Blank Doll

Oh gosh, the kid's got exam tomorrow and I'm sadly too drained to give her tuition today. I'm responsible enough to feel guilt but not actually responsible enough to do it. God I hate myself.

Actually, I don't. Not when I have my trusty anons in the tagboard to do the hating for me. (HELLO TO YOU!)

Lunch with Jessie is always very very good, interesting and wholly insightful. We had lunch at Iggy's which I tell you, is a very very good restaurant. I don't care if half the world thinks it's overhyped, it's good. I love the decor and the atmosphere. I love the lisping JJ whom I swear I will charm into submission with subsequent visits until he remembers my name. I love the gorgeous gorgeous olive bread they served and the way they put fleur de sel in front of you when you ask for salt. I love the freshness of the buffalo mozarrella and the cute baby tomatoes they served as an amuse bouche. I love the beautifully arranged and composed soba with parmesan and ham which was just bursting with so much flavour from the inspired sauce of aspic and pesto. I love the kurobuto with the onion confit that just melts in your mouth and the mash potato which is to die for. Finally, I love the maple syrup ice cream (no foam!) and the so wittily unpretentious (not to mention oxymoronic) milk chocolate parfait served in a cone and french toast. Oh, one peeve, the chopsticks were disgusting.

And that's just the food. Sweet Jessie is bracing, talks sense where sense is asked for, exudes lightness when I'm brooding about my own emotional retardation and generally makes me laugh. I swear I crack more lame jokes with her than with anyone else. The days pass too fast and soon she will be gone. Sigh. Meanwhile, I swear I shall find something suitably profound yet typically shallow to give to her.

A diy Chanel tattoo maybe.

Anyway, another equally good lunch at Jaan on saturday. Jaan has a very good and very cheap lunch on most weekdays which is one of those steals you can find in Singapore. Firstly, there is the view. So breathtaking! Then there is the food which is generous and good. The braised wagyu cheeks were so so good as was the tagliatelle with parmesan and prawns. I loved their spicy salmon sashimi and their chicken ballotin too. The desserts won't too spectacular though I did enjoy my yuzu parfait with raspberry coulis. Piggy kept switching plates with me so I had to eat her food too but who's complaining. The place is quiet and I was really quite impressed with the plating. Nothing too fancy but so so beautiful. What I also love is the Feed at Raffles card which makes every meal at raffles a STEAL.

I need to stop eating like this because I just realised that my food bills for August ran up to nearly a thousand which is what I could have spent on say a pair of beautiful Gucci booties. They should totally give me a loyalty card at Canele's as I eat there at least once a week if not twice.

Then there was the jarring experience of being a slave to the army whilst preparing for the army half marathon which yes, somebody died at. I was serving drinks and didn't sleep at all for an entire day and now I'm completely tired and exhausted and my weekend felt like nothing. I'm also very annoyed with the fucking irresponsibility of certain people in the army. Master sargeants should all be thrown into a dust bin somewhere labelled "DO NOT REUSE OR RECYCLE".

Hopefully my schedule pulls through and amidst all the chaos, I shall be earning a little bit more cash, tightening the old purse strings, going out for another dinner with Jessie darling and meeting dear Kai Mind (for the first time) for dinner and if Sarah doesn't die from the loan sharks I shall very soon send after her, go out with Sarah to get rid of the jitterbugs.

Banana and nutelle crepe cake coming right up along with orange chocolate cupcakes, pear tarts and a ham and onion quiche.

I need a sewing machine so I can MAKE A DRESS. It's driving me crazy, I need to figure out how Galliano got chiffon silk to make the beautiful butterfly dresses from ten years ago.

I'm writing too quickly because time is so so so limited and my life is just bursting with light and darkness. Always there is darkness even if there's light.

I need to go to Paris now. Not next year, not the year after but now. I don't even really want to go to Tokyo or New York even though either one will be in this year's schedule.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll!

Hier etait fab. J'echappais du bureau a dix sept heures et reviendrais chez moi pour me preparer avant d'aller a Clarke Quai pour rencontrer mes ami(e)s. C'a ete tres longtemp lorsque nous nous sommes rencontrons et sauf pour Kris, tout est arrive! Et Sarah etait tot!

Nous nous sommes parle beaucoup de choses. Les etudes, les travaux, la cuisine, LE MILITAIRE (!!), les collegue tres degoutant, les affaires au jus etc. Dee est si branche, je te dis, et elle peut faire les 'moves mambo' tres drole parce qu'elle les a appris d'une personne qui s'appelle le 'Mambo King'. En anglais, so rubbish!

Ok, enough French for a day. I wrote so much only because Dee inspired me too. Anyway, XJ was a little pissed that we went to...MACARON for dinner since she doesn't really like desserts (although I must congratulate myself on having piqued her interest in meringues and macarons).

Jessie dear wasn't in today so didn't get to see her which is a pity seeing that she's flying off soon and I really really want to hang out with her as much as possible until she flies off.

