Zuup's On, People

"It has great food," FunnyBunny said. "You've never noticed?"

"Oh, I noticed," I replied, a bit defensive. "I just didn't bother."

She rolled her eyes. "It's just a restaurant," she sighed, "not a concentration camp. Give it a shot! What have you got to lose, aside from a few bucks? They have great food. The butterfish is nice. You should try it."

I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Part of her job involves eating, which meshes well with one of her passions, which is, um... eating.

I wasn't disappointed.

I've since made the place a sort-of regular destination for fine food, one of a select few (thanks largely to FunnyBunny). They made changes to the menu after my second visit, so some familiar items had gone missing or were re-packaged as something else. The vichyssoise, for instance, was tinkered with and reincarnated as the Chicken Confetti Soup - probably because customers couldn't pronounce the word.

Zuup is a soup bar by name, so it's natural that soups loom large in their menu (among other meal-time offerings) - about a dozen by my last count. Forget the watery bases so prevalent in Asian kitchens. Each Zuup creation is hearty and flavourful, more stew than soup. Paired with some bread or salad, a regular portion is a meal in itself. Heartier appetites will be pleased with the bread bowl portion - no need to lick the bowl, just eat it!

My favourite soups include the Chicken Confetti, Lamb Goulash (previously known as the Hungarian Lamb Stew), the Irish Beef Hotpot and - despite my shellfish allergy - a tomato-based seafood soup. It's still a while before I go through the entire menu, but chances are good that every Zuup soup is a winner in its own right.

OK, they don't have all kinds of soup. There's no gazpacho, for example, or borscht - which was kind of disappointing. And they "dropped" the vichyssoise (it's vee-shee-suah, you Philistines!) And it was... warm! Some chefs would freaking spit.

A dinner-time favourite of mine is their sirloin steak, drizzled with a smoky barbecue sauce and rested on top of a bed of scrubbed but unpeeled potato wedges. While it's available daily, the steak is one of the dinner-time set meal items. There's an option to add on a starter portion soup of your choice for RM6 (there's even a soup du jour flavour, which is not in the menu).

I also tried the butterfish, and it is good, especially the potato salad. I could have done with a little less butter in the sauce, though. I also had a lamb mix combo, which boasts lamb chops and a lamb sausage, with potatoes and a sublimely sweet and fragrant onion relish.

With the exception of their pasta dish (not very exceptional) I've encountered nothing but winners at the deceptively-named soup bar, tucked so neatly away in the corner of a busy shopping mall corridor. There's a separate dining room for those who want a bit more privacy, and an old PS2 for rent (I think). Free wi-fi? They have that, too.

But I'm not interested in furnishings.

Like I said, I haven't gone through all the soups from Zuup. Who's joining me for my next visit?

---

Zuup Soup Bar

LG 223, 1 Utama Shopping Centre
Bandar Utama
47800 Petaling Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Nyonya Goes West

My first published book review! Writing this was fun, and a portent of things to come. I could have started off with an even better book, but sometimes, you don't get what you want. It would, I'm sure, be a recurring theme in this new endeavour.

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Honest, homespun tale

first published in The Star, 07 December 2007


Because of their boundless potential to horrify, amuse and tug at the heartstrings, works replete with anecdotes of cross-border culture shock are abundant in the media. Consider An Englishman in New York, A Yankee in King Arthur's Court and An American Werewolf in London.

So it's perfectly understandable that something titled A Nyonya in Texas should hold similar promise. The nyonya (Straits Chinese lady) in question here is Lee Su Kim, who also happens to be an accomplished writer and an Associate Professor of Language and Culture at Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in Bangi, Selangor. A picture of her in a white kebaya beside her summarised CV is on the back cover to dispel any scepticism.

This rather short volume chronicles the author's sojourn in Texas, the quintessential cowboy capital of the world.

A close inspection of Lee's CV had me wondering what happened during the frenetic years after she had left Texas for good, and why this book was not published sooner. By now, many of us are all too aware of strange and outlandish American customs and laws, thanks to their soap operas, late-night talk shows, and those weird and wacky reality TV series.

Around the time Baywatch was still popular, the United States was a place of mystery, even to its own denizens. It's a place as big as any Texan's tall tale, and – depending on who you speak to, each state is practically a foreign country.

One unifying factor is the pride Americans have for their roots, never mind that a majority of them are European, Asian and African transplants from a long time ago.

By subjecting herself to their tender mercies, Lee valiantly takes one for the team. Her frustrations, triumphs and defeats in dealing with cultural and lingual hurdles are rendered in heartfelt, if somewhat localised outpourings (relax, each word is thoughtfully explained, and there’s a glossary somewhere).

While the ignorance and idiosyncrasies of Texans – and Americans, in general – are well-documented, some anecdotes here will make you want to whack their heads with a rolled-up newspaper. Then there are lessons on the futility of packing your own culture (like durians) with your luggage. Her farewell to Texas is made all the more poignant by her personal tragedies.

