Monthly Archive for September, 2007

Remember Mark?

Good ole Mark walking down the same street as me in Seattle, wearing our wedding T-shirt although I didn’t know who the hell he was and certainly didn’t give him our tee?

Well.

WELL, I say.

Do you want to know what happened to me today? Walking down another street in Seattle?

I screamed when I saw him and yelped, “Do you remember me? The wedding shirt girl! I took a picture! You’re wearing my wedding shirt!”

This time, I insisted on taking photos with him.

He seemed highly amused.

He asked, “Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?”

“No.”

Alright. What is happening? Are more of you just giving up these tees? Does Mark have seven of our T-shirts for every day of the week?

Now, if only our family and friends were as enthusiastic about the tee as Mark.

“Culinarily, they are among the most homesick people I have ever met.”

So writes Calvin Trillin in “Three Chopsticks: Does street food make the best cuisine?” a story about Singapore food in the latest copy of The New Yorker (Sept 3 & 10, 2007). I urge everyone to get a copy.

As an overseas Singaporean, I couldn’t agree more.

We are bonded by our love for food, above all else. I could list everything I crave, but it often makes me extremely hungry and wistful.

Char siew rice, chicken rice, Hokkien mee, char kway teow, mee siam, laksa, yong tau foo, prawn noodles, fish ball noodles…

When I get those cravings here in Seattle, there’s only one place that’s close enough—The Malay Satay Hut, started by a Malaysian. The menu is limited, but I’m surviving.

This is his version of hor fun.

It’s not what I grew up eating from my “downstairs hawker center” but it’ll have to do.

Is it sad that Singaporeans will talk about our food over politics, economy, education, arts, and (gasp) even shopping? Not at all.

I’m proud to know that Singapore food gets props from top foodies, chefs, food critics, and world travelers.

LONG LIVE YONG TAU FOO! HOW I MISS IT SO.

I’ll get to the board in a minute.

*START RANT*

First, I’d just like to put it out there that all bathroom stalls be enclosed, without any lack of walls that allow individuals using said bathroom stalls to see the next bathroom stall individual’s feet, hear any bodily sounds, or smell any bodily by-products.

I can’t believe it took me this long to write this post, seeing as I’ve been at this office building for almost two years.

The women’s bathroom is tiny. Has two tiny stalls, side by side, separated by a thin suspended board that is two feet off the ground.

The board barely covers the top of a standing tall person.

I am always upset when I enter the bathroom and there is already someone in a stall. That means I have to be right next to her, and there might as well be NO WALL between us. I can see her feet, she can see mine, and I can hear (and smell) everything.

I’m sorry for her when I’ve had asparagus.

*END RANT*

And oh, the office started an in-out board. Mandated by this mysterious animal called “Corporate.”

I will chop off my marker-writing hand before I participate in an in-out board.

You’d think that by now, I would have had at least one post titled “Meat, Glorious Meat.”

Alas, that is not so. How did that travesty go unnoticed?

Well, say hello to this long overdue post.

Thanks to Rino who introduced us to this Palace of All Things Meatful, Jay and I took his brother and wife, and Aunt Louise and Uncle David to Ka Won Korean Restaurant in Lynnwood earlier tonight.

O.M.G.!!!

(As in Overabundance of Meat Goodness!!!)

I have said it often, I have said it loudly, I have said it with a mouthful of dead animal.

“I cannot be a vegetarian.”