Back to the food. This is going to be a cuisine-centric post but I promise it'll follow with more. While we were talking, I was making notes of the food we ate so here:

Service and Decor. Getting a table at Macaron is relatively easy although they don't open on Mondays. The service is generally good but naturally expected of such an establishment though given the fact that this is a Les Amis restaurant we are talking about, this should be something of a miracle. Waiters clad in black, strange accent, rather informative about their food but not too polite. They are quite efficient though since glasses are always filled and plates always cleared. I only have two bones to pick, one of which was the abrupt break in the meal halfway through but I think that was more the fault of the chefs (more on this later) than them, the other was the fact that they tried to clear my plate before I'd finished my food but that was probably because I was the only one who ordered six courses so they had to syncrhonise the meal. Decor wise, the place is rather small, enough for 30 people I would think. It's an open kitchen concept but the kitchen is receded into the background so it doesn't really do much except if you confidence that the food IS on its way. The black on black theme was nice and not too pretentious but what really stood out were the plates. The dinner service were something to look at with porcelain plates patterned on a sine curve and square aluminium platters with but a side slit to form a handle. The utensils were adequate, the spoon very nice and of the right weight.

First course. Before I go on, let me give the restaurant ten points for providing fleur de sel with their bread but then let me take those points away because they provided unsalted butter with their bread. I had a pan con tomate. It was rather good and one of the more successful executions. Deceptively simple and fresh, the bread had a piquant note that never failed to surprise. The olive oil was sound and the omnipresent fleur de sel made the overall experience so very intense. The tomatoes were very fresh and made for a nice end note counterpart to the bread.

Second course. The foie gras parfait I had was good but not astounding. Firstly, I must say that the orange brioche they served the foie gras with was really good. While I liked the fact that the foie gras taste more like foie gras than foie gras, the absence of the caramelized fat experience made me quite ambivalent to the whole thing. Evidently, molecular gastronomy is not for everybody and while it was interesting to savour the deconstructed foie gras, it did not enrapture me the way it should since I am an ardent admirer of foie gras.

Third course. I tasted both the virgin mary sorbet and the poached vanilla pear. The virgin mary sorbet should be applauded for it was rather competent. I liked the slight bite the tomato sorbet had in it although the rosemary foam was altogether too sweet. The candied rosemary garnish was quite delightful nevertheless. Compared to this, the poached vanilla pear fared much better. The combination of milk chocolate ganache and vanilla chiboust made for pure comfort food although the pears could have been poached a tad longer. Again, this never made it to the spectacular because the pear had lost its own note yet took on nothing of the vanilla or the chocolate. The dessicated pear slice was amusing however.

Dessert. The highlight of the meal. Cream cheese sorbet and pain perdu. The cream cheese sorbet was very good given that it was light yet substantial enough and retained a consistency somewhere between beaten cream cheese and a full blown ice cream. It kept its integrity well enough and was enriched by the almond nougatine. The apricot confit was however, irrelevant and did nothing to the flavour for it was too sweet. The pain perdu, now, that was something to write home about. While the cinnamon ice cream it was served with was mediocre, the vanilla cream was outstanding. It was thick, bursting with vanilla and melted in the mouth without leaving an aftertaste. It went very well with the pain perdu which was flavourful, made of very fresh brioche and worthy of its reputation.

Petit four. The vanilla jelly was very bad, insipid and not at all tasting of vanilla. The chocolate raspberry was interesting but what saved the ending of the meal was the white truffle macaron although in trying to avoid being an imitation of Pierre Herme' white truffle macaron with hazelnut, the absence of hazelnuts made it but a shadow of what it could have been.

To wit, Macaron shows promise as a dessert restaurant and is an admirable example of what a chef can do when he marries the principles of Adria and Herme. Yet this is the brainchild of the same man who made Cannele a success and who is certainly no newcomer to the restaurant scene. His absence at the point of service was noted and probably explains why the food was good but never really took off. Furthermore, in trying to make his food conceptually sublimal, Macaron risks sabotaging its mains on which its justification as a dessert restaurant and not just another salon de the hinges on.

On a similar note, Cannele will be having a Macaron Festival next month and that is certainly something to look forward to. I personally promise to buy a dozen white truffle macarons and wolf them down on the spot if M. Pang would oblige all of us by putting it on the menu at Cannele.

Next stop, Au Petit Salut.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll.

My little trip to Genting can be summed up with but a line.

It was shit and I'm never going back there again.

Ok, I appreciated the opportunity we got to spend time together as a family because I love spending time with the family and all. I do not however appreciate the annoying violation of principles.

Look, given that labour, rent and capital input along with ingredients cost less than it does in Singapore, it makes no sense for Starbucks to charge the same amount (you got it, 14 malaysian dollars for a frap) in Malaysia as they do in Singapore. Do you perchance expect Singapore to charge ten bucks for filet-o-fishes in that disgusting dump we call Mcdonalds just because a burger costs about 4 euros in Mcdo in Paris?

So I did look kind of silly ranting about purchasing power and nominal exchange rates at the counter when all I really wanted was to find out if the deformed danish at the counter really did contain cream cheese.

