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Showing posts with label The Malay Mail Online. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Malay Mail Online. Show all posts

Tuesday 10 July 2018

The Haunting Tale Of A Concubine And Her Child

first published in Malay Mail, 10 July 2018


Much has been said of novels about Malaya written by foreigners, not all of which are good. So I warily picked up this one and ended up finishing it in one go.

Though Australian author Carol Jones has written many books, including many children's books and several young adult novels, she tapped into stories from her Malaysian Chinese in-laws and further research for her first adult novel. The Concubine's Child follows the story of a young girl who is sold to a wealthy family as a concubine — and the child she eventually bears — across two eras: 1930s Kuala Lumpur and the 21st century.

Lim Yu Lan, the daughter of an apothecary, draws the attention of Madam Chan, the wife of tin-mining tycoon Chan Boon Siew. The older woman sees Yu Lan as the solution to her husband's lack of heirs.

Unable to bear children of her own, she essentially buys Yu Lan from her father, an inveterate gambler, and sets the hapless girl up as her husband's secondary wife and baby-making machine.

Bullied by Madam Chan and subjected to Towkay Chan's advances, Yu Lan's life in the Chan household becomes a nightmare. The reluctant concubine's only ally is the amah, Ho Jie, who befriends Yu Lan and teaches her ways to make her new life more bearable.

At first it seems as if the amah, who is not fond of her mistress, is doing it to spice up the drama between the two wives. Over time, though, she warms up to the girl.

Men brought only trouble. And if trouble was coming, better if it came bearing gold.

But before we know it we find ourselves in England in 2015, watching a couple try to fix a flat tyre in the rain. Turns out the couple are Sarah and her husband, Nick, who happens to be Yu Lan's descendant. Later, Nick announces that he's going to Kuala Lumpur for work. The news unsettles his mum, perhaps for good reason.

In Malaysia, Nick starts delving into his family's history. As his quest continues, the story of Yu Lan and her child unfolds further, bringing the two arcs — past and present — into a complete circle. And Nick won't be prepared for what he will find.

As the story progresses, what strikes me is how Chinese it feels despite the presence of elements of other cultures, regardless of the timeline — though it seems odd that the Chans would employ a Malay midwife for Yu Lan. The dialogue is peppered primarily with Cantonese, but the author also uses a smattering of local Hokkien and Mandarin.

Tiny hiccups aside, it doesn't feel as if Jones has thrown all her research plus the kitchen sink into this novel. She weaves in just enough of the culture to make it believable, conjuring images of old and present-day KL and walks us through the characters' day-to-day.

We choke on the smoke from incense in prayer halls, try to identify the herbs in an apothecary by smell, and chuckle at Nick's frustration with Petaling Jaya's GPS-defeating road network.

She smoothed her hair back from his forehead. “Sometimes, when I walk into a room, it feels like someone has just left. Except there’s no one there. It’s not a sound or a scent, just...”

Kudos as well to the writing. We jump back and forth between two periods yet don't feel jet-lagged. And it's nicely plotted, too. The prologue describes an ill, ageing woman who's about to tell her son the truth — but is she who we think she is? At least I did, but I was proven wrong. Such twists happen several times more, and eventually, I gave up trying to solve the mystery and just go with the flow.

At some point, supernatural elements creep into both arcs. Characters start conversing with people who aren't there and begin seeing ghosts, but are they real or not? Is there a curse on Towkay Chan's household and bloodline? Is Nick's growing obsession with his ancestry being fed by more than the need to find himself? The reader is left guessing right until the end.

Overall, Yu Lan's is not a sunny story. One is reminded of the black-and-white Cantonese dramas of yore, complete with shrewish first wives, their "salty wet" husbands, and the endless tears and wails of "woe is me." Concubine-taking isn't common or as acceptable these days, but it seems as if little has changed for women over the decades — something made more disheartening in the #MeToo era.

Despite their flaws, we are reminded of and urged to acknowledge the humanity of the characters — particularly the Chans, Ho Jie and Yu Lan, even if we disagree with some of their beliefs and motives.

Some of them eventually redeem themselves (somewhat) — Madam Chan especially, who was cajoling and cursing whoever she was worshipping at an altar when she is first introduced — but only a few linger on long after the book closes.

...she didn’t want to endure. What joy was there in a life that must be endured? She once had a dream ... That dream had fooled her into thinking that if she worked hard she could make a life of her own choosing. But she had been wrong.

All this, plus the girl's plight and hints of the unearthly combine to engulf one in a pale sepulchral nimbus, like that which shrouds supposedly haunted houses (and gloomy novels), bringing down temperatures and chilling spines.

I regretted reading this at night with the air conditioning on. Even so, I pressed on — like Nick — compelled to find out what became of Yu Lan, her child, and the household that became their prison.

In the end, it was all worthwhile. I feel Jones has done a good job with this novel; her in-laws would be proud. Though the modern arc feels mundane when compared with the Malaya one, probably because of one's familiarity with the former, the way the two are entwined and resolved are satisfying and worth the risk of a sleepless night haunted by long-haired, white-robed apparitions.

Maybe.


Carol Jones held a meet-and-greet session on 16 June 2018 at Lit Books, Tropicana Avenue, highlights of which can be found here. She was also interviewed on Malaysian business radio station BFM89.9.



The Concubine’s Child
Carol Jones
Head of Zeus
373 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 9781786699824

Thursday 7 September 2017

A Soup Kitchen For The Urban Soul

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 07 September 2017


n my search for healthier eating places, I heard about this soup-centric destination and thought, what a godsend.

It was hard to find, even after I referred to Google Maps. I ended up wandering around the Jalan Tun Mohd Fuad area for a bit that evening until I looked up.


Look up when looking for Alison Soup House.


Oh.

I climbed the stairs towards Alison Soup House, a mostly white and wood-brown dining space ― not large, but cosy. I looked down and saw a poodle meandering about. Turning around, there was a closed-off dining nook that was once the balcony.

A dog-friendly restaurant? How quaint. It balances the cat café located a few doors away.

What I noticed the most were the aromas. Wood. Soups. Coffee, if you're in luck. Wherever you were born, it doesn't matter; the aromas remind you of home. The calming atmosphere sets in almost immediately ― unless you dislike dogs.

The staff were helpful, especially the lady boss Alicia. "Alison" is the portmanteau of her and her husband Derson's names. The Chinese soups are the highlight of their menu, which feature their families' recipes and the couple's own inventions.

Depending on what you order, you will get a bowl of multigrain rice, or your soup will have brown rice beehoon or mee sua in it.


The pumpkin walnut soup with bacon bits is very comforting.


Besides the usual, which can be as basic as ABC Soup, festive and daily specials can include Western brews such as a thick pumpkin and walnut soup with bacon bits, a black bean and pork rib soup (eyeing that), and the familiar bak kut teh, with real herbs and fall-off-the-bone pork ribs, which was being sold during the long Merdeka weekend.

When I first came here at the end of June or early July, Alison Soup House (henceforth known as ASH) was still at the soft-launch stage, so not much was being offered. But there was only one of me.

I picked a Six-Treasure Herbal Soup to go with a bowl of brown rice, and I asked for a much smaller bowl of a lotus root soup with pork rib ― just to sample.


The Six Treasures (since upgraded to seven) herbal soup and Lotus Root Soup
with pork rib are sure to remind you of home.


I loved the soups.

The Six Treasures was brewed with six herbs and came with a grilled pork belly ― and a lot of herby bits. Can the latter be eaten? Alicia assured me they can.

ASH's lotus root soup, meanwhile, is hearty, meaty and fragrant. This is not the stuff some rice stalls serve.

The folks at ASH claim to simmer their broths for at least 10 hours, resulting in broths that are richer in flavour and nutrients. Proof: the bones for that bak kut teh gave way like a soft cookie when pressed.

Also, MSG is not used and the meats come from animals that are fed with natural food and not pumped with antibiotics.

I've been sending friends their way ever since, especially those with strict diets and a tendency to fall sick.

