With Love, Curry

A few weekends ago, I went over to TJ's to teach her how to make Tammy's Nonya Ayam Curry.

Good job, TJ!

We had to improvise as we did not have the curry powder I normally use, nor fresh coconut shavings to make coconut milk.  Nor did we have a mortar and pestle for pounding the rempah.

I've brought some left-over curry powder from my fridge in Singapore, and thought I'd whip up my curry today, in preparation for lunch tomorrow.

I'm quite fussy with curry because of the kind of curry Popo used to make.  This is the powder we use. I buy it from Bibik Seet in Katong.

Other ingredients I like to add:

The above to be chopped up as finely as possible...

Hmm.  "as finely as possible"

and then pounded up or blended to make a spice paste (rempah)

"Pounding"!

I also add potatoes, carrots, and an onion.

Oops.  I forgot my tomato.  Moving on!

Prepare the curry paste by adding some water to some curry powder.  Stir it up.  Marinate the chopped chicken bits with this paste.  Add a tad of teriyaki sauce.  Set the chicken aside as you prepare the potatoes, carrots, and onions.  In a large pot/pan (which I don't have, hence am not illustrating), fry the rempah up, add the chicken and keep on frying.  Add the rest of prepared root vegetables, add water, add coconut milk.  Bring everything to boil, gently stirring.  Add salt to taste.

I was most nervous about not having freshly grated coconut for the coconut milk.  I had to improvise with this instead.

Ugh.  Doesn't quite do justice to my curry!

In my original curry, right when everything is about cooked, I then add coconut cream to the pot.  The cream is the undiluted milk you get upon the very first squeeze of the coconut shavings.  Alas, this is not going to be possible in London.  So I improvised (poorly) with a slab of butter instead.

Sayang is a Malay word for love.  It is also used in local Singaporean speech as an action word, "to love", or "with infinite care".

There is no other way to describe how best to cook curry, but with love.  So for the next 20 minutes, I stand over my stove, to sayang curry, sayang curry.

(Footnote:  The curry is always prepared at least a day ahead of actual serving to allow it to rest.)

Thanksgiving in My Heart

Since coming back to London, I have been waking each day with a lot of gratitude in my heart.

Maybe it's the weather.  Or the fallen leaves, like pieces of a puzzle, strewn.

Bruno and I dropped Summie off at The National Gallery, then walked home from Trafalgar Square.  We made a quick pit stop at New Bond Street, where I learnt again, that if you intend to shop (successfully) at that store, best leave your bling at home, mind your manners, and put on the cloak of humility.  At the time of visit, I easily identified three (hostile) Singaporean women in their late 50s/early 60s, all decked out- alligator pumps, trench coats, silk scarves, real jewellery, stiff hair.

No one offered them any assistance.

(Hint- at this store, Service is not impressed by Pomp.)

Bruno on the other hand, was repeatedly praised for his patience and good manners.  

We walked on.

We met new friends.

We got falafel and juice at Cafe Nero.

Cafe Nero- Westbourne Grove & Hereford

It's the leaves.  They announce that summer has passed, and fall is finally here.

 Ah, Fall!  A new school year, Halloween, Wedding Anniversary, Thanksgiving and before you know it, Christmas!  Tis the most wonderful time of the year.

(Quick) Costume Change

                            On Sunday, I attended Popo's 97th Birthday Lunch.

                                                   Then I packed.

I said goodbye to Mr Mellow Jello :( :( :(

I said goodbye to my husband :( :( :(

I hopped on a plane that felt like a long bus ride, slept for 1.5 hours.  

The moment all of us alighted at Heathrow, the pace of walking collectively quickened.  Jumpers were pulled on.  I made it back swiftly.

I unpacked, showered, did laundry, threw on my London uniform, collected my daughter and collected Bruno.

Something about the London uniform energized and empowered me, never mind the lack of sleep.

  

I took Summie and TJ out for impromptu dim dum.

Royal China, Bayswater

I went grocery shopping, fixed dinner, tidied up the flat again.

At about 2130 hours, I laid down thinking, finally!  Sleep!  

But the teenager has A Melt-Down (groan) and Bruno wakes up repeatedly through the night with diarrhoea...

!!!!!!!!

Goodbye, (R & R) Singapore,

Hello (Non-Empty Nest) London!

Muscle Memory!

In courtship, the man of few words simply arrives in a car with muscle.

BEAUTY & THE BEAST!

I'm not the sort of girl who dreams of a prince on a white horse, galloping to save me.  I'd so much rather be riding that horse myself!  Tonight, the wise man hands me his keys, and tasks me with driving us home.

A dirt road in the middle of Texas.  The First Forever Love is explaining Clutch, Gears, Gas, Break Pedal.  Later, he is teaching me to parallel park.  After that is learnt, I take my driving test and because it is America, I pass on my first attempt.

The last time I drove a manual car was almost two decades ago in Los Angeles, 1994!  The man promises to be patient with me as I reacquaint myself with Clutch, Gears, Gas, Break Pedal.  The challenge is to get us home in one coherent piece, driving on (for me) the opposite side of the road.

