Preparing for war

Tonight we went to Itacho at Ion for dinner - my favourite Japanese restaurant in Singapore.

It's so insanely awesome I could just die. Well, no, not really. But you get the drift, really quite the bomb.

The horrible part is that we waited in line for close to an hour before getting seats. It used to be bad. Now it's disgusting. I solemnly swear to myself to stop telling people about it. I'm just hurting myself, and my tummy.

If anyone asks, "Itacho? Bah. Go to Sushi Tei instead. Much better value for money."

I'll go on a one-woman crusade to smear their good name all over the web. Won't make much of a difference anyway, aside from deterring the late bloomers who haven't yet discovered the place - early bird gets the worm and there's just no more room to accommodate late bloomers.

Anyway, the boyfriend took me there, on the pretext that he owed me an Itacho meal because he made me miss the last time when my family went.

But secretly I think it's because he knows I had a horrible start to the day at work and was trying to do something nice. Or maybe it's coz he just got himself a new job and wanted to celebrate. Either way, it works out.

The food was yummy, and I'm a happy bunny.

After dinner, we hung around for a bit trying to get a cab. As we were about the head up the escalators, I heard the siren call of Marks n' Spencer. Now I don't typically shop at Marks n' Spencer. Not sure why, it's just never seemed that natural to me to buy food there.

But today, it was like a my tummy had a mind of its own and lead me through the gleaming glass doors. I walked down aisle after aisle of food, picking up more than I intended to.

What can I say.

I never could resist a 'get the second one at half price' or 'two for the price of xxx' type of offers.

The huge bag of groceries I walked out with reminded me of only one thing.

We're preparing for war and now, thanks to my weakness for junk for offers, at least we have rations.

If I resent not having time to run now, just wait till September comes.

Somebody wake me up, when September ends.

Choose-day ramble

I can't believe it's only choose-day (tuesday).

I don't really have anything philosphical to say, and really, I'm supposed to be showering and getting ready for bed right this instant.

But for some reason, I'm still glued to the comp. Could be withdrawal symptoms from not having blog-shopped in awhile. Or it could be sheer laziness on my part. But more than likely it's a winning combination of the two.

I think my cookies from yesterday turned out well. I think figuring out (sort of) the heat settings on the oven made a whole load of difference. Who knew!

I packed 6 in a ziplock bag and took it to work to share with my colleagues. I gave one away, and ate the rest in quick succession. I think at some point when one of my colleagues looked over, I might even have hid the bag of cookies under the table just so she wouldn't see it and ask for one - unconsciously of course.

What can I say. There were only 5 left, and 5 cookies really aren't a lot of cookies.

In my world, when you can physically count the number of remaining pieces, it's not a lot.

It's like when I went for steamboat with the girls and ordered 5 (maybe more) plates of beef. They looked at me in shock. But hey! I counted only 4 slices of beef per plate. And 4 x 5 = 20. 20 is not a big number!

Or when I bought strawberry straps from the candy store at the airport. For some weird reason, they had each strap rolled up into a little ball. You could count it as you were putting it into the bag which made it seem less than it probably really was. See, when I buy straps the way it's normally sold - i.e. just laid out in stacks horizontally, I just grab a bunch not knowing how many I'm getting. And when I buy them that way, the unknown figure keeps me on my tops and adds to the experience of discovery - and hence, probably distracts me long enough to make it seem like it's quite a lot.

The long story short, it bothers me when I can count the number of remaining pieces.

I like handfuls of things. Random numbers. Mystery and best of all, surprise!

You know, like when you dig out another whole chip from the bottom of the bag, just when you thought you were done with it all!

Ah. The gratification.

Sometimes, the way I'm able to ramble on when I didn't start out with anything to say amazes me.

Good night!

Baking Orange Chocolate Chippers

"A lot of good gamers can be good bakers coz it's all about using your thumb", he says.

After work today I thought it'd be fun to bake some cookies - we're still on a quest to perfect this recipe for Orange Chocolate Chippers. You might have read about the last attempt in a post below.

I don't know if it's just me, but I find you can never really follow recipes to a T. There are always tweaks you have to make due to availability of ingredients and/or utensils, and also to suit your tastebuds.

I think it's a conspiracy amongst cooks everywhere - they publish books and blogs with recipes on the pretense of 'sharing', but come on, nobody really wants to give away the real secret to yummy food so they make it as generic and elusive as possible. And they make it sound like it's the easiest thing in the world to do, so much so that you feel dumb if you don't get it right; and then because you feel dumb, you probably won't ask questions because you think people might laugh at you which only serves to further propagate the conspiracy that the recipe rocks - and there we go, full circle.

