(Updated) Proto-Shortbread Saga

For a long time, shortbread has been a favourite comfort food. Buttery, crumbly and nice when dipped in cold milk or crushed and mixed with ice cream.

I can't remember the exact moment my affair with shortbread began, but two products are prominent: the stuff from Ayamas, and the fine, crumbly buttery cookies that used to be sold at Dream Centre at the Damansara Utama Methodist Church in Petaling Jaya.

From the latter, I once bought two batches that lasted weeks. This type and the Ayamas version was super-melt-in-the-mouth crumbly, which I suspect was due to rice flour or cornflour. They were tasty, so I was sad when the baker didn't make them any more. But I moved on to the store-bought Scottish stuff, though they weren't as appetising.

Then it started getting more expensive and my appetite for rich and creamy stuff started shrinking.

Three basic ingredients, plus a little vanilla extract I usually level-up
my coffee drinks with. How hard was it to put it all together? HARD.

This concoction has a long history in medieval Britain, Scotland in particular. From The Telegraph, a brief history of shortbread:

...it is a biscuit-like affair, usually consisting of a holy trinity of flour, sugar and butter, but the original shortbread may have been a thrifty treat created from [enhancing] left-over bread dough, or cooked bread that was popped back in the oven to crisp up.

...The name possibly reflects the large quantity of butter or “shortening” used, which stops long gluten strands from forming and creates shortbread's distinctive brittle, sandy texture...

Several years ago, I learnt how "easy" shortbread was to make - it only has three basic ingredients: flour, butter and sugar. Mix it all up, bish-bash-bosh, pop i' in th'oven, happy days. The process, however, is more involved than that.

Creaming the butter and sugar by hand is hard work. After all of ten
minutes I was winded and sweating and didn't like the results.

My first attempt at making Scottish shortbread failed because I didn't measure the ingredients, I kneaded the dough too much, and I baked it at a high temperature. The result was a kind of buttery breadstick - solid, floury and unappetising.

(So the Scottish version isn't a firm favourite, but easy to start with for novice bakers with the occasional hankering for an easy-to-make buttery treat.)

Watching a video demo for what looks like roti canai later, I was reminded that kneading dough causes gluten to form, making the dough stretchy like bread, which is not what you want for shortbread or any crumbly pastry.

The second attempt was a little better.

The greasy, sticky mess that went into the oven. The holes I poked
into it closed up, as did the cuts. The results were still soft and
crumbly enough to be cut again.

I got a measuring cup but, as hard as I tried, the dry ingredients won't stay level after much tapping on the counter. Things started going sideways when I tried to measure the butter in the cup, which were in solid rectangular chunks.

Predictably, I guessed the amount to add and - oops - the dough turned out wet after I folded in the sifted flour. Too much butter. Beating the butter and sugar was another challenge. Even after about, like, 10 minutes, the texture was still grainy.

Probably should've cut the butter into smaller cubes to fit the cup.

I took a breather and, afterwards, split the wet dough in half. One portion I wrapped in cling film and refrigerated. To the other, I folded in more flour, bit by bit, until it was less wet.

Tried and failed to get the malted milk shade I liked. Not just
because of the temperature, but also the brown sugar.

Even so, it was a sticky mess I had spread on a baking tray and baked at around 140°C for about 30 minutes. The oven had heating coils at the top and bottom. Once the top acquired the colour I wanted, I switched off the top heat and let it continue baking.

In the end, though, I got golden brown instead of malted milk off-white.

The shortbread turned out greasy - of course - and I could still taste flour. But the crumbly texture seemed right. And it was, more importantly, edible. My older relatives had a taste and the only problem they had with it was the excess butter.

The finished product. Thankfully, not like the buttery breadsticks
I ended up with on my first attempt, which we will not speak of
again, thank you.

Other recipe videos I've looked at had other recommendations and different steps. Some would mix the butter and flour first, into a grainy texture, before adding the sugar (the powdery icing or confectioner's sugar). The butter has to be cold, too, and must not be allowed to melt too much.

Three basic ingredients, lots of hard work.

But I will nail it.

Looks good, but too greasy, compared with the commercially available
types I've had. Didn't have to throw out this batch, though, so
that's something.

Odd, that all the recipes I referred to online didn't say how long the shortbread would keep. No preservatives were used, so I'm guessing it'll be good for, like, up to two weeks from baking time. Was it because they expect it all to vanish on the same day?


20/06/2016   Failing to get good results with a measuring cup, I fell back on scales. Nothing fancy, just an analog scale. I'm not planning on going pro anyway.

I didn't get to look inside the box, so ... pink! But the old blender was
pink too and it served me well.

It's true that you'd only understand and appreciate food when you know how much of what goes into it. I'd planned for 90 grams with the latest batch, but as the pile of sugar got bigger and the needle struggled along the scale, what little planning I did went out the window and tunnelled into the road for sanctuary.

Sixty grams of sugar is a pretty big pile.

I learnt that I didn't have to mix until the sugar completely dissolved. After a few times of doing this I felt right at home - but mixing and folding in the flour by hand still blows, so the dough and the baker took a breather after the former has been shaped, wrapped in cling film and put into the fridge.

Batch #4, out of the oven. The colour's more to my liking because I kept
a closer eye on the product and fiddled often with the temperature.