I drive the car once around the parking lot at the Regent Hotel.  Muscle Memory!  It's all coming back to me!  

It's all coming back to me, including almost stalling and getting stuck up the ramp upon leaving the car park!  

Muscle Memory!  Pull on hand break immediately!  Step fully onto the clutch with the left foot!  Muscle Memory!  Don't panic!  Remember that once you used to whiz up and down those streets in San Francisco in your dinky little (manual) car!

Off onto Grange Road, switch into 3rd, 4th gear, oh Muscle Memory!!!  Vroom, Vroom!!!  The car is an adorable beast and I haven't even had the chance to put it in 5th and 6th gears!  Damn, damn narrow Singapore streets with too many traffic lights and over- vigilant police on the prowl!

Muscle Memory!!!  Vroom, Vroom!!! 

(All other drivers, stay away from me, don't pull up so close!) 

Vroom, Vroom!!!

Five minutes later, I've reversed, I've parked.  We are unscathed.  I am feeling the adrenaline rush that comes from physical activity.  I need to stretch my left hip out- the clutch is really heavy.  I look at my man fondly.  He looks back at me with a gentle, knowing smile.  How wise is this man?  Behind every successful man is not a woman, but his own shadow trailing a long shape, for his woman is right there beside him, driving.

The Incredible Lightness of Being

Day 2, Singapore.  I awake.  There he is, Mr Mellow Jello Beyond Jello, looking back at me.

If I reach towards him, he rearranges himself, presenting a belly for rubs.

I'm terribly displaced in Singapore.  Angel the Beloved is so laid-back, I have no idea where he is at times because he is not shadowing me around.  I wonder how the shadow is doing.  The temperature dropped in London today- I hope he is warm enough.

File photo of the Shadow.

Being with the husband again is great!  I remember I am in reality not a singleton!  It is nice to share living spaces, to be home when he returns from work, and to be able to shout out a text within the same time zone.

The nest is really empty here without the teenager.  I feel incredibly unencumbered, and very light.  I am temporarily, without responsibility (WOW).  Courtship Part II continues but with even more indulgence as the man is on home turf.  Tammy the Artist ebbs away, and Mrs Chan, remember her, steps forth.

Of course Mrs Chan needs to fix her hair and nails!

Self-preservation takes time.  Resting and relaxing require initiative, and a uniform.   I wear an oversized blouse,  a skinny cardigan that will shrink in the wash with my yoga pants and high heels. 

Angel, we aren't in London anymore!

I get my hair cut as short as possible, paint my nails, red.  Both activities take up about 3 hours.  I wander about looking for gifts (30 minutes).  I cross the street and visit my sister-in-law who has just given birth (1 hour).  

I meet Perfection, aka Eli James Wong.  The hour passes.  I hand Perfection back to his mom.  My dinner date picks me up.  Unlike the days of Marriage with A Teenager at Home, my date is early!  He circles the block once.  He even worries out loud if I got caught in the sudden drizzle.

At dinner we are laughing and chatting, and he piles the most subtle of Japanese flavors onto my plate.  I decide my marriage is too important to me to quit alcohol.  And much as I have been scarred by Saturday Soho hijinks with K and SF, I am going to have to re-train my liver so that I can drink with him again.

Once Upon A Couch

I've been waiting patiently for a small couch to appear in my life.  Something vintage, something comfy.

Occasionally I obsess about this wall space (R).

I moved my lamp into the corner.  After I did that, I became convinced a small couch needed to go there, even if I don't ever sit there much.  So right before I boarded SQ319, I went to Forest in Clerkenwell, to check out a couch that had just been offered for sale.

Forest, 115 Clerkenwell Road

Elated!  My gut was right on the couch!  I allowed myself five complete minutes to indulge in fabric swatches...decisions, decisions, decisions.

Bliss!

Eva, the lovely owner of Forest jumped right in to assist, and even offered making me some buttons for the couch.

This is the sort of thing I could do all day- costume a home, talk fabric, color, texture.  But, I had a plane to catch.

I took a last look at my couch.  I dashed onto the Hammersmith-Circle line, dashed onto the Heathrow Express.

Dashing!

At Heathrow because I had no luggage, the Singapore Airlines representative directed me to the First Class Counter to sort out my seat woe.  I was not expecting an upgrade, but by the grace of God, I was assigned an aisle seat.   RELIEF!!!

12/13 hours later, my husband swept me into his arms.  He had uncharacteristically closed the clinic a full hour ahead of scheduled time, so that for a change, I did not have to take public transportation home.  

Angel the Beloved, Home.

Timeless Style

All photos used belong to Kim Wright.

I received an email today from a magazine in Singapore.  Would I consider being included in some article for their December (Christmas) issue, and in exchange they would highlight my upcoming dance/book projects?

For some reason that email called forth, my mother.

 In another editorial feature of a similar slant, I was asked who I considered as style icons.  Easy!  I answered, Tina Tan Leo, Kate Moss (changed my mind since), and my mother.

My mother is the sort of woman that walks into a room and conversation halts.  She can't help it.  It's called X factor.  Or perhaps these days, it's the color of her hair- unabashedly white, that silences.  (Cultural note- no self-respecting Asian woman past a certain age would allow this to happen to her hair.  God Forbid.)