ASH started offering more side dishes, including green veggies, plates of char siew and roast pork, and pork satay. But this time, the little poodle ― Alicia's dog, Spikey ― started nosing and barking at me. For something as big as two cats, it was LOUD.


Alison Soup House's version of that old favourite ― bak kut teh.


When I brought Sam and Wendy over, the former was recovering from a bout of flu. Sam wisely chose what's now called the Seven-Treasure Herbal Soup (upgraded from six), which she liked ("Full of flavour!").

She also had a bit of of Wendy's fiery spicy pork soup, which Wendy poured into separate bowls for us. It came with beehoon, tofu, pork and was REALLY SPICY.

In contrast, my Red Dates, Shiitake Mushroom and Chicken Soup with brown rice beehoon tasted so clean.

A hint of sweetness was there, but little else ― was it due to the spicy soup I tried prior? I can imagine a meatless version of this being a hit with weight-watchers and clean-eaters.


White pepper pork soup for those who like their soup with some kick.


A taste of the pork satay was courtesy of Irene, whom I brought along on another visit on another evening. Spikey was still spiky about my presence at ASH. It barked like a gun upon seeing me at the door. Maybe Alicia should rename it "Thunder."

Irene did not seem as enthusiastic about the menu, but other than the bits of spring onion in her soup, which she meticulously picked out, she had no complaints.

I do remember her saying nice things about the pork satay. Well-balanced proportions of flesh and fat from properly sourced and marinated meat speak for themselves.


The pork satay at Alison Soup House for those who love their pork.


As I reminisce, I think of the old haunts that had closed shop over the years since I started writing. Many of them were opened and run by younger people like Alicia and Derson: youthful enough to dream, energetic enough to chase those dreams, and resilient enough to bounce back when reality hits ― at least, in the early days.

Irene wondered whether places like ASH ― upstairs restaurants that are hard to spot from ground level and cater to niche markets ― can survive in the current economy. At the time, so did I.

Later, checking Instagram, I saw that Sam and Wendy were back at ASH at the tail of the long weekend. That gave me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Alicia and Derson, their cosy little restaurant and, yes, even little Spikey will be fine.



Alison Soup House
6A (1st Floor), Jalan Tun Mohd Fuad 2
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Non-halal

Tue-Fri: 11am-3:30pm, 5:30pm-10pm
Weekends: 11am-10pm

Closed on Mondays

+6012-737 2085

hello.alisonfood@gmail.com

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Sunday 27 August 2017

The Girl Who Remembered Everything

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 27 August 2017


Oh, the ripples that were created when the rights for Felicia Yap's debut novel, Yesterday, were fought for at a pre-London Book Fair auction last year. I was sure some were on tenterhooks, waiting to see for themselves if the publisher's bet was worth it.

To an extent, it lives up to the hype.

Yap's high-concept thriller takes place in a world where everyone's long-term memory stops working when they're 18, after which they fall into two categories: "Monos" can only remember the past 24 hours, while "Duos" can recall twice as much.

This gives rise to a social hierarchy based on one's memory capacity. Only Duos can hold higher positions, and mixed marriages are frowned upon. There's tension between the two classes.

Electronic devices called iDiaries allow people from the two classes to live as normal a life as possible. The result is a world where one's history after a certain age is kept in a machine, along with everything else: phone numbers, addresses and important dates. Not too different from our universe.

However, the focus of the novel is a murder mystery, set in an alternate England. The story kicks off with someone called Sophia Ayling furiously ranting at and vowing vengeance against someone. She also claims that, unlike everyone else, she remembers everything about her past, making her an elephant among goldfish.

A little while later, we learn that Sophia's the murder victim. Could her death be related to her condition?

On the case is Inspector Hans Richardson who has a tendency to colour outside the lines set by the rule books — yes, they have a textbook for cops. The trail leads him to Mark Evans, a Duo who's a successful novelist and rising star in local politics. The dead woman is revealed to be Mark's mistress, which threatens his literary and political ambitions and his marriage to his Mono wife Claire.

The plot unfolds through the viewpoints of Mark, Claire and Inspector Richardson, along with the angry, bitter iDiary entries of Sophia Ayling. Other crumbs of information — some in the form of news reports, document excerpts and quotes — serve as intermissions and additional clues, challenging the readers to find the culprit first (good luck with that).

Soon, we learn that Mark isn't the only one with secrets to hide. Turns out the inspector with the vaguely European-sounding name is a Mono masquerading as a Duo — which means he's not supposed to hold his rank. He also has less than 24 hours to crack the case before his mind resets, while struggling to hide his true nature from others.

As a whodunit, Yesterday ticks all the boxes. It's paced just right, the plot is focused and the writing is technically solid. Pieces of the puzzle fall into their places at the right time, as if in a tightly choreographed dance sequence.

Not all of it is gloomy, sordid and gory. A few nuggets of humour keep the novel from descending into Scandi-noir levels of cheerlessness. There are nods to real-world tech and companies. The iDiary, for instance, is of course invented by an alt-universe Apple.

We are told, in an intermission, that Mark wrote a "high-concept" novel about our world, which a disgruntled reader pooh-poohs as "far-fetched" and "ridiculous" in a letter to a newspaper — is Yap ribbing her own work here, saving nit-pickers the trouble?

Overall, one is hard-pressed to find something substantial about the novel to critique, beyond what it is ostensibly crafted for. Not to say that it's flawless.

The little asides tend to distract our attention from the crime. The faults in our memories when it comes to recording our pasts and shaping our identities, whether technology can or should compensate... never mind all that. Why is Sophia dead and who killed her?

Also, the potential of the goldfish memory as an obstacle against a dogged investigator is not fully realised here. Some might feel the inspector and his case were never in any danger, as the victim's iDiary is on hand to move his investigation (and the story) along.

What sticks out the most is how little of this world, particularly this quirk of its denizens, is explored. How did this memory ceiling come to be? Does it serve a purpose other than covering up probable plot holes?

Perhaps that's why we sense that this might not be the last we see of the world of Yesterday. The ending leaves a metaphorical door ajar, teasing of more to come.

And more might be on the way, taking the predictable route of the trilogy, with subsequent titles such as Today and Tomorrow. Unlike the twists in Yap's promising debut, many of us probably saw that coming.



Yesterday
Felicia Yap
Mulholland Books
400 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-316-46525-0

Friday 24 March 2017

Verse-imilitude: The Charming Tale Of Sarah Dooley’s Poetic Protagonist

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 24 March 2017


Abandoned by her mother when she was little and orphaned after her father and brother perished in separate accidents, Sasha Harless, the teen protagonist in Sarah Dooley's Free Verse, struggles to find her way in the small and possibly fictional American town of Caboose, West Virginia.

Though she comes under the wing of a kind woman called Phyllis, Sasha can't seem to escape her demons, nor can she cope with stuff happening around her.

When a schoolmate and another troubled youngster apparently commits suicide, she takes out her emotional turmoil on a dumpster, which unnerves the school bully, Anthony Tucker.

And if she is really, really overwhelmed, she tends to run away from home — perhaps seeking comfort in any semblance of the escape plan out of Caboose she and her late brother Michael used to talk about. From what I could glean from the pages and beyond, I suspect Sasha might be autistic.

The cycle of moping, acting out and running away goes on until she learns of a relative — an older cousin called Hubert who, like her late father, also works at the nearby coal mines. Then, there's also Mikey, Hubert's son.

Soon, Sasha doesn't feel alone anymore. She starts opening up to her schoolmates, Hubert, Mikey, Phyllis, and even Anthony, who she discovers is part of the school's poetry club. It's through poetry that our heroine finds another way to "escape," cope with her troubles and make sense of her feelings and the world around her.

However, tragedy soon strikes, and Sasha falls back on the usual escape plan. This time, she takes little Mikey along, with dire results...

The book starts out real slow, with few clues as to Sasha's past and her condition. I guess I started paying attention when she hit that dumpster.

And again, when she started writing poetry, which impresses everyone in the poetry club, even the school bully and self-appointed head of the club. And again, when she's told one of her compositions is good enough to possibly win a competition.