Most of the references I used don't fold in the flour by machine, and if it's not necessary for the sugar - fine-granuled or powdered - to dissolve completely in the butter, then it's probably best to mix by hand if you're not making big batches.

This round, I kept a much closer watch on the oven temperature and frequently checked on the colour. The dough in the middle still looked underbaked, so back in the oven at 100°C for five more minutes.

I'm pleased with the results, although the latest batch was not as buttery or sweet as Batch #2 - maybe this is how it's supposed to be.

Makan kaki Melody received a few pieces of this batch. "Impressive!" she exclaimed via WhatsApp. "You can sell these."

Looks and tastes fine - and I'm not the only one who thinks so.

Wah. That's rare.

Even though shortbread is an established recipe - anybody can make it - that left me gobsmacked. It took me four tries; at least one person might argue that, had I started out with proper equipment, I'd only need two.

Guess I won't be buying my shortbread from now on. Nor will I be making my own so often. Sixty grams of sugar and 120 grams of butter is a lot to put into a single portion, even if stretched across two weeks or so.

Book Marks: Malaysia's Not-So-Small Press Scene, Plagiarism, Etc.

"The small press scene in Malaysia is, as it turns out, not so small after all," says TimeOut KL, which has a good write-up of the current state of KL's local publishing scene. Thank you, Ng Su Ann and TimeOut KL.

On a related note: Sandakan-based author Sahidzan Salleh, author of the mystery thriller novel Delirium talks about the book, his writing career and the difficulties of getting published in Sabah.

Also:

• A piece on Iran's "lawless" publishing sector, where foreign books are apparently being translated and published without permission. This stood out because sometime ago, the company received a request to publish what looked like English workbooks from a Middle Eastern author. Turns out they were "adaptations" of stuff by Longman, who we notified and they informed us that this fellow isn't authorised to republish these books. I hope they found him and shut him down.
• In Europe, there's a court case going on which might determine if it's legal to resell e-books and, by extension, software and other digital material.
• It seems there's an audiobook boom happening. According to Digital Book World, "Publishers submitting to the Audio Publishers Association (APA) Sales Survey reported a production increase from 7,237 titles in 2011 to 35,574 titles in 2015—a nearly 500-percent increase. Sales revenue of audio has been continuously gaining as well, with nearly 21 percent growth reported for 2015 over the prior year."
• At the Kuala Lumpur Trade and Copyright Centre (KLTCC) fair, Anna Katarina Rodriguez, the deputy executive director of the Philippines' National Book Development Board (NBDB) reportedly said that in her country, "It's expensive to love books." Here are some of the reasons.
• "In the world of self-publishing, where anyone can put a document on Amazon and call it a book, many writers are seeing their work being appropriated without their permission." Joy Lanzendorfer's story in The Atlantic dives into the issue of plagiarism in online book publishing, which she argues is mostly driven by profit. Lanzendorfer cites one alleged plagiarist who says she was inspired by Amanda Hocking, one-time poster girl for e-publishing success. I'm pretty sure Hocking wrote her own books, at least. There's also the recently reported case of B. Mitchell Cator, who was also accused of plagiarism.
• "Startups can't explain what they do because they're addicted to meaningless jargon", blares a headline in Quartz. "These words sound technical and informed," the writer, Josh Horwitz, states. "But they mean nothing, and they make it difficult for ordinary people to understand what a company actually does. In an effort to either sound smart and attract investors, or to simply dress up an otherwise boring product, startups that rely too much on jargon end up alienating the users they want to attract."
• In Lucky Peach, Andrea Nguyen's beautiful and detailed long read about the history of pho. Seems I was not alone in wondering if Malaysians can write just as much about our own dishes.
• "Dystopian themes are not entirely new in Arabic fiction," according to Alexandra Alter in The New York Times. "But they have become much more prominent in recent years, publishers and translators say. The genre has proliferated in part because it captures the sense of despair that many writers say they feel in the face of cyclical violence and repression. At the same time, futuristic settings may give writers some measure of cover to explore charged political ideas without being labeled dissidents."
• A journalist's book on the 2002 Gujarat riots was trolled (and probably still is) on Amazon India, likely by the country's nationalist types. Another attempt to kill a book by a thousand one-star reviews.
• A short story about a cow and chewing gum by an Indian academic beat 4,000 other contestants to the £5,000 Commonwealth short story prize. Yes, I can see how it could.

Bread, Butter And Brownies At Bandar Kinrara

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 06 June 2016


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

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

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

The Coffee Sessions at Bandar Kinrara opened last April

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

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

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

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

Curry Leaf Pesto Pasta with slices of roast chicken

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

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

"No problem," I assured her.

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

Creamy Pasta Carbonara with chunks of smoked duck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So. Good.

Bread and butter pudding — highly recommended

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

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

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

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

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

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

I let her have the last word.

---

The Coffee Sessions

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

CLOSED FOR GOOD

The Incident Of The Nearly-Ruined Butter Chicken

I'd first learnt about butter chicken from a crime novel. Then, scouring the Internet, I found and watched butter chicken get made in some YouTube videos, and soon an itch began to form. My recipe for butter chicken would be a mix from those videos.

But while marinating the chicken breast, catastrophe. I threw a rule of thumb out the window: when seasoning, start small, then adjust from there.

