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.

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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.

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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.

1Republic/1Nation

Whatever brickbats come One Republic's way, I can't deny that a number of their songs are the bomb. Lately though, there seem to be a One Republic song for any occasion, never mind if the lyrics might suggest something else.

Occasions such as our country's political turmoil, and the silencing of the masses, even those that are appealing for reason. And unless a blogger makes a career of sticking it to the government (you know who you are), it's unfair to hang him or her out to dry over several postings that "might disrupt public order".

While I'm prone to tut-tutting at the antics of our Generation Z, there's a small part of me (that will disappear when I turn 35) that still has something to say.

Hello world, hope you're listening
Forgive me if I’m young, for speaking out of turn

I don't criticise for fun, and I don't think many of us do that. If an injustice is the result of possibly questionable, less-than-transparent machinations of a corporation, political party or government, speaking out against it is perhaps the least damaging thing we can do. To criminalise responsible dissent for the sake of a few fragile egos is damn irresponsible, and the kinds of messages that sends flies in the face of all we have been taught all these years.

A generation struggling to know themselves and find their place in this world shouldn't be bogged down by these ethno-religious games these old-timers are playing. After all, how much currency does colour and creed really carry nowadays? Being more white or less black doesn't make one less of an idiot when one's stupidity is in full flower.

There’s someone I’ve been missing
I think that they could be, the better half of me...

So a high-ranking Malayan commie is still loose. So there was a race-related riot in that summer of '69. For me, it's water under the bridge. My concerns: racial and religious extremism; the economy; global pandemics; the climate; and an increasingly unstable, and perhaps violent world that's becoming less friendly, and less human.

We may be obliged to inherit certain things from our forefathers, but for myself, I would rather not inherit their emotional baggage. Not when it keeps me from living my life and fulfilling my dreams.

It speaks a lot of our civilisation when there are leaders who burnish their credentials by teaching its flock to fear and hate The Other, simply because of who they are. Worst of all, is how some of them are getting away with it - as if they have someone's tacit support.

It's no different back home, where our elders appear to be digging their heels with regards to politics, governance and administration, too obsessed with numbers to care about the rabid ideologues poisoning our straining socio-economic fabric.

What of the young, who have to inherit, grow up in, and cope with such a toxic environment? How will their dreams take root and grow?

...I get lost in the beauty of everything I see
The world ain’t as half as bad as they paint it to be

But I see some hope in the way Perak turned out. If the Opposition is serious about working with the ruling state government for the state's sake, and if the government reciprocates, perhaps old dogs can learn new tricks, as they might say. Who knows? A new brand of politics to replace the old might be born out of what many see as an unfair judgement, if it all turns out right...

...If all the sons, if all the daughters stopped to take it in
Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin...

I'm also encouraged by the show of support for Daphne Ling with regards to this case. Why should charity be kept within one's communal or religious circle? And what better way to break down barriers than to disregard them and just reach out to help a fellow human being?

It might start now... Well, maybe I’m just dreaming out loud...

It must be a relief for everyone that whole communities didn't go berserk when houses of worship were attacked. However, we've been treated with the sight of the extremist fringe's collective assholery - perfect examples of the kind of leadership we don't want. The kind of leadership I don't want.

Who wants your special privileges, your sacred spaces and your tax-payer-sponsored hand-outs? If this is what you've become after 30-plus years of that, I'm not sure I would want them, either. As if they would save you from flu pandemics, recessions and climate change.

So hear this now, Come home, come home
Cause I’ve been waiting for you for so long, for so long

So stop this nonsense. This country is bigger than "us", than "The Other". It's bigger than Chin Peng, May 13, PKFZ, Anwar and Zulkifli Noordin. Definitely bigger than Dr M.

We don't need to join that squabble in the sand-box to "give a damn". There must be another way.

There's got to be.

...right now there's a war between the vanities
But all I see is you and me
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known... ever known...
So come home...
____________________

"Come Home" by One Republic
Dreaming Out Loud (2007)
Mosley Music Group, Interscope

Changes... and Bad Drama

Change. It's in my pocket, my drawers, in cash registers, safe deposit boxes, and election campaign promises. Most of all, it's in the air. It's happened in my life, and now, it'll happen to this space.

I have a dream. Something I hope will be a life-long pursuit.

In shedding an old image, some things will have to go. There'll be a clean-up - many entries will be gone, but there will also be additions, transplants from a more private space. Some existing entries will be updated, changed to reflect the person who owns this place now, rather than who wrote it then. Much of the layout will remain - for now.

And perhaps, finally, the real name behind this space will see the light of day.

Readings' Fifth

I've been missing a few Readings sessions due to personal problems, but things got a little better for me to attend the latest one, and a milestone of a session at that. It's Readings' fifth anniversary.

Three cakes were brought for the occasion, including two evidently home-made Red Velvets with lovely white butter-cream.

But it was one session where I was never more ill-prepared. I left home late. I forgot my camera's tripod. I didn't make enough room in the camera's 8GB SDHC card for footage. I was afraid of not having enough batteries. And there wasn't a single thing of suitable height for my camera to stand on.

Readings' fifth had an impressive line-up with a mix of two or more of the following: poets, authors, performers and rebels. Almost everyone spent their allotted 15 minutes, some stretching into 16 or 17, including commentaries. Hearing authors read their own works is a delight, but not as much as when they talk about themselves and their work, as evidenced by Shamini Flint's monologue.

The loud and forthright Elaine Foster said she wouldn't perform, but there was still a bit of drama in her recital of a poem where "the revolution will not be brought to you by Celcom, DiGi and Maxis, nor is it Malaysia Truly Asia," and so on. She would find good company with Peter Hassan Brown, whose voice also carries a long way.