And again, when Sasha gets the rug pulled out from under her just when things started brightening up for her. And again, when she deals with the tumult that follows, by penning more poetry. Almost a whole quarter of the novel is Sasha continuing her narrative, entirely in poetic verse.

We get poetry of all sorts — including haikus, cinquains, acrostics, quatrains and, of course, free verse — on ruled pages that bring to mind a kid's notebook, some of which are "torn." And since primers on how to write some types of poetry are smuggled into the novel, you can try your hand at writing a few.

Dooley's portrayal and treatment of the heroine and narrator, the town and its denizens is remarkably true to life. She really gets inside the head of this troubled but apparently talented girl. I Googled and couldn't find this town, but Dooley makes it sound like you can.

Maybe it's because, according to her bio online, she "has lived in an assortment of small West Virginia towns," and she used to be a "special education teacher who now provides treatment to children with autism."

Once Sasha's verses — or technically, the author's — start flowing, everything starts falling into place and things I initially found annoying — the slow pace, the small-town setting, the dialogue and the mundane puttering around these small-towners do — began to make sense.

And who can resist our young plain-speaking protagonist when even her normal prose sounds poetic: "On Sunday, it is pouring down sun. The kind of sun you can't get away from even if you want to; it's so bright, like orange juice, and it splashes into everything."

Not to mention the wit. When she started writing poetry again after a hiatus, she realises that: "Swearing off poetry doesn't work the way swearing off lima beans does. I swore off lima beans in third grade and it worked. I swore off poetry less than a week ago and here I am." You might know some people like that.

And here's a taste of what she can do, poetry-wise. Some words for what I think is her shrink:


Dear Dr Shaw,
Mr Powell swears
you know your stuff,
even though you give names
to things that should have
other names.
You call it "depression."
You call it "anxiety."
I call it "Look what happened."



And it all happens within small-town settings, proving that adventures don't have to span incredible distances covered by, say, dragonflight.

Amazing, how I've found the words — enough for this piece anyway — in spite being sucker-punched into silence by the simple yet effective storytelling. Let me leave you with a few more words:


By Sarah Dooley,
Free Verse is a novel you
have to read. Like, NOW.




Free Verse
Sarah Dooley
G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers
352 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-399-16503-0

Monday 6 March 2017

Cold Vengeance, Hot Case: Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge A Treat

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 06 March 2017


The third instalment of Ovidia Yu's Aunty Lee crime series begins with an arson at a veterinary clinic in Singapore.

And the intrepid, sometimes foolhardy Rosie Lee, the protagonist and proprietor of a Peranakan café in Binjai Park (and, perhaps, her creator's in-universe avatar), has to navigate the clues and suspects with a sprained ankle.

In Aunty Lee's Chilled Revenge, British expat Allison Fitzgerald is subjected to trial by Internet after she had a puppy euthanised at the clinic that has been torched.

A traumatised Allison left the island state, only to return several years later to sue those she held responsible for her misery. One of those is Cherril Lim-Peters, Rosie's friend and now business partner, hence Rosie's involvement.

However, Allison gets killed and that would've been the end of it, if not for the deceased's sister, Vallerie, who tagged along and has to remain and help the police with their investigation.

Pitying Vallerie, Rosie lets her stay at her home. None too thrilled with this arrangement is Rosie's Filipina domestic helper and sidekick, Nina Balignasay, who is suspicious of the new guest and is cross with her boss for getting hurt while climbing up a stool and an upturned pail on a coffee table.

Not to mention the fact that the paranoid, shrill and condescending Vallerie is the archetypal nightmare Caucasian tourist. For the rest of the book the gwaipoh proceeds to make everyone's lives miserable, including the reader's.

Aunty Lee liked catering funerals almost as much as she enjoyed catering weddings. Funerals were less happy as occasions, of course, but there was far less chance of someone getting cold feet and backing out.

Nevertheless, Nina hopes that "the presence of a guest would prevent [Rosie] from climbing onto things." No such luck.

Soon, the kaypoh (nosy) Singaporean Miss Marple is all over the case, during which she confronts her frailty and mortality, the dark side of people, and the complexities of online shopping and Skyping. Meanwhile, the body count starts to rise...

Readers hoping for more of the same from Yu will not be disappointed. The author rambles her way towards the denouement and into our hearts in her inimitable way, occasionally deviating to dish out social commentary and homespun wisdom.

Anyone with a favourite aunt who goes off on different tangents during a conversation can perhaps relate.

A passage conveying the thoughts of recurring character Inspector Salim, for instance, also sells the upper-middle-class residential area of Bukit Tinggi, makes a case for attracting foreign talent to Singapore, talks about genetics in guppy breeding, and hints at Salim's possible latent crush on Nina. Plus, gratitude to Rosie's sleuthing and cooking, of course.

...how a man ate his crab (and whether he had the tenacity to dig the sweetest meat out of the claw tips) showed so much about his character.

We also learn that Rosie's not keen on making kuih with machines (“too much system”) or forcing young national servicemen to run in the sun in the name of national defence because they might drop dead and you don't need that much exertion to fly a drone.

Our heroine still smiles from her jars of homemade sambal and achar, and who else can rock a kebaya blouse with a pink Converse T-shirt, kaffir lime-green yoga pants and pink-and-green Nike shoes?

Others get to shine this round. Nina's presence is bigger here, and we see more of several minor characters, even the Robocop-like police staff sergeant Neha Panchal. Further developments in the lives of some cast members are possibly teased, too.

One thing though — did Vallerie Love have to be such a walking ulcer? The folksy prose, wit and the mouth-watering descriptions of food could barely offset her loathsomeness, which clings like the memory of a horrible aftertaste.

It was always easier to deal with the greedy than the crazy, because you could follow their reasoning even if you didn’t share their values.

Still, this is the satisfying continuation of a series we've been waiting for. However, gratification soon gives way to concern over the longevity of the series. The work that went into this book appears to be more than that of the previous two, and the fourth novel is on the way.

I hope the author takes it easy. Look at Aunty Lee, after just two books fall down already.



Aunty Lee’s Chilled Revenge
A Singaporean Mystery

Ovidia Yu
William Morrow
338 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-06-241649-0

Wednesday 22 February 2017

The Hidden Figures That Charted The American Path To Space

One afternoon in a café and a couple of flavoured lattes later, a first draft I like. It's been a long time since I felt anything like this. The book helped tremendously.

I started out not liking it so much. By the end, however, I knew what the fuss was about. And I liked that connection between the ladies of Langley's West Computing and those from the Harvard Observatory, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. Seeing the dots being joined as the pages turned is thrilling. It's like witnessing the continuation of a developing space saga.

I was also nervous, and not just because of the coffees. As an editor, I'm supposed to be good at highlighting a writer's blind spots, but I'm not as confident in spotting my own. When dealing with material that touches on sensitive matters, one is likely to hit a sore spot. If I have, I apologise.



The hidden figures that charted the American path to space

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 22 February 2017


Mention "human computers" and the first thing that might come to mind are the mentats in Frank Herbert's Dune.

The second thing might be a bunch of women called the Harvard Computers, who helped American astronomer Edward Charles Pickering map the stars. I first learnt of them - in particular Annie Jump Cannon, a key figure in the development of the modern star classification system - from Jason Porath's Rejected Princesses.

But it never occurred to me — and perhaps many others — that America’s aeronautics industry and that nation’s foray into space also received help from female human computers, some of whom were African Americans. Remarkable, perhaps, given the prejudices of that era.

Then again, maybe not. From familiar figures in sports, entertainment and the civil rights movement to the Buffalo Soldiers and the Tuskegee Airmen, African Americans played undeniably crucial roles in the history of the United States — something that seems to have been downplayed by certain historical narratives.

So we should all compose a note of thanks to Margot Lee Shetterly, author of Hidden Figures, who brought to light the incredible story of the West Area Computing Unit, the black, all-female group of mathematicians of the Langley Research Center of the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), which would later become Nasa.

