She now knows what cotton candy is.
I don’t remember my first time either, but let me just say that Ruby immediately sensed it was something good (read: bad for you), begged me to open it as quickly as I could, and did not talk to me for five minutes.
Why didn’t she think it was a toy?
We are in trouble. Not only is Ruby a natural chatterbox, she’s also just two. At this rate, we will need a third iPhone and the maximum AT&T family data plan before she’s seven.
Don’t give her your number.
Hi Jackie, you are at home? We are at home. I bought some groceries and watermelon. I bought some liquors. I bought my floss. It’s be a circle. Look at this. We are making a call for them to come. But I don’t like the booty at the grocery store but the managers give me a whole box of chocolate bars.
* In case you are wondering, the two giant watermelons and case of hard liquor were for friends coming over.
As everyone and their mothers know, I love pork.
What does pork and pork fat have anything to do with politeness and total annihilation?
A lot.
Let me start from the beginning.
When we evolved from apes to humans some billion years ago, our behavior evolved from Caveman to New Age Man. That meant direct, club-over-the-head interactions gave way to passive aggressiveness. Thick skin, thin skin.
Our DNA went from killer instinct to feeler instinct.
Think about it. We started out speaking our minds. Witness any two-year-old’s matter of fact way of speaking and you know what I mean.
When Ruby met a Tully’s barista with a big mole on her face, she pointed at the mole and asked very loudly and repeatedly, “What is that? What is that? What is that?” And how about the time she saw a man with a comb in his ‘fro, proclaiming within earshot, “He forgot to take his comb out!”
But somehow, somewhere along our path towards Civilization, we started teaching our kids to mind their manners, shut their mouths, tell white lies.
Take you.
Would you tell me that pork fat was horribly unhealthy for me and implore, “That’s disgusting, Dot! You should just stop eating so much fatty meat because meat kills and you are going to die a fat old lady! Do you even know what they do to pigs?”
Would I say to a vegetarian, “I don’t understand what’s your problem because everything tastes better with dead animals in it and yes, I’m just a cruel carnivore with no regard for animal life?”
I don’t know.
I do know I want to sometimes. I bite my tongue. I am, after all, a functioning member of society.
So when will Ruby lose that freeing honesty?
Maybe there are people who’ve never lost it. They’re called recluses, friendless losers, loners, crazies.
What if we were the crazy ones stopping our natural selves from emerging? What have we become? A thin-skinned, sensitive human race that prefers sycophancy to honesty? Is fakery the way to survival?
Perhaps it is.
What? You think my gun is tiny? I’ll show you tiny, bang bang! What? You don’t like my diplomacy? Fine, I’m sending a nuke your way!
Sometimes, when honesty meets stupidity, Humans have proven how it ends, every time.
And the answer to the question is: My world won’t come to an end. Yours will.
Albeit a serious one, but still, a Superstar.
*Disclaimer: This is a long post. About food. If you are Singaporean, you may get very hungry. If you are not Singaporean, you may think I am crazy. I am not responsible for either outcome.
Fine. I admit it. I’m whiny hungry Dot. Every once in a while – Jay insists it’s every few months – I get all whiny and hungry for Singaporean hawker food.
“Why don’t you take some classes and learn how to cook those dishes?” he says.
“Cannot!” I wail. “Where got time? Who got teach? How to find ingredients? Fire not hot enough! It’s not the same! I am too lazy!”
People in Singapore, do you realize how lucky you are? We don’t eat these foods every day, or we might, but the point is, the food is right there. There, there, and there. And I’m over here.
Hokkien Mee is one of those foods I wish I enjoyed more as a kid. For some reason, I found the slippery noodles very irritating as it impeded my speed of consumption. I love it much much now.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Stock too complex to make. Includes shrimp, prawns, pork. Haven’t made my own shallots in a long time.
