Some Things You Can't Put Up With

At first I wrote this for the blog, but then mulled sending this to The Star. It ended up in The Malaysian Insider because of the number of links in the piece, which made it (a little) more suitable for an online medium and I couldn't wait till Sunday.

Silly reasons, maybe. Probably as silly as that letter I'm responding to.

If he is from Penang, Mr Fed-up's small-minded meanness demeans my home state more than the parachuted outsiders and imports. Penang has always been a cosmopolitan place, and the Festival is but part of the continuation of George Town's rich history.

(...not saying that other places are any less cosmopolitan or poor in history...)

Fixed the second line in this version; some bits I should've removed after shifting some paragraphs got left behind. My apologies.

The quote marks, however, were deliberate; I've spent so much time out of Penang I'm not sure I can technically call myself a Penangite anymore...

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From one 'Penangite' to another

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 06 December 2012

I was reading about the recently concluded Hay Festival of Literature and Arts in the Bangla Academy at Dhaka and the protesters who felt the event, which focuses on English literature, shouldn't be hosted at the venue.

Though the protesters in Bangladesh had reason to object, the planners of Hay in Dhaka:

"...went to great lengths to ensure due homage to local culture and history, as the opening ceremony presented classical Indian dances performed to Bangla poems, and ended with a jatra, a form of folk dance-drama. Out of 41 panels, at least 15 were in Bangla, and the stage was taken by four times as many Bangladeshi writers as foreign ones. The Bangla panels found equal room for new poets, like Trimita Chakma, who writes in the minority Chakma language. And the event marked the time at Hay that women outnumbered men on stage."

Closer to home, there's the Singapore Writers Festival, which began in 1986. Before anybody starts talking up the lack of local culture there, just look at these names.

Which is probably why I felt the podcast about the George Town Literary Festival devoted too much time on the grouses of an allegedly "fed-up Penangite".

The irate letter he sent to The Star complains about the festival not featuring any Georgetown talent, and how the event was dominated by imports from outstation and overseas.

"How long do you think Penangites are going to put up with these so-called George Town Festivals that have got nothing to do with the real history, culture and people of Penang?" he asks in the end.

As I understand it, a "George Town Literary Festival" is "a lit fest held in George Town", not "a lit fest about George Town." I doubt the Singapore Writers Fest would be as fun or exciting if it were held in the spirit of the latter definition.

I'm from George Town, and though I rarely go back, I feel pretty confident about my hometown's quaint little charms, street food and whatnot. So it's a great place for a lit fest, next to Ipoh maybe.

To me, this hang-up about the richness and significance of our culture blinds us to other important stuff. For one, many Malaysians are, I think, more acquainted with foreign writers, so an event that gets foreign and local writers together is a treat, to say the least.

Another important aspect of our culture we're so fond of hyping up is our hospitality. It's not just what you got, but also how you present it to your guests that keeps them coming back. That emotionless Singapore can host a bigger better lit fest than we can, even with a two-decade head-start, makes you wonder.

To see this cloying display of petty, insecure, condescending self-righteousness from someone who calls himself a Penangite is dispiriting. I wouldn't want him on the organising committee of any cultural event wherever, whenever.

I'm more embarrassed by how many Penangites, including myself, seem to be less interested in contributing to running a lit fest than attending one. I'm much less embarrassed about the "parachuted" outsiders and foreign imports that ran the show. I'll put up with anyone who cares enough to do what is currently a thankless, exhausting job.

I don't believe that that Penang-based poet is "Fed-up Penangite". If he declined an invitation to the festival, writing that letter afterwards would be an incredibly galling thing to do. By the way: that DIVA thing appears to be for real.

A more plausible reason for the letter can possibly be inferred from its first line: "While constantly preaching that the state always puts Penang and Penangites first, in practice it is quite the opposite."

I wouldn't even call this letter a cheap shot. And why spoil it for those who hope the George Town Lit Fest will one day become something that rivals the one in, say, Singapore or Ubud?

When that day comes, or maybe — maybe — next year, I'll be happy to parachute in, even if it's just to wash the wine glasses after the party. You fed-up Penangites, stay out of my way.

This Beautiful And Caffeinated World

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 22 November 2012


I bought this book with the hope of learning all that's interesting about coffee.

I wish it had been written in an interesting way.

Mark Pendergrast's encyclopaedic and scholarly Uncommon Grounds packs a lot of history, geography, a bit of chemistry and assorted trivia in what reads like a memoir of the black brew, complete with illustrations, ad posters, photos and graphical material.

From the fabled tales of its discovery to the rise of the "third wave", coffee has played a bigger part in our modern history than even the most caffeine-literate among us would dare to imagine. Real wars, trade wars, gender wars, civil wars, ad wars, and the colourful characters that pioneered the early coffee trends.

Even sex was part of this rich history. One legend says a Lt. Col. Francisco de Melo Palheta from Brazil charmed a few coffee seedlings from the First Lady of French Guiana in the 18th century. Today, Brazil is considered the world's largest producer of coffee.


Factually voluminous
Points of interest in this book include:

•  Clash of civilisations. Over 400 years ago, in a bid to ban what was then also known as a "Muslim drink", Pope Clement VIII was given a taste of coffee, and was hooked. He reputedly said he'd baptise the "delicious" drink to make it "a truly Christian beverage." Thank goodness there was no Internet or social media back then, or history might have been different.

•  Kopitiams in England. In the 1700, coffee houses were also called "penny universities". Over a one-penny cup of coffee, one can listen in on discussions that could go on for hours. The topics varied according to the clientèle, and no two coffeehouses served the same group, apparently. Nowadays, coffeehouses can be so noisy, you can barely hear yourself speak. And good luck trying to get a cuppa for a penny.

•  Yankees once knew squat about coffee. For a long time, it seems nobody in the US knew how to properly select, roast and brew the beans. Nor did they know or learn to love the taste of pure coffee. What they added to 'improve' the flavour chills the blood. A partial list (around the 1880s) includes such adulterants as chicory, chrysanthemum seeds, coal ashes, dog biscuits, malt, parsnips, rice, sawdust, wheat and wood chips. One's glad they got much better since then.

•  Coffee substitutes. With all the things used to adulterate coffee around that time, small wonder it made some people sick. In 1895 businessman Charles William Post came up with a 'healthier' substitute. Post was also a savvy marketeer of his roasted cereal coffee substitute, "Postum", using ads that struck a chord with his audience. Ironically, Post also drank coffee, which may or may not have stressed him out or driven him to suicide.

•  Cupping was a guy sport, until... Erna Knutsen was probably the first female ever to enter the male-dominated cupping room, and became a specialist in high-end coffee beans. She also gave the name "specialty coffee" to her niche. The term appeared in the Tea & Coffee Trade Journal in 1974.

•  Beans in one basket? Bad idea. As a major producer of coffee, the effects of frost on Brazil's coffee crop is carefully watched. Substantial crop damage means higher prices. But as this slack is taken up by countries such as Vietnam, there's the risk of a coffee glut instead.

If Uncommon Grounds were sampled like a coffee, one notices almost immediately a distinct academic dryness that registers heavily on the senses with just the slightest touch of fruitiness. Very little of the blurbed wit is there, except for the footnotes which elicit the briefest of sparkles before dissipating completely. What comes on most strongly are the pungent earthy notes of the deepest sun-deprived alcoves of a library or archival hall.

The author appears not to take sides or present a skewed point of view, hence the neutral, uninteresting tone which makes going from cover to cover almost impossible. Interesting it may be, all that socio-politico-economic stuff just flew over my head, putting me - ironically - to sleep after a couple of chapters' worth. These parts deserve a revisit when the mind is more lucid.

But you'll learn lots of stuff about coffee, like how instant coffee is made. I'm now more determined than ever to avoid it, unless it's the finer brands and only when making milkshakey novelty coffee drinks at home.


A bitter brew for some

That blood had been spilled over coffee may astonish some. "Blood coffee" has been around for a while; Pendergrast quotes the example of Idi Amin, who financed his reign of terror with profits from Ugandan coffee exports. A news report spotlights criminal raids on Kenyan coffee farms.

But consider this: A news report cites the International Coffee Organisation (ICO) as saying: "The value of total exports in calendar year 2011 is currently forecast at $23.5 billion for a total volume of 102.4 million bags compared to US$16.7 billion for a volume of 96.8 million bags in 2010." Globally, over two billion cups are drunk every day, most of that in developed nations.

