Head In The Clouds

Wow. Google had plans for a Dropbox or Skydrive of their own? So why haven't we heard about it?

Because it was shelved. It seems Google saw no point in a dedicated online file storage facility when cloud computing meant that files can be stored online when they are created or being edited in the cloud. Besides, said Sundar Pichai, senior vice president of Chrome, "Files are so 1990s. I don’t think we need files anymore."

What? Not need files anymore? ...Why?

"Think about it," said Pichai in that article. "You just want to get information into the cloud. When people use our Google Docs, there are no more files. You just start editing in the cloud, and there's never a file."

Can you smell the hubris? If you can't, you'd at least feel it. Sometimes I feel these tech companies are a bit too heavy on the hard sell

Yes, we're all more mobile now, taking our tech with us everywhere. Batteries and data storage hardware are clunky, and it makes devices... less mobile. They're getting smaller, but they don't seem to be going away. So why not ditch the disk or flash memory altogether and store it in the "cloud"? In a decade or so we'll finally be making calls, taking pictures, ordering groceries, getting the latest news and Tasering snatch thieves with our watches.

Thing is, data still has to be stored. In hardware. Just not the ones we're carrying. It might not be called a "file" or look like a "file", but it's still data.

Handing over the responsibility and burden of keeping our data and keeping it safe to third-party providers may free us and our devices to do more of what we want, but the risks are also transferred there as well. Gmail has suffered outages before. Natural disasters have severed our tenuous connections to our data. And the millions of potential customer records concentrated in a few sites have proven too irresistible to cybercriminals, the way ants feel about picnic baskets.

Which is why I still keep physical backups - in more than one format - with me. I do save some data in the cloud, but I'd never rely on it entirely. The big cloud companies may have better, more secure facilities, but it isn't foolproof. And it's statements like Pichai's that make Murphy's ears itch.

Backing up one's files can be a pain, but the loss of data can be even more painful. Think Google, et al will set you free from caring for your own data? Get your heads - and at least one copy of your data - out of the clouds and back on earth. Even if one can build castles on clouds, the foundation, at least, has to be solid.

Taxing

Malacca has announced a 5 per cent "heritage levy" on tourists and visitors staying at the state's hotels and other lodgings, from 1 September this year. Once imposed, the state expects to collect an additional RM12 million annually.

Given the development hijinks that have taken place under the current Chief Minister's tenure, one doubts if that RM12 million would ever be channelled correctly.

Will some of it be used to reward aspiring cig-quitters? All that smoke and cigarette butts aren't just unsightly but unhealthy as well, and that can't be good for tourism.

Will the money end up funding the accidental felling of centuries-old trees within heritage buffer zones?

Will part of it be spent in the name of science, because G*d allegedly said so?

Will part of it also be used for the maintenance of the so-called Arab City?

Why shouldn't some of the 6 percent tax be channelled back to heritage conservation efforts in Malacca? Why does it look like the state is shouldering the entire burden of keeping its heritage intact?

Most of all, will tourists and visitors pay a total of 21 per cent in taxes and service charges to stay in the hotels of what can be said to be a developing Disneyland-style caricature of Malaysia's most historic state?

We'll be given assurances, I'm sure. But the picture of that tree stump says something else.

After the last time I was there, I'd never... well, of course I suspect that there'd be no end to the nonsense going on in Malacca. Not even if they replaced the Chief Minister.

Here And There

Quite a few things happened in April. This is one of them.

Sini Sana: Travels in Malaysia

Sini Sana: Travels in Malaysia had been in the making for a while. My first contribution to the collection was months ago, before I joined MPH. They needed to know one thing: Is it "Taman Overseas Union" or "Taman Oversea Union"?

Of course it was the former. The area was named for the now defunct Overseas Union Bank, which was merged with United Overseas Bank in 2002.

Since then, Sini Sana had gone through several rounds of editing, and was finally in bookstores this month.

The stories are mostly postcard vignettes of the authors' most memorable times in Malaysia. All the authors - except perhaps, Lee Eeleen - appear to have found something new or fascinating about the country, even those who were born and are living here. Ghost stories. Trips to the past. Monkey business, elephant business, culture shocks and even a touch of forbidden weekend romance.