Before I knew it, I'd reached the end of the book. Like a fireworks display, it's colourful, flashy and loud, but ends too soon. There is great potential in this book, but it is let down by choppy, uneven storytelling. Aspects of her heritage felt over-explained, especially at the beginning. If you're a local, it gets very tedious.

Almost half the book tells stories outside of Texas, with plenty of flashbacks to the author's younger days at home, leaving me with the impression that her life in the Lone Star State wasn't as action-packed or eventful as was hinted on the book cover and the blurbs. I also suspected that there were other chapters in the story that were left out or never told, or perhaps the words weren't there for those stories yet.

The illustrations could have been done better. The artist made the author's character look waaay too good. For beginners untouched by Discovery Channel, this book may be a big eye-opener. In fact, I do fear that they'll be as big as saucers before the uninitiated reader reaches the last chapter – and be hard to shut long after he's done. Those well-acquainted with Western culture, however, won't find anything new.

Being a bona fide "banana", I wouldn't find A Nyonya in Texas a necessity in my bookshelf. I am, however, glad this book was written for it is an honest, homespun tale about how travel broadens one’s horizons and how everyone has pride in their heritage.

---

A Nyonya in Texas

Insights of a Straits Chinese Woman in the Lone Star State

Lee Su Kim
Marshall Cavendish Editions
186 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 9789833346103

Hugo Chavez, Mr Freeze

His Majesty, King Hugo I has frozen ties with Colombia because its President chafed at King Hugo's disregard for the Colombian government's guidelines in dealing with the rebel group FARC, and hurt • his • feelings by suspending his involvement in efforts to free some rebel hostages. Mr Freeze also put relations with Spain on ice because its king (a real one, by the way) hurt • his • feelings by cutting short Chavez's rude and unstatesmanlike interruptions towards a speaker at the Ibero-American summit.

Such is the Icemeister's self-righteous indignation. He must've forgotten that only in Venezuela can his oil-funded security and military institutions save him from spontaneous human combustion by shutting up all who opine that His Majesty is in fact a belligerent, self-aggrandising boor. Outside his country, however, he's fair game - and he makes it so easy for anyone who wants to push his buttons.

Oh no, climate change isn't because of burning fossil fuels, illegal forest fires or cattle fart - it's the heat from those voices of dissent, calling for freedom, justice and rationality! If they criticise him and not hero-worship him, his heart will stop and he'll drop dead! And then, he'll melt and eventually raise sea levels by half a kilometre, and drown us all!

So, is Chavez going to start carrying his indignation home after every meeting abroad like an infuriated child, and freeze • all • ties with the offending nation every single time he gets his feelings hurt by locals annoyed at his grandstanding and ceaseless diatribes?

Snarksmith, Meet Wordsmiths

Last month's Readings wasn't particularly noteworthy, but Midnite Lily was there - finally! So glad we could meet up before you went off to Sydney.

This month's, however, started off with a bit of drama. I woke up with a very numb left arm, and became alarmed when it drooped lifelessly as I stood up. Fortunately, it wasn't far gone yet (no shades of blue or green), and a quick rub with some finger-flexing finally returned the arm to full use.

Another bit of drama came along during lunch time. Irene was coming to her first session, and she was bringing Erna Mahyuni along. She called me up asking for directions while I was savouring iced coffee at Yang Kee's Beef Noodle restaurant. Pumped up and goofy with caffeine, I was absolutely no help at all. I made up for it by standing outside the venue, making sure to wave when her car whizzed by.

All the usual suspects were there: Sharon (as the emcee her presence is mandatory), Eugene, and Leon, plus a couple of surprises: Amir Muhammad and Man Booker Prize Nominee Tan Twan Eng. Or someone that looked like him... I think.

There was much fuss over Erna's newly-acquired curves and new hairdo. Irene, who has since ventured into freelance writing, passed around her new business card, a sexy number in sleek, chic black with a gigantic Q embossed on one side. At one corner, went, "IreneQ - Wordsmith".

Hello, Wordsmith, meet Snarksmith. Who is perpetually useless with directions.

Snarksmith then announced his decision to resign and bemoaned the shrinking pie for freelance writing, a claim Erna (aka Senior Snarksmith/Wordsmith) dismissed. Wordsmith offers some words of encouragement: "Go on! Take the jump! Live dangerously!"

While the lineup was impressive, the star of the show was definitely Shahril Nizam, poet, illustrator and poster boy for a particular Diana King single. With a bit more practice, he could add lyricist to his list of talents. A surprise reading of a letter by a tax person capped off the event.

Since my first session, I've found that Readings provides a great way to relax. So much so that I had, as I told Leon Wing, withdrawal symptoms when it had to take a break for some festival in Bali.

New Digs, New Plans

It's only been a week and three days, but I'm feeling rather settled in my fourth floor apartment. Being a hand-me-down unit from relatives, it's far from perfect, but the issues are fixable.

I'm also reconnected to the Web, and a working gas stove means I can boil drinking water. I am a bit apprehensive over using a three-way adaptor plug for the fridge and hot water pot, though.