In short, coffee is big business. Pendergrast once said that it's the second most valuable legally exported commodity in the world after oil, a statement I first heard in what I think is the 2005 documentary, Black Coffee. Though he seems to have disavowed that assertion in this edition, it's occasionally repeated on the web.

Considering how tightly coffee is woven into the fabric of our lifestyles, I don't think much that can be done at the moment about some of our money trickling down to these unsavoury enterprises. Let someone else take up that Facebook campaign.


Sip, don't gulp
Perhaps it's because my love and experience for coffee has yet to reach the rarefied heights inhabited by the caffeinated cognoscenti that I failed to see the finer points of Pendergrast's Uncommon Grounds.

There's so much in this book, it'll take a while for everything to percolate down to one's subconscious. I just know that I'll be sipping my next good cuppa Java, Brazilian or Colombian with more care.

So maybe I did it wrong. Maybe this book should be sampled in small doses and not gulped down with pinched nose like bitter medicine. It is as complex as the beverage it profiles. The chronological order of the chapters makes that easier but sometimes, one can get carried away and just turn page after page after page after....

...think I'll just stop here and wrap this up.

Even after internalising the whole book, one gets the sense that it's just scratching the surface of the bean. Coffee is still with us, and will continue to evolve along with - and shape - civilisation as we know it. That is, if climate change doesn't wipe out coffee first.


Time markers have been added to the "points of interest" in this version.

Photos taken at Artisan Roast TTDI at 4, Jalan Rahim Kajai 14, Taman Tun Dr Ismail, 60000 Kuala Lumpur and RAW Coffee @ Wisma Equity, 150 Jalan Ampang, 50450 Kuala Lumpur

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Uncommon Grounds

The History of Coffee and How It Transformed Our World

Mark Pendergrast
Basic Books (2010), revised edition
424 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-465-01836-9

Language Pollution And Le Mot Juste

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 24 October 2012


Some time ago, some linguistic Paul Revere came riding out of a foggy night, lantern in hand, yelling, "The Britishisms are here!"

Apparently, some common British terms are creeping into American English, thanks in part to British-made entertainment drifting from the other side of the pond.

I'd like to think the New York Times article was written with some tongue in the writer's cheek, but in case it isn't, here's the irascible and oft-quotable John Scalzi's classic response to it. Yeah, "silly, silly article."

Creeping foreign influences on language, I guess, is everybody's issue. Especially when one's country happens to be an important crossroads along key trade routes, part of or originator of an empire, or some combination of the afore-mentioned. The need to invent words in one's native language for some foreign object or concept can be seen as one attempt to keep things "local".

As it becomes easier for the world to creep (or barge) in, that gets harder.

During Japan's Meiji era, the country adopted the best of the West: banking, industry, defence and so on, a practice that continued well into the present day and made them a world economic power.

The case for borrowing and incorporating foreign words to speed up the enrichment of a language to make it more global, therefore, seems solid, especially when a bureaucracy is stretched beyond its limits by other needs to invent new words in a "native" language that convey exactly what an object, idea or concept is ― or come close to doing so.

Some nationalistic elements, however, claim this type of borrowing dilutes rather than enriches the "native: culture and identity. In Malaysia, for instance, these elements appear wilfully ignorant that certain words in the vocabulary have origins in Arabic, Chinese, Portuguese and Sanskrit, among others.

From the photo, it's tempting to assume that Gustave Flaubert's
(1821-1880) receding hairline is due to the pressures of finding
le mots justes. How stressful was it to write books such as
Madame Bovary?

To some extent, language is malleable, and the way some societies shape words and ideas to communicate better and more concisely is not too different from how our ancestors shaped stone and bone to hunt and fish. But there's always the urge to brand the tools and tool-making technique as one's own, fuelled by the need to forge a unique identity.

What got me thinking ― not too deeply, though ― about this was, for one, the complexity in editing several cookbooks. Some ingredients, such as "asam Gelugor", lack what I feel are more concise English translations or equivalents and, as such, one can only fall back on the Latin-based (ha) naming conventions invented by Carl Linnaeus.

I had a harder time when I wrote a piece on herbal teas. For instance, some sources can't agree on whether "beizicao" ― or "bukcheechou" in Cantonese ― should be written as 北子草 ("northerner grass" ― kinda) or 北紫草 ("northern purple grass"), or if the herb is known as such in mainland China.

More recently, a colleague had some trouble translating "tingle" into Malay. The given Malay equivalent in a bilingual dictionary is "(rasa) gelenyar", though I have no idea when it got in there. We settled on "gelenyar", more because there doesn't seem to be anything else.

While some may argue or lament that certain quarters are unnecessarily borrowing foreign words or substituting local words with imports, those processes shouldn't be seriously curtailed or stopped entirely for the sake of protecting the purity of one's mother tongue or national language.

As the feisty Erna Mahyuni stated in The Malaysian Insider, "You don't "protect" [the national language] by discouraging the mastery of other languages." She was commenting mainly on the state of Malay-to-English translation, but I feel that mastery of languages is also crucial in developing one's lexicon.

Many of us may not be as anal-retentive as Gustave Flaubert when it comes to the quest for the right word. However, a wordsmith's bag of tricks can never have too many items.

If the word fits, use it.

Not So Casual, Actually

While I'm relieved that it's finally published, I'm still averse to reading the many other reviews out there. Can any more be said about it?

The only other Rowling book I read was Tales of Beedle the Bard, which may have narrowed the scope of my review. I took only two days to read it and I didn't take notes and ... oh tidak, I spelled the name of the killing curse wrong!

That's why I'm jittery about sending pieces to other media outlets.

But what's this? Oh look, the Zagat 2013 guide for San Francsico and Bay Area restaurants is out.

I know I shouldn't, but ... I feel better.

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Not so casual, actually

Nothing supernatural in JK Rowling's latest, but expect skeletons in closets, ghosts from the past and voices from beyond the grave

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 03 October 2012


Just as in "Desperate Housewives", JK Rowling's first adult novel The Casual Vacancy, begins with a death.

In the case of the book, it is the death of Barry Fairbrother, the parish councillor of the fictional small town of Pagford. Thus begins the rush for the plum position in the town's administrative body left by the "casual vacancy".

A character in a famous video game once likened people to rugs: shake them a few times and marvel at the amount of dirt that comes out. In this case, the whole town is the rug and, good grief, the kinds of dirt that gets shaken out by the race for the councillor's seat.

With the mystique attached to Rowling's blockbusting Harry Potter series, many wondered if she could weave another similarly successful spell with more mundane items: small-town politics, class wars, and a tangled web of intrigue and deceit among the residents that comes to light in the wake of a councillor's sudden departure.

The novel was said to be partly based on Rowling's childhood in Gloucestershire, so there is, of course, no magic in this novel. But do expect skeletons in closets, ghosts from the past, and a voice from beyond the grave enabled by technology.

For someone who has completed the decade-long Homeric multi-volume epic about a boy wizard, it can be a Herculean effort to wrap up a story in one book. Though Rowling somehow manages to do so, it still feels overwritten.

The novel starts off painfully slow as the stage is set and some background is established. The Pagford council is currently saddled with the Fields, a high-maintenance (costly) adjacent housing area plagued by a host of social ills.

The council's snooty faction wants nothing to do with the Fields, while the altruists aligned with the deceased councillor want to preserve the status quo.

Free from child-safe restraints that held her back for over 10 years, Rowling lets it rip. She annoys the hell out of readers with the grim, distressing portrayal of a town's fraying social fabric. Still, the level of estrangement in some of the families is extreme.

The grown-ups and kids appear terribly self-absorbed in the beginning, lost in their own worries and pursuits.

It gets worse as the story ponderously rolls on, no thanks to Rowling's over-characterisation of the people and places. Bits of bracket-encased backstory and flashbacks are inserted between present dialogue and narrative, making for a really tedious and choppy read. Secret thoughts and schemes are laid bare for all to gawp at. And many characters swear a lot.

That one still finds it all believable is perhaps a sign of the times.

By the time you get close to page 400 you decide that the whole town and the novel are beyond salvation. But just when you're ready to hurl your Avada Kedavras, a tragedy occurs, followed by a miracle.

Bhai Kanhaiya, a guru admired by the mother of the town's Sikh family, once served water to wounded soldiers from both sides of a conflict because "the light of God shines from every soul".