Zhang Su Li explores the past and present in her home state of Perak, sharing stories with an old lady at an Ipoh kopitiam, and drinking tea with a prostitute above a shophouse in Kopisan, Gopeng. She also travels to Kedah's Bujang Valley and its ancient Hindu shrines and meets a street urchin who fancies himself a Hindu god.

An island getaway off the coast of Terengganu does little good for Sarah Cheverton, who is haunted by desires stemming from the need to fill the gaps left behind by a breakup. A theft at the chalet where she and her friends are staying sours the trip. Can anything be salvaged from it?

FD Zainal takes us back into the past to his father's old fruit orchard on a hill in Kelantan, where he, his brothers and his dad lived the sweet rural life. Learn how to pack for a NS camp-style rural outing, the best places to swim in a river, and how to (not) chase away errant bull elephants that arrive at your doorstep.

Robert Bradley encounters various subspecies of a different kind of animal in his walks up Bukit Kiara: the urban KLite, and their myriad worldviews. The athletic Lee Yu Kit and his entourage, meanwhile, climb a mountain and find themselves out on a limb when a storm hits.

At the Lake Kenyir Resort in Terengganu, Damyanti Biswas finds peace until she starts getting acquainted with the flora and fauna and her fellow jungle tour mates. Marc White immerses himself into culture at the night market in Overseas Union Garden and an Indian barbershop, and Jason Moriarty dives headlong into a boat ride to a beach and tangles with an octopus.

There's more, of course, but if I go on I might go into spoiler territory. All in all, you really get a taste of what it's like to go sini sana (here and there) in Malaysia.


Sini Sana: Travels in Malaysia is edited by Tom Sykes and Tan May Lee, and published by MPH Group Publishing. Each copy is currently priced at RM35.90 and can be found in all major bookstores.

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Sini Sana: Travels in Malaysia

edited by Tom Sykes and Tan May Lee
MPH Group Publishing
225 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-967-5222-82-5

Buy from MPHOnline.com

A Posh Kopitiam - Really?

I'd like to point out that this was an unsolicited review, and I have not received any form of compensation for it. That disclaimer was part of the original copy, but for some reason it never made it to print.

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A posh kopitiam

The usual local fare presented with flair and at a premium price? The Cookbook isn’t as bad as it sounds, really.

first published in The Star on 09 April 2011

An opportunity to touch base with a mutual acquaintance that Alex and I haven’t seen for months became a great excuse for us to dine at an upmarket café I’d previously checked out with a colleague for an interior decor magazine.

Though born into a family business that sells mainly high-end furniture and tableware, John Teo had a personal interest in food. He leapt into the food business with My Cookbook, which features five dining areas over three floors, uniquely furnished and fitted with wares from the family business.

At first glance, one would not see much that distinguishes the place from the other kitschy, upmarket kopitiam outlets in the vicinity, other than the pedigree of the furniture, perhaps. Teo deals in names such as Slide and Pedrali from Italy, and XO by Philippe Starck.

Even the food — artfully sculpted and plated interpretations of familiar Malaysian favourites like chicken rice, char koay teow, fried rice, prawn noodles and so on — spell words that the budget-conscious Malaysian diner has come to dread, such as “expensive” and “pretentious”.

Putting such familiar fare on the menu had other problems too.

“People ask me, ‘What do you serve in your restaurant?’,” Teo says. “When they hear ‘chicken rice’, they’re like . . .” He rolls his eyes at the scepticism.

That this dish is on the current edition of his business card doesn’t help. “I do serve chicken rice, but that’s not even half the story. I can keep talking and talking, but there’s no point. My Cookbook has to be experienced.”

So that’s what we do. Alex and I meet up with a friend at John Teo’s place on a Saturday afternoon. Alex is almost enchanted on sighting the place. A clock with utensils for hands; an art installation made of more kitchen utensils, presumably the ones Teo sells; and chairs of transparent polycarbonate material with bright fuchsia cushions. And of course, the menu.

The layout is what one would find in swanky culinary cookbooks such as, say, Tetsuya Wakuda’s Tetsuya, or Thomas Keller’s French Laundry Cookbook. The tantalising close-ups of food on dark backgrounds whet appetites, though drinks are not similarly profiled.