I had a near meltdown when the marinade of salt, pepper, yoghurt, chilli powder and turmeric powder tasted like the sea - a few times. Three cut-up chicken breasts, rushed home from the supermarket, threatened to go to waste.

However, the show must go on. I hadn't had much of a chance to cook a meal last weekend and the inner chef was chafing. The chicken was marinated overnight, and I decided to skip the salt in other parts of the recipe should my worst fears come true.

Thinking that this dish would fail anyway, I was all, screw it, put it together anyhow you like. You can do a few other things with the marinated chicken.

The first time murgh makhani or butter chicken is getting done in
this kitchen. And it did not start out well.

If you believe the Wikipedia, butter chicken (murgh makhani in Hindi) was some Indian restaurateur's attempt to repackage left-over chicken tandoori some six decades ago. As this was India we're talking about (they do wicked things with spices), the result became a hit and has travelled the world thanks to the diaspora - and the Internet.

(I'm sorry, boys and girls, because I didn't take enough pictures of the process, as I'd decided this would be a culinary clusterf*ck, no thanks to my possibly oversalting the chicken. Bear with me. I'll even skip a few steps for you.)

First, I took out my frustrations on several tomatoes, including one that had been in the fridge for a week and was still fine, though the skin was beginning to wrinkle. When they refused to blend in the blender, I pushed them in with my hand - with the blender off.

I ran the resulting mush through a sieve and instead of a puree, I got tomato soup - or a gazpacho base. Watery and not pulpy at all. I'd left a can of tomato puree alone because I'd thought all the salt I'd need for the dish would come from the chicken.

I was wrong.

The pieces of chicken I'd tasted were salty, but on the outside. The salt hadn't gone in too deeply, and I did - had to - discard almost half of the marinade I didn't use. This is supposed to be the "left-over chicken tandoori" you're supposed to "rescue".

If that sounds a bit Bollywood, well, figures.

Right away, after chopping up the second yellow onion, I realised I had too much, but since no other vegetables were available, fine. I left half the third onion in the fridge, which I cut into half-rings to be thrown into the dish to finish.

While the masala was being pan-fried in about two tablespoons of butter, I got the rice cooker going. I hazarded one pinch of salt into the boatload of chopped yellow onion, now more yellow because of the turmeric-tinged melted butter in the pan.

Next, in went the grated ginger and garlic, followed by the spices: cumin powder (one teaspoon), coriander powder (one tablespoon), chilli powder (two tablespoons) and pepper (about 32 shakes). This might be the first time I'm preparing a curry dish without curry powder.

I tossed the spices into the onion off the heat, then returned it to the flame and poured in the tomato juice - let's call it what it is. Simmered it for a few minutes, then in went about 100mls of cream. Then the chicken went back in.

A taste. Yes, you guessed it. More salt, but carefully.

I believe one problem with added salt is that when it finally shows up strong in a dish it is already too late. Once concern is the level of sodium, which things like cream and sour stuff can disguise.

Towards the end, the remaining onion and two more tablespoons of butter went in. I'd added some water earlier because I wanted more sauce.

No one to share this with, but that's okay. The leftovers
tasted as good after 24 hours in the freezer.

This butter chicken of sorts didn't turn out to be the disaster I'd envisioned. But look at all the onion! And my fingers smelled of butter for over half an hour afterwards.

Butter chicken is not easy at all. But not impossible.

ToKB Café: In A War Against Limited Food Choices

I'm sitting here, surrounded by assorted war paraphernalia, distracted by the weight of the cold metal sheet under the pages of the menu. Several of these are taped together - a recent modification, I suspect.

Two large model planes hang from the ceiling - upside down, I note - from cables attached to their wheels. Antique military motorcycles sit on ledges or catwalks, while more seats are hidden behind sturdy metal fencing, from which a couple of helmets or framed photos hang.

Ten-hut, soldier! Welcome to the ToKB Cafe. They're setting up early (about
a month old, I think), so they haven't quite found a way to properly set up
the decor. Can't imagine what the pilot's going through.

I see tiny plastic army men perched atop the metal frames around me or on huge steel drums. All around, looms a sense that the interior designer is trying to convince patrons they're in an army mess hall or a bunker.

One doesn't come across a war-themed café often, less so within walking distance from one's workplace (I can walk it if it's about ten minutes away). But one visitor didn't seem impressed, and this fellow, from what I understand, is hard to not-impress.

That carved Harley-Davidson probably costs more than the real thing.

I'd been to ToKB Café before, after reading what Mr Hard to Not-impress said about it. Short for "Tastes of Kota Bharu", the café serves up fare from the capital of the Malaysian state of Kelantan. Some are familiar, like nasi kerabu and nasi dagang, while some, like laksam, aren't.

But what's a concept café without its own signature items?

Take nasi roket, layers of rice and fish curry wrapped up in an elongated cone that tempts one to wear it like a unicorn's horn. The Teh Atom, a pulled-tea beverage sweetened with honey whose mound of froth reminds one of a mushroom cloud. Roti C4, a kaya-and-egg toast combo, explodes with bursts of treacly coconut jam and smooth runny soft-boiled egg as one bites down.

