Golden Brown

I wasn't sure I was up to the task of reviewing a Dan Brown book. What's there to look at? Could I be fair, when others at more established names couldn't seem to be?

I didn't spend time dismantling the logic and history. Avoiding other reviews while I wrote my own as tough; the bandwagon's pretty big and easy to get into. But I guess that, considering the size and hard cover, it sufficed as light reading.

About "symbology" ...

Wikipedia lists the word as "a fictional academic discipline of which the character Robert Langdon is a professor." On a list of ten mistakes and oversimplifications in the book over at The Daily Beast, the word is "nonsensical".

So I used that article's 'correct' word for Langdon's occupation in the review (carelessly wrapping it in square brackets). But didn't some modern 'nonsensical' words become accepted, after being baptised by popular usage - and the Internet?

For now, I guess, it's "iconography" or "semiotics".

---

Golden Brown

Finger lickin' good Florentine fun from the Colonel Sanders of the genre

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 04 June 2013

Would you believe that this is the first time I've read any of Dan Brown's books?

Until now, I've only followed the news, read the hype and laughed at the brickbats. No way all of that could be true, I thought.

Then a copy hit my table with a thud.

I took just two hours to finish it.

My unfamiliarity with the author's work and the circus precludes me from fact-checking his alleged mistakes and gloss-overs, so I'll leave that to more capable hands.

But I will say this: Dan Brown's Inferno is, thus far, the greatest movie I've ever read.

From what I have gleaned of Brown's books, those who expect a refinement of his style will probably be disappointed. Fans, however, will be glad to know little has changed.


Italian job
After uncovering the secrets of the Freemasons in The Lost Symbol, Harvard professor of art history and iconography Tom Hank— sorry, Robert Langdon wakes up from a nightmare and finds himself in a hospital with stitches in his scalp and absolutely no clue how he got there.

After speaking to the "tall and lissome" and (one assumes) attractive Dr Sienna Brooks, Langdon, thinking he's still in the States, looks out the window and sees the Palazzo Vecchio — and learns that he's not quite in Massachusetts anymore.

Outside, a female assassin waits. Five miles off Italy's coast, her boss, a man Brown simply calls "the provost", waits for good news in a mysterious US$300 million (RM929 million) yacht and floating military command centre.

Nothing like that is forthcoming. But the provost isn't the only one having a bad day.

After fleeing another assassination attempt, Langdon learns that the willowy Sienna is not only a mutant but a former child prodigy with an IQ higher than Stephen Hawking's. He also finds that he's in possession of a biohazard canister.

Soon, armed men come a-knocking shortly after he calls the US embassy. With Sienna in tow, the inevitable chase begins as Langdon tries to remember what happened in the past couple of days — and unravel a madman's dastardly plot, partly inspired by Florentine poet Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy.

To add to his list of "?!"-punctuated what-the-hecks, security cameras caught him "stealing" Dante's death-mask hours before he woke up in the hospital.

Nothing like having both sides of the law snapping at one's Somerset-clad heels to add excitement to a bit of historical forensics.


Abandon all prejudice, ye who read this
As the pages turned quickly, I began to see the appeal of novels like this. Cleverly written with hooks and cliffhangers at the end of each short chapter, you just can't put this 460-odd-page novel down until you're done with it.

The only other time I've experienced this compulsion to finish something was at a KFC outlet — or when I opened up a bag of Cheezels I bought last week.

You don't care that it's not literary writing. You learn to skip the piles of exposition and slipped-in trivia, obviously for the benefit of those who can't access their smartphones for some impromptu Googling. I saw less of the groan-worthy similes Brown's famous for; maybe I learned to skip those, too. The expository parts do mess up the flow of the story, like annoying pop-up ads.

Some of the descriptive passages, however, are written in such vivid detail one is compelled to actually fly there to see, for instance, the cringe-inducing "penile grip" featured in the sculpture of Hercules and Diomedes in the Hall of the Five Hundred, or the "intimidating array" of male nudes at the Palazzo Vecchio. Then, there's the superb copywriting on the Church of Dante.

All bound to reinforce the faith Florence's city officials have in Brown's apparent ability to revive flagging tourism industries.


Tripping over trivia
It's not all tourist spots and history. At one point the Harvard dreamboat shares some esoteric knowledge: "Regular gesso smells like chalk. Wet dog is acrylic gesso."

We also get a brief dissertation on the science of denial, along with aphorisms such as, "In the world of book publishing, late-night emergencies were as rare as overnight success." (Shouldn't it be "are"? Is the book publishing industry past tense?)

As well as an endorsement for the iPhone — and e-books. "I've got to stop being such a snob about leather-bound books... E-books do have their moments."

The wit and writing is sophomoric, the preachy bits on human folly are tedious, and the denouement might elicit a huge WTF, even among ardent Brownians.

And there is next to no chemistry between Hank-er, Langdon and the willowy tagalong Sienna. The mistakes she made, for someone of her superb IQ, is conveniently covered by her traumatic past.

Still, Inferno is a pretty solid potboiler that will have you hooked right until the last page.

---

Inferno

Dan Brown
Doubleday (May 2013)
463 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-385-53785-8

Reading 'Readings' Again

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 23 May 2013


For reasons I'll only divulge over coffee, I haven't gotten involved in anything related with Readings since 2011. But is the latest release of Readings from Readings 2 that bad?

Not really.


Collective camaraderie
Local poet, writer, and lecturer Bernice Chauly founded Readings about eight years ago. The "live" reading event, which usually takes place on the last Saturday of each month, is currently held at Seksan's, a house in Lucky Garden in Bangsar that landscape architect Ng Seksan turned into an art gallery and office.

When Bernice could no longer manage Readings, it was bequeathed to Sharon Bakar, a writer, editor and creative writing teacher. Readings has hosted more than 400 writers, from the man-on-the-street types to names such as Tan Twan Eng, Tash Aw, Hishamuddin Rais, Kam Raslan and Preeta Samarasan.

I've lost count over the number of Readings sessions I've attended, but it must've been somewhere between 10 and 12. Most of these took place on warm, often muggy Saturday afternoons. Trees provided little shade, and the breeze mostly stayed away.

The crowd is a mix as eclectic as the reader line-ups. Some were new faces who have never been published before, let alone read their work aloud in front of strangers, some of whom are formidable figures in writing and publishing.

For new or unpublished writers, Readings can be a launchpad to greater heights. Simply showing up and, maybe, buying a copy or five of the books on sale helps.

Because of the current state of the local writing pool, seasoned Malaysian writers, editors and publishers are eager to share and help grow local talent ― and they should be! Every achievement, every success story, no matter how small, is celebrated.


From Seksan's to the shelves
Coming out of over eight years of Readings, this second volume in the Readings from Readings series more or less lives up to its billing as a collection of new writing, and it's a gorgeous production, thanks to writer, poet and artist Shahril Nizam's unique touch.

Reports of their suckiness were greatly exaggerated

Many contributions are short, written as they were for their 15-minute time slot. Crafting exceptionally effective and powerful short stories is hard, so, kudos to those who managed to pull it off in this collection, like Chuah Guat Eng, who manages to channel the tortured mind of a child whose ignorance sparks a terrible tragedy.

For me, Fadz Johanabas's is arguably among the better pieces, as is Amir Hafizi's outlandish, rib-tickling paean-of-sorts to his dad which, one hopes, is not "fiction."

Even without the cadence of her calm voice, Lilian Tan's poems ― including the one about a stubborn raindrop ― manage to retain some of their potency. And how not to pity the poor girl in Cynthia Reed's tale of a makeover that ends badly?

This volume overall is a slight improvement over the first, with a good mix of new and familiar names. This would also mean that more will be expected from the third book, if it comes out.


Perils of podium to print
Translating the creative energy from people into a publication can be a dicey affair. There's plenty of that energy coming out of Readings, and even more potential. The people behind Readings and CeritAku are justifiably proud of what's coming out of their years of toil, and it's natural for them to feel it's all worth sharing.

As a collection of stories, it's lovely and well-crafted. No doubt a lot of work went into it, perhaps to make it representative (somewhat) of what Readings is and what comes out of it.

But like many multi-author short story collections, R from R 2's fruit-salad nature and the brevity of many of the contributions might also work against it. Not every writer's talent and voice can be effectively conveyed by a shortie.

In spite of frequent references to Malaysian identities, issues and idiosyncrasies, the "diversity of genres" from this "eclectic bunch" of writers is vast. Like a box of chocolates, certain flavours will be preferred over the others.

And it's likely that the newcomers' efforts will be unfairly judged and compared with those by the more well-known names, diminishing this book' significance as a showcase of new (read: previously unpublished) writing.