Despite the posh food styling, most of the items are familiar. My Cookbook’s “signature” chicken rice (RM15.90) is a log of rice cooked in chicken stock and fat, underlined by a row of boneless chicken slices and cucumber slices. The chicken is made from a single roasted, deboned, tightly rolled-up thigh that’s sliced into thick, mouth-watering medallions.

Several things set this chicken rice apart from the others. First, the skin on the chicken is crispy. Second, they only use the thighs or drumsticks.

“Ask the usual hawkers for a deboned drumstick and they’ll probably stare holes into your skull,” goes John. Third, the block of chicken puree in the bowl of accompanying soup is made of double-boiled chicken stock.

I rarely get to serenade Alex with descriptions of good food; it’s often the other way around, given how frequently she finds the good stuff. Curious about the chicken rice, she decides to order one. We continue poring over the menus when Irene walks in. She finds the dining concept interesting as well.

We settle for a numerically mismatched set of orders. Appetisers are a poached egg on a toast lined with shaved dried scallop (RM8.90), and prawn bisque with prawn dumplings (also RM8.90). Joining Alex’s chicken rice on the table are a char siew salmon with cheese balls (RM26.90) on a plate lined with what looks like cooked egg white, and my curry chicken with barley/pandan rice and a fried prawn dumpling (RM15.90). Dessert is a scoop of homemade durian ice-cream topped with red beans, sitting in a bowl of pumpkin broth (RM9.90).

The 45-minute poached egg on toast is an upmarket version of an Ipoh kopitiam favourite, said to be cooked down to the molecular level. When broken, the yolk does not run. The dried scallop shavings give the toast more flavour. A great way to start a meal.

Each spoonful of rich, thick prawn bisque delivers a deluge of flavour and fragrance. Irene mistakes the intense red of the prawn for the colour of spicy chilli. The dumplings in the bisque are stuffed with a firm chunk of juicy, larger-than-usual prawn. And fresh, too. Not a hint of the smell that says this crustacean is halfway towards the belacan heap.

Everyone knows that potatoes and curry go well with each other, so it’s no surprise to find the curry chicken drumstick resting on a small bed of mash. The curry chicken is well cooked. The addition of cooked barley to the pandan-tinged rice gives it a chewier texture and an appealing colour contrast.

The chicken rice?

Now, rice that’s rolled into a log-like shape is unlikely to be light and fluffy. But flavoured with chicken fat and minus the oily feel, the rice is good enough to eat on its own. The skin of the chicken is crispy and lends a firm texture to the moist, juicy meat.

The double-boiled chicken stock is pungent and redolent with essence of chook, but the meat-puree block isn’t Alex’s “kind of thing”. Once in the mouth, it breaks up into what tastes and feels like masticated chicken breast.

The durian ice-cream would have tasted even better without the chunks of ice in it, but that is a minor complaint. The flavour is fine, delicate and not overpowering. It goes quite well with the bright amber pumpkin broth, creating a durian-based dessert that wouldn’t instil fears of body heat afterwards. Irene orders a second bowl.

The total price for a My Cookbook experience can be high (main dishes are priced between RM15.90 and RM26.90) and the distance to travel long, but the experience might well be worth it. If the boss and founder of the place can’t talk you here, this review is unlikely to, either.

---

My Cookbook

A-12, Sunway Giza,
2, Jalan PJU 5/14,
Kota Damansara,
Petaling Jaya

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Chocolate So Good, You'll Go Insane

After not having chocolates for weeks, binging on Cadbury Dairy Milk wasn't such a good idea. My ardour for the stuff in the long-lived purple packaging, however, had cooled long before.

Months ago, I learnt that palm oil was being used in chocolate, and of the furore over Cadbury Australia "sneaking" palm oil into its products (or counting on people neglecting the ingredients list). And in the background, a "war" over whether Cadbury's is chocolate has been going on in Europe for over 20 years. The opposing camp is led by the Belgians, who are said to be absolutely anal about chocolate.

So, no. I have been eating "chocolate" all this time, not chocolate.

Not that I can tell whether some chocolate is chocolate.

But damn, I feel kind of cheated.

