Sanctuary from The Mad World
Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what's for lunch. - Orson Welles

A friend gave me a bottle of sambal from Singapore and by habit, I looked at the label.  A prominent sign at the front screamed "No preservatives".  Great!  I scrutinize the English list of ingredients, they’re all legit.  Check out the ingredient list in French.

I am not naive.  Of course preservatives are used.  But I dislike the trickiness.  In the French list of ingredients?  Written in English?  As if no one would notice.

Having said that, I will use this sambal with gratitude to produce delicious dishes.  Nasi Lemak, Kangkong Belachan, coming up!

This is interesting:  a pictorial essay of people’s fridge clued in to me by Bittman.  I didn’t realize that fridge is very intimate.  Its content really reveals who you are.  While reading, I note how I form judgment and expectation after knowing a person’s occupation.  Some are met and some are not.  I even feel embarrassed for some of the participants but I decide to let others judge me before I judge others.  

This is me.  Financial Analyst | Switzerland | 2-Person Household | A food maniac and an Asian implant | 24 May 2009.  (continue…)

One of my favourite food blogs is coming to an end.  It’s a strange feeling to know that a food blog can come to an end.

This link from a friend got me thinking about my own recipe deal breakers. As I reflect upon that point, I realize that as a home cook, I’ve changed a lot. In my cramped studio in Jakarta, the rule was clear: no deep frying, no pungent sauteing, no multiple use of pots on the stove at any given time. I also told myself that there would be no baking-related activities because I was so traumatized by the hassle my mother got herself into to produce her famous Lapis Legit for Chinese New Year. She would have tons of flours and crates of eggs, run her numerous mixers, hand-held or otherwise, the whole day to produce bucketful of fluffy batters. Then she would crank her ovens (yes, plural) the next day to produce the cake. No. I’d rather let her do it and collect my share after.

In this slightly more spacious but still limited kitchen, the list has evolved along with my desire to experiment and my craving for certain dishes. Here they are.

The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see - Gilbert K. Chesterton.

Like many other people, my first encounter of traveling involved a group of strangers following a strict itinerary, shopping in sleazy and pricey shops, sleeping in luxurious but soulless hotels, eating blander version of food back home, and riding big, sterilized bus from one place to another.  Thinking back on these kind of traveling, I can only recall the horror of being picked up as the impromptu entertainer during the long ride.  The unlucky one would be forced to sing or tell jokes or whatever for a few cheap laughs from the others.  Some think that is fun but I just wish to be left alone to enjoy a few moments of privacy, thank you.  Rejection equals to being a party-pooper and, obviously, I never really enjoy such trips.
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