Putting poems in the mix without some form of segregation reflects the inclusive, freeform nature of the line-ups, but such a scheme doesn't translate well into print and the random appearance of genres tends to affect the reading momentum.

We can probably expect more Readings from Readings volumes, as the event marches towards its ninth year. Regardless of the reception given to this labour of love by the Readings people, they should be lauded, at the very least, for their efforts to bring the balmy, lit-filled weekend afternoon atmosphere at Seksan's to the world at large.

---

Readings from Readings 2

New Writing from Malaysia, Singapore and Beyond

edited by Bernice Chauly and Sharon Bakar
Word Works Sdn Bhd (2012)
206 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-967-10292-1-3

Kampung Boey Abroad

Last January, I received an e-mail that began thus:

my name is boey, and a friend referred me to your blog, where i ninjaed this address.

i'm best known for my works on foam cups since they went viral 4 years ago, and ive amassed quite a following on my blog that i update 6 times a week, and i am actively promoting the book now, especially so in asia, because it is rather disheartening that my artwork is better known in other parts of the world, but hardly at all back home.

I ignored all the typos in the e-mail for some reason and looked at the attachments. It was good, like a rough version of Lat's Kampung Boy, but I had a feeling we wouldn't be able to publish it for him.

I replied, and then forwarded the e-mail to the distributors' office upstairs. He had to self-publish in the end, but at least they would help him bring his book into the local market - if they agreed to.

I don't think anybody saw what came next.

A year later, the book has gone for five reprints - with 10,000 copies sold or in circulation; made the best-seller lists of major bookstores; and landed the author spots on TV, radio and the papers, in print and online.

All of that happened because a) he made a good product and believed in it and b) kept knocking on doors. We just so happened to be around and ready to give him a break.

Perhaps it was for the best that he self-published it. Otherwise I would've been the one doing his author's note and wouldn't have let him call himself "handsome", even if many readers think so.

I'd like to think that this was a modest success story. As with all success stories, it's the protagonist who sets things in motion with the first step.

---

When he was a kid...

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 13 May 2013

Childhood stories. Most people wrote theirs; fewer have drawn theirs. But one thousand words is not easy to write, and a picture does not have to be too detailed to tell a good story.

Boey Cheeming's collection of hand-drawn childhood stories, When I Was A Kid, is an example of how simple lines and words are all you need to tell a tale.

Years back, I came across what looks like the blog of a young lady's (mis)adventures in life and love, comprising mostly of simple single-frame comics.

The artwork in Boey's collection is not much different. His avatar is easier to draw, however, and though his collection has more text, his roughly drawn figures fill in when words fail.

One should note that he's not afraid to speak or draw his mind. Nor is he inclined towards political correctness. Despite being advised to choke back the F-word numerous times during his book tours in Southeast Asia, one or two managed to slip past - without incident, I should add.

And some wouldn't like what he had in mind for his mom in her old age, though I personally saw one fan guffaw at it. His mom has read the book and is fine with it.

Okay, maybe she's not fine with everything

I guess there's a certain appeal in his honesty and irreverence, much of it all too apparent in his blog, where his own (mis)adventures continue online.

Even the non-graphic blog entries, all handwritten and scanned, are just as expressive. The handwriting, crossouts and assorted scribbles hints at a tendency to wear one's heart on a sleeve - or one's brain on a T-shirt.


Kampung Boey abroad
Malaysian by nationality, Boey went to school in Singapore before flying off to the States to do advertising at the Academy of Art University (AAU) in San Francisco.

He moved to computer animation, and eventually landed a job at Blizzard Entertainment(!) where he was an animator on projects such as Diablo II (!!) and Diablo III (!!!)

Before he found fame with his graphical autobiography, one of our country's crouching tiger/hidden dragon was known for gorgeous, intricate pieces painstakingly inked on styrofoam coffee cups with markers, from the first stroke to the last ("Wayward Boey comes home - for a short while", 02 August 2012).

He has since quit his job, and gone on a book tour, giving talks, meeting fans and signing copies of his book. He currently resides in Oakland, California and is working on his next book.


Poignant and punchy penstrokes
Though these are Boey's recollections, he promises that they will have you reminiscing about your childhood. Do you want to, though? It can be a tough question, and not just for those with difficult childhoods.

For most of us, when we were kids, childhood is a mixed bag, like Forrest Gump's "box o' choc'lutz" that should be partaken slowly and in small bites. Who knows what emotions a particular scene would evoke?

I've been to shops that looked like this

The sight of a well-drawn old-school Chinese-run sundry shop, for instance, returns the smell of dried goods, old rice and stale air to your nostrils. Then your eyes threaten to spill when you think of the days you badgered your parents for snacks or trinkets your adult self now recognises as unhealthy or frivolous indulgences - and feels awful for.

Other scenes from the author/artist's childhood seem familiar as well. Forced to do unsavoury chores? Yes, though burying dead birds is a breeze compared to whacking a trapped rat to death, which is harder than it sounds.

Fought with your younger sibling and got thrashed for it afterwards? Been there, done that. Felt your other talents were underappreciated because of your mediocre academic performance? So did I.

And hey, my grandma smoked too.

But it's not all about his parents or other people. Boey pokes fun at himself as well. In one chapter, he mimes kung-fu moves and gets teased by his mom. Another chapter sees his chubby tween self climb out of a pool with all the grace of a manatee. Getting chased and pecked by angry geese can be a harrowing experience for a kid, but he manages to make us laugh at that.

A friend who probably grew up a thousand miles away from any large body of water gawped incredulously when Boey told her that he used to believe that there were sharks in a swimming pool.

"I was a KID," Boey said defensively.

Weren't we all?

Boey calls his book a time-travel device and, in a way, it is. Combined with hindsight, a wry eye and the impious touch of his pen, he revisits his "mundane" growing-up years and manages to make it more interesting.

It's nice to think that, as he takes his trips back through time, the book becomes a prism through which he examines himself to see how much has changed since he was a kid and whether there's still room for improvement.

If it could do the same for those who read it, all the better.


When I Was A Kid is available at RM34.90 a copy and is available at all major bookstores. When I Was A Kid 2 is being Kickstarted.

---

When I Was A Kid

written and published by Cheeming Boey (2010)
183 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-9849786-0-1

Return To Nambawan

Generally I make it a point to never review the same place twice; every time I return to a place it has folded, become an entirely different shop, or remains the same. Nambawan Restaurant and Café is the latter.

I don't know if I'll ever do something similar to this, but it wasn't too long ago that I wrote two pieces about the same establishment within two weeks. It helped that the other place had slightly different characters during different times of the day. ...I don't think the Three Little Pigs/Big Bad Wolf needs any more endorsements, do you?

Thing is, Nambawan did nothing to warrant a second write-up - maybe other than sticking around and still doing what they do. Which is the only thing my makan kaki and I wish for all restaurants. Can't ask any more than that.

---

Nambawan — Part Deux

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 15 April 2013


That newspaper clipping is still there. I snapped a photo of it on impulse. Melody was tickled by that, as was the manageress of the place.

What memories.

The quality of Nambawan's roast pork belly is recession-proof

We have been to a number of eateries over the years, some of which folded within several years since our last visit. A couple of those had become second homes, which made their closure all the more depressing. Invariably, they were all moms-and-pops; franchises were only for convenience, not conviviality.

Over two years ago, Melody was introduced to Nambawan Restaurant by a fellow Ipohite and more well-travelled food crawler. The owner, it seems, just decided to set up shop at Sri Manja Square One. Nambawan's gruff, taciturn chef (‘kay, I was scared of him) had worked in New Zealand for a time.

In spite of the humble décor and bad copywriting ("Taste your sense to infinity"?), we were struck by the price-to-portion ratio—affordable, even by the neighborhood's standards. The portions aren't really that big, so one can sample up to two or three items. On top of that, the chef's pretty skilled.

Burger that's 50 per cent pork + 50
per cent bacon equals 100 per cent
satisfaction

Everything we tried: the amatriciana pasta, the signature stone-charbroiled pork belly, and the 100 per cent home-made pork burger, was good and made just right. They had a 100 per cent home-made beef burger for a while, starring a patty said to be made of hand-chopped tenderloin.

Suffice to say that Nambawan has a good week-day menu, but fans and first-timers alike will look forward to the weekend specials. These include favourites such as roast pork belly, maybe lamb shank, and two other items.

You never know what might turn up. On our "homecoming" to this place, they also served a Tex-Mex pulled pork dish and a "50% pork + 50% bacon burger."

"50+50 burger?" Melody gasped. She was a bigger sucker for bacon than I was, so that's what she ordered. "Hold the fries and add more coleslaw," she added.