Though the Cadbury range from Australia and New Zealand is now available here (in cardboard, not paper packaging), I still couldn't tell the difference. Locally manufactured Cadbury's now lists "vegetable oil" - a mix of palm, illipe and shea oils - among the ingredients; you won't see that on the more expensive Australian stuff.

Then I bit into a chunk of Whittaker's.

Oh good gravy. It is good.

Liquid gold in bar form. Not sharing, not sharing...
(Photo is ©2011 Alex W)

See, not having vegetable oil in your chocs is not enough. You also need to have a certain amount of cocoa solids in there as well. That includes the bits that give chocolate its brown colour, sharp bitterness and the smooth buttery mouth-feel - all from real cocoa. "Vegetable oil" doesn't cut it. So why use it? Because it's cheaper and readily available. Cocoa beans contain cocoa butter, which is the oily component in chocolate, but it's not so readily available and harder to process, and is thus expensive.

Incidentally, "white chocolate" is mostly cocoa butter that had its cocoa solids squeezed out of it; pure chocolate is referred to as "cocoa liquor", which is cocoa solids plus cocoa butter. So, no, not chocolate, either.

Because of the European chocolate tiff, guidelines have been laid out over what is "milk chocolate" and "chocolate". According to these guidelines:

• Chocolate must contain not less than 43% dry cocoa solids, including not less than 26% cocoa butter.
• Milk chocolate must contain not less than 30% dry cocoa solids and not less than 18% dry milk solids.

Australia's Cadbury's only has 26% total cocoa solids and 28% milk solids, so that means damn, it's not quite "chocolate" enough.

But Whittaker's claims to have has 33% cocoa solids in its milk chocolate, and somehow, somehow, it shows. The cocoa taste and aroma is a tad stronger. Whittaker's has at least two variants of milk chocolate, both of which I found at Jaya Grocer@Empire, Subang Jaya. The other one is the Madagascar Milk, an "extra smooth milk chocolate" made from Madagascar cocoa beans. This one is smoother, milkier, but has less of the cocoa taste and aroma.

Which was why when, during a mini food-crawl in Subang Jaya, I was overjoyed to find that Jaya Grocer had replenished its stock of Whittaker's 33% Creamy Milk Chocolate Block. I bought two, which I intend to eat as slowly as I can; the expiry date's this October.

Oh, sweet, sweet Whittaker's milk chocolate, so rare, so sublime, so aromatic... not letting it go, not letting you go... I'll never let go, Jack...

Reading Readings

Friday, 25 February 2011

It was not the first time I came to Solaris Dutamas, and I can only remember why I was there the second time. A member of Poetry Underground invited me to a recital, which was part of the 2010 MAP KL Arts Festival. Since then, MAP has been rebranded as MAP@Publika, but it looks set to be a new, shinier venue in the local arts scene.

For weeks, the matronly Sharon Bakar, high priestess of the Malaysian literary scene, kept us up-to-date regarding the launch of Readings from Readings, a compilation of selected works that were read at readings events Readings@Seksan's and CeritAku@No Black Tie.

The launch, which took place on a wet Friday night, was one of the events scheduled for LiFest at MAP@Publika that ended on 27 February. Part of the proceeds from whatever sales were made during LiFest will go to Yayasan Orang Kurang Upaya Kelantan (Kelantan Foundation for the Disabled or YOKUK).

Copies of Readings from Readings for sale at the launch;
didn't manage to snag a bookmark or two

Several myths – my notions of Readings, actually - were busted by the release of news reports about the book. It was Bernice Chauly who founded Readings, which began at the Darling Muse Art Gallery (thanks, Sharon) about six years ago. Readings eventually moved house to Seksan's and has remained there since.

When Bernice's mother became terminally ill, she could no longer manage the monthly event. Thus, Readings@Seksan's was bequeathed to Sharon, who continues to manage it today. Bernice went on to start CeritAku in 2008.

About 400 writers, poets, and performers have been hosted by Readings and CeritAku combined. From the number of works that have been read so far, it is hoped that the compilation will be the first of several volumes coming out from these two events.


Dinner, coffee, and The Academy
I had arrived early for dinner. Dazzled by the variety of rather expensive choices, I settled for a more pedestrian fare of roast pork rice and iced coffee – the perfect set for the bewildered, indecisive Malaysian (Chinese) diner on a budget.

