Give me a macaroon and I'll be at your beck and call; Shower me with a boxful and I'll be your trusted confidante for life.
When my dear husband came home from his exhausting Pan-Arab trip on August 26th, the only yet wonderful thing that he got me was a box of macaroon. Make that - a delectable, scrumptious, heavenly box.
At long last, my craving for macaroons was sated.
I was beyond excited when he texted me that he had found Paul at one of the megamalls in Dubai during his extended layover there. And that he promptly purchased two big chocolate-filled macaroons without a second thought.
Sure, there were other material things worth buying - in truth, nothing had really caught his fancy what with the seasonal autumnal colour being grey, grey and more grey - but only macaroons captured his heart and not to mention, epicurean senses.
Alas, when he thoughtfully presented me with the lovely macaroons that Tuesday, I resisted the urge to scarf them down in one sitting. In fact, it didn't take much effort not to eat them. My flu was in overdrive - I couldn't even smell the blessed thing, what more to savour every biteful.
So it was towards the weekend that I only managed to sink my teeth into these French confections. I'd better relieve myself from further gastronomic torture by putting to rest this protracted longing.
Notwithstanding the vestigial trace of my stubborn flu, I relished the thick, creamy filling and the crumbly, rich chocolate discs encasing it. Love was definitely in the air. I'm in patisserie heaven.
Months of deprivation, my palate instantaneously welcomes the bittersweet fudgey cocoa which complements the flakey, meringue texture of the macaroons nicely.
Word of advice to the curious foodie : macaroons are best eaten at room temperature and as such, please allow your refrigerated pack to first thaw the chilling effect. Having savoured this French delight at the Paul kiosk in Charles Du Gaulle, I must say freshly-assembled macaroons is the only way to go.
With Paul's unfortunate foiled plan to expand its wings in Malaysia and the short-lived franchise of Singapore's Bakerzin locally, I eagerly cast my eyes now on the Hong Kong-based Paul.
Yet, there is always Singapore to satiate my pining for other macaroon variants. I'm more than adamant to make that trip soon.
Until we cross paths again macaroon, I'll dream of you in my waking and sleeping hours.
It must be noted that I am not at all talking about my political leaning. While I consider myself being mostly apolitical, I still cannot bring myself to trust someone with an overpowering gift of gab. Like a magazine, everyone can talk – I just want see substance underneath all the glossy cover.
Here my preoccupation lies in knowing very late in life that I am lefthanded. Correction, I was lefthanded. All the while, I don’t have any inkling as to this fantastic discovery because the thought had never presented itself to cross my mind. Recently however, a series of events provided that pivotal moment of epiphany that led me to question the opaque truth. First, I observe Sadia’s natural inclination to use her left hand for play and eating. I had even inquired my husband if there is any leftie in his side of the family. He replied in the negative and knowing how observant he is, I could then narrow the search to my side of the family.
Secondly, the knee injury that I had sustained in early July confounded my familiar sensations and subsequently confirmed my suspicion, lying latent in the deep recesses of my mind. I have always handled Sadia with my left hand. If she falls asleep in my arms, I’d always position her with her head nestling comfortably within the crook of my left arm. I carry her with much ease utilizing the left part of my body – shoulder, hand and arm.
Also, the tendency to use my left hand for mundane tasks like picking up items, texting on the cell, and drinking offers an obvious hint to this innate ability.
Indeed, the tell-tale signs were nagging me since Sadia’s arrival but I never gave this possibility much thought. It was just like background noise. Until of course, the fated injury.
While the husband was away on business in mid-July and we – Sadia and I – stayed ay my parents’ place, I casually slipped in the question to my mother during one of our normal chats. “Ma, was I lefthanded?” Her emphatic Yes didn’t come as a surprise. In fact, it seems like I had fully anticipated the answer. It merely affirmed that long-held (yet dormant) belief that I was born a leftie.
I asked her the reason behind her conditioning me to be a rightie. She explained that she was afraid that I might have problems with eating and ‘cleansing’. Looking at her guilt-stricken face, I know she meant well and for the life of me, I’d not hold her accountable for the ‘handy’ change.
Now, at least, it makes perfect sense why my handwriting is so atrocious and looks beyond legible. If you get the chance to see my paper scribbling, you would definitely think you are looking at a doctor’s illegible nonsense – you know, the one you would normally see when the doc writes down your prescription.