Like the spirit of hope at the bottom of Pandora's box, the guru's compassion appears from within an unexpected source during the novel's darkest phase, initiating an incredible transformation.

No magic? The speed at which this happens, after about 460 pages of misery, gloom, racism, misogyny, drugs, domestic abuse and other choice examples of despicable human behaviour, is nothing short of magical. Some may find this incredulous, even with some suspension of disbelief. Kinder hearts, however, may feel differently.

So maybe Rowling did work a tiny bit of her familiar alchemy into a realistic Muggleland fable about the worst and best in people, albeit one hobbled by a large cast, too much detail, a glacial build-up to an abrupt finale (with Rihanna and Jay-Z? Seriously?) and, perhaps, by the pressure to repeat her multi-book success with a single-book one.

Whether that little bit of magic can cut through the hype and criticism remains to be seen; it's barely a week since its release, after all.

Disappointed fans, meanwhile, can take heart in the news that she's pondering a release a "director's cut" of several Harry Potter books and a possible return to the Potterverse.


A spelling error was corrected in this version.

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The Casual Vacancy

JK Rowling
Little, Brown (2012)
503 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-316-22853-4

Wayward Boey Comes Home (For a Short While)

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 02 August 2012

Months ago, a "local cartoonist" pitched his book of illustrated childhood stories in an e-mail. Of the samples he'd attached, the one about his grandma's sundry shop and the toys sold there stood out.

Long before the Internet and the smartphone, my childhood highlights included the sundry shop and the toys. The image made me sorry for all the times I pestered my dad for those cheap trinkets.

Though others have compared him to Lat, I'm loathe to draw any comparisons to the venerable cartoonist. However, I don't mind somebody coming close to knocking Dr M off the best-seller lists.

Since its debut in May this year, When I Was A Kid by Boey Cheeming has done well at local bookstores. The Singapore-born Johore artist turned out to be one of those Malaysian talents hidden overseas.

Boey enrolled at the Academy of Art University (AAU) in San Francisco where he took up Advertising but switched to Computer Animation. He eventually landed a job in Blizzard Entertainment, maker of such sleep-robbing and marriage-straining diversions as World of Warcraft, Diablo II, and Diablo III.


The art of cupping
Abroad, Boey's also more known for the more complicated designs on his hand-drawn styrofoam cups. He inks each cup straightaway; if he makes a mistake, he has to start over with a new one. Each design could take him a few hours to a few months to complete, depending on the complexity and the number of tries.

Boey Cheeming, photo by Matt Mitchell

Cups with more complicated designs can cost as much as four figures, but Boey feels they're worth it, considering the time and effort he spends on them. "These are originals; some artist sell prints for hundreds."

And forget about drafting the designs with pencils. "You can't use pencils on foam cups," says Boey. "The soft leads, 6Bs and up will make the surface "waterproof", making it hard for the [Sharpie's ink] to stick. And [soft leads] smudge easy when you try to erase. Erasing also charges up the foam cups (with static), which attracts lint easy, and when lint gets caught on the Sharpies, I have a whole new set of issues. Bleeding is one (the ink, that is). Leads like 2Bs are too hard, and will dig into the cups."

Nevertheless, he seems okay with what he calls his "first-stroke-is-your-last-stroke approach". "It makes things far more challenging," he explains, "and it makes you think and work on composing things in your head. That challenge is somewhat addictive and I think that is one of the draws of the cups that people don't see initially, but are surprised by later on."

He has begun venturing into paper cups, on which he can pencil, but it takes almost just as long to sketch a design. "The good thing with pencils though, is that it is forgiving, but that's about the only pro I know."


Drawing a bright future
Besides promoting his book, Boey's back in town to help promote art in Malaysia. He once wrote to Dr M - who has yet to reply - about promoting an "important", yet "underrated" subject which he believes drives the development of technology. "Everything in Star Wars has become a reality," he wrote, quoting his lecturer, "the lightsabers, lasers ... holograms..."

"I Am The One Who Knocks" by Boey Cheeming

From the stream of creative and technological output from Japan, one is convinced of this view. In fact, Boey also looks east in this regard, like Dr M; Boey's influences include the Japanese artist, ukiyo-e painter and printmaker Hokusai Katsushika (1760–1849).

Will Malaysia be a creative and technological powerhouse like Japan? Some may be sceptical, especially during these trying times, But Boey remain optimistic. "We have completely capable, intelligent individuals in our country," he says, "but we need a vision, and artists [can] provide it."

He speaks a bit more about his art, book and upcoming book tour below, and lets us in on his plans for the immediate future.

Your art was once described as "smacking mundane in the face" (which would make a great title). Is that part of what you set out to do? Even your incredibly simple journal entries, some of which convey lots with so little detail, appear to subscribe to this. Is that also one reason why you decided to make a book out of your childhood stories? Because you felt that something in them would click with readers?
The journal really started off because I went through a breakup after 8.5 years. She said things about me that were harsh, but held truth, and I wanted to document my day to day, so that when I look back many years from now, I would perhaps see if I changed for the better.

I didn't want a wordy blog. I wanted something that was easy to read and had a picture to accompany it. I thought that combo was necessary, because there are things I cannot express with pictures, and feelings I cannot express with words. I also wanted something that, whether read or not, won't change a thing (hence my handle "boyobsolete").

So the blog started off with a humble group of readers, about 20 per day. That number grew to a couple of hundred when my art on styrofoam cups went viral. Readers started to tell me that they were living vicariously through my mundane day to day.

It was insane to think that people cared about some stranger's life. I guess that's why there are so many crappy reality shows still around. So I thought, well if they like this stuff, they will most likely like stories about my childhood.

I notice that you don't Photoshop away the errors in some of your journal entries. How much of this is in line with your principle of "try to get it right the first time" that you also apply to your art?
I leave the cross-outs in, because it made it feel much more personal. I also didn't want to draw frames around each panel, because that would make it a comic, and a lot less "real". It's my journal. I cross things out. It can be messy. I don't want frames because I like to think outside boxes.

Wouldn't it be easier to create a template or a draft using pencil before inking each entry?
It won't be. If it was, I would've done it. I'm not lazy though, don't get me wrong. But there are things I just want done, ASAP. And all this drafting, inking stuff, that takes up way too much time and planning.

"...this book would be an insight to growing up in Asia, a reminder of their own childhood and their relationship with the people and the pets they grew up with." Well, "growing up in Asia" thirty-something years ago is different from what it is today, isn't it? What do you think that meant back then? What about now? How much have things changed?
I can't really compare it to how it's like growing up now, because I guess I'm no longer eight. But from my observation, kids don't run around, chase, play outdoors as much nowadays. I know this because the playground near where I live is now dilapidated, and overgrown with weed. The swings are unkept and rusty.

The last time I saw any kid around that area was maybe eight years ago. It makes me sad. That was where I hung out, and waited on my BMX for my neighbours Dennis and Henry to come out to play. We played there so much it was OUR territory. I didn't have a cellphone till I was 28, and when I was a kid, I had to use coins in a public phone to call my mom, if I wanted to meet her somewhere after school.

"Katsuro" by Boey Cheeming

When I Was a Kid began as a Kickstarter project. How did you go about getting it printed and distributed here in Malaysia?
I did it all myself. I went shopping for distributors forever, but no one gave me a shot. So I said, "Screw it, I'll print this myself." That's when I used Kickstarter.

But even when I was done putting the book together, and I took it around to publishers, they liked it, but not enough to want to publish it. They suggested I do the printing, and they will distribute. Meanwhile, I was also writing to all the book reviewers in Malaysia, and at the same time, I wrote a similar letter to MPH as well. I still had to be the publisher then, and MPH said they would distribute. The reason I went with MPH is because I knew about the reach. I grew up seeing them all over Singapore and Malaysia.

On my end, I knew I had something good (in the time of writing, less so after four years), because I went around Singapore and Malaysia, and I read a lot of local comics out there, and nothing really struck me as, "this is going to be hard to beat".

But what I feared was my choice of language in it. Having worked and lived in US for so long, I've adapted myself to the humour there and the freedom of speech attitude. I chose not to censor myself too much though, because I think I wanted it to be honest. Really really honest.