From certain expressways in the Klang Valley, Solaris Dutamas was easy to find. I took the Sprint Highway route from PJ, and then turned left into the direction of Sri Hartamas. At the traffic light junction, I turned right into Sri Hartamas (turning left takes you to Desa Sri Hartamas, Mont Kiara, and beyond), kept left as soon as possible, and turned left at the next traffic light junction. I was on Jalan Sri Hartamas.

I drove on, past the Hartamas Shopping Centre and another traffic light junction. I drove straight, past a massive white elephant on the right, which stretched on to a major traffic light junction. I turned left, and on my right, Solaris Dutamas. See? Not hard at all.

Damyanti Ghosh (second from left) samples some of the
books being sold; Jeremy Chin is the bald guy

Killing time at Solaris Dutamas is impossible. Not a single bookstore within reach and no affordable coffee in the area was worth sipping; maybe if arrrhem Artisan Roast would open a branch there. I eventually ended up at MAP@Publika, where a bunch of pianos sat about, items of a silent auction for YOKUK.

I met Sharon and Shahnim Safian, lecturer and module leader at The One Academy's Multimedia Department (and apparently, Sharon's niece). Shahnim and I have seen each other at several Readings at Seksan's but I never introduced myself. Though I'd already eaten, I accepted Sharon's invitation to dine at the PappaRich on the other side of the complex. I felt it was strange that nobody wanted to open a restaurant or even a snack bar closer to Publika. Can't the artsy indie food makers The ahem Cookie Cat and The arrrhm, arrrhem Last Polka do something?

"Look," Shahnim said on the way out, pointing at someone standing at the lobby area. "That lady looks like a painter."

"Yeah," I agreed. Unkempt hair, baggy clothes and one of those "recyclable" bags slung on one shoulder. She definitely had the basic bohemian-grunge look down pat.

Traditional Malay ensemble Dewangga Sakti opens the launch

We met Chong See Ming and her family at PappaRich. It says a lot when their mains arrived earlier than my toast. Sharon expected people to turn up late; it rained earlier, and though it's been over two years, it seems nobody can find their way to the venue, and those who make it to Solaris Duatmas can't find Publika's exact location.

I got to know Shahnim a bit more, thanks to her business card. "The One Academy?"

"Yeah," she said. "Don't I look like an artist?"

"You need to be a bit more bohemian."

"Well, I'm sporting a rocker look tonight."

I pause for a drink. "My sister went to One Academy. When she graduated she went to do sales instead. She's good at it. Ruthless." It was painful to recall. "Now she's in Singapore, plotting world domination."

Shahnim offered little comfort. "That happens to many of the graduates."

"The place screwed up my sister," I said plaintively. I wasn't apportioning blame. We're all victims of the systems we immerse ourselves in.


Lots of books, and those who write them
The crowd was starting to trickle in when we returned to MAP@Publika. It seemed everyone was there, and by "everyone", I mean everyone I've seen or were reportedly seen in at least one of the Readings@Seksan's.

Leon Wing came with someone I haven't seen in a long time. Eugene Chua, from what I heard, had returned home – Terengganu, was it? My memory fails me. Both Leon and Eugene had been attending almost every single Readings session since it began, until the recent ones.

Buonasera, Mr Brian Gomez! Ah, he remembers the e-mail interview he did for Off The Edge - one of the best, I feel. He's doing fine, but does he really want to give the Home Ministry 10 per cent of the proceeds from sales of Devil's Place? Not at the current sales rate, it seems.

And why is Amir Muhammad always selling books lately? He was manning one of several tables where various books, DVDs and other publications were on sale – some of which were his. When he wasn't there earlier, I'd bought one book. I'd never thought I'd see a copy of Lethal Lesson after the so-called scandal broke. Only two copies were left. I didn't hesitate.

"The author was a 'plagiarist'," I told the volunteer sales assistant after paying.

"Err, we're not supposed to tell people that," he said.

"Plagiarist", in quotes, because I don't think she warranted such a weighty label. I'd already said something about the case, so I won't be repeating myself here.