The Teh Atom (left) packs a sweet, smoky wallop. At right, plastic army men
drama. Sergeant: "Get moving, soldier!" Soldier: "Can't PUFF Sarge WHEEZE
It's KOFF too GASP far..." Sergeant: "Prepare for a butt-whacking!"

At least, that's what the images promise. The café even has a Colonel Sanders or sorts, a Kelantanese makcik who has been cooking for three decades.

On my last visit, I'd taken a nasi kerabu to go. Takeaway versions of several signature dishes are compact promises of what the full meals have, nicely wrapped up in patterned paper and sealed with a branded sticker.

ToKB Nasi Kerabu - for me, the Malaysian east coast on a plate or, in
this case, a woven tray. The dryness of the rice and chicken left me
unsatisfied and a little thirsty.

I'm back here now, ready to dine in. Instead of the takeaway nasi kerabu I had a couple of days ago, the full spread is laid out on a woven mengkuang tray lined with banana leaf: desiccated coconut, herbs and vegetables such as torch ginger flower, cabbage and sliced long beans, with saucers of sambal and possibly budu and a fried marinated chicken leg.

But it was a long wait. Do they, like, have two people in the kitchen? And more people are arriving. My atomic tea goes down sweet and smoky - the honey's a nice touch - but I worry about my blood sugar levels at that point. Which part of the body does sugar nuke again?

Sorry, have to leave some traces. I can't digest metal or bone,
and the tray's way too much fibre to handle.

From my nasi kerabu, the quality control seems consistent. The dish is dry and the herbs do little to help. The chicken is scored so that the heat went deep down and, yes, transformed it into jerky. A minor complaint, which can probably be fixed with a saucer of curry gravy, or more sambal and budu.

As I strip the bones as clean as possible, the buzzer rings. An LED screen, part of a table-based waiter-calling system, kept flashing one number. Eerie. And a sign they haven't quite gotten their act together yet.

Takeaway versions of several ToKB dishes for those who can't wait.
Of course, minus the big, big pieces of chicken.

Bill in my pocket, I look around the front. The takeaways table now has boxes of kuih. Okay, seri muka or pulut kaya?

While I pondered my choices, I look around some more. The ToKB crew took great pains to carve out a military concept café, sparing no expense it seems. They did splash on a billboard, and buntings were hung around the neighbourhood. Not to mention the web site, on-screen video presentations in the premises and, my goodness, the car.

Yes, even a car

I suspect the café's backers might be related to whoever developed the building it's in. The marketing that went into it is beyond what many similar cafés can put up. But it also reeks of kitsch, sadly, the way the props were put up. C'mon, army men? Model planes and ships? And is that a carved wooden motorcycle up there?

I also have problems with a mural at the non-smokers' dining area. British and Japanese soldiers are depicted laughing and partying with the café's signature items, with who I think is a smiling Gen. Tomoyuki Yamashita on the right.

Dunno how real war veterans gonna feel about this

I don't know what the soldiers who fought in the war would think of that tableau. Nor could I comprehend how they would feel, eating Malaysian east coast fare here. Kota Bharu is also where the Japanese army began its invasion of Malaya in 1941.

"You guys open from noon to 9pm?" I ask the cashier, who replied in the affirmative.

"You have breakfast fare and you're only open from noon to 9pm?" I ask again.

"We plan to extend our hours," he said.

"But you already have breakfast items," I press him. The dissatisfaction from the dry kerabu is showing.

"We don't have enough staff at the moment."

Ah. I see.

I eventually pick the seri muka, one of a few varieties of kuih that appear outsourced from another manufacturer. Maybe I'll come back for the pulut kaya and bingka ubi sometime.

I'm hoping there will be improvements, and more stuff from this place. Though some modern joints have sprung up and food trucks have dropped by occasionally, PJ's Section 13 is a barren wasteland when it comes to dining options and any attempt to liven things up is always welcome.

---

ToKB Café

Avenue D'Vogue
No.3A, Jalan 13/2,
46200 Petaling Jaya

Pork-free

Now the site of Black Castle Bistro

Piquantly Powerful Pestle-Pounded Pesto

Less than a month ago, I picked up a stone pestle and mortar and, minding what some said about seasoning the thing before use, ground up several handfuls of brown rice over about a week. In the interim though, I did make a pestle-pounded pesto.

And it was delicious. But by golly, it was hard work.

Like mia nonna used to do it: basil pesto, pounded by hand

Since then, I've pounded a couple more single-serve batches of basil pesto in it, with mixed results. Simply grinding the leaves won't do - you have to bash them up quite a bit, especially if they're not fresh, like, out of the garden.

Once the bashing is done, however, wah.

One theory about why the pestle-and-mortar treatment for spice mixes and pestos is better is that, in contrast to the blender, you're not whipping air into the mixture. Herbs and spices contain a complex cocktail of chemicals, many of which react to oxygen and leave behind useless by-products, like rust. Any heat from the friction generated when solids rub against the blender blades also affect these chemicals and might turn them into other stuff.

At least, that's what I heard and read many years ago. All that came back while I enjoyed the most recent batch of basil pesto pasta.

Ku lihat hijau~ ♫ Well, maybe that wasn't appropriate, but I do. Pesto's
still mostly greenish ten minutes after I made it, because science (more
precisely, because of the antioxidant lemon juice). The other yellow bits
is the grated lemon zest; wanted to waste less of the lemon.