From your journal, I take it that your family is cool about the book, even though your mom didn't like you "talking rubbish" about her. Now that it's a best-seller, how do they feel?
My mom never meant it in a bad way. Throughout the entire book writing, I kept her in the loop of what's going in. She loved it. She would call me all the time, and it would be 15 seconds of just giggling on the phone, before even saying hello.

When can we expect a second volume of When I Was a Kid? Are there any plans to turn your journals into a book?
I've been working on Book Two, and I have been better at it, now that I've got experience from working on Book One. It should be less painful a process. If Book One was plate of excellent nasi lemak, Book 2 is straight-up sex. But, of course, that's completely subjective.

Journal-wise, it's been a plan to turn them into books since four years ago. I just never got around to it. I've been busy handling everything myself so far: the daily blogs, the cups, the book, setting up gallery shows and marketing my art, all while I was working a full-time job as a lead animator at Blizzard.

I think I read somewhere that you quit your day job (as an animator) to focus on your art and book. Isn't that kind of risky? Do you have a backup plan?
I don't. When you think about it, the only thing [risk] does is hold you back. With everything, there is a risk. You can get coffee on your way to work, spill it on your lap while driving and get into a tragic car accident.

It can be argued that people like simpler things, these days: short blog entries and articles, etc. You said you don't like reading long blog entries - kind of ironic, given the time you typically spend on a single cup art.
I see the cup and the blog as two different things. The cups, until now, are what brings me traffic and money. The blog is free. With the blog, I focus on storytelling, and I want to get the message across as efficiently as I can. The cups showcase my actual drawing ability. Plus, reading bores me. ...That's not to say I don't read. I love reading stuff, like National Geographic; just not stories, like Twilight.

Do you think this attention deficit affects artists/writers, especially those who prefer to craft detailed pieces? Do audiences have to know about what goes on behind the scenes at an artist's studio to better appreciate the final results?
Yes, with the cups especially. People look at the cups and think two things: "It's disposable, why do I want it?" and "It's how much again?"

Given the time I spend on [each cup], some up to three months because there is no initial sketching involved and what you see is the first and final stroke, US$1,400 for a cup suddenly seems too little, if you put yourself in my shoes.

I shoot videos to help people understand that when something seems easy, most of the time, it isn't. I've seen circus acts where people fly through the air, spin, and land on an elephant that's tip-toeing over molten lava, without breaking a sweat. Seems easy too. But there's a reason they say, "Please don't try this at home."

Any idea what we can expect from your book tour?
There will be talks about how I got to where I am, and the importance of following your dreams. I followed mine, knowing that there would be a chance I won't make much. But when you're passionate about something, you will work on it, and it will never seem like a chore. And when you are passionate about it, you will be good at it, and someone will take notice.

Will there be workshops, demos, motivational speeches, etc?
Yep, yep and yep.

What's the story behind the horse head? Will it be making a show here?
For my 34th birthday, I wanted something that I always wanted, but is completely useless.

Since I was born in the Year of the Horse, I thought, "why not?" Also, when I was a kid, I played a lot of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, and my character's name was also "Pegasus".

"Pegasus" should be a big hit at the Popular Bookfest (18-26 August 2012). I hear it is very noisy there, so I plan to get attention visually.

What's next after your tour, besides the book(s) you'll be working on?
I have a secret project I am working on that requires me to go back to the US. I'm designing a bicycle, and it will be super badass. I am looking for investors and partners now. If the bike project doesn't take off, I WILL have the coolest bicycle, in California.


Meet Boey Cheeming at the following venues: MPH, 1 Utama Shopping Centre (Saturday 11 August, 2.00 - 3.00pm); Popular BookFest, KL Convention Centre (Saturday 18 August, 6.00 - 6.45pm and Tuesday 21 August, 5.00 - 5.45pm); Kinokuniya, KLCC (Sunday 26 August, 3.00 - 4.00pm); Borders, The Curve (Saturday 08 September, 3.00 - 4.00pm); Popular, IPC Shopping Centre (Sunday 09 September, 2.00 - 3.00pm); and MPH, Johor Bahru City Square (Saturday 15 September, 3.00 - 4.00pm).

Information on his book can be found here and here.

Lovingly Lardcore

Does this need a lengthy preamble? No.

Did the food we eat here look impressive? Not really.

But the proof is in the piggy, and this place delivered.

Unfortunately, me and my makan companion are also struggling with a DIY exercise regime, so we can't come here as often as, say, twice a month. A (couple of) future visits is on the cards, though.

And I hope they bring back the Porksperity Burger or whatever it's called on one of those visits.

---

Hog hunt

"Love, peace and bacon grease"? Yes, please, you'll say with ease.

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 18 July 2012

"When's your last order?" Melody asked over the phone. "2:30pm? Great, thanks!"

Thank goodness.

"It's on the road leading to Sumika," Melody had said earlier, en route to The Hungry Hog, the latest pork place we'd heard about. Melody had sung praises about the dishes there, but she didn't have bothered.

Simple yet scrumptious Bacon Pasta (left) and some
piggy-themed décor at The Hungry Hog

She had me at "bacon", as usual. To be more precise, "bacon ice cream".

Turns out the place was not on the road leading to Sumika, the Japanese-owned yakitori joint at SS15 we'd visited long ago. While enduring a brief jam at a busy intersection, Melody called her friend Sam, who supplied us with The Hungry Hog's address and phone number, along with directions.

Convinced we would never find parking nearby, I pulled over at a spot which we'd later learn was about three blocks away from our late lunch.

"Look on the bright side," Melody advised as we trudged towards our destination, but all I noticed were the score or so of empty sunlit parking lots we could've chosen from that were much nearer.

On some days, Melody is unreliable when it comes to directions.

Meat may be murder, but it's sure tasty. Suck it up, PETA.

From outside, The Hungry Hog didn't stand out from the other buildings in the industrial-zone neighbourhood; the sign looked more appropriate for a print shop than a purveyor of pork.

The interior was a mostly sterile white. Touches of whimsy include various porcine figurines and framed slogans: "Put a pork in it"; "Meat is murder", followed by "Tasty, tasty murder" in fine print; and "Love, peace & bacon grease".

Loosen your belts for the BELT Sandwich

Bacon grease? Yes, please, I thought with ease. To Melody's shock, I ordered two dishes, sans fries. If I'm going to walk away with some fat, might as well be a substantial amount of it. Though I've heard (mostly) nice things about their pork ribs and the bangers-and-mash, I didn't feel like anything Flintstonian that day. I scanned the other sections in the menu.

I couldn't tell what kind of the bread they use in the BELT (Bacon, Eggs, Lettuce and Tomato) Sandwich, but it was great and just the right size. Slices of bacon, ham, greens and chopped-up hardboiled egg is great for any occasion. Minus the fries, the side of salad looked huge.

The "Three Little Pigs" Burger sure looks... kinda like
something Ultraman would fight

My other order of the Three Little Pigs Burger may have been a lapse in judgement (I have had too many fine-dining burgers this year already), but one that I didn't regret. "Three types of 'pig'": bacon, ham and juicy pork patty harmonised with the lettuce, cheese and layer of caramelised onion.

One problem - the height - was solved with a firm press of the hand before I dug in. The sweetness of the caramelised onions made it easier to handle the three-pork medley. Tasty, tasty murder.

I loved my sandwich and burger, but Melody's Bacon Pasta was surprising. A barebones aglio olio-type dish with garlic, cili padi and bacon slices was delightfully, deliciously spicy and savoury.

Okay, so it's not quite the bacon sundae in the US
I'd heard about, but still delicious

Melody felt there was too much pasta, however, so she wanted to pack the rest for dinner. I suggested packing it in my stomach, but she put her foot down, reducing me to a mewling wreck. I only had one mouthful....

Dessert came to the rescue: a vanilla ice cream studded with bits of crunchy bacon and drizzled with honey. Trying to taste the bacon with the ice cream was difficult, but the combination worked somehow. I'll know what to add to ice cream, next time, if I'm out of nuts.

Along with all the bacon already in my belly, a sense of contentment set in. Feels like heaven, like-

"...para, para, paradise..." crooned Chris Martin of Coldplay through the sound system. "...para, para, paradise..."

Which was where my mind began drifting to, when a noise made me turn around. A young couple, probably college students, had arrived about 15 minutes after the last order time of 2:30pm, and the girl berated the boy for being late, all the way out the door.

Melody and I looked at each other. "Wow," she said. "That could've been us."