It's been a week without TV, and I'm still alive. Not even a whiff of a withdrawal symptom. Wish I could say the same about a week without Internet access. At least I won't have to search and apply for new jobs from the office.

Uprooted Once More

Most people would expect somebody in his early thirties to have a degree of worldliness and concern for his country. So it's rather embarrassing to have an 18-year-old speaking on behalf of my tired, apathetic self.

The cupboards, shelves and drawers in my room have been emptied, and all the contents are packed in cardboard cartons and plastic storage boxes, ready to be shipped out.

Three-plus years. This is the longest time I've ever spent at a place in all my years in KL.

The new neighbourhood will be much busier and noisier, and a lot less secure. Parking will be harder to find, and taking out the trash will be even harder. My next room will be smaller than this, and I may have to live without an ASTRO feed. There'll be no washing machine, either. On the bright side, I have much of the place to myself and I'll be alone for most of the time.

I know, because that's where I lived for nearly three years before moving to the house I'm staying in now.

I didn't have a lot of good memories of the place.

I feel the usual pang that comes from being uprooted (again), but it's not as strong as it once was - a return to familiar surroundings, perhaps? If only I could feel the same for all the changes happening in my life - whenever they come.

I will be totally cut off from cyberspace for days until the technicians come fix my phone line (not sure if the old digs have wi-fi coverage, which, truthfully, is not really worth the money).

So I don't think I'll miss this place too much: the spacious kitchen, sprawling living room, ready parking space, quiet surroundings, and all that living space in what I will soon call "my old room". I'd like to think I've learned not to get too attached to a home that's not my own. But damn, I'm also going back to hand-washing my laundry after three years of automated wash, rinse and spin.

Tea And Chocolate

Saturday, 25 August 2007

Months before this, Alexandra Wong wasn't really a name that stuck in my mind - but her writing did. It was refreshing to see passages that bounce and spin like one of those funky, out-of-this-world space-age tops with those flashing lights, especially in a dour production like The Star newspaper. Her name would remain fuzzy until the day we first met. She was as chirpy as her writings, not to mention good-looking.

And here I was, helping her move house.

There was only one box, but it was heavy, and awkwardly shaped.

But joy!

Anyway, it's not about the move. Alex announced her decision to publish a book, and she needed expert advice. And the only expert big enough within reach is Eric Forbes of MPH Publishing. So after we dropped the box at her new digs, it was off to the Local Authors' Hi-Tea Event at MPH, 1 Utama.

The panel of speakers were getting into gear when we arrived. There weren't any more seats left, so we just stood at the doorway. As expected, Eric was there. An MPH staff member was kind enough to direct him to Alex. While she and Eric talked business, I turned my attention to the issues raised by the panel.

As it turns out, this lovely country, which rarely bats an eyelid when rearing white elephants, installing fake flora to beautify roundabouts and imposing outlandish laws to curb immorality and atheism, drags its feet when it comes to setting up checks and controls that allow local books to be marketed effectively overseas. There are also grouses about protectionism in the West, kind of like an AFTA for literature.

And I found out why it was so expensive to order my How to Draw Manga volume, instead of buying it off the shelf. An author who directed a question to the panel said it most eloquently, quoting a friend from overseas who wanted to buy her book: "Are you kidding me?"

Later, Alex sauntered over.

"Were the discussions fruitful?" I asked.

"Very," she replied. Her smiling face shone.

I was glad to hear it.

Of all the speakers who were there, Rehman Rashid stood out. The author of The Malaysian Journey took the time to pitch his book, talk about the good old days and rub the success of his publication into the faces of his erstwhile tormentors. It would've been a poignant tale had he been less of a prima donna. He speaks well, for a crusty old journalist - which means he probably writes well too.

I am, however, not ready to forget or forgive what he said about bloggers in general, even though I suspect he was targeting certain individuals with his opinion/rectum screed.

I wasn't looking forward to the food, but the curry puffs were okay, and the bite-sized chicken mayo sandwiches were surprisingly yummy. Earlier I greeted Sharon Bakar ("my favourite squid", she called me - ha ha, nice to see you again, too), and there was Lydia Teh, who still remembered me from last year ("oh, you're Giant Sotong!" - excellent memory, by the way).

Alex and I left MPH for a bite to eat at Del•icious Café. I had an early dinner, while she was content with a drink and dessert. As usual, the folks at Del•icious fail to disappoint when it comes to food and desserts, but I feel that they tend to overdo it sometimes. The Classic Chocolate Cake, topped with a huge scoop of vanilla ice-cream and surrounded by a moat of chocolate sauce, was luxuriously sinful.

Last Rites, Death, Funeral Procession and Burial by Chocolate.

Sure, it doesn't sound good on the menu, but it takes care of everything at one go, so there's no need to call the good people from the Nirvana Memorial Park.

After a little shopping spree, we spent the rest of the evening chatting with the landlord, who proudly showed me his old ice hockey stick and a real Louisville Slugger(!)

You don't get endings like that for a great day, you know.

However, to my utter shame and chagrin, my biceps were beginning to hurt. I would be so feeling them the next day, and the day after that.