I stuck with the familiar roast pork belly, which is really a Western-style strip of siew yoke. We thought we could slip in a carbonara if there was enough room.

My order hit the table first. I felt a bit deflated. Inflation seems to have crept up on this little corner of Taman Sri Manja. The pork belly looked a bit smaller than the last time I ate it, and there was one less half-a-potato.

One bite restored my hopes for his place. Oh, yes... that's how I remembered it. The roasted pork skin was dense, so I applied more pressure on the fork. Glistening, semi-transparent fat oozed out from various crannies as I cut another piece of belly.

The shiitake mushroom soup is so
good you'd want to lick the bowl...
but please don't

The lean parts had flavour, the fatty bits were silky and unctuous, and the partly caramelised skin was crispy and chewy in turns. I had little use for the sweet apple sauce meant to balance the richness of the meat, which I'd rather pair with the lovely light-brown sauce covering the spuds.

The second half of the main event began when Melody's 50% pork/50% bacon burger arrived. Instead of devouring it the conventional way, she deconstructed the dish with knife and fork, eating each component as she saw fit.

I leaned in as Melody sliced into the patty, which was large for a RM9.90 burger, and released the familiar smell of cured meat, fat and salt. I almost swooned. She "mmm"-ed in appreciation of the flavour and the genius behind it. "Why didn't anybody else think of this before?" she gushed.

In between bites of belly, Melody slipped me a few pieces of her bacon-enhanced patty. How to describe the fine balance of textures between fresh and cured meat, the mingling of the flavours and the smoky sharp tang of salt that gets people begging for more, despite the health hazards?

I gave up and just surrendered to the sensations.

"'You must try this'," Melody supplied as she mentally drafted a sales pitch for her Facebook update. Trust her to come up with the pithiest lines.

"So, got room for carbonara?" I later asked, after I wiped my mouth.

Melody pondered it briefly, and shook her head. I thought as much.

Madam Yap the manageress had different ideas, however.

"Would you like a little soup?" she asked. "Made with shiitake mushrooms. It tastes great. You'll love it."

We exchanged wary looks. Why not? Soup's more manageable than a carbonara.

"Just a bit," Melody pleaded, just in case.

What arrived was a normal portion of light brown not-very-runny and somewhat hearty shiitake mushroom soup. The chunks were finer and the broth was so ... yes, this is how you do Western-style shiitake mushroom soup.

When the soup was gone, I looked around to see if it was safe to lick the bowl. Across the table, Melody glared at me as I ran a finger all over the inside of the bowl and sucked up what it had collected.

You'd think the chef would be chuffed, Mel.

I know I was.

---

Nambawan Restaurant and Café

10, Jalan PJS3/48
Sri Manja Square One
Taman Sri Manja
6½ Miles, Off Old Klang Road
46000 Petaling Jaya

Non-halal

Lunch: 12pm-3pm
Dinner: 6pm-10pm

Closed every other Monday

+6016-224 1533 (Yap)
+6013-263 2772 (Gilbert)

Facebook page

Wise Guys

Easter, Sunday, 2013: This review struggled to find a home for a while, mainly because of the novel's premise. It ended up in TMI, on Good Friday, no less. I'd only realised this belatedly. Was this why it briefly ended up as an editor's pick?

Anyway, Happy Easter, Malaysia.

---

Wise guys

What if the "three kings" were "three thugs"? For one, there'd be more action

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 29 March 2013


Seth Grahame-Smith's darker retelling of the Nativity took me by surprise. I actually liked it – though I knew from just the title and synopsis that I would.

The story of the three magi should be a familiar one. As the ages roll by, however, many chapters in history tend to become apocryphal – outa punya cerita.

Did these three kings really exist, and are they enshrined in the Cologne Cathedral in Germany? Or is there something else behind the tale?

Grahame-Smith shakes things up a little by suggesting that the Biblical Magi are not really nobles or holy men at all, but a trio of criminals on the run who just so happened to be at the right place at the right time.

This is the premise of Unholy Night, his latest work after Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.

The protagonist and appointed leader of the fabled "magi" is Balthazar, a thief and murderer who's also known as the Antioch Ghost.

Attempting to escape the law, he's captured and imprisoned in the dungeons of King Herod in Jerusalem, along with two other thieves, Gaspar and Melchyor.

Being the most experienced and resourceful of the three, Balthazar successfully springs them all from jail.

Their escape enrages Herod but the sickly king's attention is diverted by one of his advisors towards a window.

Outside, the Star of Bethlehem is shining brightly, announcing the birth of the prophesied Saviour – and the beginning of the slaughter of the firstborns.

While escaping from Jerusalem, the three thieves witness the killings and are stunned into silence. Horror gives way to righteous fury. The result: some dead Judean soldiers and a wounded Balthazar.

Learning of the encounter, Herod sends a letter to the Roman emperor, who dispatches a real magician to deal with the holy child and his bodyguards, along with a young Pontius Pilate, who would preside over a famous trial years later.

Though it feels more true-to-life, Grahame-Smith retains some supernatural elements.

A wounded and unconscious Balthazar sees visions of a "Man with Wings" (Gabriel the Messenger?) and a wise old man who tells him to escort Joseph and Mary and their child to Egypt.

A swarm of locusts comes to their rescue at one point. When the magician shows that he's the real thing, Herod sees possibilities, including a cure for his disease and freedom from his position as a Roman satrap.

Also, other serendipitous events related to Balthazar's own troubled past explains why he uncharacteristically decided to protect the holy child.

His revenge sub-plot, which involves an old flame, brings out a sympathetic side to his generally unsavoury character that compels you to root for him.

"Stick it to him there! It'll hurt more!"

I found almost nothing to complain about. The pages practically turn themselves, and the cinematic feel of the novel screams, "Make a film out of me!" Grahame-Smith is – surprise, surprise – also a screenwriter and film and TV producer.

Some may find the portrayal of Mary in this novel a trifle unsettling, though. Balthazar initially scoffed at the immaculate conception thing and suggests a more earthly reason for Mary's pregnancy and gets an earful from the young and unexpectedly assertive, feisty new mom.

We know what happens to Joseph, Mary and their child.

We know what happens to Herod and Pilate. But it's what happens to the three "magi" at the end of Grahame-Smith's Unholy Night that makes it a satisfying read.

Those Christmas carols and Nativity scenes will never sound or feel the same.


This review was based on a complimentary advance reading copy.

---

Unholy Night

Seth Grahame-Smith
Grand Central Publishing (April 2012)
307 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-4555-1617-9

Fritter Frenzy

My food piece submission for The Malaysian Insider before I checked myself into hospital for minor surgery; it was published three days after I went under the knife.

Reading this again afterwards, I began thinking how horrible it would be to not have memories like these, to have encounters like these and the opportunity to share them. To not be able to hear about quaint hidden corners like this stall and sample what they have to offer. We all live on borrowed time, of course, and it's absurd to think one can within his or her lifetime, unearth all the hidden gems this world has tucked away.

But one can try, while one is still able to. That's one life's goal there.

---

Fritter frenzy
All puffed up over treats from a neighbourhood snack hawker

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 14 March 2013


Several times I've heard Melody moan about her failed search for this banana fritter stall in Brickfields. Like it has the best in KL.

Mr Chiam at work

So when she finally got her hands on some crispy sweet goodness, she let me have it. Crunchy, sweet and not a whit of that hold-on-I'm-not-ripe-yet kind of tartness.

I have my favourite and only fritter stand, right outside the 99 Kopitiam in OUG, which sells what I say is the best cekodok in the Klang Valley. More banana than flour and they don't bounce like tennis balls when they hit the ground. They're damn oily, but nothing some paper towels can't solve.

Something was different about these Brickfields fritters, though.

"They're made with pisang raja," Melody enthused. "Not easy to get, and they don't have much in stock. They open around eleven, but all will be sold out by 3pm."

Pisang raja, hmm? As opposed to the made-with-pisang jelata stuff I've been eating? I was curious but remained non-committal when offered a chance to go there myself. C'mon, it's in Brickfields. One of the busiest parts of Brickfields, the area around the YMCA.

But wouldn't you know it, I had a vacant Saturday to fill. And Melody said they have damn good curry puffs.

Belatedly, I consulted Google. Turns out that this nondescript stall has a reputation. So famous, that they made their mobile number available for those who wanted to order in advance. Melody even called up to make sure they were open and that the banana fritters were still available.

Yes, nobles and common folk, this stall is Chiam's at Brickfields, an outfit run by a father-son team.

The man in charge looks like the younger Chiam; Chiam Sr was nowhere in sight. For a stall with so many mentions online, it didn't look like much. And not a whole lot of things to offer. It's worth remembering that these stalls are often specialists in what they do serve, and they've been doing it for years.