For a devout carnivore, I sure love my vegetarian zhai noodles. God bless the carnivores who made this, because you know they knew how to make it taste good. I swear, sometimes vegetarians get a bum rap because of the things they eat, mainly, tempeh.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Are you kidding? I don’t even really know what is in this! It’s got pretend pork and crispy tofu skin. I think gluten is involved. I have no time to roll and color gluten into pretend pork color. As far as I’m concerned, those yummy sweet green chillies essential for zhai cannot be manmade.
Ah, tow suan. Sweet mysterious yellow pellets with crispy (most times soggy) you tiao (incidentally called Chinese donuts in this here parts.)
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: What is the yellow thing?
Kway Chap! Jay says he can’t stand this, I think it’s the concept that baffles him more than the taste. He’s never had it. Pig intestines, tofu, duck meat, hard boiled eggs, super wide noodles.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Hello, where to get pig intestines? Plus, I don’t want to know how to cook it. I just want to eat it.
Altogether now: CHAR KWAY TEOW! Delicious national dish of noodles (must have two kinds, you know what I’m talking about), bean sprouts, Chinese sausage, egg, fish cake, soy sauce, pork lard. Holy crap.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Well, technically I did it once in Seattle, for a Singaporean get-together. But it was NOT THE SAME. I couldn’t find the right noodles. And I spent a whole day prepping and cooking, with Jay’s help. People, I have a two-year-old. And a job. I’d rather give Mr Hawker $2 to cook it.
I love wanton noodles because it has everything I need in a balanced meal. Carbs. Proteins. Vegetables.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: There are too many components. For starters, the wantons are a bitch to wrap. Tasty soup was never my forte. It’s an assembly nightmare to cook the noodles perfectly and add the char siew, mushrooms, and vegetables.
Oh dear carrot cake, must you be the moist, springy, sweet and salty carb love of my life?
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Did you see the size of his wok? I don’t have the heat to pull this off. (For the record, we attempted it once in Seattle, and Jay turned two burners on, there was carrot cake and soy sauce everywhere, and the stove was a sticky mess at the end of the day.)
Kaya toast and runny eggs with soy sauce and white pepper. A champion’s breakfast if I ever saw one.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I have no kaya. My soy sauce never tastes like their soy sauce.
I’m not a spicy fan but I will do anything for laksa. What’s not to love? Noodles in spicy coconut soup with eggs, fish cakes, and fried tofu does it for me every time.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Don’t get me started. This gravy soup stock is made of things I don’t even have the names for. I believe shrimp paste is involved.
There is a reason this blog is called Tofu Nation. I love every variation of tofu there is. And yong tau foo is the epitome of all things heavenly that can be made from soy. I love both dry and soup versions.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Is Labor-Intensive a good enough excuse? Every little piece is individually created. I need someone like this man selling yong tau foo to make yong tau foo noodles.
I love my kueh tu tu, but I can’t even say for sure what the white part is made of. Rice flour perhaps? I do know that my favorite filling is peanut. Coconut is a close second.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I don’t have this machine. Enough said.
I don’t just eat beehoon noodles. I am grouchy if they only have beehoon. What I need is beehoon and mee. No harm throwing on Maling luncheon meat and a fried egg too.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I’m not sure how to season the noodles. And again, I have not fried shallots in a long time.
The idea of fishballs freaks Jay out. Texture, too. If I had to name a dish I ate the most growing up, it has got to be fishball noodles. Which kid doesn’t like fishballs? So yummy! So springy!
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: There’s a reason this man is making a living. It’s because I’m a lazy ass.
This is a two-fer. Hainanese pork chops and Hainanese chicken rice. Don’t get in my way.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Hainanese pork chops must be seasoned with crack. Because I am addicted. As for the chicken rice, did you know they cook whole chickens in large vats of boiling water? I don’t have a large vat.
Roti Prata is Ghee’s gift to Mankind, at least that’s what I think it’s cooked with. Why else does Ghee exist?
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I can’t flip and knead it like the experts.
I’m not sure why I am not a 300-pound human based on the amount of carbs I eat. How can anyone live without chee cheong fun?
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: Someone has to make the rice noodle from scratch and roll it up into chee cheong fun shapes. That someone is not me.