I can vividly recall how bad my handwriting was in secondary (high) school when my Form teacher called me aside and advised me to improve my script lest it would be held against me in the exams, particularly the SPM! After that, I took extra precaution, not to mention effort, to write more neatly and unhurriedly during the examinations. While it worked for SPM for the most part, my barely readable scrawl must have shared the blame for my poor results in the 1119 exam.
I remember the pressure to complete the darn paper within a strict time constraint and how my handwriting suffered from the very ordeal. I bet the Briton-based marker wasn’t too pleased to see the ‘chicken scratches’ littering the answer sheet! If 1119 is a reliable indicator of one’s mastery of English, I must say I’m utterly doomed.
The closest person who can fathom my doctor-like scribbles is none other than my husband. There were however countless occasions that both of us couldn’t make sense what I had written less than 12 hours before! How funny and embarrassing at the same time.
With the full knowledge of my leftie imprints, so to speak, I am now at peace with my handwriting. Now I know why my twin sister writes neatly and almost typewritten-like whereas I struggle to a level of comprehension. To be sure, I do write relatively neatly if I pace myself and take the extra effort. But with my ‘unnatural’ right hand, patience gives way to clarity of thought and passion trumps over impassiveness.
Befittingly, I celebrate my scrawl by jotting these thoughts the old-fashioned way – with a hand-held instrument – that is strongly advocated in some literary circles. They say it pools one’s imagination into the safety net of papyrus, thus liberating oneself from the shackles of electronic persuasion.
While the jury is still out on that suggestion, I do relish using this paper medium which has seen me at my best and my worst.
(Note : This post was scheduled to finish on August 19th for obvious reason stated in the post, but due to unforeseen circumstances - relocation to my parents' house while hubby's away, a bad flu and a demanding toddler - it can only be published today. Regards)
The latest Isetan newsletter cum mailer pays tribute to our Earth by promoting the use of 'eco-bags' and other cotton-made equivalents. This move is aimed at lessening the dependence on plastic shopping bags which take between 10 and 20 years to biodegrade.
While I heartily laud Isetan's move at creating environmental awareness to the masses, I know it is a quantum leap before most Malaysians are ready to be environmentally-conscious. To-date, many recycling centers have been installed in selected areas of Malaysia but they remain at best anachronistic and at worst idled. Ill-informed people just can't seem to make out what these derelict sites are for and to what purpose they serve - are they just cold monuments to prove our worth as a civilised society or emblematic of the lip service politicians pay to reel in the votes? Or do we carry on being the apathetic folks for as long as the law affords us?
Well, I shouldn't talk. Save for throwing items into the appropriate bins in the eco-friendly mall of Ikano Power Centre, I haven't indulged in any recycling efforts since I came back exactly a year ago today. (Wow August 19th 2007 was the date when we touched down in Malaysia).
Sadly, most of us Malaysians aren't brought up to recycle or reuse. It doesn't even exist in our vocabulary. Take for instance the upcoming Ramadan month which will take place in about 10 more days. In our crazy hunger, we will hoard food with abandon at the ubiquitous Ramadan Bazaars (liken to a food street hypermarket) happening all over the country. And predictably, post-Iftar the ones which we could no longer fill our mouths will go to waste.
To be sure, we are a waste-loading nation. But I sincerely believe our cultural mindset can be shifted, albeit one legislation at a time. Yeah, that's right. We need an effective blanket ruling on recycling if we are to succeed as an environmentally-forward country.
For one, our government can enlist the help of and get feedbacks from their diplomatic officials and representatives abroad as to the recommended ways to get our citizens 'actively' involved in recycling initiatives. This would be cheaper than hiring those consultants who charge our government millions merely for showing up on our shores.
How about the average citizens, like moi, who have some fantastic ideas to impart on the government with respect to the recycling issue? Surely there is an avenue through which we can engage the local MP to act on our behalf. Or are they too busy saving their own skin?
These improbabilities aside, I'd like to share my own recycling experience whilst living in the Netherlands. These measures, which have full governmental support, are living proofs that people can become environment-savvy when they have no other choice but to toe the line. With the laws staring them straight in the face, it is more advantageous - not to mention, profitable - for these ordinary folks to follow them. For me, Holland has made recycling such a cinch that I feel so good doing my part.