I gave the sesame-coated balls a pass - not my favourite. I snagged two of each: banana fritters, kuih bakul (nian gao) and the curry puffs.

Chiam's banana fritters, curry puffs and deep-fried kuih bakul (left);
lovely, delicious, glistening insides of a fresh curry puff

Okay, problem: Where to eat this?

"Go across to Old Town," Mr Chiam suggested.

Infuriatingly straitlaced ol' me was aghast. You don't do that!

"Don't worry," Chiam assured me. "The waiters are only working there; they're not going to bother you." In other words, nobody at that outlet is being paid to give a damn about the 'outside food' rule.

Eating takeaway fritters in a gussied-up kopitiam is kind of odd, but oddly appropriate - not encouraging this sort of thing, mind you. Even this outlet feels so... neighbourly. A bunch of schoolkids were having a meeting; at another table, one is doing his homework. I haven't been in such a setting in KL for a long time. Or perhaps I haven't been going out much.

Fritters are best chased down with a good kopitiam-style coffee, so we ordered one. Melody also wanted a wan tan mee, which she said was good. At this point I can't argue with her anymore. The weather was hot, and she's seldom wrong about food.

I waited until the coffee arrived before taking a bite. Nobody made a fuss, so my molars crunched down. The honeyed layer between the flesh and dough is sweet and fragrant, almost nectar-like and HOTHOTHOTOWIE WHERE'S THE ICED COFFEE?

Chiam's price list and contact info

I helped myself to more banana fritter after lunch. It's easier to appreciate the taste after it cools. The dough shell can be excessive, so chuck away a little if you feel like it.

The balance among yam, sweet potato and kuih bakul - in that case, can we call it "anniversary taffy"? - in the fried kuih bakul was just right. Can't complain.

And the curry puffs... the potatoes were moist, warm and finely diced compared to most curry-puff fillings, and the chunks glistened in shades of vermillion and ochre. What was strange was that Melody found it spicy, while I didn't. We both agreed that, yes, this is a Curry Puff™, the blueprint for all (economy-class) curry puffs to come.

When I opened up another one at home, out popped a shred of chicken. How long has it been since chicken appeared in a hawker-stall curry puff? And the thing was still moist, more than two hours after we reached home.

If only I stayed near this YMCA.

---

Mr Chiam's Pisang Goreng

Opposite YMCA, in front of Yit Sieang Coffee Shop
Jalan Tun Sambanthan 4
Brickfields, Kuala Lumpur

Daily, 12.30pm–6pm

+6012-617 2511

Bowled Over Again

The adventures of a portly Punjabi private eye continues

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 11 March 2013


After discovering and enjoying Tarquin Hall's first two Vish Puri mysteries about two years ago, I was "doing tension" waiting for the next instalment since reading about it online. It quietly slipped into bookstores in the middle of 2012.

I had thought that The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken was a working title.

When the third Vish Puri mystery unfolds, the portly Punjabi private eye is in the bathroom weighing himself, and the signs aren't good. Things take a dark turn when Puri, eager to avoid a monumental scolding from dear wife Rumpi over his weakness for high-calorie munchies, resorts to (gasp!) rigging the bathroom scales and quaffing diet pills.

However, the real mystery begins when Faheem Khan, the father of Pakistani cricket star Kamran Khan, croaks after eating some tainted butter chicken during a dinner party. Puri suspects the incident may also be tied to a poisoned dog that interrupted an earlier cricket game.

So begins our hero's descent into the shadowy world of underground betting syndicates, cricket match-fixing and money laundering. Puri is also investigating the theft of somebody's record-breaking moustache, a case that's more for comic relief rather than advancing the main plot.

Also making a return are Puri's crack team of mostly undercover operatives: professional thief Tubelight, Nepali femme fatale Facecream, electronics wiz Flush, and his secretary Elizabeth Rani, as well as the somewhat lovable scoundrel Rinku, Puri's childhood friend.

And how can I not mention Puri's mom, who's also a bit of a sleuth herself? Mummy-ji, who was also at the dinner party, had a look at Kamran Khan and, you'd swear, it's like she'd seen a ghost.

On the pretext of helping a friend, she does some investigation of her own, revisiting the horrors she'd witnessed after the partitioning of India and Pakistan in 1947. Of course, mother and son would eventually find themselves co-operating in an effort to find Faheem Khan's killer.

Those who have enjoyed the first two books will be glad to know that the magic is preserved in this one. The writing is compelling, entertaining and crafted with the wry eye of a well-travelled expat.

With topics such as cricket betting syndicates and the aftermath of Partition, Hall's latest Vish Puri novel is darker than the first two. Puri's assistant Tubelight braves the paltry, stomach-turning living conditions in the slums in his search for the poisoned dog's remains. Our hero's life is threatened several times. A tragedy in Puri's family comes to light.

Another topic that is touched upon briefly is the alleged trade of blood diamonds in Surat, considered the world's diamond capital. We only get the barest of hints that the mastermind may be laundering money by buying diamonds, and that's it.

There are plenty of funny bits in the narrative as well as the dialogue. For one, the Punjabi PI is bewildered by the IT jargon used by one of his suspects. "What the hell was 'dynamic content'?" our protagonist wonders. "And how could a computer eat cookies?"

An entertaining lesson on Mumbaiya pigdin/Indian English slang can be found in an informant's exchange with Puri. A dead murder suspect, "Fawda Bhaiyya was game bajaana suumdi style", so he couldn't have hanged himself.

Besides, the deceased "was dedu foot so couldn't reach the punkah. Plus, he was totally fultoo and doing balle balle with his biscuit."

Have fun Googling that. But I'm sure you'd rather read the book.

The realism of Puri's world buoys seemingly outa elements such as Flush's remotely operated robot with a camera, leaving readers free from having to suspend disbelief and follow the hijinks of the intrepid Indian investigator, his gang and his mom.

The only major gripe I had was that my paperback edition does not include the "three mouthwatering recipes from the Vish Puri family kitchen" as promised by some retailers.

Spicy, scrumptious, and at times side-splitting and surreal, The Case of The Deadly Butter Chicken is an excellent continuation of the Vish Puri series.

(Coincidentally, there's a real Indian cricketer called Kamran Khan out there. For maximum reading pleasure, please unplug yourself from the Web and remember that it's fiction.)


This version includes a correction. Also, here's my review of the first two books.

---

The Case of the Deadly Butter Chicken

Tarquin Hall
Hutchinson (2012)
360 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-09-193741-6

Herbs Do Weird Things To People

This piece is a little different from the kinds I usually write, and it's not (just) because of the herbs.

Since writing this I've learned that: a) Not everyone gets a clove of awesome fried garlic, which could be another reason why the fries are awesome (garlic-and-herb infused oil?); b) myBurgerLab is planning collaborations with local startups Forty Licks and Smooshie Juice, so McDonald's is in trouble; c) the crispy savoury thing in the A++ is a wafer made of grilled parmesan cheese; and d) did TMI modify their file structure again?

Anyway, I should start cutting down my trips there; I work nearby and it's a 15- to 25-minute drive from there plus heavy traffic. It has reached a point where the staff recognise me on sight.

---

Burger trippin'

Flavours from of this 'lab' are so good, they're almost illegal

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 09 March 2013


For weeks, Melody has heard her friends wax lyrical about this burger joint. Feeling a sort of burger fatigue, we put off investigating this place until one rainy weekend. It always seems to rain each time we embark on burger hunts.

Gateway to meaty, charcoal-bunned
awesomeness; photo ©Alexandra Wong

Our first attempt to find myBurgerLab was not successful. And we thought Salak South was a Bermuda Triangle for traffic. But we eventually found it, the McDonald's for hipsters and purveyors of Instagrammable burgers.

Inside, there was barely any room to stand. Décor was threadbare, not unlike similar hipster joints popping up all over the Klang Valley. Slogans, notices, signs and wall decorations were sprinkled with wit. That wall painting of a giant burger? Strain your eyes and you'll see a hidden message.

Ordering could be a problem. So many varieties on the chalkboard menu - what to choose? And the ingredients - ever had maple syrup and hash browns in a burger?

In the end, you just close your eyes and point. They're all just as pricey.

Melody explored her masochistic side with a "Kick in the Face" while I went with the simpler-sounding "A++" - with eyes wide open.

Behind the counter is a hot, steaming burger assembly line. Plum-sized balls of bright pink minced meat are laid out on a ledge near the griddle before they're transported onto hot metal, cooked and pressed into patties.

Various burger components are made separately before they're stacked between the trademark charcoal buns and bussed to the tables or packed for take-away.

On a good day (for the restaurant, not you) an eternity and a half can pass before your order number appears on the LCD display above the counter. The six to eight people in the kitchen can barely keep up.