Some of us probably shouldn’t be faulted for assuming that Neil deGrasse Tyson is the only black scientist in America. When I was growing up, my knowledge of US history mostly came from movies and brick-thick encyclopaedias... when I could get to them.

Shetterly, on the other hand, “knew so many African Americans working in science, math and engineering that I thought that’s just what black folks did.” Her father was a research scientist at the Langley Research Center and her mom was an English professor. So this can also be considered their story as well.

A cast of thousands populates this sweeping narrative, from civil rights leaders, scholars and even celebrities and the cast of Star Trek. The lab employees at Langley, from Shetterly’s descriptions, wouldn’t be out of place in modern-day institutions such as Google or maybe Tesla.

Let’s not forget the female mathematicians, black and white, who may have numbered up to a thousand. To tell all their stories within a single volume would have been impossible, so Hidden Figures focused on a few, all of whom were from Langley’s West Area Computing Unit.

Among the standouts include Dorothy Vaughan, who rose up the ranks to the head of the West Area Computers and is the lynchpin of this tale; Katherine Johnson, who calculated the launch windows for the first astronauts, including John Glenn; and Mary Jackson, Nasa’s first black female engineer and Girl Scout mum who strove to get more women employed by the space agency.

This book is aptly titled. Racism and misogyny meant that the part women and blacks played in the war effort was largely — and unfairly — kept out of the spotlight. Their work was vital, but besides doing the math, the West Area Computers also battled those two forces for their due and dignity. However, they didn’t face and overcome them alone.

More than the incredible story of barrier-breaking, this book is also a heady slice of American history, the apple-pie fragrance and sweetness of which emanates from the kindness of Margery Hannah, head of West Computing’s section, to her black subordinates; the righteousness of Robert T. Jones, the aeronautical engineer who stood up for a black man bullied by cops; and astronaut John Glenn’s trust — by “the transitive property of equality” — in Katherine Johnson’s verification of the numbers that would determine his fate.

Also hard to ignore is the heartwarming and exemplary spirit of kinship within the Langley staff. Some of these women are wives and mothers, who put up with the demands of their jobs and the prejudices of the day for their families. The story of how Mary Jackson helped her son design a winning car for a soapbox derby, for instance, is worthy of a Petronas Mother’s Day ad.

One also got the sense that the camaraderie among the staff also broke boundaries. Under Shetterly’s penmanship, their achievements, beliefs and efforts eclipsed their racial identities. “Black” and “white” became nothing more than the colours on the pages. As Katherine Johnson told audiences during her talks, according to the author: “Math was either right or wrong, and if you got it right, it didn’t matter what colour you were.”

Fine, so I might have run away quite a bit with how awesome this book is, even if some parts tend to gloss over some of the other characters’ histories and over-explain the technical aspects of the problems the characters worked on. I should also toss in how much the US needs to remember this bit of its past, considering who’s currently in the White House.

As Hidden Figures illustrates, America was at the forefront of scientific innovation, a battleground for civil rights and, despite its apparent problems in solving its racial issues, an example of democratic government. Not to mention a trove of very inspiring human stories.

Just as how a little steel ball launched by the Russians into space galvanised the engineers and mathematicians of Nasa into plotting a course for the moon, that guy’s election victory might prompt Americans to rediscover what made the US great all those years ago. They could, perhaps, start by doing the math with these now-revealed figures.



Hidden Figures
The Untold Story of the African American Women Who Helped Win the Space Race

Margot Lee Shetterly
William Collins
384 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 9780008201326

Wednesday 30 November 2016

A Comically Candid Childhood Chronicle

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 30 November 2016


Comic and talk show host Trevor Noah's memoir about growing up in South Africa was one of two books I cracked open after a weeks-long reading drought and I was glad that it's good.

During the run-up to the 2016 US presidential elections, the host of The Daily Show, along with many others, heaped scorn on the man who, against expectations, will move into the White House in January.

Like his colleagues, Noah seemed to have a hard time digesting the outcome. "This entire result is sort of like [Donald] Trump's hair — I know it's real, but my mind can't accept it."

One can understand his apprehension over the United States' future under Trump. After all, the post-election tensions probably reminded him of what he experienced as a kid.

Noah's story begins with a piece of legislature from the apartheid era — the Immorality Act, 1927 — that criminalises interracial relations. Noah's biological parents broke that law and he was Exhibit A.

He considers himself fortunate not to have been a casualty of a system that openly discriminated against non-whites, thanks to pockets of calm within his family, society and circle of friends that allowed him to come of age during the death throes of the apartheid government and the early years of freedom.

But he also had to deal with issues such as poverty, bullying and domestic violence. The heart-rending story of his mother's own childhood and abuse at the hands of her second husband are particularly haunting.

Noah's mom, Patricia, figures prominently here. Her own story is scattered throughout the pages. Headstrong and deeply religious, she worked and paid her own way out of the slums to give herself and young Trevor a better life.

However, young Noah was precocious, albeit smart, resourceful and filial. He got into all sorts of mischief, including shoplifting and music piracy, and got locked up for "borrowing" his stepfather's car. Yet, here he is, making a name for himself in comedy and hosting a TV talk show in the States.

But what's a book about a comedian without a few laughs?

At times, you feel as if he's sitting at his desk on the set of his TV show, narrating his story. So perhaps one can be forgiven for thinking that this book was ghostwritten by a Daily Show staffer.

An anecdote that starts Chapter 3, for example, says that in South Africa, someone had been tried in court for killing people with lightning a few years ago — and attorneys are not allowed to argue that witchcraft isn't real. "No, no, no. You'll lose."

There was also his mother's fears of being poisoned by some family members. Starving, he once argued that he could pray to Jesus to detox the food they served (his mom gave him a robust religious upbringing), only to be told, "Trevor! Sun'qhela!" — something along the lines of "Don't question me!" in the Xhosa language, which everyone should save for future use.

I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, because it's his story, it's his name on the cover, and it is (forgive me) unputdownable. And he wouldn't lie to us, would he?

So much of Noah's story is reminiscent of many childhoods, notably those coloured by issues of race, religion, gender and class — divisions that seem invisible to children but become more apparent later, no thanks in part to adults. Some will be able to relate to his situation at one point or another.

Hilarious and sometimes hair-raising hijinks take place between keen observations on and insights into family, society and government. The writing sounds natural, the voice — astute, witty and honest — comes through, bringing the author's world and the absurdity of apartheid into relief. (Back then, the Chinese were classified as "black" and the Japanese were "white" — for real?)

As one reads on, though, the levity lifts and it starts getting bleaker, a little angry and disquieting, especially towards the end. Parts start sounding a little too confessional for comfort. One appreciates his candour, but will he get into trouble for it?

Regardless, you feel for Noah but, most of all, you feel for his mother and the sacrifices she made. In that sense, his account of his formative years is also the tale of his mother's success in raising him and a tribute to those who helped him in life.

Thanks to them, a boy who was born a crime has grown up to be anything but.



Born A Crime
Stories From a South African Childhood

Trevor Noah
Spiegel & Grau (November 2016)
288 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-399-59044-3

Wednesday 24 August 2016

Chaplang Kafe, A Neighbourhood Hangout Reimagined

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 24 August 2016


About two years ago, makan kaki Melody brought me news of Butter + Beans' opening in OUG. This year, she told me B+B was closing down for a revamp.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Some similar cafés had appeared in the neighbourhood in its wake and I guess patrons hankering for that ambience were now spoiled for choice.



Outside Chaplang Kafé + g-Lat, formerly Butter + Beans @ OUG.


I had initial reservations about the "new" Chaplang Kafé + g-Lat.

"Chaplang" is a Malaysian term that means "odds and ends", while "g-Lat" is another way to pronounce the Malay word for "lick."

Two weeks ago, I finally dropped by and tried their aglio olio pasta with rendang chicken. The flavour's more subtle than I expected, but the dish worked.

Back there, days later, I bumped into the co-founders of Chaplang. Yong was with his family that evening, so I chatted with Ken.

"Tell me about this place," I asked him, while waiting for my breakfast pizza.

"What happened with Butter + Beans?"