This is how it goes: (1) Whenever you purchase soda drinks in a can or plastic container, you'd initially be alarmed how relatively expensive these beverages are. (2) However, there is a reason as to why the price is high in the first place - to encourage recycling. (3) People return this PET bottle or can to a supermarket that carries this 'reverse vending machine' and in turn get a refund for each item that they turn in - 10 cents for a 300 ml glass bottle & 25 cents for a PET bottle, for instance. (4) They get this refund in a form of a receipt which can be used towards reducing the amount they have to pay at the checkout counter.
The reverse vending machine
Let's say you're recycling 5 PET soda drink bottles, so you'll get a refund receipt of €1.25 that is printed out at the vending machine at the end of your 'transaction'. You then go inside the supermarket to buy your rations and at the supermarket checkout your grocery shopping comes to a total of €5.50. You then present this tiny piece of receipt paper to the cashier who will duly scan it and deduct the refund amount from your total. In the end, you only have to pay €4.25.
Here's a video showing how the machine works:
The extra price added into these bottles and other 'recyclables' by both the drinks manufacturer and retailer is called 'Statiegeld' or a deposit. Retailers are motivated to add in the deposit price to the final product in order to get back the deposit from the manufacturer. This trickle-down effort at recycling ensures a high success rate as it induces the consumers to collect these bottles/cans for a greater grocery discount and the retailers to reclaim their deposit. As for the manufacturer, it can profit from selling these bottles for recycling. Else, it can re-use them for future production which helps to further lower the cost of manufacturing.
Now, isn't that just swell? We get to do our part of keeping the environment clean without much effort or hesitation.
However, I must add that not all cans and bottles has a 'Statiegeld' attached to them, i.e., the ones purchased at mom-and-pop, late-night-opening convenience stores which are a rarity in the Netherlands and more often than not, run by people of Turkish-descent or Indian-descent. To the uninitiated like me, it was exasperating to say the least trying to insert these plastic containers into the vending machine which kept spewing them back out. In such a case, it is better to utilise the municipal's curbside collection which operates once a week.
Back on the home front - that it will take a Herculean effort to get the project off the ground doesn't begin to describe the many obstacles facing this particular recycling scheme. Of course, there will be a politically-charged public outcry over the injustice inflicted by greedy capitalists. Huh? I'm not surprised if some naysayers will spin the whole truth off for the sake of appeasing the worrisome masses.
Yet, I have faith that through full and sincere government support, this recycling scheme will see even the cynical and the lazy lining up to get a 'fair' deduction on their grocery bill. Timing is of utmost important and considering the recent fuel hike, the powers-that-be need to strategise when and how to unveil such a plan. Again, we must bear in mind that some detractors will twist the whole recycling bid in view of the higher petrol prices.
I don't expect an overnight success to this method of recycling in Malaysia, but I'm confident that we will have more 'Ayes' than 'Nays' among our well-informed demographic.
But most importantly, the momentous day is forever etched in my mind as the day Saddam Hussein was captured by the allied forces! This breaking news was homed in by noisy relatives who were tuning onto the small telly in the dining hall. Luckily, the engagement ceremony had completed by then.
I also recall that my eldest sister was in confinement, having given birth in early December. The fourth-born, Elisa and her mother were cooped up upstairs in a make-shift baby room for the duration of her confinement. Moreover, my twin was almost six months pregnant and my youngest sister was already married for close to 4 months. All of us were still living under our parents' roof at this time, with the exception of my eldest who just opted to spend her confinement at my parents'.
That day also marked the first time I met my future parents-in-law and a slew of other relatives. What a nerve-racking day indeed! Luckily, it went smoothly and I didn't commit any faux pas.
THE Centerpiece - Sirih Junjung - thanks to two extraordinary aunties who are well-known for their Sirih Junjung creations.
Dulangs or Gift Trays from both sides. His - five items - in Gold and mine - seven items- in different shades of peach. ;)
When his mom finally came through the room to slid in both the engagement ring and 'merisik' ring.
With our respective parents and one of his twin nephews.
Born in Kota Bharu, Kelantan (to a pseudo-Kelantanese father and a homegrown Kampung Baru mother) and bred in Shah Alam, Selangor of Malaysia, half of a twin, US-educated, politically-inclined, religiously-biased, felines-crazed, florally-motivated, caffeine-recidivist, nicotine-averse, cinema-addict, dictionary-phile. The smell of freshly-mown grass, the smell that precedes a downpour as well as my baby's au naturelle smell are God's infinite gift of endorphins to me.