"Kick in the Face", about to kick someone's face in;
photo ©Alexandra Wong

Melody's "Kick in the Face", a "mustard-grilled patty" with jalapenos and horseradish sauce, looked rather subdued but the flavours were whoa. The horseradish sauce made all the difference, adding a slightly nutty layer of flavour.

I couldn't tell whether the crispy savoury thing in my A++ meat-and-mushroom thing was beef bacon or something else. Both were delicious.

What I was not prepared for was the fries.

- OMG FRIES WITH HERBS ROSEMARY FRAGRANT MAYBE THYME AND OREGANO CRISPY OUTSIDE CREAMY RICH INSIDE SALTY FINGERLICKING GOOD -

The herbs were a nice touch. It's one of those things you never think of but makes sense once you've experienced it. Who knew a dash of mixed dried Italian herbs could turn mundane into magnificent?

Oh, here's some red dipping sauce.

- OHDEARME IS THIS SPICY PEPPER MAYO OMNOMNOMNOM LIKE PRINGLES ONLY MOIST FRESH HOT AND IN 3D CANNOT STOP MOREMOREMORE -

These are some wicked fries. And it comes with a wrinkled clove of garlic that's fried, salted and herbed like the potatoes - and also tasted good. I can only imagine that it goes well with beer, because I don't drink.

On a Tuesday one week later, I returned to myBurgerLab to round up the exploration with a Beautiful Mess 4.0, a tower of a burger with a breaded and fried portobello mushroom nearly as big as the patty and a sunny-side-up on top, which was said to have been refined four times. I had to wait about half an hour because they made a beautiful mess of my order.

myBurgerLab's A++ Burger, the awesome fries and magic
red sauce; photo ©Alexandra Wong

I got the impression that myBurgerLab is perpetually packed. No surprise, since they only open for dinner, taking half the day to prepare the raw ingredients and kitchen. Customers fill their cups from a dispenser at the back while their burgers cook.

"We consider today a slow day," said the lady at the counter. I believed her.

When my order eventually arrived, I pondered. Eat or run?

Then I spied the shelves for standing customers inside and outside the joint. That made things easier. I stepped outside, away from the crowd, and opened my take-away package.

There is no way to eat a Beautiful Mess v4.0 without making a beautiful mess of it. But what joy to smoosh your burger to make it fit.

At some point you can't tell where the meat ends and where the juice-soaked buns or egg bits begin. You'll know where to find the mushroom, though. If you're eating it fresh, it's the scalding hot bit somewhere near the top- darn, ate a bit of wax paper.

- SHADDUP ABITOFWAXPAPER WON'T KILL YOU EATAFRY DIP IT IN THE MAGIC RED SAUCE OHHELPME CAN'TSTOP OMG WHYSOGOOD -

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the simple yet mind-blowing genius in the herbed fries.

- MUSTBETHEHERBS PUNGENT PULCHRITUDINOUS HERBS YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY ABOUT HERRRBS RIGHT HEEHEEHEE -

How ironic it would be if myBurgerLab ended up being more famous for its fries.

- WHOCARES FRIES ARE AWESOME DIVINE SKINS ON MORE FLAVOUR OHYES WHAT FRIES ALMOST GONE NONONO WHYYY -

With the last of the burger gone, I tipped the wrapper and down went a mix of melted cheese, meat juice, sauces, yolk and grease.

I can see why Melody's friends were wild about this place. They're cooking up some interesting combinations in this burger lab of sorts. You can't let go of the tastes. All they need is to stock some artisanal ice cream from The Last Polka and McDonald's will be in trouble.

Lumping a burger into a set - with a drink and fries - can take the bill past RM20, but it's worth it.

Just go easy on the fries. Oil, salt, glycaemic index and all that.

- AND HERBS LOVELY HERBS HEEHEEHEE COMEBACKTOMORROW OMG ♪ I'D LIKE TO MAKE MYSELF BELIEEEEEEVE ♫ -

---

myBurgerLab (SEA Park)

No 14, Jalan 21/22,
Seapark, Petaling Jaya,
Selangor

Pork-free

Tuesdays to Sundays, 5pm-10:30pm

Closed on Mondays

Facebook page

Shanghaied

Some time back, I'd read a not-very-glowing assessment of Map of the Invisible World. So, when given the chance to review this book, I steeled myself for some disappointment.

I needn't have bothered.

Five Star Billionaire can be laborious to read in places, but at least it's set in a contemporary period, so it feels real. Was there anything I could say about the writing? Cadence? Tone? Pacing?

No, there wasn't. Hey, it's Tash Aw.

If there was something off about the culture, people and places in the setting, I'll leave that to those who're more qualified.

Did I like it? Not much. I won't be pushing a copy into the hands of everybody I'd meet, though I will say "It's not as bad as some people say."

---

Shanghaied?

When a bunch of Malaysian Chinese balik tongsan

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 23 February 2013


This was heard at a "live" comedy act: "There are two kinds of Chinese: rich Chinese - and potentially rich Chinese."

The audience chuckled. How stereotypical and absurd.

But tell me: Which Chinese family doesn't believe its scions are meant for something greater?

Tash Aw's latest novel, Five Star Billionaire, charts the lives of five Chinese Malaysian emigrants - a mix of these "two kinds" - to bustling Shanghai, ranked the world's 16th most expensive city last year, as they journey along their yellow brick roads.


Meet our heroes
Duped by false promises of a good job, Phoebe Chen repackages herself in an effort to move up the social ladder, guided by the words of a "five-star billionaire."

Five Star Billionaire is by Tash Aw (left), who met fans, read some
passages from the book and fielded questions during a meet-up at
Silverfish Books in Bangsar on 23 February 2013

Entrepreneur Leong Yinghui, daughter of a disgraced former government minister and jaded bohemian, enters an urban development joint venture with a mysterious partner.

Hoping to improve the fortunes of his family's flagging property firm, Justin Lim's attempt to buy a piece of real estate is stymied by a possible rival.

Scandal-dogged pop star Gary (no apparent last name) struggles to rebuild his career after a bar brawl with a drunk foreigner - proving that only Bruce Lee or Jet Li can clock a white guy and still look good.

Finally, there's enigmatic business guru Walter Chao, whose soliloquies in the novel could have come out of a self-help book. Chapter headings reminiscent of stratagems from The Art of War enforce that feel.

Of course, their paths will intersect at certain points in the story. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point to having so many characters.


This looks familiar
Like the stand-up comic, Aw serves up these flawed, sad bunch of could-have-beens for our entertainment and maybe some reflection. It's quite a pick: the pisau cukur wannabe; the scion of a property giant; the Idol contest winner; the single, lonely-yet-insecure, gaydar-tripping career woman; and the egocentric, emotionally distant know-it-all.

Though interesting and compelling, this is no beach novel. Aw's writing is lush and descriptive, and he packs his yarn with more about the protagonists than the casual reader can handle.

Much of it feels familiar. Phoebe's obsession with status and resentment of the upper classes and her perceived lowly station are infuriating, and just when her life starts turning around, she throws it all away. In Gary, we see the travails of talent-contest winners who crack under the glare of publicity and pressures of celebrity.

Yinghui the boho chick is heaps more annoying than Yinghui the entrepreneur who craves recognition for her hard-won business savvy. Her impassioned, self-righteous frothing-in-the-mouth over plans to demolish an iconic cinema building reads like so many Facebook posts.

We're so glad when those illusions are shattered but the crisp lapels she adopts later in life don't suit her and watching her try to fit into them is tiresome. And what is Justin doing, moping around, meeting strange women and trying to hook up with Yinghui after the deal goes pear-shaped?

What they all ultimately share are varying degrees of parental estrangement, the discomfort with who they currently are, and the need to prove something to the world.


Cautious optimism
You might have encountered at least one of these five archetypes in real life and, perhaps, sneered at them with derision or helped yourselves to some schadenfreude at their failures. You think nothing of it, until you begin exhibiting the same traits.

Reading about the media circus around Gary's fall and Justin being trolled by anonymous armchair crusaders online can get a tad uncomfortable. But we feel little sympathy for the characters. Maybe that's the mental defense mechanism kicking in, trying to blot out unpleasant truths.

Of all the lessons in this book, the strongest seems to be: nothing good comes from stepping outside the box.

All of Aw's characters – except maybe Walter – ventured out of their comfort zones and got burned. But does that mean there are no paths to Oz other than the beaten ones?

Towards the end of the novel, they still seem to be looking. That's when we really start rooting for them because, in the end, all of us believe that we are meant for greater things.

