Thursday, November 29, 2007

My last supper

Some famous chefs were asked this question:

"If you were to die tomorrow, what single dish, what one mouthful of food from anywhere in the world or anytime in your life, would you choose as your last?"

The answers are in a book featured in this article, and got me thinking about what my ideal last supper would be.

Surprisingly, I think it's yaw zha guai slathered in kaya, with sweet hot Milo to wash it down. The yaw zha guai is crispy grease in a light golden hue (from the guy in SS2 Cheow Yang - is he still there?); the kaya is thick and almost grainy; and the Milo has a thick layer of condensed milk at the bottom waiting to be stirred up.

Damn, that's made me a bit homesick.

Monday, November 26, 2007

The missing homeless

As I walked through the Nyugati underpass on my way home tonight, I noticed the corridors were unusually empty. No passed-out guy with soiled pants against the wall. No old lady with the crumpled face and plastic bags around her. No crumbs and trails of liquid. A scrap of stained cardboard was the only vestige left. No smell either.

I don’t think they were rounded up Beijing-style, but it did seem peculiar that on the coldest night we’ve had this autumn they were nowhere to be found. Maybe the Asian pastor (Korean? Chinese?) who sings pseudo-opera and hands out soup was working overtime tonight.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

A boy in the tram

I saw the tram coming as I approached the main road and flew past the red lights to hop in before the doors closed. Caught my breath and spied an empty seat to plop myself down on. The teenage boys who had got in behind me took the three seats in front of me. The one in front of me with spiky hair gestured to one of the others, with straight silky hair and a milky complexion, to swap places with him so he could share headphones with the third boy. They swapped.

Next stop, a group of three gypsies walked in. A pock-faced guy with a hanging mouth, a girl, both in their twenties, and a little boy with long thick lashes, around eleven, playing with a mobile. As he passed milky boy, the kid lunged toward him, eyeball to eyeball, barking "What are you looking at?" Milky boy blinked but didn't take the bait. The kid's older companions (parents? siblings? friends?) laughed at his ferocity and the people around flickered momentarily in interest. The kid squeezed into the little space next to my seat, leaning against my arm on my bag. He smelled, but I didn't scootch over.

Over the next few stops, the kid played frantically with the phone, plunged his hands into pock guy's pockets for a tissue (coming up with torn-out filters instead), and continued to intimidate milky boy. He yelled at him, pushed his little black trainers against the seat, and shoved his arm. With every sudden movement from his left, milky boy's eyes widened in reaction before returning to assumed indifference. Finally, he had had enough, and relinquished his seat. The kid took over without giving milky boy another glance, his head bowed over the phone.

My stop next. I got up to approach the exit, and the kid jumped into my seat. He started kicking and slapping the panelling, the windows, the sides of the seats, accompanied by loud pronouncements. His companions laughed at his antics. More people looked up, flicked their heads up, commented under their breaths.

The first thing I did when I got off was to check I still had my wallet. Rightly or wrongly.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

The new profundities of my world

- Latch songs: Ordinary People by John Legend, In Metal by Low and Polly Come Home by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss.


- My boyfriend has been abducted by a Spectre.


- I had the mightiest hangover of my life last weekend because of absinthe. Am treading very carefully this weekend.

- Reading (trying to) Chroniques birmanes by Guy Delisle


- I have a fringe.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

Driving through Romania (past lots of doors)

Our first stop was Cluj-Napoca. Or actually, it was Restaurant Vegas somewhere along the way, where one in our party was brave enough to try the Mamaliga sour cream/cheese soup of mushy polenta. A hit, naturally. We met up with a friend who has a gallery where we had some lovely Vancluse surrounded by beautiful furnishings, and then had pizza delivered to Music Pub, a cellar pub that is a university hangout. I didn't see a single non-white person in this town, which made me realise Budapest is more cosmopolitan than I think.

The next day we made our way to Târgu Mureş for lunch and a bit of a wander. Passed up the splendors of Hotel Concordia with its peeling whiteness and its interesting-looking Chinese restaurant for some hearty canteen food; Hungarian in that everyone there spoke it, and not, in that there were vegetables like snow peas.


Yes, that is a beast suckling her children pups



And then to Sighişoara, the only place I'd heard of before starting the trip. A lot of the roads are being dug up at the moment, but the town is picturesque in a muddy and rustic sort of way. There are lots of colourful buildings arranged in higgledy-piggledy fashion, and a group of 3 men dressed in tights with trumpets and a flag who parade around blaring out pronouncements of welcome in English, French, and startlingly, Chinese. A ragamuffin kid appeared with flourish when we first arrived to guide us to the pension of our dreams (it was actually, with a nice guy and musty but cute room) - he said he spoke 5 languages and proudly brandished the couple of words he knew in each of them.



The view in front was mostly chimney stacks and concrete blocks


After a night of drinking and eating in the company of our dour waiter Imre in Sighişoara and then stumbling the 10 metres it took to reach our humble bedchamber, we climbed the long and dark wooden stairway built in the 1600s to the church in the hill. I wanted to explore the cemetery, but unfortunately someone had inconveniently and inconsiderately died that day, so it was closed to tourists. Bumped into some Budapest folks (and the paraders in tights again), and then set off.

On our way to Sibiu, we stopped for a second breakfast at Medias, a town with a pretty park in the middle, some blind guitarists singing Spanish-like tunes in harmony, and a church with German origins. Lovely to sit in the sun and have some cake and coffee.



And then there was Sibiu, the most presentable of the places we went to, with newly-restored (or built?) buildings, matching pastels and perfectly-lined pavements. It's the European capital of culture this year, and it shows. It looked like a mesh of Vienna, Wroclaw and Erfurt to me. Except there were abandoned TVs on every other corner, with the sink-shaped insides spilling out onto the street.





A happy discovery for dinner, including some papanasi, which is a Romanian dessert of fried doughnuts (are there any other kind?) with cheesy cream and jam.

A last-minute stop (the decision was literally made 2 seconds before the light changed) was the castle in Hunedoara, from King Corvin, built in the 1600s. The warren of steel mills and plants and remnants (courtesy of Mr. Mittal) you have to drive through to get here makes the first sight of the castle all the more impressive. There are lots of nooks and crannies to poke around, including a 20-metre well dug by three Turks who were promised and then denied freedom upon completion, a pit where prisoners were fed to a 'beast', and a chapel with wonderful acoustics.





All road trips inevitably include an obligatory visit to McDonald's, and ours was in Arad. Nothing like bad bad fries to break a hair-raising drive on dual carriageways overtaking and being overtaken by manic drivers.


Happy dogs by Vegas