Because my countertops are all wood-based boards, I've had to do most of the hard work on the floor, or while holding the mortar with one hand. Those basil leaves had to be bashed up real good, along with the garlic and cashew nuts.

The finer stuff: salt (if you want) or lemon juice, pepper, Parmesan cheese and olive oil can go in after that, and mixed with a spoon. I find adding a bit more olive oil helps sweep more of the pesto paste off the mortar, but I don't try too hard, and you can't really scrape it all off.

So I leave some food behind in the mortar because - call me superstitious - the mortar and pestle deserves a little reward for their hard work. Then, after a few moments, I wash it all off - without detergent.

Then I soak up any water pooling in the mortar with a paper towel. I once left a very wet mortar alone overnight and found stuff seemingly growing in a tiny patch at the bottom.

Meals like this are worth the sweat - but I wonder whether my neighbours
agree, since the equipment also makes a lot of noise

Ten minutes later, while checking the boiling pasta, I noticed that the pesto was still mostly green, and not mossy green-brown like the machine-blended pesto of yore. Even when mixing the pesto and eating it later, it still looked green.

As long as I'm not serving more than four, I will be pounding my pesto in the mortar from now on, thank you very much.


30/05/2016   Sorry, guys, just remembered that the lemon juice I added might have played a bigger role in the pesto's awet muda - but it's still mostly green because science.

Book Marks: Migrant Poet Cements Cred, Etc.

Construction worker Md Mukul Hossine, a migrant from Bangladesh in Singapore, further cemented his cred as a poet with a collection of poems, Me Migrant, published by Ethos Books.

"Angry at a former boss for threatening to cut the workers' pay, Bangladeshi construction worker Md Mukul Hossine started scribbling poetry on the bags of cement he was carrying in 2014," according to the Straits Times.

The poems "were further refined in English by local poet Cyril Wong, based on translations from Bengali that Mr Mukul had paid a lecturer back in Bangladesh $500 - or half his monthly salary - to do."

But prior to arriving in Singapore, Md Mukul was already writing poems, having started at 12 and has two books published in Bangladesh. But his parents couldn't send him to university, so he came to this part of the world.

The Straits Times also reported that:

Mr Mukul hopes his poetry can challenge the sometimes negative perceptions Singaporeans have of foreign workers, especially in the wake of the arrests of Bangladeshi nationals for suspected terrorist activities. Last month, eight radicalised Bangladeshi workers were detained for setting up an Islamic State of Bangladesh cell here.

"Sometimes"? That's something we in Malaysia might need to note as well.

Md Mukul isn't just churning poems in his spare time. He also...

...volunteers weekly as a translator at the non-profit HealthServe clinic at his former dormitory in Mandai, even though he has moved to Sembawang and it takes him an hour to get there after work.

He first went to the clinic nine months ago while suffering from indigestion and was moved by the work done there by community doctors. "I think that if I help many people, maybe God will help me too."

Mr Mukul, who is now working on a book of short stories, dreams of carving a niche for foreign workers in the Singapore literary scene.

To think it all began with scribbles on bags of cement.

The reaction to Md Mukul's story appears to be concrete proof of the allure of diamonds in the gravel. He was fortunate to meet people who helped pave the way for his poems to be published and his dreams of becoming a professional writer appears to be, as a friend said, cemented in reality. Now that he's left his handprints on the Singaporean literary scene, will his path be more smooth than rocky from now on?

Singapore's Straits Times also said that the island republic's literary scene is "enjoying a revival".

But...

Despite encouraging interest from the rest of the world, Singapore literature has not caught on with the public here, possibly because of fierce competition from international titles and a lack of a reading culture, say industry observers and those in the literary community. This is exacerbated by hectic lifestyles which leave little time for reading, distractions aplenty and a tendency to read for knowledge and self-improvement rather than leisure and pleasure, they add.

Much of this applies to us as well, and it's dispiriting to hear this still, despite the strides being made in regional literature. We still have a-ways to go, it seems.

---

"Editing a book is so much more work than writing a book," writes author Jonathan Kile. Well, duh.

An excerpt, because you can never emphasise it enough: "Writing the first draft is full of triumph and excitement: You create new characters, discover new twists, and the feeling when you finish is exhilarating. But in the editing process, there is rarely good news. Editing is the art of identifying, measuring and eliminating the bad writing. It's subjective and thoroughly boring. It's as fun as putting on a second coat of paint: Not very satisfying, but it has to be done."

---

Apparently, there's a holy war on children's books going on in Sweden. But bigger issues are also being spotlighted.

The question arises: How much purging and expiation will be needed to render a country's culture politically correct?

That question raises an even bigger one: How high is the price of political correctness in terms of "cleansing" the past and present of perceived slights, anywhere, to just about anyone?