---

Five Star Billionaire

Tash Aw
Fourth Estate (2013)
434 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-00-749416-3

Snakes Selling Snakes

This review threatened to go on and on, so I tried keeping it within the scope of the book. I thought the release of this was timely, considering the apparent fever for snake pets during the Year of the Snake. But did those reports have to use pictures of the albino Burmese python?

It's been over two years, but Bryan Christy's NGM article still riles me up. But I guess it's understandable why these people get away with what they did. Given the world's nations' track record in enforcing and strengthening laws that govern human beings, who'd be convinced they can do anything to help protect wildlife from the likes of these 'lizard kings'?

So the trade continues, in both legally and illegally obtained animals for the pet trade and other reasons. Differentiating between 'captive-bred' and poached animals when they've arrived at their destinations is hard, if not impossible, which means poachers and buyers have to be caught red-handed - a slightly less difficult task.

And Bryan Christy is still making people angry. Right now, he's riled up the clergy in the Philippines with his article on the ivory trade and the aftermath of its publication. Crime novels are made of this stuff.

---

Serpent smugglers

Tales of the illegal trade in cold-blooded animals can make one's blood boil

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 17 February 2013


Investigative journalist and author Bryan Christy made me angry on January 2010 with his National Geographic article on the Asian wildlife trade and one of its alleged kingpins, and how wildlife protection laws and enforcement have largely failed to address issues of wildlife trafficking.

The central figure in this bit of reportage was said alleged kingpin Anson Wong (no relation), who is featured in Christy's book, The Lizard King.

Fancy a scaly, slithery pet for the Year of the Snake?
You might want to think twice

Wong had been caught trying to smuggle over 90 reptiles out of Malaysia in 2010. He was released from prison in 2012 when his five-year jail sentence was reduced to 17 months.

Both the book and the National Geographic article hints at a cosy relationship between Anson and some officers in the Malaysian Wildlife and National Parks Department (Jabatan Perhilitan). Perhilitan, naturally, said the book was "simply fiction".


Reptile rustlers
The Lizard King traces the beginnings of the illegal animal trade in the US, when zoos practically fought to have the most exotic animal species on display. This was during the Sixties, and nobody cared how the exhibits were obtained. We are also given a glimpse into the backgrounds of the enforcement agents who stalked and prosecuted these smugglers.

If I read this book right, it all began with love.

Two figures in this book: Ray Van Nostrand and Henry A Molt, Jr were fond of reptiles and eventually turned their passion into a business. Both would also do time in jail; Van Nostrand would venture into drugs and was snared in a drug bust, while Molt would set up an international animal smuggling network.

When Ray Van Nostrand went to jail, his son Mike took over the reins and expanded his father's reptile-selling business into a major smuggling outfit that could have rivalled Molt's.

Other key plots in this book include the cat-and-mouse chase between Mike Van Nostrand and Chip Bepler, an agent with the US Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS); the beginnings of Henry Molt Jr's reptile racket; and how an undercover USFWS agent helped apprehend Anson Wong in 1998.

This gripping account of the US authorities' pursuit of wildlife smugglers, albeit one that feels roughly sketched out, is short but well-paced. The exact magnitude and enormity of the illegal wildlife trade is conveyed by the behaviours of the smugglers; facts and figures appear only sporadically.

But there is enough bad behaviour to make you angry. A famous quote belongs, of course, to our very own Anson. "I could sell a panda and nothing," he once boasted to the undercover USFWS agent who'd got him arrested. "As long as I'm still [in Malaysia] I'm safe."

Another annoying aspect is carelessness, especially by those who should know better. Two tragic tales illustrate how love can make one stupid. A man considered "the dean of American herpetologists" in the 1950s died days after a venomous African boomslang bit him.

A surprising mention is snake expert Joseph B Slowinski. Deep in the Myanmar interior on 9/11, Slowinski showed no concern when a snake bit him, thinking it was a harmless "mimic" of the more deadly krait. Sadly, it turned out to be a real krait.

Love makes one do funny things, I guess.


Long live the (lizard) kings?
There is no fairy-tale ending in The Lizard King - no ending, for that matter. Not long after Mike Van Nostrand went to jail, Chip Bepler died of a brain tumour.

According to a syndicated article in The Star in December 2010, Bepler's quarry has returned to the trade. It also underscored the difficulty in regulating the ongoing wildlife trade, which also sells illegally acquired animals and endangered species.

No one has pinned down how much the trade's worth; estimates have gone up to billions in US dollars. Demand is high and all sorts of arguments were made for the trade. Jobs. Inspiring kids to learn about the environment.

How does one learn enough about the environment or help conserve it by keeping a Burmese python in a glass tank? Will this 'love' of the environment or the cute little snake remain after said animal outgrows its enclosure and starts threatening the family dog or cat, or when owners don't 'love' their pets any more?

Didn't they learn anything from the Burmese pythons in the Everglades or the extermination of over forty animals on a private farm in Muskingum County, Ohio, some of which were endangered big cats?

"No no no, we didn't poach these from the wild - they are captive bred!" Really? Then what about this little nugget from a local news portal (emphasis mine)?

The green tree python (Morelia viridis) is a popular snake in the global pet trade. It is one of Indonesia’s top exports, and stocks are declared as captive breds. In 2011, however, scientists Jessica Lyons and Daniel Natusch from the University of New South Wales found that at least 80% of Indonesia’s green tree python exports were poached from the wild.

All this, plus Christy's book, leaves one to believe that the pet trade is mostly about profit and prestige. Rare exotic specimens being marketed like the latest Louis-Vuitton bag (as opposed to being used to make Louis-Vuitton bags), Nike sneakers, or some action figure.

Such a demand, fuelled by hubris and naivete, only helps the likes of those 'lizard kings' more than the environment or the animals.

---

The Lizard King

The True Crimes and Passions of the World's Greatest Reptile Smugglers

Bryan Christy
Twelve (2008)
239 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-446-69975-4

Go West, Young Man

I had difficulty containing myself when reviewing this book. When you go through and correct a lot of bad stuff in your job, a good read will make you shed tears of joy.

I thought I did rather well, until a colleague noted that I was like a "little boy salivating over an ice cream". Urrrgh, there goes my cred....

There seems to be some confusion over the book's publication date and number of pages. The copy I got lists the date as 2012, while the web sites say 2013; the information in the inset near the bottom is from the review copy (not an ARC). The book is the same - just hope the differences aren't too big.

...Now I want ice cream. Vanilla.

---

When a young man went west

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 17 January 2013


I suspect that, post 9/11, memoirs of people from a certain demographic were pretty hot items. But one of those had been rejected ― not because the author wrote it himself, but it was not a "miserable" book.

"It's not supposed to be miserable...!" the author said exasperatedly in an immaculate British accent when talking about it several years back.

Maybe it's because the author turned out to be a perfect gentleman.

The last I'd heard of Imran Ahmad, he was an executive at General Electric. So I was surprised to learn that he's now residing in KL, and he's released a US/international edition of said "not miserable" memoir Unimagined and went on another book tour in America.

This edition, The Perfect Gentleman: A Muslim Boy Meets The West, has been updated with newer material and since it's been ages since I've looked at the older UK edition, it still feels fresh.

Each chapter is made up of what I'd call episodes, many of which are paragraphs of 10 lines or less. All events are in chronological order, making it easy to follow his life's journey. It feels as if one's reading a Tumblr account. The pages zip by quickly.

Some of the new bits include a brief story about how his parents met, and the day he was born ― Day Zero, as he calls it. "...I took my time in arriving (a trait I still exhibit sometimes) and I emerged in the early hours of–" ... No. If you want to send him birthday greetings, read the book.

In spite of the racism he grew up with as a Pakistani immigrant in Britain, Imran recalls his past in a generally frank and upbeat manner. The narration, so English it almost tastes of Earl Grey, made the funny parts laugh-out-loud and the sad parts even more poignant.

It also conveys his thoughts of each past self as he makes sense of the world around him. When "blatant nepotism" robbed him of the title of Karachi's Bonniest Baby, you can almost visualise one-year-old Imran, looking all dapper in his suit, thinking to himself that, yes, this was the beginning of "my lifelong struggle against corruption and injustice."

What a struggle. Growing up in London, he faced the prejudices of the day because of his religion and nationality; to one's dismay, things haven't changed much since then.

Bullying, unrequited love, uppity schoolteachers, being unjustly scolded and feelings of validation when scoring top marks or appearing in the newspaper (I had no such luck) and the like... it all jogs your own memories even as Imran recounts his.

His resolve to fit in and battle the prejudices of his schoolmates by becoming "whiter than white" raises a pang of pity, because by right one shouldn't have to, but I guess it's an unfair world out there and the young, without the benefit of experience, tend to judge books by their covers.