The Chicken Rendang Aglio Olio Spaghetti might just be the go-to pick
for the terminally undecided.


According to Ken, he and Yong had some kind of agreement with the management of Butter + Beans in Petaling Jaya to open the OUG outlet. It's not a franchise thing, he insisted. But B+B didn't work out, so the space was transformed into Chaplang + g-Lat.

The latter is a joint venture with ice cream brand Forty Licks. The all-Malaysian flavours, which include Neslo, red bean, bandung, durian (yes!), kaya toast, teh tarik and coconut/gula melaka, are unique to the g-Lat range being pushed in Chaplang.

And yet, "I still have people asking for vanilla and chocolate," Ken said exasperatedly.

Many, he said, come for the ice cream and waffles, which is fast becoming a draw.

The waffles were nice, and even better with ice cream. But even for hungry old me, polishing off a waffle with just two scoops of ice cream was a feat.


The Breakfast Pizza is best eaten fresh out of the oven.


The main event, however, is the Bulatan Kampung Pandan Waffle: a pandan waffle (what else?) with four - FOUR! - scoops of ice cream and lashings of their version of pandan kaya. Just thinking about it made me queasy. Ken, however, claimed that a food blogger polished off a whole Bulatan Kampung all by himself when he was here.

Can I have the pandan waffle with just two scoops of ice cream? I asked Ken.

Senior citizens like me should watch what and how much we eat. Alas, that option was unavailable, but he thought it might be good to have, for an extra ringgit or two. Make it happen, Ken - please?

Then, I spied a customer asking about the missing pastries. She probably knew this place back from the days when this was B+B. My breakfast pizza had gone cold, having arrived long ago. But it was nice to have a long chat with a human outside of work.


The monster dessert that is the Bulatan Kampung Pandan Waffle
(not mine). Share with a friend or three.


It was a good pizza, but the mushrooms' strong flavours were more assertive, perhaps due to the temperature. I noted that the crust was still nice and crispy, even though the pie had gone cold.

"I like it myself," said Ken, regarding the pizza crust. "I got the recipe from someone in Australia."

I recalled that he'd sampled sauces for his other food venture; when the owner cares enough to test the goods himself, the place should be in good hands.

The duo, along with a third partner I have not met, aspire to turn Chaplang into a neighbourhood hangout and go-to venue for indecisive diners.

"That's hard to do," he admitted. People are spending and eating out less these days.


I don't usually choose to wind down my days with soupy things, but the
Tom Yam Penne (no longer sold, alas) was an exception.


But the ice cream and waffles are a good idea, I feel. Who can resist a sweet treat?

"I consciously avoid having the same stuff the nearby cafés offer," he said.

A week later, I was back again, slurping their Tom Yam Penne.

Chock-full of seafood (watch out for galangal slices, kaffir lime leaves and the lemongrass stalk), the dish is good for cold lonely nights, but the battered and fried fish fillets don't make much sense in a soupy dish.

Draining the bowl, I began missing Butter + Beans less and warmed up to the idea of this being a neighbourhood hangout.

The food, décor, the whites and greens of the interior, the cartoons and borrowed quotes I dubbed "Chaplang-isms" on the walls made this café more open and welcoming than its previous incarnation.



Chaplang Café + g-Lat
53, Jalan Hujan Rahmat 3
Taman Overseas Union
58200 Kuala Lumpur

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Monday 1 August 2016

Idli-ng Away At An Indian Kitchen In Bangsar

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 01 August 2016


I was one of many who skipped the balik kampung exodus during Raya — wisely, as it turned out.

But where to go?

A couple of friends of a friend, Sam and Wendy, volunteered the Idli Only Café in Bangsar. Having recently binged on a series of YouTube cooking videos by a Hyderabadi chef, I was intrigued. And can a café only sell idli to get by?

Not really.


At the Idli Only Café and Indian Kitchen, you'll find much more
than steamed rice cakes.


Turns out the Idli Only Café shares the same space as a restaurant called the Indian Kitchen. Once inside, however, there's no distinction, other than the two sets of menus patrons get when they take a seat.

The idli is a little steamed cake made of fermented black gram and rice; the fermentation, according to online sources, breaks down the starches and makes them easier for the body to process. Idlis look a little like putu piring, sans filling.

Idlis are traditionally eaten in South Indian households for breakfast, though that's not a firm rule. They lack a distinct taste, so they must be eaten with chutneys, sambars, stews or the like.

Sam, who's become a fitness freak after spending a year transforming herself, is naturally wary of carb-heavy meals. She also proclaimed that she's not a fan of idlis.


The marvellous butter podi idlis: good on
their own, even better with chutneys.


Nevertheless, she came along because she'd spied this place while out to lunch at another place and decided to try it.

We had a tough time selecting dishes from the menus. I recognised many of the terms but not what all of them meant (should've paid more attention to the videos). Still, what a joy to behold. Everything you'd want for an introduction to Indian cuisine was available.

For me, the only major blip in the otherwise heavy and luscious lunch was the mutton rogan josh. The sauce for this Kashmiri specialty had a slightly bitter note that discouraged me from taking too much of it.

A pity — the meat was succulent and tender. Wendy had ordered it at the advice of the waiter because she wanted something with sauce. Well, kabhi khushi kabhie gham...

But we loved the butter chicken and the mutter paneer: Indian cottage cheese and peas in a tomato-based gravy. The butter chicken's buttery, silky and mildly spicy gravy was such a hit, I wished there was more of it to eat with the breads.


Garlic naan, tandoori paratha and butter chicken.


Not bad for a dish that was said to have been invented to make use of some leftover chicken tandoori. The tandoori paratha the ladies had ordered had more charring than I'd expected, but nothing an extra dab of gravy couldn't fix.

Wendy had also ordered a three-piece idli set with a spicy red chutney, a sambar and some coconut chutney, so we could each sample one. That was what we came here for, after all. After the first bite, though, we wanted more because the butter podi idlis were butter-fried spice-encrusted marvels that were good enough on their own.

A podi is a spice mix that's also eaten with idlis; one famous type is milaga podi, which is referred to as "gun powder." But, in this case, the idlis were coated with a podi (didn't ask for the name) and fried in butter. Sam loved them, and Wendy even more so.
"I'll come back for this," said Wendy.

So would I.

Then, Sam passed around her glass of lime and mint and everybody wanted seconds of that, too. Sweet, tangy and refreshing, it was just what we needed after a rich and heavy meal. No longer used to feasts of carbs, Sam was the first to slip into a post-meal torpor.

The rest of us joined her not long afterwards.

My gaze wandered from the dining room to the medley of Bollywood song-and-dance numbers on the screen, some of which featured Datuk Shah Rukh Khan. My senses and mind were already worn out by the culinary equivalent of an SRK/Kajol number, which is why this account has to stop here.

Just drop by, and let the food speak for itself.



Idli Only Café & Indian Kitchen
64, Jalan Maarof, Bangsar Baru
59100 Kuala Lumpur

Daily, 8am-8pm

+603-2284-0522

Monday 6 June 2016

Bread, Butter And Brownies At Bandar Kinrara

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 06 June 2016


I was slurping beef noodles at a neighbourhood shop when the phone buzzed.

"Hey, I'm arriving at the train station at 1:30pm," said makan kaki Melody via WhatsApp. "Can pick me up? We can go to PL's café," she added, referring to a friend and mutual acquaintance she'd met during a freelance gig some years ago.

I had to wait a bit at the train station, no thanks to a delayed ETS train. The café had better be good.


The Coffee Sessions at Bandar Kinrara opened last April


Since she'd heard about this place, Melody had been chomping on the bit to go there. She knows the people who opened The Coffee Sessions at Bandar Kinrara and according to her, PL bakes some great brownies. Runs in the family, I was told. Plus, the menu looked interesting.

We did get lost briefly en route, but managed to find our way there.

The sign says "Established 2015" but Melody was told the establishment was just a month old at the time of our visit. Planning began last year but it was only in April this year that the café got off the ground.