Elsewhere:

• "In addition to being a mother, Catherine was an author, a very talented actress, an excellent cook and, in her husband’s words, a superb travelling companion. But as the wife of such a famous figure, all of that has been eclipsed." Lucinda Hawksley, the great-great-great-granddaughter of Catherine Dickens, explores "the forgotten wife of Charles Dickens".
• What makes bad writing bad? According to English writer and academic Toby Litt: "Bad writers continue to write badly because they have many reasons – in their view very good reasons – for writing in the way they do. Writers are bad because they cleave to the causes of writing badly."
• Arab social media activists campaigned against prominent Arab bookshop Obeikan Publishing ("Publishing"?) for selling books by Israeli author David Grossman. What struck me (and probably everyone else reading) is what an activist in the campaign said: "The Koran does not prohibit us from learning what our enemy thinks about." Because, how do you wage a successful war if you don't know your enemy well enough?
• "When it comes to outmoded language it is our ability to discern context and intent, not our sensibilities that are under attack," writes Will Gore, Deputy Managing Editor of The Independent and Evening Standard.
• Illustrator, author and storyteller James Mayhew asks readers to reconsider buying heavily discounted books, given how hard it is for authors (and illustrators) to earn a buck. Someone on social media resurrected the issue of how little authors earn (or nothing) from the sales of bargain books and print overruns at such events as Big Bad Wolf, so I'm bookmarking this for future reference.
• Some writers and literacy activists in Indonesia condemned what appeared to be efforts to ban communism or leftist movements, according to The Jakarta Post. The outcry was spurred by recent confiscations of leftist books and materials by military officials. Writer Eka Kurniawan also spoke up against the raids and confiscations at this year's Makassar International Writers Festival.
• Say hello to Bloody Good Book, India's first crowd-sourced and mass-curated e-book publishing platform. founded in 2014 by author-cum-entrepreneur Rashmi Bansal and Niyati Patel, a graduate in English Literature from the University of London.
• The surge in adult colouring book sales is getting the tax men's attention in the UK. While children's colouring books are zero-rated, the lines for adult colouring books are a little blur, the Financial Times reported.
• Waterstones outsourced its e-book business to Kobo and will stop selling e-books directly.
• This is "hybrid publishing"? From what understand of this article, the "hybrid" part is redundant.

Rehman Rashid's Malaysian Journey Continues

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 26 May 2016


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

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

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

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

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

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

Funny, how time changes people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Peninsula

A Story of Malaysia

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

Hello! The Kitchen Mafia's Offers Are Hard To Refuse

One evening, a bunch of us went to Hello! at Section 17, Petaling Jaya, and had a good time. The four of us: Sam, Wendy, makan kaki Melody and I said hello to Hello! on a whim. Like many Klang Valley-dwellers, we were looking for something different, and the place delivered.

♪ Hello! from the outside~ ♫ Meet Happy Mansion's new dining hotspot.

Getting a seat, however, was difficult. When we'd decided to dine there, Melody was tasked with booking (yes) our table. Our schedule probably clashed with the dozens of others looking to have a taste of what the founding chefs had to offer.

Both had appeared on TV, it seems, and they ran an ultra-swanky place in Publika - is it still around? This restaurant in the Happy Mansion area was apparently their attempt at something different, too.

After some nail-biting minutes, Melody WhatsApped us with the good news.

The makeshift buffet, before we had to rearrange
the table. Photo by Samantha Fong.

"We have the bar seats. By the window. Look, it's SATURDAY, okay?"

Okay.

Though intrigued by the menu, we opted to combine a bunch of smaller items with one or two mains for an evening buffet of sorts. Sam and Wendy tried moving the furniture a little to enhance the experience, but our first layout blocked the counter.

Surprisingly tasty Duck Jerky (left) and the Lamb Massaman.
Photo by Samantha Fong.

The hostess, Amelia, suggested another way that worked for everyone, and applauded the duo's idea. "Bravo, you get points for creativity."

I don't think she was being sarcastic. And we ordered quite a bit.

The only thing I believe we weren't impressed by was the salted egg calamari. The batter coating was dry and there wasn't much salted egg sauce to begin with. Somebody in our group even thought the watercress soup was better in comparison. "At least it tastes home-made." Sadly, I didn't get a sip, so I can't say if it was.

The after-dinner brownie was a tad dry, probably because it was left out in the open (despite being covered) for too long. Maybe if it was fresh out of the oven...

We were sorry the nice Tortilla Seafood Pesto Pizza was so small.
Photo by Samantha Fong.

The Duck Jerky was a surprise. This posh version of a survivalist's staple is slightly chewy, smoky and sweet, with the burnt bits lending a little crunch. The pork-free menu marked the jerky and one other item as containing alcohol.

The Tortilla Seafood Pesto Pizza, which was just the right size for four, scored high among us as well. We also liked the Lamb Massaman, which was served with chunks of soft-centred bread. That allowed us to stuff the good and not-terribly-spicy lamb into the bread, like filling a pita pocket.

Hello, if it's mee you're looking for, Pak Johnny's Mee Rebus
should be up your alley. Photo by Samantha Fong.

If it's mee you're looking for, I believe Pak Johnny's Mee Rebus might be your thing. Sam and Wendy were particularly taken by the gravy, which was poured into the bowl of noodles and assorted garnishings from a pretty and tiny teapot. "It's just like pasembur gravy," Wendy noted.

The Drunken Chicken Liver Pâté came late, but it was worth the wait. I think the others arrived first because they were still preparing the pâté. It arrived on a wooden serving board with a stack of bread. But why decorate the board with shavings of Parmesan? That stuff isn't cheap.

Think they added a bit too much Chinese wine in the Drunken
Chicken Liver Pâté... hic! Photo by Samantha Fong.