This steamed cake thing whose name escapes me now was my favorite childhood snack, aside from the rainbow kueh. I know the colors don’t make a difference, but I used to love the pink ones and not the white ones.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I don’t have those cute little orange checked holders.
Don’t say “porridge” to anyone here in the US. They will think you are talking about oats. This lovely rice dish is such comfort food for me. However, I must say I am not a fan of the thousand-year-old egg.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I have tried. Many many times. My chok never tastes like good chok. I can’t find the right type of rice grains.
I cannot have a discussion about Singapore food without zi char. You can’t tell from the photo, but we just had a delicious meal of chicken, beef, vegetables, all freshly cooked to order. What can be better than ordering your favorite homecooked dishes outside your home? No fuss, no mess.
Why Dot Can’t Cook This: I am a bad cook.
Whiny hungry Dot. Coming to a hawker center near you.
After what felt like months of cajoling, explaining, pleading, modeling, bribing, reading potty books, whistling and grunting (on everyone’s part) with no discernible results…
Ruby said today, “I want to sit on the potty,” sat on the toilet, opened her Everyone Poops book, and peed.
She looked as surprised as me.
Then she got a gummi bear vitamin.
On some days, Ruby and I eat take out for lunch. And dinner.
I give Ruby ice-cream because that means she doesn’t talk for at least 5 minutes.
Ruby wears whatever is not in the laundry basket.
When you’re a tired 36-year-old mom or a boundlessly energetic two-year-old, pajamas are legitimate outdoor wear.
I say no a lot less than I say yes.
Sometimes, when Ruby is at preschool or with a babysitter, I do not work, I do not do laundry, I do not clean the house, I do not get groceries, I do not cook meals, I do not take a bath, I do not run errands, and I do not do Number 2. I close my door and watch a Law and Order rerun.
I am genuinely devastated that Ruby hates tofu.
I get mad at Ruby because she walks too slow.
A donut-latte combination is my reward for…heck, no reason.
I shamelessly flaunt Ruby as my baby accessory because she is that damned cute.
When I have to drop Ruby off somewhere, somehow, with diapers, extra clothes, a packed bag of snacks and lunch; I have left the house without brushing my teeth, washing my face, or changing out of that Buzz Lightyear tee.
My fantasy day off involves a hotel room, a TV remote control, room service, and no one around. I eat what I want, I don’t have to share, no one yells my name, and I watch hours of TV uninterrupted.
I guiltily remind myself to enjoy Ruby’s demands for attention because when she’s a moody tween, I’m going to have to knock on her door to say hello while she texts me how her day at school went.
You know what? She’s had fast food. And a couple of those McDonald’s Happy Meals.
I linger in the bathroom because I can. Ruby’s whining is a lot more muffled that way.
I eat Ruby’s leftovers.
I work because I want to be independent, I stay home because I want to be there for her. The fine balance puts me in a state of constant exhaustion. Is it worth it if I earn just enough to pay my taxes and the babysitter? Is it worth it if I am home to have a conversation about how dirt tastes like chocolate? Hell yes.
Thank god for free Wi-Fi. I’m talking to you, Starbucks and Tully’s!
The way I see it, Ruby is growing up in a household where both her parents spend endless hours in front of their computers working, emailing, eating, reading the news, watching videos. This is how we live. We have no dining table. She eats in front of my computer screen, watching Olivia while I read The New York Times online. There are parents out there who want to say something about that, so screw you.
I am getting intolerant in my old mommy age.
The kiasu writer-parent in me sometimes worries that she will be a bad speller or – god forbid – not know the difference between your/you’re, its/it’s, their/there.
I wish I were a more fashionable mom.
Ruby hugs the pain out of me every day.
When Ruby wants to wear something – like a baker’s outfit to the playground – Ruby wears whatever she wants.
Had a great Italian meal with a bunch of old and new friends.
Pinatas galore at Erich and Sally’s engagement party!
Jay and Ruby go sailing. Ruby builds a boat. Dot stays on firm ground.
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