Indeed.

Sam saved our bacon that Saturday afternoon. I can think of only one way to repay her.

---

The Hungry Hog

71, Jalan SS15/4C
47500 Subang Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Love And Consequences

Looking at it, you wouldn't know that it has been heavily edited several times.

I'd wanted to put in more, but that would've given the piece a bias. So I had others look at it. They got rid of the oddly shaped, rough-edged parts.

Stunned as I was by what this girl did, I also wondered whether certain parties would use this case to highlight the 'dangers of Facebook' and push on with more efforts to combat 'online filth' and curb Internet abuse. This, in light of Facebook mulling whether it should let kids in - and why this could be a very bad idea.

What I also left out was that, for the 2009-10 period, Hispanic students made up the largest percentage (48.6%) of the total number of students, more than half of which were considered economically disadvantaged. One could, with some more reading, see that unwanted pregnancies and births and STD transmissions would occur more frequently within this group.

I'm no education or health expert. Nor do I have my own children. But I'm still frustrated and angry that, when it comes to the safety and sexual health of the young, we seemed to have either taken the hardline approach or dropped the ball entirely. So what if today's youngsters have access to more information? Smarter doesn't necessarily mean wiser.

But with issues, you often don't know what to keep and what to leave out - and when to stop.

Guess that's why I write mostly about books these days. At least a book has a beginning and an end. Issues can go on forever.

---

Love and consequences

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 11 June 2012

"We're in love. I don't think what I did was wrong. How can it be when it is something personal between the two of us?" So said a 12- or 13-year-old girl who had slept with her 16-year-old Facebook boyfriend. Both families found out, and they made the news.

"She later confessed to the relationship ... but we decided to let it go," said the girl's brother. "They are still young and we did not want them to get into trouble with the law." The girl's family reportedly went to the press "to create awareness on what is happening to our youths these days."

I'm hoping at least one person was misquoted here.

Sex with a minor is statutory rape, a crime. If the family wanted no trouble, going to the press may not be a good idea. The girl's excuse that who she's in love with is a "personal thing" and that it's not "wrong" is an archetypal "liberal" defence conservatives love to tear to bits.


School of hard knocks
For those with a tendency to police morality, sexuality is low-hanging fruit: the youth's loose morals are caused by Hollywood, the Internet, etc. It is never our fault; there's a demon for everything. We're just doing what our good books are teaching us, like what they're doing in the US with what some call the "war on women".

The US state of Texas, which has among the highest teen pregnancy rates in the country, persistently pushes abstinence-only sex education programmes in schools while seemingly ignoring other aspects of sex ed such as contraception. This only makes sense if, according to Amanda Marcotte, the idea is to let teens deal with the consequences of premarital sex.

"At a certain point, you have to stop assuming it's an accident when you see politicians who, when given the choice between improving sexual health outcomes and punishing girls for sex, always choose the latter," she writes in Slate's XXFactor blog. The 2009-2010 student enrolment figures for Texas says there are over 1.2 million teenage high school students. Let's not forget about the teens who are not in school.

High teen pregnancy rates means a lot of young moms, and there are concerns about the state's "ability to rear, educate, and prepare all the little Texans" for their role in society.

Speaking of which...


Be fruitful and... overpopulate?
There were about 60 million Filipinos in 1990. That number went up about 50% in the last two decades or so. And it looks like its government is hard-pressed to accommodate the new arrivals - on top of its economic woes, corruption and sectarian tensions. Still, the topic of contraception is virtually taboo in the Philippines, where its bishops feel almost as if it's worse than murder. An attempt to introduce state-sponsored birth control measures last year was shot down.

"It's not the business of government to be promoting contraceptive devices," said Bishop Teodoro Bacani, according to the BBC. "It's like the government saying it will pass a law which will fund the promotion of pork-eating among the Muslims. Can you imagine what an uproar there would be among the Muslim population?"

Not all Filipinos agree with the good bishop. "I used to believe in the Church's teachings about having lots of children," said Clarita, a mother of ten kids, in the same BBC report. "But now I really think we should have family planning."

While it may not be their intent to punish rampant sexual behaviour, the Filipino clergy's intransigence on birth control sounds selfish, especially when the burden of the country's growing population is being borne by a state that still has no solutions to its all too earthly problems.


It's more than personal
Does the girl know what love is? I'm not sure, especially when adults can't figure it out, either. However, it takes more than a necklace or a hymen to seal a relationship, and 'taking it further' implies shared responsibilities in the future, as well as consequences should the relationship fail.

Sadly, of all the ways to convey this to our children, we seem to be taking the bully pulpit route: "Sex is bad, so don't do it." If that fails, blame the Internet, Lady Gaga and LGBT advocates, and blame the girl (while the boy slinks away unpunished), especially if she is pregnant or dumps the baby.

Could it be that youngsters aren't listening because we've stopped talking to them? What happened to plans for sex ed classes in our schools? Is that still on, or was the ball dropped due to complaints from concerned parents or teachers' fears?

We sure as hell need to start talking to them, like the adults we are, like the adults they will become.

And if they screw up anyway, throw the book at them.

When Labels Don't Stick

I was writing something else and this is what emerged. Originally meant for one of my end-of-week listicles, it just kept stretching and stretching... until I ran out of steam.

---

When labels don't stick

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 06 June 2012

Some time ago, Stephen Colbert's "Maurice Sendak-inspired" I Am a Pole (And So Can You) reached the top of the New York Times' list of best-selling "Advice, How-to, Miscellaneous" books. It also made Publisher's Weekly's list of best non-fiction.

Colbert is tickled. "A pole can't give you advice, it's pure fantasy," he cracked.

Yes, advice from a comedian on reaching new heights in life and work while staying on the straight and narrow? Tall order for a satirical book about a cartoon pole that's searching for a purpose in life - and bears a striking resemblance to the author. But maybe it'll rise to the occasion - who knows?


If the pigeonhole fits
Classification of titles has been a headache for anyone who deals with books and maybe movies and music. Particularly books, because every tome that's published has to have its cataloguing-in-publication (CiP) data registered with the respective countries' national libraries. Even this system isn't perfect, either.

Bookstores categorise books differently, too. At one bookstore's "Children's" section, some tween romance and Twilight-esque YA titles appear to be lumped together with picture books and Geronimo Stilton.

And what happens when it turns out that part or all of a non-fiction title was fabricated or plagiarised by the author? Should Greg Mortenson's books be shifted to the "Fiction" shelves or a new "Embellished Non-Fiction" corner?

Is it that hard to add a "Tween" or "Young Adult" category into the database? It could be, given the complexity in defining the database structure and all the possible attributes a book can have. But, Stephen Colbert... isn't it obvious that Pole belongs in the "Humour" section, or is there something I'm missing?


Not quite birds of a feather
With thousands of books published each year, bookstores, publishers and literary agents are hard-pressed to make their clients' books stand out of the sea of print, and we're not even adding e-books into the equation yet. So it makes sense for booksellers to take aim at specific demographics - a cheaper, more effective way of marketing. Hence, the need for genres.

Author Karen B Nelson suggests that readers who go for specific genres rely on this kind of pigeonholing to help them choose their reads, based on their needs and expectations. She also quotes English professor Dr Timothy Spurgin of Lawrence University, Wisconsin as saying that "as writers have become more and more interested in crossing boundaries and mixing genres, publishers and booksellers seem to have grown more and more determined to use genres as marketing devices."

But then, she asks, "...what about crossover books – the ones that could just as easily be classified in two distinct genres? Or those that shatter the whole idea of what a genre is supposed to be?"

Nelson recognises that crossovers are "a marketing department's nightmare, and every librarian's headache." The need for pigeonholing also affects authors. Emily St. John Mandel, author of The Lola Quartet, had some trouble defining it. She'd tried calling it "noir", which is usually associated with hard-boiled detectives, but what she was trying to do was literary fiction, with the usual trappings of noir.

"I think of noir as fiction infused with a certain sense of style," Mandel writes, "a certain darkness, an understanding of the essential unfairness and indifference of the world — this mysterious place we find ourselves in wherein terrible things happen to good people for no discernible reason — and an understanding that it's necessary to go on and continue to be honourable regardless." But does noir always have to be crime fiction?