So that's where we are with the Orange Chocolate Chippers - still on the road to perfection. Doesn't help that I haven't quite decided if they taste best as crunchy cookies, or slightly soft chewy cookies.

Before getting down and dirty in the kitchen, we had to make a quick stop by the supermarket to pick up the ingredients.

And of course at the supermarket, he got distracted at the 'tv shopping section' where they sell things like the Jack Lelaine power juicer and some magic mop.

Ingredients

1 cup of vegetable shortening

3/4 cup of sugar

3 ounces of cream cheese softened

2 eggs

as much orange zest as you like (i usually use between 1 - 2 oranges)

2 teaspoons of vanilla essence

2 1/3 cups of all purpose flour

1 teaspoon of salt

as much chocolate chips as you deem fit

Method

1. Pre-heat oven to 170 deg c.

Now I have a lot of settings on my fancy schmancy Ariston oven (you can check them out at mayer.com.sg) and I never know which one to use. But in my mind, it just made sense to turn on the setting with the line (straight or squiggly) on the top because I'm trying to cook them.

I've since learnt otherwise - that I should be using the one with the line on the bottom rather than the top. It's for reasons unbeknownst to me, but I'm letting you in on the secret, in case you were just like me, lost.

In a bid to get a better grasp on this baking thing, I've tried googling what the symbols mean, and also read up on what people suggest as the best setting for baking. Turns out, you find nothing helpful.

I came across a couple of sites where some supposedly great baker took a stab at unravelling this great mystery. The answers did nothing for me, but the comments to the post raved about how awesome said bakers were for finally helping them understand all the ten million and one settings. Again, reinforcing my belief that it's all a bloody conspiracy.

So anyway, now you know. Just turn the oven on, and randomly select one of the ones with the line at the bottom - I chose the one with also a symbol that looks like a fan.

2. Mix shortening, sugar and cream cheese in a bowl

If you're sadistic (or lazy like me), take the cream cheese straight out of the fridge and put it into a bowl. It'll be a bitch to mash up, especially when you use just a wooden spatula and lots of grit. This was his job, naturally. Partly because he was asking for something to do (as usual), and partly because this is usually the bit I dread most. I usually like monopolising the fun bits like dropping the dough onto the tray. Makes me feel all nice and good-mother-materially.

Now shortening, truth be told, I didn't have a clue what this was - still don't for sure, but at least now discovered there are two types you can buy. One that comes in a generic, non-descript plastic box that you can buy at fairprice. or another that comes in a fancy pants packaging, branded Crisco. I've tried both, and they taste vastly different. can't say which is the better one though because it really comes down to personal preference but if you have to pick one, I'll say go for the Crisco because it says 50% less saturated fats than butter on the packaging, and also because they have these cool markings that tell you how much you're using without the need for pesky measuring cups!

Mush it all up with the sugar till it's a nice, creamy texture.

3. Add eggs, orange zest and vanilla essence

This is my favourite part because the orange zest smells so good! The original recipe called for two tablespoons of orange zest but how do you measure that anyway. So I say just grab a couple of oranges, a grater and go at it till your arms get sore. For me, that's usually somewhere between orange 1 and orange 2.

Next, add in the eggs and becareful to scoop out any red disgusting bits from the egg - you don't want any little chicks hatching in your belly. Yes, I also believe that brocoli's will sprout whole colonies along the inside walls of my large intestines. Not really. I just remove the red bits because I find them gross. He's not quite so particular, but he's also quite easily ignored on such occasions.

And then add in the vanilla essence. I used these cute heart-shaped spoons I got as a door gift at a friend's wedding recently.

4. Sift together floor and salt into mixture

Cups always confused me because I have cups of all sizes in my cupboard, up till today that is. We picked up a measuring cup thingy with markings from the supermarket because I'm really feeling like I could be a good mama baker one day who makes her own cookies and jam for her children.

This is also when he abandoned the wooden spatula and went in with his hands - thus explaining the quote above.

5. Stir in chocolate chips and drop cookie dough onto a tray for baking

I honestly think that you should just go nuts with the chocolate chips and put in as much (or as little) as you like. It's your perogative and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Finally, play cookie god by dropping the cookie dough onto the trays. As cookie god, you get to decide the fate of each and every cookie. How big or small each one is, how brown they get and whether or not they'll be loved.

It'll make your day if you're slightly fluffy like me. I said fluffy not insane.

Put the tray into the oven to bake, and check periodically. They'll be done when they're just lightly browned. Mine usually take anywhere between 30-40minutes - I honestly cannot for the life of me figure out why the original recipe said something like 10-12 minutes. It could possibly be that I haven't figured out the settings on the oven, or more likely that said recipe-writer didn't want to share the real recipe and so throws you off with mis-information like the above - again, conspiracy conspiracy conspiracy I tell you.