By the time the pâté arrived, we were mostly full. I liked it most of all, even with the bitter, piquant tang of Chinese wine (Wendy confirmed it). That was a nice touch and an appropriate nod to the Chinese drunken chicken dish. I can't remember if I had polished the ramekin clean with my fingers - probably the wine.

We were also treated to more drama at the counter, where the manageress (I think) apologised to callers and patrons, citing lack of space ("Our weekends are quite busy!") and menu items. That evening, the "Asian Staples" were apparently sold out, except the mee rebus.

I was disappointed; I really wanted to find out what the chow mein was all about.

If you think this piece sounds rushed, that's because it is, to match that evening's dining pace: frenetic and kind of electric. That we had to sit at the window mattered little once our tongues were teased and bellies were filled.

Saying goodbye to Hello! was hard, but more guests were waiting at the door and sweeping their gazes across the dining room, resting longingly now and then at the empty tables with "Reserved" signs they probably hoped weren't there.

So, guys, who's booking for the next round?

---

Hello! by Kitchen Mafia

BG7, Jalan 17/13
Happy Mansion, Section 17
46400 Petaling Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

A Book Launch With A Kick And Sambal On The Side

Wesak Day 2016 also saw the launch of Sambal on the Side ... With a Kick by Brenda Benedict at MPH Nu Sentral, Kuala Lumpur, around 3pm.

Published by MPH Group Publishing, Sambal on the Side is a collection of selected articles from the writer and editorial consultant's long-running column of the same name, published in the local English-language daily The Star.

Sambal on the Side, sitting pretty among the props for
the Instagram contest

Edea Nor, from radio station Capital FM, emceed the launch, which was attended by colleagues from The Star, family members and friends. The programme included an Instagram book-styling competition, where the public was invited to take and Instagram creative photo compositions with the book; prizes include a RM30 voucher from MPH Bookstores.

Those who bought the book were also entitled to a free jar of sambal tumis, courtesy of cookbook author Marina Mustafa, who also published several cookbooks with MPH.

Brenda wrote the pieces in the book to deal with the discomfort of being uprooted from place to place as the wife of an expat. Husband Oliver Haas, a German native, had a job that sent him around the globe. So far, the couple have been to Vietnam, South Africa, Washington D.C. and Germany.

Emcee Edea Nor gets the crowd going for the event

"Neither expatriate mobility training nor travel guides adequately prepared me for the mundane matters of rooting and uprooting, and they tended to focus more on the 'what' and not the 'how'," said Brenda in the book. "So, I had to immerse myself mindfully into a 'discomfort zone', resulting in a fortnightly dispatch home of yet another occasion of having 'been-there-and-muddled-through-that.'"

Sambal, that spicy, sometimes pungent condiment known to many in Southeast Asia, became a balm for her homesickness, but on some days that pang needed something more potent.

"It was midwinter in Frankfurt," she recalled, "I had been horribly homesick and I was desperately seeking an avenue to vent. She pitched the idea for "a column about being a Malaysian abroad and trying to reconcile my 'Malaysianness' with an alien environment."

The author, Brenda Benedict (left) with the emcee. The talk show format
was decided upon for what would be called a "book launch party".

Brenda contacted The Star, and the editor of the paper's weekend supplement then, Sharifah Intan, gave the nod. Her first "Sambal on the Side" column was published in the Weekender section of The Star on 18 February 2006 and has been a staple in the newspaper ever since.

With regard to writing, Brenda started young. As the youngest child she was "left to her own devices", and she turned to books. Then, a teacher, the "fashionable" Ms Ho, introduced her to the late Sue Townsend's Adrian Mole. That was when the writing bug bit.

"I started fantasising ... imagined myself as "Adrianne Mole", lah," Brenda revealed. She also tended to rant in her own diary, particularly after a scolding from her dad.

"Did your dad ever read your stuff?" Edea asked.

"I think he did," Brenda speculated. "Curi-curi lah."

So much energy, these two

Brenda returned to Malaysia to launch her book. Mr Haas stayed behind at Bonn to unpack, having moved there from the United States. Poor fellow's a huge fan of Malaysian food, we were told, and he's making his despair at being at home known to the wife.

The author revealed that she would come home to wherever home was with a luggage (or was it two?) of Malaysian goodies, which she would hide somewhere. A typical day at work would begin with some white coffee from Ipoh, which her husband only gets to sample "on weekends".

The launch was special because 2016 marked the column's tenth year. Her friends and some family members had been asking for a compilation of her columns. Then, Oliver said she should put it together, too.

They brainstormed the concepts for the book, including categories for the articles that would go into it. The pair settled for ingredients for sambal, and Brenda turned to her social media network for seven things that every sambal should have.

Brenda Benedict signs a copy of her book after the interview

For the cover design and assorted graphics, MPH Publishing turned to a frequent collaborator. Arif Rafhan Othman was the artist behind Zan Azlee's non-fiction comic, Adventures of a KL-ite in Afghanistan.

The remarkable thing with Sambal on the Side was that Arif delivered what everybody wanted with the first drafts.

The artist was invited to share the limelight towards the end of the interview session, where he shared his experiences working on the book and what he hoped the book would achieve.

"There's a strong Malaysian vibe to this book," Arif said, "and I hope that readers will learn more about Malaysia from it, and not just the food."