I did enjoy today a lot more. Spent the morning stocking up on food for ops room duty tomorrow. As everyone knows, Sean has an aversion to camp food and this has been aggravated after my unfortunate encounter with the SFI gestapo dude who first spied on me as I clicked the "not ok" button on the food survey, thus violating the sanctity of my privacy, and then had the cheek to interrogate me on why I did so. Hello, the fact that I only eat camp food like once a month answers that. Hell, "not ok" is a perfect understatement.

Oh anyway, I prepared a cream cheese and sundried tomato spread along with smoked salmon and wholemeal bread so I'll have a really nice dinner tomorrow. I also packed dried apricots and granola for dessert. So healthy am I.

Spent the afternoon at the library browsing. There are a few hefty tomes about the world economy in the 15th century, Chinese foreign policy, sartorial directions for men, the politics of spices, ASEAN and the world, the science of chocolate and the lot. As usual, I experienced another bout of existentialist crisis, schizoprenia and neurosis because of this:

Navel-gazing moment: My pscyhe is composed of two distinct, almost inimical parts. The one delves into politics, public administration, history, business, economics and knowledge; the other wants to explore fashion, gastronomy, architecture, style, molecular mixology, textiles, design and luxury. Everytime I experience doubt, it is because these two different aspects of me clash. I can see myself either as a very competent civil servant or as a kick-ass designer. But I can't be either and sooner or later, I fear I have to drop one of them lest I never be whole. It appears I can no longer tread both paths as I used to do in school and sooner or later, I have to choose. Do I give up this frippery of an ambition and commit my energies to the politics of beauracracy or do I surrender my (!!) intellectual credentials and let the dior homme take over?

Anyway, dinner broke the spell. Fosters is one of those places that serves English comfort food. It's authentic enough I suppose if not for the weird pasta offerings. I had the roast beef though come to think of it, I wished I'd taken the fillet instead. Solid apple pie, would have been better served with a pitcher of cold cold cream instead of ice cream.

Speaking of which, I bought a copy of Wine and Dine on a whim and discovered that I hated it. Journalism nul, information nul, editorial nul, total nul. I have read better food blogs that were more elegant, more informative and with more elan. Thank you very much, I can now add you to Urban and Vogue Singapore.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I am suddenly fixated with the whole idea that were I to buy a vintage Dior Homme suit (yes, they are vintage now since Slimane no longer works at Dior, get them quick), I'd probably not be able to squeeze into them. I swear they have a maximum girth of like 25 inch or something. They look so good! And skinny!

There is no excuse for people NOT to aspire to and then get a liposuction as soon as possible. It's the same with botox facials and facelifts. Wisdom is wonderful and all but I'd rather die at the age of 85 with minimal wrinkles. We live in an age of plastic.

Was talking to a friend about economics and was rather affronted by his strident claim that econometrics was the only relevant strain of economics. I'm no subscriber to welfare economics nor am I somebody who's very well versed in economics but I hate to think that the dismal science could be so bastardized by mathematicians. Great, I can't even spell them. I mean sure, they bring statistical rigor and open up lots of interesting vistas for economists to explore but always there is the risk of diluting the intellectual vigor and elegance for which the field is known. If the whole point of mathematics is to simplify and rationalize, I doubt reducing Fischer's Theory of Interest into a litany of functions and summations would be in the interest of the inquisitive layman.

I need to read Veblen and his leisure class. I suspect it'd appeal to me.

National day is coming and I'm getting the patriotic tingle again. Sometimes, I have no idea why I won't just give up my ambition and join the damn civil service since every inch of my moral and intellectual fibre yearns to contribute (!!) to society.

C'est tout.

Blank Doll

I AM LIKE TOTALLY UNSTOPPABLE.

And Urban is so depressing. Seriously, I've only begun reading the Straits Times this year because there is nothing else to do in the office when you're so efficient you finish all your work before lunch time. Nonetheless, it took all of like 1/2 an issue before Urban annoyed me. What IS up with the outdated fashion news, the really bad styling, the "this is so IT" trend that is actually two seasons late, the ugly reintepretation of runway styles, the HEYGOODLOOKING(!!) section and of course, the Pocky Woman and her weird tidbits. Dried seaweed with crispy sesame seeds is so not glam food.

Moving on. After my catastrophic attempts at re-enacting my apple dumplings and then the time when I almost melted the oven with my incandescent egg tarts, GOD took pity and gave me success. HELLO, perfect little cream puffs filled with honey pastry cream and then brown sugar langues des chats. If I make these and sell at my Dad's shop, I could increase my income again! Haha, life is sweet.

In other words, my family is going to, oh the irony, Malaysia on National Day. I cannot believe it. I hate that place, no wait, I despise the place. Nevertheless, I expect lots of cheap hawker fare and weird inexpensive little things to buy along with bird's nest. Oh wait, bird's nest is in Indonesia.

Anyway, meetings meetings MORE meetings and then Malaysia and then yet MORE MEETINGS, a trip to the *ahem* Docteur, meetings, dinner at macaron, a peek at somebody's drawer, signing up for driving lessons, for sewing lessons and so much more.

Life is suddenly too short.

C'est tout.