And does sci-fi always have to entertain? Many tend to think so. But with productions such as Avatar, one can't be sure. Critics have pointed out how the film is but another 'noble savage vs civilised brute' trope. Some found the film entertaining but may chafe at the alleged morals spliced between the frames. And I believe that there's even a lesson in E.T. somewhere.

Writing in the Guardian, sci-fi writer Damien Walter argues that writers of what he calls "fantastika" with a more critical understanding of their genre create better, (maybe) multilayered stories than those who, I might hazard, merely pull things out of their hats.

One should note that Colbert and fellow funnyman and fake news commentator Jon Stewart are supposed to be entertaining, but because they peel open each news clip and point out the funny, misleading or outright lying bits in the process, they appear more credible than the news agencies themselves. Even the New York Times once pondered putting Stewart in the same league as the likes of Walter Cronkite.

So perhaps Mandel's interpretations and musings over noir may help her come up with something better, a sort of "literary noir". Which may not be a bad thing. Writing is, among other things, an art, and the tendency to stick to well-defined borders would make for a boring and sterile pool of literature.

In the end, what probably matters most to the reader is whether he'll enjoy the book, as Nelson suggests. And maybe the price tag.

Chasing Camels On The Karakoram Highway

This post had been sitting as a draft copy for about three weeks. Someone suggested giving this to The Malaysian Insider, so I did. Once again, TMI has been very kind.

Also, special thanks to an ex-colleague who introduced me to this band via a copy of their first album, Into... AkashA, back in... nuts, I can't remember when. ...I didn't do anything with that album back then, so I'm glad I could do something for this album now.

---

Chasing camels on the Karakoram Highway
first published in The Malaysian Insider, 06 April 2012


When I heard it, my jaw dropped. "Returned?"

"Cannot sell, so the boss said, 'Return them'," said the store assistant who looked overqualified for his position. With the beard, glasses and ponytail he might as well be the store's walking catalogue and go-to guy... he probably is.

"I put them everywhere," he added. "But cannot sell." His reply was no comfort.

In the end, it was at Rock Corner, The Gardens that I found a copy of AkashA's Karakoram Highway, going for RM38.90 each.

AkashA's Karakoram Highway, from Rock Corner, The Gardens.
Shop at Rock Corner for all your musical needs.

My appetite for things AkashA began from a borrowed CD, what I believe was their first commercial CD, Into... AkashA. The promise of more of such delights as "Bourbon Lassi", "Esperanto", "Brickfields Blues" and "Ants in My Turban" in the next then-rumoured second album were whetted further by a YouTube sampling of a lively number called "Ipoh Hor Fun".

Until my first slurp of "Bourbon Lassi", I didn't think a sitar could stand in for a sape or a gu zheng, or even fit into a blues band or an Irish ensemble a la Riverdance. It just works.

How many of you who've seen Amir Muhammad's Malaysian Gods were stunned by the Indian fellow playing local rock group Search's "Isabella" on an er hu? That's what AkashA does. Nowadays some of my better writings were done under the influence of this group's piquant and sometimes playful compositions.

Named for the highest paved cross-border road in the world, the album's contents represent fine examples of cross-culture interaction facilitated by its namesake, which traces part of the ancient Silk Road.

Come in - a cross-cultural musical adventure awaits

The CD starts with the fast-paced, jaunty "Chasing the Camel" which sends the listener on such a pursuit from 00:01. The composition switches fluidly between Middle Eastern and Indian, punctuated with violin solos by musical wunderkind Wang Lee-Hom. Just as animated is the title track, which sends one careening across a dusty highway that snakes along mountain ridges on a packed, rickety bus ... are those deftly plucked notes coming from the roof?

Similar out-of-body experiences may happen with the beguilingly mystical "Qawali Dhun" or the soulful Sarawak-inspired "Santubong". The festive "Bafana Bafana", with the shrill of what sounds like a vuvuzela at the beginning and the end of the track, conjures a carnival-like celebration of football's thrills and spills; the track is named after the Zulu epithet for the South African football team. "Zapin Untuk Mariam" and "Bison Blues", meanwhile, are the guys' trademark nods to the respective musical genres. "Rondo Kirwani" didn't quite work for me, though.

I was also a bit disappointed that the unmistakably Chinese "Ipoh Hor Fun" wasn't carried by a whole sitar solo like in the YouTube video, but the feeling disappears quickly and by the third repeat, who cares? Every time I play it, it's Chinese New Year, Chap Goh Meh and the Mooncake Festival all over again. ...Is anybody hungry?

No sophomore slump here. AkashA still delivers the goods - better than FedEx even. And you come away thinking, maybe, you can make an Ipoh hor fun with an Indian accent, or a real bourbon lassi.

"...cannot sell..."

The words of the assistant at the store which shall never be named still rings in my head. It stings. Like the pain a dedicated, OCD single origin coffee grower feels as he watches customers add sugar (gasp!) and milk/cream/soy (hrrk!) to his product ... and puts it on ice (Medic!).

It's a paradox isn't it? The money we throw at foreign acts who are already famous, making millions or both could be used to further the dreams of our own home acts who really, really need our help.

But perhaps it's only after wandering in the wilderness for a while that we develop an appreciation for what we have back home.

...Now, if you'll excuse me, gotta go. The "Karakoram Highway" beckons.

Ruby Red Reads

I had the fortune of proofing Adibah Amin's As I Was Passing I and II and Glimpses for e-publication several weeks ago. A lot of reading, which has left me mentally tapped (on top of a much less interesting manuscript that followed).

The three volumes were mostly compiled from bite-sized articles from her old column in the New Straits Times, "As I Was Passing", written under the pen name Sri Delima (the glimmer of a ruby). Put together, the three books are a love letter to Malaysia, Malaysians and Malaysiana.

Books by Adibah Amin: As I Was Passing Volumes I and II,
and Glimpses: Cameos of Malaysian Life

Her anecdotal essays, crisp and humorous, open windows into the heart and soul of this country, past and present. She dissects the Malaysian psyche and its quirks and idiosyncrasies with relish and abandonment, poking fun at her subjects with affection not unlike an old teacher (which she is) putting ex-students in their place with fond reminiscences of misadventures and mischief past. Through it all, she displays a keen sense for the foibles of others and a keener sense of humour about her own follies.

The existence of text scanning errors warranted a line-by-line examination, which meant I had to read the books for errors. That it took longer than necessary to complete the tasks had little to do with the number of errors, however. And there weren't many to begin with.

The writing surprised me. So succinct, so simple! Her economy of words and vocabulary enhanced the effect she, perhaps, didn't consciously try to achieve.

One book. Just one of her books. Any one. Pick it up and read, really read it. Don't you dare skim or 'flip through' the pages.

Do this, and I can guarantee that all your writerly aspirations will be consigned to a deep, dark grave.

The angles! The succinctness in the storytelling! The efficient exposition of Malaysian cultures, fables and foibles. The twang of your heartstrings as something familiar is so vividly described, before the pang that follows when you realise that it's from a past you can never return to.

What's her secret? Probably an eventful life well-lived, well-observed and well-told, her pen sharpened and coloured by years of experience.

(That I'm fumbling over this quasi-review/commentary of her work just deepens the hurt.)

You will put the book down, stumble to your bed like walking through deep water, slowly slither into the sheets and curl up in there and waste away, like your dreams of the next great Malaysian novel or short story collection.

Everything you've ever written, every literary trick, every commercial gimmick you've employed in your middling attempts to tug at heartstrings or hit a nerve, your personal collection of painstakingly compiled library obscure words and catchphrases... all rubbish, irrelevant, old hat. Before Sri Delima's innate touch in conveying so much with so little, you are but the emperor with his 'new' clothes.

Above all, you will break all your pens and swear never to pick one up again - not even to edit or mark papers.

Forget about being the next doyen/doyenne of Malaysiana. Somebody had done it, in a way the likes of which will probably never be seen again for a long, long time.

(So shoo, shoo, go and write about something else. Vampires, maybe?)

...Okay, maybe there are a few things that I didn't like. For one, she has her own collection of stockphrases. Instead of "Tom, Dick and Harry", she uses "the Azmis, the Angs and the Arumugams" (pretty good alliteration, actually). Certain anecdotes are replayed. And the aliases: "EF"? "GH"? Invent some names, for crying out loud! And every repeated "ants won't die in her tread" (a supposedly Malay description of supreme feminine gentleness) urged me further and further into a formicidal rage.