Jordan Macvay was by himself that night. Not only was the traffic bad, he couldn't locate Publika. Many of those I spoke to would express similar sentiments. And who can possibly miss Karl Hutchinson? The man can pick himself out of a crowd.

Sharon Bakar (left) and Bernice Chauly officially launch the book
in a somewhat conventional manner

Jeremy Chin was there, still hawking his first novel. Haslinda Usman had her very own table for her late father's books. Saras Manickam bought a book and would later have it autographed. Damyanti Ghosh bought a copy of Readings From Readings, and Leon signed his piece in the book. Hey look, it's Liyana Dizzy and Catalina Rembuyan - and yes, I can tell the two apart. And is that David TK Wong?

Oh, there's Maizura Abas. I walked over to say "Hi". She said Chicken Soup for New Moms or Sup Ayam bagi Para Ibu Baru will be out; she has a piece in it.

---

It was strange to watch Dina Zaman read on stage. Struggling with astigmatism, she held her script at arm's length and read an excerpt from her contribution to the book, "How to Stay Married". A pity it was actually a short piece of fiction. A saviour for Hollywood and footballer marriages remains out of reach.

---

Uthaya Sankar's mastery of the Malay language puts other non-Malays to shame. It became sort of a live show with audience participation when he read his piece in the book, "Cat". The satirical piece revolves around a house pet who, among other things, spouts philosophies in several different languages when interviewed for the civil service. A translated excerpt:

"What a stupid interviewer," he read. "Isn't it obvious that Italian cats go 'miew, miew, miew', German cats go 'miew, miew, miew', and French cats go-"

"Miew, miew, miew," went the audience.

"-and Japanese cats go-" Uthaya paused for the audience who, right on cue, picked it up.

"Miew, miew, miew."

How Pavlovian. And creepy.

"-and Hindi-speaking cats go-"

"Miew, miew, miew."

No prizes for guessing what Tunisian, Egyptian, and Libyan cats sound like.

---

I failed to get Unimagined on MPH bookshelves and was afraid the author wouldn't speak to me on that account. So it was an enormous relief when he shook my hand.

"You're too kind," said Imran Ahmad of my article on him, which included his need to lose about 15 pounds before he could look more like James Bond. "Twenty-five pounds would have been more accurate."

He added, "And my shirt wasn't tucked in because it was so hot, and it was an action-packed performance." So it was.

Saras Manickam (left) in a hurry to pose while getting
her copy of Unimagined signed by Imran Ahmad

Like me, Imran bought an ice-cream for charity. MAP also provided refreshments: coffee, tea, kuih and sandwiches. The bingka ubi (sweet potato pudding) was smashing. Who made this? They should open shop in Publika.

However, only strawberry ice-cream was available, which was a bummer. Seeing Imran eating ice-cream reminded me of a picture of him and a sundae, taken during the 2009 Ubud Writers Festival. "My UK publisher never bought me a chocolate sundae," went the caption.

Sadly, we didn't buy him any ice-cream, either. We hope there will still be an opportunity.

---

Like I said, "Everyone". I could go on and on. Bernice and Sharon said some very nice things, but the voice recorder I had chose that day to die on me, and the exact words just vanished into thin air. My heart sank.

Peter G. Brown and Markiza didn't play anything during the launch – not when I was around. However, traditional Malay folk ensemble Dewangga Sakti opened the event with a few numbers. I couldn't stay for the Panda Head Curry gig – my head was starting to pound, and Eugene and Leon needed a ride to KL Sentral.


"...not one or the other, but one and the other."
"Malaysian writing is not one or the other; it is one and the other."

I think that's Bernice Chauly's reply to the question of what Malaysian writing is and who Malaysian writers are.

As I look at the crowd, comprising Malays, Chinese, Indians, and Others who are united by a common love for the written, sung and spoken word, it makes sense. I could add that anyone who loves this country and anyone who writes about Malaysia or from Malaysia is a Malaysian writer.

However, from the number of familiar faces representing the Malaysian literary circle, I still see an impenetrable, tight-knit clique that's hard to enter or get close to. Even in smaller gatherings such as Readings, those who attend know each other and tend to form little solar systems that unwittingly shut out strangers.