Artist Arif Rafhan Othman (centre) takes the stage with the author and the
host. Brenda also showed off her fan - or is the interview heating up?

Brenda, meanwhile, wants readers to take a leaf out of her book and, once in a while, get out of their comfort zones and into "discomfort zones". "Only when you're in this discomfort zone, will you learn about your hidden strengths ... that's when your hidden strengths come to the fore."

She also espoused the uniqueness of the Malaysian melting pot and hopes that fellow Malaysians would be aware of and help to preserve it.

Other highlights of the launch included story about Vietnam, which Brenda calls the most challenging country she was in. Despite being briefed about the culture in Vietnam, the couple didn't seem prepared for the Vietnamese's fascination with Caucasians, the restaurant with all the snakes and stuff in glass jars, and a pesky rooster whose services were most certainly not required.

"When I came out of the car [the Vietnamese] were pointing and
laughing, because they weren't prepared for the hair!"

At the behest of some audience members, the host and Arif, the author gamely belted out a few verses from an Alleycats song. Her husband is a huge fan of this 1980s Malaysian band (is he really German?) and Brenda was a member of a singing group a la the Supremes in Germany, called the ... "The Discordant Aunties"?

Not only did she have the looks but the vocal chops as well. Unfortunately, she couldn't remember the rest of the lyrics.

The event was capped with a cake-cutting to celebrate the column's tenth anniversary, followed with a book-signing and wefie session with the author.

The cake - baked by the author's niece - is not a lie.

To Brenda, Arif, Edea, the folks at MPH @ Nu Sentral and all those who attended and bought copies of the book, Terima kasiii~!

Minty Curry Sauce With Rice And Roast Pork

Fresh from my milestone one-pot chicken and mushroom rice, I moved onto another culinary thought experiment.

How would mint change a curry?

I sometimes revisit to Mom's sour, minty prawn curry in my memories, feeling the prawns against my teeth before they yielded, releasing their goodness and adding to the spices and fresh, earthy and astringent herb in the gravy.

Partial mise en place for a Sunday lunch. The sauce can be used
for anything you like.

Instead of a full-fledged dish, I opted to make a curry sauce with mint, which I would then blitz with a blender and bring to a boil with some pieces of roast pork. But had I put a bit more thought into it, I'd have used red onion rather than shallot, because shallots are harder to prep.

I chopped the shallots roughly anyhow, since it was all going to be blended. I used fresh red chillies for heat and colour, along with a tomato, grated ginger and garlic, curry powder and a bit of turmeric powder.

The shallots were pan-fried first, and it seemed to be smoother and took less time with the wok than the stainless steel pot. The grated ginger and garlic went in, followed by the tomatoes. The whole mess soon cooked to a satisfying pulp that's well on its way towards gravy-hood.

The wok worked well. Too bad it didn't come with a lid. Nor were
there any pot lids available for it.

A quick taste made me reach for the pot of salt. A good pinch went in, then a good stir to mix it well.

I lowered the heat and tossed in the sliced chillies, seeds and all, and stirred for a bit before adding the curry and turmeric powders. Once well stirred and cooked, I switched off the flame and allowed the spice paste to cool, while checking the rice.

Yes, I had some brown rice cooking around the same time. At first, I thought I'd "use the same amount of rice" I did for the previous dish. But it turned out that the amount was just right for me. Though a good handful ended up stuck to the bottom of the pot.

The mint leaves went in whole before blitzing.

Excited to see the grains bubbling along nicely, I returned to the spice paste.

Oh dear, oh dear, might I need to add water? Thinking for a bit, I remembered the now-frozen left-over chicken stock from the previous day. I cut open the carton and scraped about two heaped tablespoons of the slushy stock to flavour the spice paste and cool it further.

I would add water later, when flushing out whatever sauce that was stuck in the blender pitcher after a good whizz with some fresh mint leaves.

One ringgit got me a small bunch of mint which was not in good shape overall, but it was fresh. I picked the better leaves and froze them in a zip-lock bag for later use.

Minty curry gravy, post-blitz. Would butter, yoghurt
or cream have made it better?

I think I used several leaves too many. Some of them were big leaves, too. But it did taste different and nice.

Hungry and impatient, I dropped the "push mixture through the sieve" step and returned the blitzed gravy to the wok. I tossed most of the roast pork into the bubbling mix and let it simmer for a bit. My word, the aroma. What a time to run out of butter.

Pouring the finished dish into a bowl, I couldn't resist putting a finishing touch to it.

Now it has way too much mint. Pretty, though, don't you think?

Did I, as makan kaki Melody put it, nail this dish. I'm not sure. Maybe I wasn't meant to. Curry is complicated and, after about a dozen attempts, one should be grateful that it's edible.

The taste was okay, but way too much mint. A sprinkle of sweetening might have made it better, but that got lost in the haze of cook, mind the pot, mind the stove and clean as you go. I'm terribly OCD about the latter - three or more dirty utensils (including cutlery and crockery) in the sink and I get uncomfortable.

Curries are best eaten with rice. Nothing soaks up and holds the gravy quite like it.

Upon tasting and reflection, curry rice sounds more
natural than curry pasta. DROOL PLZ.

Because of that, I will "nail" this dish. Or get as close to nailing it as possible.