...Okay, I was just nitpicking back there. Maybe she does struggle to come up with a topic and meet deadlines - late nights and all that (she hints at that in one of her books but I can't remember which one). And after all, is it not the wont of column writers to repeat certain words, especially when the time between columns is long enough that the repetition is not noticeable?

With these 'glimpses' into our past, present and psyches, Adibah Amin has managed to capture the essence of who we are and what Malaysia is, and more (wow, look at me pile on the book review tropes).

We want to climb trees and steal fruit, ride bicycles through villages (and scare some chickens), sit through bangsawan and dondang sayang performances and play games that require more than just two fingers.

We long for Malaysian hawker favourites the way they used to be made; the sights, smells, sounds and tastes of our hometowns; the clamour in a kin-packed house, the market, and a village feast.

We yearn for the days when our neighbours were almost like family, when we could laugh at ourselves and toss jokes without causing offence, when those who asked for help really needed it - not like these days when crooks and conmen take advantage of the good Samaritan in you.

But you probably won't feel like hiring maids. You'll be wary of polite but cash-strapped "foreigners." And the plight of the young couple, held hostage by tradition and bossy relatives who rarely visit, will infuriate anyone. "Let them hold their simple wedding ceremony! Big dos are expensive these days. You rant, rave and sulk about being defaced with charcoal when you see them maybe once a year or so, flapping your lips so freely when it's not your money, your children. What nerve! What gall!"

...She's good. They just don't make writers like that anymore.

Sadly, Cikgu Adibah has stopped writing entirely since suffering a stroke several years ago. I can't imagine what she feels about the current state of this country... nobody needs that kind of stress.

And when the glimmer of a certain ruby finally fades away, the loss of a warmer, friendlier and more innocent era and the voices of that time so well preserved in these books will be more keenly felt than before.


This piece was later published in The Malaysian Insider, 16 March 2012. I was surprised they accepted the submission. Many thanks to The Malaysian Insider.

I know, I'm not supposed to shill for books published by my employers, but these are some of the best reads I've seen in a while.

Besides: E-book versions of Adibah Amin's As I Was Passing Volumes I and II and Glimpses: Cameos of Malaysian Life will be out soon. Details to come.

---

As I Was Passing

Adibah Amin
MPH Group Publishing (2007)
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-983-3698-06-6

Buy from MPHOnline.com

As I Was Passing II

Adibah Amin
MPH Group Publishing (2007)
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-983-3698-08-0

Buy from MPHOnline.com

Glimpses

Cameos of Malaysian Life

Adibah Amin
MPH Group Publishing (2008)
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-983-3698-58-5

Buy from MPHOnline.com

Me, Bookstore Snob? ...Yes

This came about several days late, mainly because I was wondering if I could word the whole thing better. I'm still wondering about it now. Why send this to TMI? Well, thought I'd give it a shot.

I've included a couple of other links related to the story that I forgot about in the text below. The Internet reacted a lot faster than I thought to the Slate article.

---

Happy to be a bookstore snob
first published in The Malaysian Insider, 20 December 2011


"Independent bookstores are expensive, inefficient and don't deserve to be saved."

This snappy headline and the Slate article it was associated with nearly made a bookstore manager cry.

Jen Campbell, who runs the Ripping Yarns bookstore in the UK, is planning a series of bookstore-related articles in response to said piece by Slate's resident tech geek Farhad Manjoo.

What might have got Manjoo's goat was a New York Times article by Richard Russo (a little daisy chain going on here, methinks) that pivots the pro-indie bookstore/anti-Amazon argument on the notion that indies are bastions of literary culture, something which Amazon does nothing to promote.

Though he has criticised some of Amazon's allegedly egregious business practices, Manjoo argues that the company has done more for the literary culture than, perhaps, indie bookstores, which he considers "...the least efficient, least user-friendly, and most mistakenly mythologised local establishments you can find."

And he adds that although Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos is "an easy guy to hate... if you're a novelist - not to mention a reader, a book publisher, or anyone else who cares about a vibrant book industry - you should thank him for crushing that precious indie on the corner."

It's quite an interesting piece, and Manjoo makes some cogent points. He's also right about other aspects of bookstore snobbery. Bookstore browsing or haunting, in my case, is a meditative experience, a source of comfort (or an escape) in bad times. Surrounded by shelves and shelves of books, I feel calm. Some days, being in a bookshop makes me want to write.

But his overall argument for Amazon as a better driver of literary culture reminds me of a news report back home that equates a high-income/knowledge country as one that publishes 27,000 books a year.

"Buy more books," they said. We are, judging from the crowds at a warehouse sale I attended months back. But books are meant to be read; how many of those bought books would be read in a month? Two months? And are these the kind of books that really work the gears in your head or merely cranium stuffing? 

Literary culture is more than just the book. It's the people (authors, editors, publishers, book designers, readers and critics) and the institutions (schools, universities, libraries, archives and yes, bookstores). It's the history; the book as we know it has been around for ages. To touch a physical book is to hold the tangible results of centuries of literary evolution, and the hard work of the people and institutions that put it together.

Even as the publishing industry moves towards digitisation, the inevitable loss of some of that will be painful to many. The death of George Whitman, for one, prompts one to ask: what will become of his storied bookstore by the Seine?

A piece of tech or a shiny on-screen user interface doesn't elicit that kind of emotion. Nor does the history of Apple or Steve Jobs gives one that fuzzy warm feeling. (No, I'm sure that buzz's just static electricity.)

Yes, you can still buy physical books from Amazon, maybe with discounts, if you're feeling all tactile and stuff about history and the romance of the book.

But the whole online thing feels cold to me.

The 24/7 convenience is great for long distances and hard-to-get books, but we already spend so much time online for other things, and we don't need another reason to stay wired and indoors.

Bookstores in general are hard to run. Indie bookshops, even more so. Which is why the people who run them are exceptional, especially when they're familiar with their products, the industry and the communities they serve. Some of them are out there, still soldiering on - which might explain why Manjoo's apparent dickishness has strummed more than a few nerves.

Slate readers would note that Manjoo writes this way at times, so the article doesn't necessarily reflect his character.

The extinction of the bookstore would just mean one less excuse to leave the house. However, it would also mean an end to one of the connections between the people who make books and those who read them - which are already fraying.

Education systems are deteriorating in some parts of the world, even as our collective attention spans crave faster, smaller bursts of entertainment. The business model of the big bookstore and the rise of the mega-selling superstar authors are partly to blame for the disconnect. Pushing big names out big stores in huge numbers does not necessarily indicate a growing reading culture - just more people buying books.

I'm aware that I'm arguing this from a mainly emotional angle. Perhaps with good reason. The need to express ourselves and the hunger for knowledge stems from passion. I don't go nuts at all the books I see on the shelves, but there's a certain connection I can make with it that I can't with a piece of tech.

Odd, considering my long IT background. But maybe not - it would explain the discomfort of the eight years I've been in IT.

Are indie bookstore lovers hopeless touchy-feely romantic about their weathered brick-and-mortar hangouts? Likely; in my case, "Hell, yes."

The digital transformation in the way we read and write books is unavoidable, but what is the publishing industry without the passion to write, package, archive and read through all that material? What could we publish or market without the urge to think, discover, dream, discuss and argue - and write or type it all down?

I believe it's the same kind of flame that burned in the bosoms of Jobs, Gates, et al - one can only be kindled by human interaction, conversation and sharing of ideas.

Technology like the Internet has certainly helped in bringing minds together and made sharing easier. But to say that online bookstores are better and more efficient at nurturing literary culture, well... wouldn't that be mistaking the medium for the message?

Caffeine Getaway

The Ipoh duck restaurant was great. Coffee Ritual was less so, mainly because to much time passed between my last visit and the day I finally wrote about it, so the ardour for the place had cooled down somewhat. Poor Alex was pulling more than her weight when editing this piece...

I've gone back there once or twice, but there are fewer reasons nowadays for quiet coffee rituals.

---

An intimate Coffee Ritual

by KW and Alexandra Wong

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 13 February 2010


Alex practically shoved the address down my throat. "Here." She had discovered it while waiting for her notebook to be reformatted at Digital Mall. Not wanting the usual fast foods, she had looked around and spotted the corner shop at the end of the road.

She did a pretty good sales pitch, oohing and aahing over voluptuous latte, scrumptious sweet crepe, refined gourmet coffees at "proletariat prices." But she didn't have to mention the pricing.

