Vesak Day rituals; trip to the beach with packets of Tiong Bahru pork chop rice in tow; smoked pork belly at Open Door Policy; excerpt from The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories.
Lunch: salt-grilled fish, my favourite way of eating fish; more gushing over Oscar; an extremely successful cookout - chunky cauliflower soup, spicy potato cakes, grilled prawns, pan-seared scallops, squid ink pasta with peppers, avocado and gula melaka mousse, coconut apple cinnamon macarons and wine.
I wouldn’t spend Saturday any other way.
Coffee and carrot cake on garden furniture; after the most dreadful day at work: claypot rice with beers and ciders; Oscar charming the socks off everyone; my friends’ combined effort:apple crumble bar with vanilla ice-cream, a reminder that my heart remains with good old American style desserts.
Luo han guo butter cake in the form of Rilakkuma; dinner time; no one does a cream puff like Tampopo; from dad’s weekend fishing trip; post-work prata and Milo dinosaurs with friends; my favourite rare Pokemon; magical night with Cheating Sons - music that makes you smile/dance/buy merchandise.
Using Dr. Hauschka’s Facial Steam Bath; mousse; the yakiniku obsession continues; a movie I didn’t enjoy with a line I liked:
“Life seemed to be filled with things that were just like the ghost orchid - wonderful to imagine and easy to fall in love with, but a little fantastic, fleeting and out of reach.”
After a long discussion about dreams, I believe this is the plan:
online shop > something along the lines of Milk Bar > umbrella shop with matching dresses and wallpaper > BKL lifestyle building > post retirement all-day breakfast place.
Celebrated my 24th birthday by riding a bicycle and eating a Rilakkuma cake ; dinner at Eight ; awful cupcakes ; perfect meringue ; a sign to stop people (like me) from hugging Totoro stuffed toys.
I ended the rabbit year with death, a surprising one. At the service I’m told he’s going back into the arms of heaven, comforting words to soothe the hearts of those left behind to suffer his absence. As the others sang hymns with their hands in the air, I thought about how my parents could only have another 12 years to live, and the thought alone made me choke.
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Chinese New Year was the usual boisterous affair: hearty servings of buah keluak, itek tim and popiah; pineapple tarts and kueh bangkit in tubs with red lids; money in red envelopes, money on tables with cards; lo hei on the table, in the air and on the floor.
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I talked to a watch dealer in a shady shopping centre. We sat among rows of Panerai and mahogany wood furniture. I tried on a Rolex from 1950 with a solid gold bracelet, a worn out face and bubble back feature. I’m sticking to my Casio for now, but talking to people with a real passion (and not just the motivation to earn money, even though in this case they go hand in hand) is always inspiring (and makes me wish I have a properly developed one).
Cereal milk panna cotta; Turkish food; new favourite ice-cream flavour: luo han guo; exhibits at Art Stage 2012, including the human hair dress and the most mesmerising dancing lightbulbs.
I spent the last couple of days of 2011 sipping coffee in Tiong Bahru; eating meekia for breakfast; setting up a barbecue (quite foolishly with newspapers around it); eating until my stomach hurt and then eating some more; dreaming about what 2012 might bring.