In the daytime, the interior is bright, comfortable and inviting. Spanking new, not yet worn down by droves of people. By the time we left, however, occupancy was about 80 per cent. This place seems to be a hit with families.


Curry Leaf Pesto Pasta with slices of roast chicken


Despite recovering from a bout of food poisoning, Melody insisted on trying the Pasta Carbonara with chunks of smoked duck. I was curious about the Curry Leaf Pesto Pasta and—is that bread and butter pudding?

Now it was Melody's turn to be apprehensive. "Can finish or not?"

"No problem," I assured her.

Then, she spied something over my shoulder and went to take a look. I found her a minute later, discussing something with someone I was later introduced to as PL's sister. The makan kaki was excited because they had brownies, and from past experience she was confident of their quality.


Creamy Pasta Carbonara with chunks of smoked duck


The flavour of the Curry Leaf Pesto Pasta wasn't strong at all even though the fragrance of curry leaves was palpable. However, I had let the dish and the slices of roast chicken dry out while taste-testing and photographing the other items.

About halfway through, Melody and I swapped pastas; she found the curry leaf one more appealing and cleaner-tasting. I couldn't agree more. While the carbonara was tasty (oh g*d, the smoked duck!), the pasta had too much sauce which was also a bit sour.

I also felt that rich, gamey meat like duck is more at home in pastas that aren't as rich, such as aglio olio or a drier carbonara that doesn't use cream. Did I mention that the smoked duck was served in chunks, some of which still had a layer of fat and skin?


The "Chocolate" Brownie — I think saying "chocolate" is redundant


I'd temporarily abandoned my pasta because of the baked goods. As Melody expected, the brownie shone. Delightfully chocolatey, with walnut inside and out and a drizzle of caramel on top. So powerful, it temporarily overpowered my strong, fragrant "small white" (they don't have flat whites).

Just when I thought this couldn't be beat, my bread and butter pudding arrived.

To filled stomachs, the square of baked chopped-up croissant looked big — at least, compared to other B&B puddings I've had before. Half of it was drenched in a smooth, luscious vanilla custard, while the other half was dusted with icing sugar. More of the custard pooled around the soaked half which was dotted with several raisins.

So. Good.


Bread and butter pudding — highly recommended


Melody and I were graced by the presence of PL herself who had come over with a few friends. From PL's sister and one of the staff, I had learnt that they added "a bit of" lemon juice to the carbonara, which I felt made even less sense. How would the astringent juice cut the richness of the duck in a bath of egg yolks and cream, if that was the intention?

And at RM6 per slice of brownie and RM7 for the bread and butter pudding, the items were a steal—and because they were having a promotion that day, I got the latter at a discount. "Looks like they're baking for love," Melody said, still shocked at the prices.

Still, they are new, and they'll have plenty of opportunities to evolve the menu.

"So, good leh?" Melody said smugly, reminding me of my initial scepticism and how grumpy I was while waiting and stewing at the train station.

"You sound like you're trying to make a point," I noted.

"From your reaction to the food, I think my point has already been made."

I let her have the last word.



The Coffee Sessions
2-G, Jalan BK 5A/2C
Bandar Kinrara
47180 Puchong

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Thursday 26 May 2016

Rehman Rashid's Malaysian Journey Continues

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 26 May 2016


One evening at Silverfish Books in Bangsar, I joined a small crowd to hear Rehman Rashid speak. He was there to promote his latest book, Peninsula: A Story of Malaysia.

Silverfish owner Raman Krishnan said that Rehman would not disappoint, and he was right. For two hours, the veteran journalist and author regaled the assembled with a tale of Malaysia, his sweeping arms cutting the air thickened by his baritone and coloured with his accent. He could go on forever and the audience wouldn't have minded.




But towards the end, I suspect some of us had begun feeling peckish, thanks in part to the aroma of the pizzas from Domino's, courtesy of some guests who also brought snacks and refreshments for the event. And Rehman did say he could go on and on if left alone, so...

I'm not ashamed to be so effusive when talking about this event. More than 20 years had passed since Rehman wrote A Malaysian Journey, and his fans have long been agitating for a sequel. After all, so much has happened since then.

I vaguely recall being at some local authors' hi-tea event at MPH, 1 Utama, in 2007. Rehman was there and he spoke about A Malaysian Journey. As I watched and heard him speak I thought, "G*d, what a self-satisfied diva this guy is."

Now, I'm telling you to get a copy of Peninsula and maybe A Malaysian Journey as well because I can't say anything else other than "You should have been at his book talks because, god, he is still a self-satisfied diva and he's awesome."

Funny, how time changes people.

Talking about Peninsula is almost impossible without that preamble above, because the book, a collection of write-ups that tell "a story of Malaysia", is but one of many narratives spun by Malaysians over the course of our lives.

The book begins with a chapter on former PM Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, who he feels has opened up the sphere of discourse in this country, among other things, until his tenure ended. We learn how Rehman was fired from his job and how Pak Lah gave him another. We also get a bit about Rehman's youth and his time in Bermuda and New York.

Each chapter runs the gamut of the aspects of Malaysia that we can recognise. They segue from one to another in one smooth narrative, yet each is still sufficiently self-contained to be read on its own.

Among these, "Heartlands" is an exploration into parts of Kelantan, Pahang and Terengganu and the political party PAS; "Boomiputras" features the New Economic Policy (NEP) and some of the entrepreneurs it enabled; "The Third-Generation Curse" addresses the pendatang question; Swarnabumi highlights the Indian community; Vox Pop covers blogs and social media; Lost Tribes speak of the Orang Asli; and Small Town introduces us to Rehman's 'hood of Kuala Kubu Baru.

"Future Stock" spotlights the more recent migrants to Malaysia who Rehman suggests might as well be citizens considering how much they like it here. "This country is paradise, brother... paradise!" a Bangladeshi migrant gushed to him. "Your people don't know it." Well, some of us do.

Sabah and Sarawak have their own chapter, which outlines their history and his thoughts about them and not much else, because "I do not know enough to write about Sabah and Sarawak as if I did." Neither of these states, he "very strongly" felt, "was to be trifled with."

Rehman also wrote and spoke fondly of the Malaysian diaspora, and marvels at how strong they keep the country close to their hearts. In the Silverfish talk, he posited that, despite criticisms of how the country is managed, Malaysia's multicultural experiment is a success. No other melting pot in the world is like ours and, when abroad, Malaysians seem to fit in well.

Arguably, the most poignant bits in the book involve his late wife Rosemarie Chen, whom he eulogised in a much-talked-about Facebook post and the book's final chapter. As I understand it, she encouraged Rehman to return to Malaysia and write A Malaysian Journey. Their relationship — "Tweety Bird and Sylvester on some days, Fay Wray and King Kong on others" — struck a chord with me. They sound like an ideal pair.

His writing style, which I find less irksome now, hasn't changed much. One imagines a master painter shaping grandiose vistas with broad sweeping brushstrokes as on a huge canvas, striving to convey his feelings and insights to an audience that may or may not be able to comprehend or empathise with all he had experienced. A taste:

Aeolian limestone cliffs fell to a sea of such pellucid turquoise as I had never so much imagined, let alone seen, lapping on beaches of pink sand. Pink! Seriously pink, not a trick of the light in certain atmospheric conditions. It came from the shells of foraminifera, oceanic plankton so tiny, hundreds could fit in the space of their name.

According to Rehman, a good journalist must be interested in people. He also claimed his books are so successful because it's about Malaysians, and Malaysians (like people in general) love reading about themselves.

After a brief but failed flirtation with journalism, I can say he's right on both counts. Also, I sort of get where Rehman's coming from now, and I suppose he has earned the right to be a self-satisfied diva — something he carries with aplomb, I grudgingly admit.

Nevertheless, an undercurrent of sadness and fatigue was palpable during his book talk that Sunday evening. After telling two Malaysian stories, he doesn't appear keen on writing a third, though another book is being planned. One feels as if a torch was being passed.