Jo Kukathas read a sombre tale of a loner who lives in a dark room and is fond of his dogs. Readings' founder Bernice Chauly gives us a hint of her roots as she reads from what will be her work of "faction".

From the Little Red Dot comes O Thiam Chin, whose collection of short stories (Never Been Better) is available for sale here. He read a passage from that book (naturally), copies of which were on sale at the venue (ditto). Too bad they weren't offering discounts.

When Kam Raslan reads, it's almost certain that he'll entertain. Especially with a sneak peek at the continuing (mis)adventures of the irrepressible MCKK old boy, Dato' Hamid. Being ambushed by fragrance salesladies is as frightening as he tells it, and hilarious too - as long as it happens to other people.

The dreadlocked and tattooed rebel poet Rahmat Harun was a sight to behold as he greets the audience, "Hi, bro!", waxes lyrical of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon in two languages (with some help from Hishamuddin Rais), and shows us how to fly a kite.

The fifth anniversary event ended with a couple of announcements: NST's Umapagan Ampikaipakan trumpeted (sort of) a book club at BFM89.9, and Bernice's call for help with some charity - I think.

There has also been talk of compiling the prose that has been read on all five years of Readings and CeritaKu (a sister event of Readings at No Black Tie) into a series of books, and a shout-out for contributions has been made. The deadline is 31 March.

Here's to five more years of Readings.

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.

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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.

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Restoran Hong Kong

60 Jalan Lee Kwee Foh
Canning Garden
Ipoh, Perak

CLOSED FOR GOOD

One Reason Why I Stayed Away So Long

Months ago, a new writer barely twenty years old published a book. She was feted (sort of) at the anniversary celebration of some literary institution. Just a few weeks ago, that book disappeared from shelves everywhere; it had to be pulped because it had at least one plagiarised story. The news has gotten out, and the writer has issued an apology (sort of).

What grabs my goat is the need for some commentators to wield the hammer long after the nails have been driven home. Either the hammer makes them feel important, or such is their indignation that they feel the little cheating upstart hasn't really received that much-deserved butt-kicking.

Then comes this comment (emphases mine):

"...basking in the envy of others..."

That's the operative phrase right there, isn't it? That there are some people who can be envious even of a local book that couldn't sell even a thousand copies. So when a teenager makes an extremely bad call, it's time to give vent to all those years of pent-up resentment :-)

— Amir Muhammad puts it where it hurts

The response to that was so childish, I won't bother describing it. Is there some kind of thrill or claim to fame in pushing someone's buttons until they explode or embarrass themselves? Getting someone the likes of Amir Muhammad to lose his cool might be something to brag about, but really...

It can be hard to describe the pain of someone else getting credit for your hard work, that witty, funny, award-winning prose you spent months, even years on. It would hurt heaps more, and be better illustrated, if the plagiarist stole it and beat you to the book launch with it.

If you think I'm just being nice: After an English comprehension exercise when I was in Form 2, the teacher found two identical answers, word for word. My answer was copied by a classmate. I don't think there was any malice intended; he probably just wanted to fill up that nagging little blank. It probably never occurred to him that he could actually hurt someone. To his credit, he owned up and I avoided being mistaken for a copycat. We remained on relatively good terms until we left school. But hell, was I stunned.

Of course, it's perhaps unfair to compare an English test with a book but in essence, both is considered stealing. And copying something that was published years before and passing it off as your own is more stupid than sinister.

All the appropriate steps seem to have been taken by all parties involved. But the troll takes it a step further, and suggests a boycott of sorts on what she writes from now on. What's the point in covering a target with scarlet letters when plagiarism by others continue around us? She'll be the only one end up hurt, scarred - probably for life.

Is that the whole point in condemning plagiarists and plagiarism? Do we have so many new writers that it's okay to bury the careers of one or two who made a mistake as an example to others?

New Adventures In Doctoring, etc

These are but a few pieces that were part of the revamped Off The Edge, which had more pages and cost twice as much. Heaps of good articles in this issue (December 2009), numbering over a hundred pages.

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My first trip to Sabah was a doozy.

As part of a rebranding exercise, UMW invited members of the press to a sponsored Mercy Malaysia mobile clinic to Pagalungan, at the bottom half of the state. Only four journalists from the Peninsula took up their offer.

"New adventures in doctoring" (left), and "Potong gaji!", Off The Edge, December 2009

Of course, things went wrong with the return trip, worthy of its own article. But space is expensive. Needless to say, I developed a healthy respect for rural East Malaysians, and learnt that maybe they are getting a raw deal from the current federal government.

UMW Malaysia, which I referred to as Toyota several times, probably didn't get as much publicity as they'd hoped from my one-pager. The valiant efforts of their PR crew in getting the Peninsula softies out of the jungle never made it into the mag, either.

Rounding up my look East was a Q&A with Bandar Kuching MP Chong Chien Jen of Sarawak. We thought "Potong Gaji!" (Pay Cut!) was a great way to introduce him; the phrase suggested a motion for a RM10 reduction in the salaries of MPs (or ministers, I forgot which) and a battle-cry of sorts for the DAP. Of course the pay cut didn't happen, and probably never will.

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I looked inside Rupert Murdoch's head via this book, and didn't like what I saw - much. While it makes good reading for those in journalism, I didn't like it much.

"I, Rupert" (left), and "Speed/In Praise of Perlahan-lahan", Off The Edge, December 2009

About the other piece: I've been following food trends in the US, which appears to be going locavore in a number of places, helped by celebrity chefs and the food scandals involving bacteria. I wasn't even aware of Terra Madre Day until I looked it up. We even have a Slow food chapter in the Klang Valley.