What I suspect will be of interest is Imran's ruminations over culture and religion ― that of others and his own. As a young man, he wondered where justice was when a presumably Muslim renter left his parents an "astronomical phone bill" ("Does not his heart tremble with fear at the thought of God's judgment?").

He draws parallels between aspects of his culture and that of Mr Spock's ("Like Muslims and other Asians, Vulcans have arranged marriages, and are not given to displays of emotion in public.").

Some of his observations are darkly hilarious in hindsight. The 1978 Black Friday incident in Iran, for one, was an awful time, and "confusing" for him because the Shah who instigated the event was installed by the CIA.

"The role of America in this is very disturbing, since America is one of the forces of good in the world. They probably didn't know anything about the torture." Am I the only one who cracks up at stuff like that?

If there was anything in the book I didn't like, I didn't notice. Some, however, will find it a bit long-winded (his life was eventful, maybe?), a little self-absorbed (it's his life story), too preachy in parts (perhaps, but it's still fun), and uses too many italics (what).

The book, it seems, was banned in Qatar due to the religious and cultural bits (everybody's a critic). Looks like it's shaping up to be one of those "love it or hate it" kind of reads.

Still, I can't help liking it. The wit, introspection and interrogation of his motives and those of others are fun to read (Former Waterstone's bookbuyer turned publisher Scott Pack loved it and I tend to pay attention to his book recommendations, never mind what some have said about him. And, as shown previously, he's quotable. If I extract any more I'd be infringing copyright big time.


The KL launch of Imran Ahmad's The Perfect Gentleman will be on Saturday, 19 January at MPH 1Utama, from 3pm to 4pm, and Tuesday, 22 January at Kinokuniya KLCC, from 6pm to 7pm.

---

The Perfect Gentleman

A Muslim Boy Meets the West

Imran Ahmad
Center Street (2012)
336 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-1-4555-2854-7

A Kalamazoo Xmas Do

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 02 January 2013

Know that thing about people gaining weight during Christmas? It's true. I must've packed in several days' worth of calories in a single meal over at Café Kalamazoo.

Interior of Café Kalamazoo

Run by the god-brother of a friend of Melody's and his friends, its early days were fraught with danger. What were they thinking, planting themselves several doors down from the wildly popular Betty's Midwest Kitchen and offering a similar type of cuisine?

Melody and I didn't return until months later, after it underwent a revamp. Some grey walls were replaced with a cheerier theme, and the sign sported a more welcoming pastel yellow. It felt more like a hangout for close friends than a run-of-the-mill café.

The peanut butter and chocolate milkshake is so damn good

Missing the food they used to have during their days at Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan, the restaurant's partners set up shop at Aman Suria to serve up the same, plus a bit more.

Fewer clues to their alma mater exist now than when they first opened; what remaining WMU memorabilia has been relegated to a yellow-painted section of a wall near the counter.

I can't say much about the burgers, but we were charmed by mains such as the cheese-drizzled pesto chicken and the hearty beef meatloaf.

One of the chefs, we were told, spent a great deal of time testing the sauces, and the results were great. Some thought had been put into the combination of dishes, sides and sauces.

Hearty, fall-off-the-bone ribs... a must-try at Kalamazoo

The peanut butter chocolate milkshake, more dessert than drink, had the effect of a nightcap and sedative on my perpetually strung, hyperactive nerves. A few sips and my shoulders slowly sagged in blissful submission to the sweet, nutty liquid ambrosia.

Some of these goodies, however, made way for a Christmas menu last weekend that included hand-picked regular items. Melody and I decided to skip the Christmas turkey, which she didn't like anyway. She went with "something light": a pork burger. I picked the Alabama BBQ Ribs and Chilli Cheese Fries.

The fries came first. American chilli "with a touch of heat", fries and cheese on a plate make for some heavy, tasty comfort food, but I felt it could use an additional three to four touches of heat. "Chilli" is such a misnomer for a dish whose main ingredients include tomato sauce, minced beef and pinto and/or kidney beans.

Beef meatloaf that makes you wanna sing ... ♪ and I would do
anything for love... ♫

My ribs arrived together with Melody's pork burger; the ETA for the food was faster than I'd expected. My burger fatigue hasn't quite run its course yet, so I gave it a pass — didn't even take a photo. She didn't say much, so I guess the burger's okay.

But oh G*d, the ribs. Pull-off-the-bone tender but not sticky, slathered in a runnier sauce dotted with herbs I couldn't identify. I got pumpkin mash, a sweeter and less filling side dish compared to potato that really made room for more.

I was still dipping into the chilli cheese fries between each rib bone, supplementing my plate of fries with the ones that came with Melody's burger. Once the rack o' ribs was no longer recognisable as such, the cutlery was cast aside in favour of fingers.

Her friend walked over to see a nearly clean plate with picked-clean bones; I'd wiped up the sauce and leftover bits with pieces of a burger bun Melody couldn't finish. She'd noted that any chef would be pleased to see me "enjoy myself so much". I certainly hoped so.

As a token of appreciation, Melody's friend brought us two pieces of marinated fried chicken from the kitchen to try. "Strictly staff fare," we were told. Nice, but a little heavy on the marinade.

And what a shame that both of us were too full for dessert, which included the cakes baked and supplied to Kalamazoo by Melody's friend's mom. The macadamia cake and Black Forest cake came highly recommended. The green tea and red bean cake we had on a previous visit was nice but dry — a glitch that they had pledged to fix.

Back home, the bathroom scales confirmed my worst fears: I'd gained the weight I'd lost pre-Christmas weekend.

Oh, what the heck. Eleven months at the gym and it'll all be gone.

---

Café Kalamazoo

A-G-36, Jalan PJU 1/43
Aman Suria Damansara
47301 Petaling Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Gaia's Irrepressible Prophet

When I was writing this, I'd forgotten several other relevant titbits: levels of carbon pollution rose again last year, and a lot of it is coming out of China; revelations that sea levels are rising at a faster rate than expected, threatening coastal cities in the US; more proof that the classic Maya civilisation was laid low by climate change, among other things; a tornado in New Zealand (tornadoes in New Zealand?) killed some people; and the nasty winter weather in the US this year.

I needed more examples outside the US, as I've already chewed enough schadenfreude over the American panic over climate change after Hurricane Sandy. You're still with the rest of us, Yankees! Our problems are also ours. Still.

As for Lovelock, well, I thought he was a bit of a crackpot. But that's because Lovelock's a seemingly lucid mind that is supporting a theory that now seems less outlandish than it was when it was first introduced.

Mankind has been unfavourably compared to a virus; the notion of an Earth that can wipe us out if we overstay our welcome should be the cause of many sleepless nights and/or suicides. What's perhaps more terrifying than rocks falling from outer space is the possibility, however remote, that Lovelock could be right.

Puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?

---

Gaia's irrepressible prophet

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 26 December 2012


Floods in Madeira, Portugal. The "snowmageddon" in parts of Europe and the US. Hail in parts of Damansara and KL. The ash from that Icelandic volcano. And the earthquake bonanza of 2011, along with the Fukushima tsunami. The world appears to be going mad.

But it wasn't until Hurricane Sandy flooded New York that brought home the news that maybe, maybe, this whole global warming/climate change thing wasn't born out of some New Age-fuelled paranoia.

Just when we thought we'd be okay after dodging the Mayapocalypse ...

James Lovelock, author of The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning (2009), seems to suggest that all this is natural, at least where climate change is concerned.

One year earlier in a Daily Mail report headlined "We're all doomed!", he pictures a hot, chaotic world coping with climate-caused disasters: droughts, famine and floods, and that we might as well get used to it instead of trying to fix it, because "it is too late to repair the damage".


Our living planet ...
Arguably, not many people have heard of James Ephraim Lovelock, but they may have heard of NASA's search for life on Mars, and the fight against ozone-eating CFCs. Lovelock was the British scientist who invented the scientific instruments that would be instrumental in both. He is perhaps more famous for another invention: the Gaia theory.

To most of us, Earth is just a ball of rock with a liquid centre and a thin layer of air. The Gaia theory depicts the Earth as a living, self-sustaining super-organism (this is as non-scientific as I can manage). The theory was formulated in the 1970s and developed with the help of a few others, particularly the microbiologist Dr Lynn Margulis.

This theory suggests one way the Earth regulates its own temperature is with the help of ocean-dwelling phytoplankton. When the seas warm, the organisms breed and produce a gas which ultimately helps seed clouds and increases cloud cover, creating a sun shield of sorts that cools down the planet's surface. Proof that seems to support this was said to have been found, though conclusive evidence remains elusive,

The concept of a living, sentient Earth wasn't the only strange idea he had. He loves nuclear energy — his answer to our CO₂ and energy problems — and rubbishes the idea that radioactive waste is bad. As a Brit and beneficiary of the British National Health Service (NHS) he also believed "there was always a nagging fear that in the States you could be financially ruined by a severe illness."