But anyway, the end result is pretty yummy.

Ever the emo kid

Now listening to: "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds Five

I had a flashback earlier of my teenage years. The excitement of entering secondary school, discovering the internet (making friends on the internet! sexual predators who prowled the web weren't as prevalent back then.), meeting boys.

Growing up some more, becoming somewhat withdrawn, fighting with my parents, going through phases (long hair, short hair, jap-inspired clothes, american ghetto, american high school slut - think midriffs, it wasn't less is more, it was just less and less).

Dropping out of ballet class. Finding my way back to ballet class. Dropping out of ballet class again.

Making it through the Singapore education system.

Leaving Singapore for Melbourne.

Growing up a WHOLE lot.

And through it all, I would say that songs were the constant that accompanied me through each phase of my life. I've always been more the emotionally-driven type of person, and songs are my universal language of feelings.

They take me through highs and lows, and can transform my mood from depressed one minute, to chirpy the next.

I'm not sure if it's because I'm emotionally unstable, but even just hearing a few strains of a somewhat emo song can transport me back in time to a period of moodiness and depression. It runs a shiver down my spine, and I hurry to click 'next' to move on to the next song.

I was thinking today what the soundtrack of my life would be. What songs would I select to chronicle my quarter of a century (plus one) so far.

It's a tough choice.

You know, I find song selections an extremely personal thing because I hold it so close to heart. I will never play a mixed CD when in a car with people not in my immediate bubble (and that's a very very small bubble with probably a population of one and a half - the half being Mikey). I instinctively reach for the 'FM' button on the dashboard as soon as someone steps in. I'm not sure why but it makes me feel vulnerable. Almost like I'm exposing myself, uncensored. And I find that disconcerting.

I think when someone makes you a mixed CD it's an extremely romantic gestures. It's almost as personal a message as writing a letter.

But that's just me - ruled by emotions.

I like words. I don't like people.

I like words, I always have. I find solace in it whenever I'm unhappy, and joy in it when I'm well, happy.

I don't like the spoken word as much as I do the written word. And I guess that's why I don't like people very much. I'm not a social-social type of girl, and 'mingling' (I hate the word) exhausts me. Sitting around over a beer (which I don't drink), smiling and finding things to say people you don't really know makes me want to hurl. I'd much rather be in bed with a book.

Of course there are times when going out with friends/colleagues can be nice. But for the most part, it's not something I enjoy. It is something I struggle with working in advertising - and sometimes, to a certain extent, with him.

People who work in advertising always like 'going out for a drink' after work. My boss is always trying to 'buy me a drink' after a gruelling week, and no. I don't want to. Like how some people draw the line at adding colleagues and clients on their Facebook page, I'll happily add you on my Facebook page but I draw the line at hanging out over a drink (most of the time).

He's a lot more social and emotionally stable than I am, and often encourages me to 'go out more'. This statement usually infuriates me to no end because I think (1) you should know me by now, and (2) yes, I know, I don't drink, and if that's such a big problem go find yourself a girlfriend who does so you can do cool yuppie-type stuff like hang out over beer and mussels at Robertson Quay.

Of course I know he doesn't mean it that way. But what can I say, I'm just an emotional person who has a flair for dramatics - and really good at throwing the drama tantrums too, if I do say so myself.

He on the other hand is just a social person by nature, and hates that I coop myself up all the time because I have a tendency to let my thoughts run wild, or get all emo and just want to curl up into a ball and die. I agree it's not healthy, so sometimes, just sometimes, I make the effort to go out after work with my colleagues and resist the urge to leave as soon as possible.

Usually after a couple of hours I start looking at my watch to hurry time along so I can leave at a legitimately late hour like past ten.

I'm not sure why I dislike socialising so much, because I was quite the opposite during my early teens. I used to love going out in big groups and organising ginormous get-togethers. I guess people change.

I attribute my affection for words to my parents who drowned me in books, growing up. It's true till today I still don't know what a noun or a verb is, but I guess that's part of the reason I like words so much. It's something I express based on feeling, it's not a learned habit/skill.

Last day on earth

We had a morbid, but light-hearted conversation about death over dinner the other day. Since my somewhat depressive state last year (has it really been a year, wow) I've been fixated on the idea of dying young.

And even when I think about it now, I can't see the flaw in that plan.

Anyway, this conversation started again because he did some fortune telling thing with a colleague at work. And according to this colleague, his fate said that he would have a wife who died early.

I tried asking him for more details which he either knew and didn't want to reveal, or honestly didn't know because he didn't want to dwell on it.