A writer I know personally has refused numerous invitations to a Readings session. "I don't want to get to know them." Harsh, but I sort of understand. I used to believe writers were an elitist bunch who, among other things, write or type in longhand, insist on proper grammar, and advocate the death sentence for plagiarists.

Jade-Yi Lo reads her piece in the book to an audience

It's not just a perception problem. From my observations, literary events such as Readings host writers who read and write a lot. My writer friend writes but doesn't read widely. From her viewpoint, it's not hard to see why she'd feel out of place – useless, even, amongst galaxies populated by constellations of (literary) stars.

Writing is more than grammar, ethics, e-books vs dead trees, and Eats, Shoots, and Leaves. Hearts and arms must be open to bring people in from the cold. If we're going to get people to write, we need to make the newcomers welcome and help them mature and improve without inadvertently cutting them down to size or leaving them out of the big picture.

Writers are human. Sometimes, people forget. A reminder might be in order.

Fifteen With A Future

In his book Medium Raw, Tony Bourdain branded renowned chef Alain Ducasse a "villain" because "he almost single-handedly brought down fine dining in America with his absurdly pretentious restaurant Alain Ducasse New York (ADNY, as it was known)...", which included such ultra-snobbish aspects as white-gloved waiters cutting fresh herbs at your table, and a selection of Montblanc pens for signing cheques.

But it looks like it's going to be hard for Ducasse to keep the bad guy label.

The chef with over 20 restaurants and almost 20 Michelin stars started a training programme a la Jamie Oliver's Fifteen. Called 15 Femmes en Avenir (French for "15 Women with a Future"), the programme teaches its students how to cook professionally. Those who pass have a chance to work in one of his kitchens. The number 15 represents the number of kitchens available to employ them.

When the programme will be expanded, The Guardian says that students:

...will take exams and be expected to know how to quarter a chicken, make a perfect soufflé and turn out moules marinières (mussels in a sauce of white wine and cream, with garlic and parsley) and sautéed hare. This being France, the home of haute cuisine, they are also having to learn about 200 recipes by rote and, for good measure, some maths, history and geography too.

The students in this programme are among the poorest residents of the city's banlieues, many of who are "...immigrants, or born to immigrant parents, who were previously unemployed or in a series of low-paid jobs – usually cleaning or waitressing. Most were struggling to make ends meet. Several are single mothers and some have fled abusive relationships."

If this isn't remarkable enough, the report also mentions one of these women preparing: "...tarte savoyarde au reblochon. This is as Gallic as gastronomy gets – a hearty pastry containing potatoes, bacon, onions and cream, topped with crusted raw cow's milk cheese from the Alps."

Said woman of Turkish descent, called Kébire, calls her time in the programme a "fairytale", and that:

"...it's such an enormous chance, it's hard to believe. It's the only chance we have." She adds, unprompted: "I don't eat pork, but I don't have a problem preparing it. After all, if M Ducasse has made allowances for us, we have to make allowances for him."

If one knows just how tough life is for immigrants in France's banlieues, Ducasse's efforts are noteworthy. They can't get jobs, and crime rates in these slum-like neighbourhoods are high. Tensions exploded in 2005 when youths from these banlieues rioted.

And here, our religious authorities want to bar Muslims from working in places that serve alcohol - without, it seems, a plan that includes halal forms of occupation. What will these soon-to-be-jobless people do once their jobs have been taken away?

At times, I feel that those who jabber on and on about spiritual purity and such are those who are well-off and have full stomachs - or just fanatical and stupid enough to starve for their religion. Work dignifies people, a former boss used to say. Would one care about the state of the soul when one's jobless, hungry and cold? Shouldn't one's obligation to one's family and loved ones be paramount, and how can that obligation be fulfilled when one can't even earn enough to feed oneself?

If the religious authorities are really concerned with the temporal and spiritual well-being of those they claim to shepherd, they should have put more thought into any fatwa with potentially far-reaching consequences, like rendering tens of thousands of people jobless with no other way to earn a decent living.

While I'm happy that some form of change for the better is taking place in Paris, the cultural and social baggage is still there. That Guardian article ends with the following note: The women asked for their surnames not to be used to protect their identities.

For the disadvantaged in Paris' banlieues, there's still have a long way to go.