She had me at "gourmet coffee."

My name is KW Wong, and I am a certified coffee-holic. Which was why I made a beeline for Coffee Ritual as soon as Saturday rolled around.

It didn't take long to spot the café, though finding a space for my car took considerably longer. There is a reason Section 14 is also known as Parking Hell.

On the outside, it looked pretty modest. At the shop-front, a standee tried its best to tease potential patrons with pictures of some of the delights to be found within.

As I entered through the nondescript front door, I noted a fleet of coffee paraphernalia lined the racks by the front door. A porcelain-bodied coffee machine was mounted on one side of the magazine cabinet, while coffee-themed paintings hang on the walls. After flipping through the menu, I decided to go with Alex's recommendation — café latte, and the sweet crepe, which purportedly featured premium Haagen-Dazs and Berkeley's ice-cream.

My latte arrived in a tall glass with a crown of creamy foam above a thick layer the colour of chocolate malt. I took a sip. The milk had been expertly steamed, its natural sweetness cushioning the palate from the coffee's more aggressive, bitter aspects. If I were a cat, I would purr with approval.

I took a bite of the sweet crepe. The still-warm parcel enfolded a stream of sweet custard, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and generous lashings of chocolate sauce. Crispy at the edges, the texture turned chewier as my teeth edged towards the swollen centre.

I quickly reported to base. "Verdict: coffee tastes like your tongue is in a bed of silken sheets, in a room that smells of the finest Arabica brew."

Her reply: "I gather you approve?" My coffee craving was temporarily sated, replaced by a new curiosity. I walked over to speak to a gangly bespectacled gentleman who was fiddling with a grinder — the boss I presumed — to find out more.

"Why Coffee Ritual?"I began with the obvious.

"Because the preparation of coffee to a ritual must be religiously followed for the perfect cup," he smiled. Turns out he sourced and roasted the beans himself, and tries different brewing methods on occasion. "Artisan" is not a word to be tossed around lightly, but I couldn't think of a more apt description for the owner.

Parking hell or no parking hell, I've become a regular, and developed a healthy partiality for the single origin gourmet coffees. For the uninitiated, these beverages are prepared with freshly ground beans using vacuum-powered siphon brewing, resulting in a liquid that has little to no residue.

What would interest coffee connoisseurs though, is this: the assertive Sumatra Mandheling's earthy, smoky notes are reminiscent of its source's rich, volcanic soil. The smooth, subtly aromatic and refined Colombian Special is hugely popular; after drinking one straight, even casual drinkers can feel the change in a cup of Colombian Special after adding one, and then two sugars. The bosses themselves drink single origin coffees neat and recommend that clients do the same. (Psst, rest easy, nobody will throw you out for coffee crimes.)

Sorry… I've gone on and on about the coffee, to the neglect of the packed menu that offers a decent selection of teas, as well as an extensive range of pastas, sandwiches, pies and salads as well as Asian favourites. Combine selected items to form a three-course value meal with starter, main dish and dessert. Hint: the nasi lemak is particularly popular. As for me, I am just glad that we found this unexpected oasis.

For a little peace and quiet from the madding crowd, few things beat the tranquil sanctity of a private coffee ritual.

---

Coffee Ritual

35, Jalan 14/20, Section 14
46100 Petaling Jaya
Selangor

Now the site of Anjappar Indian Chettinad Restaurant

Premises have moved to Jin Yi Coffee Ritual at 68-M, Jalan SS21/39, Damansara Uptown, 47400 Petaling Jaya. Now sells only coffee-making equipment.

Small-Town Roast Duck, Big On Heart

I think this encounter happened during a Christmas weekend getaway in Ipoh last year. After hearing Alex brag about her hometown's cuisine for ages, I finally took the leap to see what the fuss was all about.

And what a fuss it was.

Almost everything written in the piece happened: the food, the hospitality, and generosity of the owner. The duck was divine.

---

Divine roast duck in Canning Garden, Ipoh

by Alexandra and KW Wong

first published in The Malaysian Insider, 23 January 2010


"Is it my imagination, or is the Ipoh food scene ostensibly divided into two camps?" KW asks thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" I furrow my eyebrows distractedly, trying to search for an empty lot.

"For dim sum, you have Foh San vs Ming Court," he begins.

"Ming Court!" I pipe up.

"For bean sprouts chicken, there's Loe Wong Wong vs Cowan Street bean …" he continues.

"And now Restaurant Hong Kong vs Restaurant Hong Kong Oil? Amazingly, not only do they sell the same thing, their shop names are only different by one word! Which is better, in your opinion?"

"Parking!" I yelp, ramming my Charade aggressively into an empty lot. Parking can be a devil in Canning Garden, this deceptively laidback-looking enclave in Ipoh shaded by ancient giant trees. It is also home to some of the best grub around, including chee cheong fun, Siamese laksa, nasi lemak... but that's a story for another day.

I opt for political correctness. "I've tried both and they are nice. But for some reason, I've always found myself gravitating back to Madam Heng's. The personalised intimacy keeps me coming back like a magnet."

And then, there's the supremely-addictive duck, of course. Which is why, on this food tour, I'm whisking duck-mad KW to my "favouritest" place in Ipoh for a gamey poultry fix.

"That's the madam of the manor, bubbly, personable and generous almost to a fault," I whisper, pointing to a middle-aged lady dressed in a flowy batik caftan, with a soft wavy updo and perpetually Manga-esque wide eyes.

"Miss Wong! Lei hoe moe (how are you?)? So long never see, kam leng chor keh (become so pretty already)?" Uh huh. That's Madam Heng, all right: a bundle of smiles, conviviality and outrageous flattery.

I ask for the usual — duck leg with a side order of curry chicken and acar. "Make sure you impress," I say with a wink.

Not that there's any doubt she will.

Fans rave about its signature crispy skin duck, the result of a six-hour labour of love. First, more than ten herbs are rubbed inside the bird to remove excessive gaminess, while retaining the trademark robustness that duck lovers go ape over.

Another eight herbs are slathered over the skin for flavour enhancement. Then, the bird is allowed to dry naturally for a few hours before it is roasted in a charcoal-powered Apollo stove for 40 minutes and finally fanned to cool.

Just before it is delivered to your table, the duck is drizzled with lashings of boiling oil to create that paper-thin, crackling-crispy skin that melts on your tongue.

Madam Heng once told me they use "jeli-weli" (Cherry Valley, actually -BP) duck, a specially bred duck of English origin, chosen by virtue of its leaner meat. In my first visit here, she actually lifted the glistening reddish-brown skin to prove her point. Look ma, no fat. (She didn't say that, I did.)

I'll let KW describe the results: "Simply one of the best roast ducks I've ever had, while making allowances for ducks consumed in the past and the future. The sweet plum sauce is nice but not necessary. Skill, technique, recipe and love went into this creation, and it clamped my mouth shut for most of the meal."

There is a bit of to-and-fro at the cash register when we're done. By our reckoning, the meal is worth every hard-earned sen: a plate of dry curry, acar, a gargantuan duck leg, two bowls of rice, three iced herbal teas, plus half a dozen mandarin oranges on the house.

What comes back as change for RM50 is... let's just say a KL-ite would think it's a steal.

We think so, too — us stealing from Madam Heng, if we leave it there.

"Go on, take it," Madam Heng implores.

"No, no," I protest. "It's way too much change. If you keep insisting I'll drop it and run off."

"Please don't fight with me! I'm old and I can't catch up with you."

What the hell can any decent upstanding person say to a water-tight argument like that?

After I thank her reluctantly, KW and I lumber out of the shop.

"Sai lei (fantastic) these small towners," he sums it up.

"Yes, I observed, the yan ching mei (interpersonal factor) is very strong," I add with a sigh that is half a complaint and half an affectionate observation.

Revisiting mom and pop shops like Restaurant Hong Kong reminds me why I'd rather review small-time entrepreneurs than big-boy chains.

Because.

Beyond the paper-thin crispy-as-Peking-duck skin...

Beyond the lean yet luscious meat, infused with heady, aromatic flavours...

Beyond the leisurely and cosy level of service...

...they remember – and appreciate you.

For life.

---

Restoran Hong Kong

60 Jalan Lee Kwee Foh
Canning Garden
Ipoh, Perak

CLOSED FOR GOOD