So naturally, being the curious eager beaver I am, I wouldn't let it go. Till he looked up from his food and gave me the saddest little look before saying, "it makes me sad to talk about it. can we not, please.". And then I zipped it.

His response caught me a little by surprise.

Even now, whenever I see glimpses of genuine love in his words, actions, tone and manner, it never fails to warm my heart, and touch a little place so deep within I didn't even know it existed.

So as much as I sometimes think I'd like to die young, I feel sad at the prospect of leaving him behind. I don't want to make him sad, because he's not a sad boy. He's cynical, yes, and sometimes evil, but for the most part, he's a genuinely simple happy boy. There's a certain childlike naivety about him that I see and I'd hate to be the reason for him not to be.

And to sum this post up, I just watched Nickelback's Far Away music video. Something about the song makes me feel like it would be a nice way to end my life. It's kinda like the song you play when the credits roll, and you see flashbacks.

What I did over the long weekend

It was Singapore's 45th birthday yesterday, but more importantly a long weekend!

I feel so unpatriotic saying this out loud, but it's true! The past few weeks at work have been really grueling, so this break was more than welcome.

Friday night I watched Airbender. It was crappity poo, probably just enough mental complexity and texture for a 5 year olds.

Saturday I had lunch at Old Airport Road food centre. Was a little grumpy because I spent the morning on the potty emptying out my tummy, which translated into a very hungry and light headed Kim. But all was well as soon as I laid my hands on a cheese pancake from Aunty Oats.

Spent the rest of Saturday playing mahjong.

Sunday woke up early to watch The Sorcerer's Apprentice - now that was a good show. Loved the soundtrack, in particular this one track by One Republic. The title eludes me now and I don't feel like opening up my iTunes to check.

Went home after the show for a nap - afternoon naps are always required on weekends when I wake at any hour earlier than noon.

Woke up and went for a run. Not really. Well, kinda. We set out from home towards ECP at a comfortable pace (for me anyway). The plan was that I'd leave him at the exercise station to carry on with his manly sets (he gets down and dirty with the other boys there, literally! It's a grubby outdoor exercise station and I hate it when he tries to make me lie down on the floor to do sit-ups), and I would continue on towards Maccas. I got about as far as big splash with my left hip joint started hurting. I tried to hobble on for a bit but the pain, combined with the smoke and the masses of people melted my resolve so I turned around and headed back.

Reached the exercise station, whined a little about the pain to elicit some sympathy and head off any intentions he might have had about me getting down on that grubby floor to do some sit-ups.

Plan worked!

Waited for him to be done, and then we headed home to shower.

Went out again to Old Airport Road for dinner. Decided to stop at NTUC after dinner to pick up some groceries. Hit on a brain wave to bake some cookies (Orange Chocolate Chippers), so picked up ingredients for that purpose. Discovered the existence of shortening, and that it was sometimes used in lieu of butter. Felt quite kitchen-savvy and contemplated starting a blog to write about my awesome cooking adventures. The thought lasted for all of 2minutes before I decided it was too much hard work what with the pictures and the writing. The writing I can do, but pictures exhaust me.

Went home. Made the cookies. Made him take pictures of me making the cookies. He took about two, before he got bored and insisted on wanting to 'stir' something. I gave him the mixing bowl and handed him the ladle. He mushed it around in the bowl for a bit and started whining about how hard work baking was.

Yes, he who often goes on about how if he wasn't working in advertising he would be a chef.

He who makes up stories of his (hypothetical - a point he often conveniently omits) awesome cooking adventures. I kid you not. Here's a guy who randomly pulls stories out of his ass about "this one time, when he made this really delightful salmon steak" with "tips from his really famous chef friend". Both are works of fiction.

But in his defense, it could very well be true.

That brought us to a story he once told me in our early days when we were talking about food. He went on for about five minutes about a really yummy garlic herb butter fried rice he's supposedly great at making.

I turned to him and said "that was a lie wasn't it!".

And all this time I thought he made really yummy garlic herb butter fried rice.

Back to our Orange Chocolate Chippers. I gave him a little demo and he soon got the hang of it. Our cookies were a little soft coz we couldn't figure out the settings on the oven, but I have to say, they tasted pretty damn good!

After the cookies, I still wasn't ready for bed and since we were trying hard to save up for our Japan trip, I decided to write another piece for CLEO. It was a confession on my blog-shopaholic ways - how ironic because that's where all my money goes every month.

Finally, we went to bed.

The next day, we woke again for lunch and were back in bed for a nap by 2pm. Told you afternoon naps were a requisite whenever we wake earlier than 12.

Had to do a bit of work in between, but we spent most of the day doing not much at all.

And that's how the weekend blew by.