"We tried", he said of his generation's attempts to bring about change (also in the chapter "Gen Two"), and now it was up to the next. The end of that era's youthful idealism is captured in his description of the shift from a global to a provincial mindset, as well as the crackdowns against student activists, among whom were Syed Husin Ali, Ibrahim Ali (yes, that one) and lifelong rebel Hishamuddin Rais, who's still at it and might be going to jail.

"In 1973 we'd gone out there to beat the world," Rehman lamented in the book, "in 1974 it beat us back, by 1975 it was over..."

His admission of failure borders on self-flagellation: "I was there to see it happen because it happened with my generation. It was us. We dropped the ball. We lost the plot. We changed the agenda. Not the politicians, not the institutions, not even the citizenry at large. All were relying on us, just a bunch of students. What did we know."

So, at Silverfish, he exhorted us to write, to express ourselves, to tell our own Malaysian stories. Because after decades of being a family, we barely know each other, evidenced further by some reactions from the Semenanjung to BN's victory in the recent Sarawak state elections.

In Peninsula, Rehman wrote of "two breaths" as a way to belong to a place: the first is drawn from one's birthplace, and the last released where one dies. The juxtaposition of these two breaths underscores the fact that, in the grand scheme of things, our lives are brief and unimportant.

So, too, are our bugbears and complaints, which this veteran journalist has come to accept is part of this country's evolution. Malaysia will still be around long after we and our descendants are long gone.

But: "It is remarkable, too, what lives on after any life," Rehman notes in the foreword, offering a smidgen of hope to those hankering to make their mark in the course of their lives. "We are all etched in our collective histories; all notes on staves and letters on pages; each a bit of nonsense in itself, together a story, an epic tale, music."

Because we know so little of each other, it is incumbent on all of us to tell our own stories, so that we may know and understand each other better, so that the world knows and understands us better, and leave no gaps for those with an agenda to fill with their own interpretations of who we are, where we come from, and where we hope to go from here. And it's up to us to preserve these stories, too.

Hence, even the extremist, garish voices calling for the supremacy of one group above the others must be heard, said Rehman. Their stories are also Malaysian ones and without the voices from the fringes, how are we to get the whole picture?

And without the whole picture, how can we determine the kind of Malaysia we would want to breathe our last in?



Peninsula
A Story of Malaysia

Rehman Rashid
Fergana Art Sdn Bhd
299 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-967-13390-1-5

Friday 13 May 2016

Of Heroes And Food At Gee & Geek

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 13 May 2016


The skies poured as makan kaki Melody and I arrived at Gee & Geek. Earlier, one of our dinner companions Instagrammed a video of the place. Odd, that there was so much daylight. Turned out they'd been there for about an hour already.

Not long after we arrived, copies of the menu were pounced upon, while peckish Melody also entertained herself with the nacho crumbs left by our companions. All of us had been here at least once before.


The sign at Gee & Geek wasn't lit until after I took a few shots.


Located near the Taman Bahagia LRT station, Gee & Geek boasted specialties made with their house-made bacon and roast pork belly. We joined Pat; her boyfriend, Ted; and Windy (yes), a mutual acquaintance of Pat and Melody's. Ted was also scouting for venues for a Mother's Day dinner; he would book a table at G&G for it later.

We decided on picking five items and sharing these - quickly, because at least one dinner party would be arriving and Melody was hungry. "Order now!" she went, "before the other guests overwhelm the kitchen!"

Names of menu items went back and forth among us. "The salted egg yolk pasta?" someone piped up, referring to the G&G crown jewel, a pasta drenched in a sauce of salted duck-egg yolk and garnished with curry leaves, slices of cili padi and a few chunks of roast pork.

"That is a must-have when eating here," Ted assured us. "Always on the list by default."


G&G's Creamy Bacon Pasta, with egg and creamy wobbly yolk.


Drinks were a bit trickier. When the lone waitress came for our order and Melody asked for a flat white, I asked whether it would be okay to have my Frosted Mint Chocolate later. At her hesitation, I caved and said, "Okay, bring it now."

Said waitress would come back to confirm our order, tell us that the roast pork was still in the oven and would be piping hot when it came out. They also gave us small plates with cutlery, knowing we'd be sharing. Wished I'd left a bigger tip.

I liked the flat white - sorry, Melody's flat white. Strong, with a double shot of espresso. At a coffee appreciation session in KL earlier, Pat was informed that flat whites generally don't have milk foam on top and, hence, no latte art. "Many cafes in KL add that layer of milk foam," she added. "And cold-brew coffees have more caffeine than espresso-based drinks."



Isn't it typical of some Malaysians to have breakfast around the clock?


Still, this coffee was too strong for my current mood. So I much preferred the Frosted Mint Chocolate. I even asked for another after we were done with the meal.

When the Creamy Bacon Pasta arrived, Pat got Ted to swirl the plate to wobble the yolk of the poached egg on top so that she could shoot another video. I cut short the debate on who should break the yolk by driving my fork through it.

Stop looking, guys. It's not like I just killed someone.

I found chunks of what tasted like roast pork belly in a sauce I thought was a bit sweet for a carbonara - probably to balance the savoury bacon, which wasn't terribly salty. No complaints all around.



Grilled Salmon Steak, with garlic cream sauce, butter-poached
vegetables and coleslaw.


Most of the smartphone cameras rushed to grab shots of the GG Big Breakfast when it arrived. Somebody (me, I think) complained of the low light. Though the helpful waitress suggested moving the dish to a better-lit table, Windy volunteered by turning on her phone's flashlight feature.

Not much can be said about the breakfast set - nothing bad, anyway. But Melody was impressed by the scrambled eggs sitting on the toast. Few places, she would say, can get the eggs right.

We did feel bad for the A La Goma Grilled Chicken Pasta, which remained mostly neglected. It's not bad by itself, though the goma (Japanese for sesame) sauce and chicken paled in comparison with the other items on the table.



G&G's signature Roast Pork and Salted Egg-yolk Pasta


The last time I came here, I surprised Melody by ordering the grilled salmon. I was craving a little fish after eating land animals for a long stretch. This time, we got one large salmon steak instead of the two small ones I was served, and more broccoli. The fish was fine, though the sauce might be a little salty to some.

(For some reason, there's another "Grilled Salmon Steak" on the menu, perhaps a no-frills version of the one we had.)

Generally, "house specials" are rarely worth the hype on the menu. Not the salted egg-yolk pasta, however. Reminiscent of Chinese "butter cream-sauced" dishes, with the cili padi and curry leaves, it hit all the right notes.

The roast pork provided a hearty meaty touch to the dish, and the skin was delightfully crunchy, pairing really well with the rich, creamy sauce. I thought it could have used more chilli.

By now, none of us could take another bite. Almost every dish had cream in it. So I recoiled when Ted, at one point, dipped his spoon into a pool of amber-hued oil in the plate for a taste.

You're in medical research, dude. Shouldn't you know better? Knowing him, however, he'd just shrug and say, "YOLO."

What a wonderful evening. The rain had stopped when we'd nearly emptied our last round of drinks.

As if G&G's staff couldn't be more helpful, Melody got her milk tea done "Hong Kong style" by the barista. Of course, after she bombarded the poor waitress with questions about the beverage ("I want to know what I'm getting," Melody said, a tad imperious) and trying her luck with "Can you do it Hong Kong style?"

And when I stopped outside to take a photo, they turned on the lights to illuminate the sign.

Real heroes, this bunch of geeks. I almost forgave them for putting the Green Goblin on a list of superhero-themed drinks.



Gee & Geek
No 46, Jalan SS 2/4a
47300 Petaling Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Tuesday 29 March 2016

Carnage And Calamity: Inspector Singh In Beijing

I'd read this novel during the Chinese New Year break. Months ago, I'd gone into the A Curious Indian Cadaver, which was published earlier, but I got this one out instead, veering dangerously close to China-bashing. Though China could, I suppose, be held responsible for some of the outrageous things it has been linked with, from disappearing booksellers to prawn-pillaging tourists, and the goings-on at the South China Sea.



Carnage and calamity: Inspector Singh in Beijing

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 29 March 2016


Shamini Flint does not like China.