... and its spokesman
James Lovelock's youth gave little indication of the man he would become. He skipped classes and didn't care about homework. He cleared "obstructions" to wherever part of the English countryside he wished to roam with home-made explosives. He went to study chemistry in Manchester because a girl he'd fancied was there.

He was once accused of cheating in class because he gave all the correct answers, but it turned out that the university's standards were... a bit low. Lovelock argues that when lives are concerned one must be correct — a viewpoint shaped by his days at school and an accidental chemical explosion. He didn't just "know" he was right, he made sure he was.

He Knew He Was Right: The Irrepressible Life of James Lovelock and Gaia, penned by John and Mary Gribbin is a celebration of his life, philosophies and Gaia theory and, perhaps, given the more positive reception to the latter these days, an "I told you so" to his detractors. Lovelock also received the Geological Society of London's highest award, the Wollaston Medal, in 2006 for his work on the Gaia theory.

John Gribbin himself is an interesting character. The astrophysicist and science writer predicted — wrongly — that a huge earthquake caused by an alignment of the planets would destroy Los Angeles. His book, Get a Grip on Physics (2003), was reportedly spotted in Tiger Woods' wrecked SUV.

Sadly, the way the biography is written isn't nearly as interesting as the authors, the subject or his ideas. The writing is dry and uninspiring and it's jam-packed with lots of information about Lovelock, his work and the history of the Gaia hypothesis. It was hard work, digging out all those gems about his life and any other relevant titbits. The material that over-explains the Gaia theory is deadweight to the average reader, but one suspects the average reader is not really who the authors are writing for.


He may still be right
John and Mary Gribbin may think Lovelock knew he was right about climate change, but do we?

Until Climategate, most of us seemed to agree with Al Gore. Lovelock's gloomier predictions of mankind's fate takes into account the planet's extremely long, but finite lifespan (perhaps like Lovelock's own — the man's pushing 100); our Sun has five billion more years before it loses all its energy, and when that happens the Earth will die anyway, but not before the planet, he hopes, shapes us into better beings.

"We are about to take an evolutionary step and my hope is that the species will emerge stronger," he said in that gloomy Daily Mail report. "It would be hubris to think humans as they now are God's chosen race."

Early this year, however, Lovelock more or less conceded that maybe his projections about how our climate would change the world were a bit "alarmist", though his views on nuclear energy, wind power and sustainable development remain unchanged.

Even if The Day After Tomorrow isn't happening any time soon, the things happening in some parts of the world of late pretty much shows just how screwed we are if the weather catches us off-guard. Just ask those who were flooded out by Hurricane Sandy in New York.

---

He Knew He Was Right

The Irrepressible Life of James Lovelock and Gaia

John and Mary Gribbin
Allen Lane (2009)
240 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-1-846-14016-7

Pleasure In Pain

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 23 December 2012

Melody was meeting a Frenchman in Bangsar at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, so I had to get the car ready. "This had better be worth it," I grumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Look for this sign

After coffee, the next hot artisanal thing to hit our shores seems to be bread. Melody had been on one of her food hunts and, that morning saw us at Yeast Bistronomy in Bangsar.

Located several doors down the Kiwi-style Antipodean café, Yeast is a boulangerie, bistro and wine bar that aims to bring its patrons the time-tested homespun tastes of (mostly) traditional French breads, pastries and bistro fare.

Croissants and white chocolate bread

Lunches are light, with mostly sandwiches, salads, quiches and savoury tarts, but expect big dinners with such treats as poulet rôti (roast chicken), steak au poivre (steak with pepper sauce) and boeuf bourguignon (braised beef short ribs with red wine sauce).

The term "bistronomy" is said to echo the desires of some French chefs in the 1990s to serve fine yet affordable cuisine in a more open, friendly atmosphere.

That's what it feels like at Yeast, as French café music plays in the background. Features of its décor: yellow walls and signage, black-and-white chequered floor tiles, framed mirrors and blackboards, we're told, are common in similar establishments in Paris.

French start-up
Yeast founder Christophe Chatron-Michaud spent 28 years developing and running high-end restaurants in Europe and the US before he decided to settle here with his Malaysian wife and now managing director of Yeast, Lissan Teh.

The almond and berries brioche... a refreshing
change from the jammy stuff

Yeast was not just set up by more than the need for bread from home. "Malaysians are becoming more open to try new things," says Chatron-Michaud. "So we feel that it's time to bring them our kind of food." Nor was it difficult to set up the place, given the couple's experience in the F&B industry.

Yeast Bistronomy cultivates its own yeast, the key ingredient in the secret recipes for its various pre-ferments or starters (levain) that give its breads ― particularly sourdough loaves ― a more complex taste. This trait is unique to bona fide artisanal bakeries. The ovens are also proper boulangerie equipment; we're told that some of the ovens used here are more for things such as pizza, rather than bread.

Like its pre-ferments, the leading talents in Yeast's kitchen are all home-grown. Hailing from Lyon, artisanal boulanger (baker) Christophe Gros learned the trade from his dad and had worked with Michaud before. The chef in charge of the bistro part did her rounds in France, New York and Scotland.

Oeufs cocotte ... a very satisfying way to start the day

Besides bringing a slice of Paris to our shores, Chatron-Michaud also hopes to educate the locals on the finer points of artisanal European bread. For instance: What does one do with a baguette or a pain de campagne (French-style sourdough bread)?

"Most people do not know what to do with our breads," he reveals. "So we're planning a series of spreads: basic things such as olive and balsamic to something meat-based, perhaps, to give an idea of the things that can be done with bread." He's also not above pairing curry-based fillings with baguettes ― how progressive.

And what an education we had.

Bowled over
Generally, traditionally baked artisanal breads tend to have a thicker, harder crust and a more chewy, harder-to tear-away insides. Chatron-Michaud admits that it's hard to tear Malaysians away from notions that all breads are soft and smell and taste sweet, but Yeast has something for that. The pain au chocolat blanc (white chocolate bread) was a revelation: a small white-choc-studded loaf that would make a great dessert bread.

Bread, runny yolk and smoked duck ... yummy

Melody found the plain and Valrhona chocolate-filled croissants "too pretty to dismantle." Fortunately, I have no such compunctions, so we had some of the best croissants this side of the Klang Valley: crispy and flaky outside, chewy and smooth inside. Moistened by the rich, creamy, unsalted Lescure butter from France's Charentes region, our tongues itch to roll off the menu items in French, many of which I'd only read in books or seen on TV.

One bite of the other croissant explained why Yeast also uses Valrhona chocolate in other pastries such as the equally crispy-outside-yummy-inside chocolate pain aux raisins. The brioche aux amandes et fruits rouges (almond-and-berries brioche), an island of chopped berries in the middle of a pastry crust studded with almond slices, was a refreshing change from the usual sticky, sweet jammy stuff.

The bread with smoked duck and Gruyère cheese was heavenly, as anything with smoked duck is wont to taste. Yeast uses smoked duck instead of bacon in other items such as the oeufs cocotte: eggs baked in a ramekin. Breaking through the layer of Gruyère on top, we spooned the eggs, seasoned with bits of smoked duck, onto the buttered, toasted farmer's bread and bit down. For someone deprived of duck for months, c'est divin! Served with a side of mesclun salad, this was Yeast's answer to the kopitiam tan chi, right down to the runny yolks.

A jar of chocolate sablés (a kind of shortbread) was brought to our table ― oh, the, heady, heavy aroma! Sadly, near-full bellies prevented us from furthering our "studies".

Before leaving, we managed to say bon jour and merci to Gros, who was making chaussons aux pommes (apple turnovers) in the kitchen. Practised hands moved with precision and swiftness as the dough is rolled, filled with apple compote and apple slices cooked with vanilla, folded, sealed and swept onto a tray, ready for baking.

Okay, this was worth getting up on Sunday at 7am. Sated we may have been, we felt that our "education" wasn't complete. We'd only had a fraction of what their menu had. With the faint presence of smooth Lescure Beurre des Charentes in my mouth, the words began echoing again ... confit de canard, frisée aux lardons, gratin dauphinoise...

We have to come back. We have to bring our friends (so we can order more). We might even start learning French. Because for the life of me I can't bring myself to call this place a "bakery".

---

Yeast Bistronomy

24G, Jalan Telawi 2
Bangsar Baru
59100 Kuala Lumpur

Pork-free

Tue-Sun: 8am till late

Closed on Mondays

+603-2282 0118

enquiries@yeastbistronomy.com

Web site | Facebook page