If Kim is standing in line at the post office, complete strangers become friends and start telling her their pain...

My mother loves to shop!  When she goes shopping?  It takes forever as she can't bring herself to spend X on Y, and needs to go home and think things through.  Then she goes back to the same store the following day, and the day after, and the day after.  By that time, the SA who has been serving her would have received a sincere invitation to stay at her house when she ever visits Queenstown.  For the sake of my sanity, I never, ever go shopping with Kim.

A friend who finds Kim quite enthralling, once said that if she had a younger sister that beautiful, she would never allow her to be cast in the role of her bridesmaid on her wedding day.

But I suspect Kim's older sisters have only always doted on her, and continue to bask in her beauty.

Here's what my mother taught me about style.  Style is defined by authenticity.  You just have to inhabit yourself.  There is only one unique you, no one else comes close.  So hold your head up, read a book, go look at art, eat something, walk tall.

Style is not to be confused by trends and brands.  Why blindly follow when the stylish woman knows it is only her taste that matters?

Kim would never be caught carrying an "IT" bag.  Give her a Great Dane hanging off her arm instead!

Style is that fine line we tread between cultivating our inner landscapes, and not taking ourselves so seriously.

Style is about comfort and being sensitive to the fluctuating environment.  In winter climate, wear good shoes, more black.

 In spring and summer, throw on brighter colors.  They do wonders for your spirit and skin!

Style is embracing the now, and not trying to cling onto what will fade with time.  Style is dressing with discretion and courtesy.  Kim has great legs, but the last time anyone saw them, it was in the swinging 60s.  Before I was born.

Last night I wrote about my uniform.  Looking at the above pictures, I can't help but note certain similarities in our dressing.  Tall boots, black, color around the face, chunky scarf, and requisite dog.   Sometimes, mother does know best.

London Uniform

Because I keep getting asked, thought I'd just share.  To live with very little in terms of clothing, or packing extremely light, is simple.  I create, a uniform.

London requires a different uniform than say, Los Angeles or Singapore.  Certain things cross continents.  Number of jeans in my closet both in Singapore and London?  Two- one hanging within, one hanging off my hips.  Number of bras?  Two.  Number of white cotton tops?  Number of black cotton tops?  Two and two.  Number of scarves?  One.

In the Singapore closet, I've left behind something like eight printed dresses.  Because of the nature of my work, often, one of these dresses will do added duty as a dance costume.

photo credit-  Esplanade Theatres on the Bay, Andante solo.  Dress-  Marc by Marc Jacobs with lining re-cut to allow legs to kick up.

photo credit-  Ethos Books, 'A' is for Achar, 'L' is for Love book launch & performance.  Dress- Zara, worn over pants.

photo credit-  Ethos Books, 'A' is for Achar, 'L' is for Love, book launch & performance.  Sarong and kebaya from a tailor in Joo Chiat, worn with platform sandals that have since been given away.

At graduate school, someone kindly said that I was always dressed "so cutely" and that my wardrobe was "amazing".  I whispered back- Actually I have very few things, I just use them over and over again.  (Her shock was palpable and made me laugh!)

photo credit- cousin S, same sarong and kebaya worn with same sandals (unseen) to Popo's birthday celebrations :)

photo credit-  Ethos Books, 'A' is for Achar, 'L' is for Love book launch.  DVF-to-the-rescue blouse.

The need to have little I suspect, stems from my parents divorcing.  There were a lot of tears that morning.  My brother and I packed as much as we realistically could, and left our home forever.

photo credit-  The Straits Times, (L) same DVF blouse worn for an interview, (R) 1998 Versus dress worn at another interview and resurrected multiple times on stage.

 The older I get, the more defined my aesthetic, and who I am as a person/artist become.  So recycling outfits gets easier and easier, and thankfully, I don't make as many tragic buys/wasteful decisions as before.

photo credit-  Ethos Books, CNY 2013 dress recycled for work, at Book 2 Launch

The main considerations for my London-dressing lie in the unpredictable weather, the reality of public transportation, and that I'm always off on some train journey.

Hence...

A pair of well-made tall boots are essential.  They keep my legs warm, cover unsavoury bits, offer comfort on the train, off the train, in rural and urban parts.  They anchor all looks, prevent any outfit from sliding into sloppy-dom.  During more vulnerable moments (like riding a train with a drunk lunatic last Sunday/stuck with a locksmith at an unearthly hour last Thursday) offer, Authority.

There.  With Authority.  

A raincoat (groan) is also part of my London uniform.  

This is just so not LA, nor Singapore.  Initially I balked at getting one.  But my husband worries easily about me.

Wear black, wear white, wear jeans.  Splurge on sturdy shoes, strap purse to torso, throw in some color around the neck or at the feet.

Meow.  Flats for upcoming plane ride...

Do laundry, find a reliable dry-cleaner, remember keys, remember to speed walk, and disarm bad service with a smile and an American accent.  To complete the uniform?  Tote precious dog in complimentary colors.