly, I don't even have a scan of a star-shaped object in my thorax to show for it (which the geek in me thinks would be pretty special). But I'm glad I have not caused any permanent damage from my reckless eating - things could have been a lot worse and staranisititis could actually have been dangerous - now that would be a situation I would find hard to swallow.

Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

It all happened when my greedy, wolf-like inner self was unleashed at the dinner table. Devouring everything in sight with gusto, I bit into a chopstick mid meal and heard a cracking sound which instantly tamed the ravenous beast in me. I secretly wished that my teeth were superior in build and strength to the damned pair of melamine chopsticks - but then I was reminded that we humans are fragile creatures - even if it is in comparison to cheap eating utensils.

And so I find myself sitting in the dentist's chair while he does his work on my fangs, probably wondering how I had escaped from the Jungle book. He assures me that its going to be a simple procedure and tells me to focus on the overhead flat screen TV.

My mind wanders to my earliest memory of a visit to the dentist and I recall the free clinic that used to be located in my school as a boy. The "dentist" then was a heavy set woman who used to grunt her orders - ranging from "Open wider" to "Rinse that blood into the basin next to you - you're making a mess". Her dungeon consisted mainly of a dentist chair which seemed to be competing with the dentist on who could inflict more pain on the patient. There were also reams of fat manila folders which I imagined were used to contain pictures of her victims in their most excruciating moments.

The sound of the suction instrument brings me back to the present as I lie in plush leather comfort with soothing piano music cooing in the background. My dentist smiles and tells me to enjoy the DVD being played. "Maybe visits to the dentist aren't so bad after all", I think to myself. I try to concentrate on the episode of "Friends" and its the one where Monica writes a vicious review about a restaurant she ends up working in. Its hilarious and I try my hardest not to laugh with the 3 instruments that were tucked into my mouth at the same time. The dentist mid procedure, along with libraries, funeral services and public toilet cubicles are all venues and situations where breaking into uncontrolled laughter can be inappropriate - and in this case potentially painful.

Before I knew it and just before the credits started to roll, the procedure was complete and I was given a mirror to examine the results. The chip on my tooth was no longer and and I marveled at how painless it all had been. "You may want to chew a little slower next time" the dentist gently reminded. I nodded gratefully, thanked him, and went on my way - eager to wolf down my next meal.

Putting food on the table

I am unemployed. There - I've said it. But let me rephrase that - I am temporarily, transiently, and totally voluntarily without work at present. I rephrase, because being unemployed has such negative connotations in this day and age - and regardless of how much I'll like to say I don't care what people think of me - I do.

Dad passed away recently and I decided to apply for an extended career break from my employer in Australia to return to Singapore and spend some time with my mother. And so my working life as I have known it has changed dramatically - no more annoying alarm clocks; no more stress about deadlines I know I cannot meet; no more meetings that I "have to" attend; no more business calls, e-mails and flights.

And whilst I appreciate this time to ponder, reflect, write a blog and of course, to spend time with mum - life without work is not as great as it sounds. I have often dreamed of leading a life of leisure - and just like everyone else, retiring young sounds fantastic. But - its not my turn. Like it or not - we spend more time at work than we do in our personal lives - and naturally you develop a strong sense of community with those that you work with. Like the geeky science club you joined in school to meet like minded people with common interests, the workplace is, by default, a social club gathering of people who have similar skill sets, education backgrounds, and professional interests. Its easy to make friends at work because you share a common thread - bosses you dislike, difficult clients, ridiculous workloads - heck, even common meal times.

But aside from the friendships that you form - working gives you a sense of purpose, direction and self importance. Nobody likes to admit that your work defines who you are - but it does. "What do you do?" has become the natural conversation starter once you get past the name of someone you've met for the first time. Don't get me wrong - I hate alarm clocks, deadlines and meetings as much as the next person - but there's something satisfying and fulfilling about having dealt with all of the above. That being able to overcome the obstacles and challenges of the workplace somehow makes you a stronger... even a more fulfilled person.

Of course - being jobless comes with a whole suite of unemployment benefits - or lack of. For one - there's the moolah. Yes, I confess that I am blessed in that whilst I am currently without income, I am financially comfortable (albeit for the time being) thanks to my savings and the lack of a mortgage or family to worry about. But I know, that too, in itself, is temporary. Expenditure on life's luxuries becomes more of a consideration now because somehow, it doesn't quite feel the same when you don't feel like you've earnt or are about to earn it.

And then there's of course the judgement. Regardless of what people say, my current employment status will always be viewed as less than admirable. Without a job that I can go to each day and inevitably whine about, I lack responsibility, ambition and there's that word again - purpose.

So next time you feel frustrated at your boss, stressed about your work, angry at your clients or just fuming mad at that darn alarm clock - be grateful that you have all those emotions that come with fulfilling your purpose. In the mean time, I will temporarily, transiently and totally voluntarily wait for my turn.