That's what I could gather from Inspector Singh Investigates: A Calamitous Chinese Killing. This instalment in Flint's Inspector Singh series sees the character looking into the death of a young Singaporean, seemingly from a botched robbery, in the Middle Kingdom.


Through the dead youth — Justin Tan, the son of the First Secretary of the Singapore Embassy there — we are introduced to modern-day China, and the emptying of the famed hutongs of Beijing, driven by development and greed, and enabled by corruption and class disparities. It is soon clear that the victim's end is tied to the land grab.

The good inspector's circumstances haven't changed much, six books into this series and counting. Despite his successes as Singapore's globetrotting gumshoe and growing reputation, he still gets no respect at home. His wife still nags him, and his superior can't stand him. One suspects that Singh was shipped to China with the hope that it'll be a one-way trip.

In keeping with the novel's vibe, Mrs Singh raves about the expendability of anything "Made in China" and the influx of Mainlanders into the island republic.

"Up to no good until proven otherwise!" she says, echoing the sentiments of a neighbour about the gold-digging China dolls said to be infiltrating the Lion City. Which is also what some governments might feel about non-conformists.

Maybe it's not just China that Flint dislikes.

This novel isn't short of villains: corrupt businessmen, corrupt cops, heavy-handed members of the security forces, and even one of China's spoiled-rotten princelings. But the identity of the actual big bad — the country itself, one is led to believe — is always in sight.

Other victims abound as well. Dreaming of a better life, a factory girl plots a get-rich scheme with what she witnesses at a crime scene, potentially dicing with death. Professor Luo, Justin's mentor, is arrested for practising falun gong in public and incarcerated. The professor's daughter (and Justin's girlfriend) fends off the unwanted advances of the aforementioned princeling, who can't seem to tell the difference between loving and owning someone.

But all that is nothing compared to how a prisoner's organs are harvested and for whom — spine-chillingly horrid and infuriatingly unjust.

The perfect backdrop for a calamitous killing.

Though I find it odd that a Singaporean policeman can be sent off, seemingly at a moment's notice, to solve a crime involving Singaporean citizens abroad, even if certain strings were pulled.

It's been a while since I last caught up with Inspector Singh; the other one I read was about "a curious Indian cadaver." By now, I've come to accept that Flint's are a different kind of detective story, where the pieces of the puzzle come together slowly towards the end, with few clues as to the identity of the culprit. You don't get the sense that Singh is driving the story, but I suppose it works here.

Singh tends to think his way through a case (not hoping for action-hero acrobatics with his size), letting other able-bodied sidekicks and allies pick up the slack. In this case, it's a former police officer assigned to him, probably in a dual role as cultural attache to keep the portly Singh from stepping on too many toes.

One gets just enough of everything: detective work, scenery, socio-political commentary and the occasional quote and flash of wit that convinces one that this is a crime novel and not a laundry list of things in China that need fixing.

Still, I couldn't help picking up on the disdain for the unsavoury aspects of modern China sprinkled throughout the book. Maybe it's because I share some of those sentiments.

Or, in Flint's case, maybe it's a case of "we hate the things we love." One can't help but wonder whether, deep down, she is railing against the injustices depicted in her books with the nanoscopic hope that she might in some way get people thinking, and then moving, to start changing things for the better.

Just as her obese, unloved crime-solver tries to do the right thing, despite his own doubts and the odds stacked against him.


Inspector Singh Investigates: A Frightfully English Execution, the newest in Shamini Flint's Inspector Singh series, will be released in April 2016.



A Calamitous Chinese Killing
Shamini Flint
Piatkus (2013)
309 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7499-5779-7

Tuesday 2 February 2016

Tranquility (And Other Deliciousness) In Petaling Jaya

I'd planned to have a shorter title and reveal the name of the place only at the very end. And someone pointed out that there's no clear indication that "Melody" and my makan kaki were one and the same - duly noted.



The Augmented: Serving up tranquility (and other deliciousness) in Petaling Jaya

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 02 February 2016


Well-lit spaces. Soft music. A comfy chair. The promise of a good meal.

Lulled by the latter, I slumped further into my seat, melting into a mellow, contented blob. It'd been a long day, one of many, and the ambience hit the spot.

Months ago, Melody's little godbrother and his girlfriend brought Melody to this tiny place in SS2, Petaling Jaya. They were all blown away by its pasta dishes, and Melody became enamoured with something called a BCGT.


Tucked away from the main roads in SS2, The Augmented café is the
perfect spot to relax after a long day.


Last week, the makan kaki dragged me to an out-of-the-way bakery in Damansara Perdana, where this BCGT - a Belgian chocolate ganache tart - was made. For her, it had been a religious pilgrimage, after having stalked this bakery's social media feed for so long.

This evening, at this place, I experienced a bit of what she'd felt. Tucked away from the main roads in SS2, this café was how I'd imagine King Arthur's Avalon to be: bright, balmy, beatific, aired with angelic voices and soft lilting melodies.

At the back, a dining area and a reading nook, complete with bookshelves, a sofa and a cushioned, high-backed chair, added a homey albeit less Arthurian touch. Crowds, stay away.


The hearty Met Lambeef Pasta in creamy Lescure sauce. Don't let
the plating fool you - it can be filling.


Picking a dish to wind the day down with was hard, because the menu only sported less than 10 items, including several breakfasts and a few pasta dishes. I eventually settled on one, and earmarked another for my return.

Some time later, a savoury note perfumed the air in front of my nose, followed by the warmth and colours emanating from the plate on my table. There it was, my "Met Lambeef pasta" in Lescure cream sauce. I straightened up.

I loved how the sauce seasoned the chunks of lamb-and-beef mince so well, though it could use less salt. I wasn't prepared for the diced onions, which crackled as I chewed - was it part of the sauce or the meat?


The roasted garlic shiitake Poachero spaghetti (partaken during
another visit) is light on the gut and a delight to the taste buds


Despite the pasta being so rich and delicious, and me being famished, I slowed down. I had no other plans for the evening.

Of course, slices of BCGT were in the chilled display case, adorned with a coat of cocoa powder on top. Unfortunately, I'd already had a slice at the Damansara Perdana bakery; weeks would pass before I'd even think of another taste of what's just a wedge of smooth, rich chocolate. And it was too late for coffee.

Passing the time here at an empty table, however, seemed inappropriate. But my gut didn't fancy any more things with cream. Thank goodness for the banana and walnut slice, which the lady boss warmed up in a toaster oven. I believe it's the only cake here that's baked in-house.


Banana and walnut slice: eat one and gift your friends another.


Surprisingly crumbly. Subtly fragrant with banana. No discernible hunks of walnut anywhere.

Belly full, I melted back into my seat, swathed in contentment.

Dare I tell the makan kaki where I was now? If I did, I would risk a scolding for not bringing her here. "You've been here already!" I'd protest, which she would ignore.

And she did say she was unwell...

So I ordered another banana and walnut slice as a peace offering. She was in no condition to stomach anything rich and creamy, either.


When you're in SS2, Petaling Jaya, look out for this sign.
Step inside and get away from it all.


I informed the lady boss of my intentions with the bagged banana slice, triggering a flood of questions.

"Has she been here before? What's her name? Maybe she's one of our regulars. Can you describe her?"

When I did and no bells rang, she asked for my name. Caught off guard, I froze. Few café proprietors endeavour to learn about their clientele. I wasn't ready to open up, though, not this evening. It was late, and I had something to do.

I sped into the night with a slice of Avalon in a brown paper bag for Melody, hoping it would help get her back on her feet. As a fellow foodie, I know the agony of having your movements and diet limited by illness.

And there's so much she's missing out on.


The Augmented has changed hands and now serves cakes, pastries and beverages. Most of the food described here is no longer available.



The Augmented
149, Jalan SS 2/6
47300 Petaling Jaya

Mon-Wed, Sat-Sun: 11:30am-10pm
Fri: 2:30pm-10pm

Closed on Thursdays

+603-7865 0728

Facebook page: www.facebook.com/theaugmentedcafe