Do I really need to say more?
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Singapore's Airport Food (and a little family history)
I spent a lot of time in airports backpacking through Southeast Asia last year. But the first time I visited Singapore Changi International Airport was when my Uncle Edward and I picked up my cousin Sue Ann and her husband from a short trip to Bali, Indonesia. (I arrived in Singapore from Malaysia by train.)
I never met Sue Ann before and knew little about her. You see, my Uncle Edward is my father's first cousin but we didn't know any of them until just under 10 years ago when they found us in Toronto through the Internet—before Facebook or Twitter was ever an idea in any university techgeek's mind.
My grandmother's youngest sister was given away as a child (they grew up in Calcutta, India, which is another story to tell another day because I'm of Chinese descent) and apparently wound up being raised and getting married in Singapore. Her family and ours always knew of each other's existence but just had no idea where in the world we were. When we did discover our families, we had a big reunion in Toronto, considering most of my father's cousins live here. Ever since then, we've been family. Most of my aunts and dad have visited and stayed with my Uncle Edward in Singapore, and vice versa; and Sue Ann travelled to Toronto for the first time in her life this past Christmas.
It may seem unusual to be estranged for so many years then suddenly welcome each other in our homes but that's the power of family sometimes.
I was nervous to meet Sue Ann, as I would be with any new person in any setting. But it's a particularly curious feeling when you're thousands of kilometres away from home and asking near-strangers to give up their time to show you around. Luckily, my aunt from Toronto informed me that Sue Ann and I had two brilliant things in common—an insatiable love for food and a high metabolism to keep us tiny.
My first meal with Sue Ann didn't turn out to be at the airport—that will come later—but the brilliant thing about most, if not all Singaporeans is they love food.
That is why their version of airport food would of course be this:
This is referred to as "dry noodles," though to me the distinction between wet and dry noodles was not obvious at first. In my mind, dry noodles doesn't come with anything "wet," such as a sauce. But in Singapore, wet noodles means soupy noodles and dry noodles are indeed saucy. It's inspiring how simple and elegant noodles can be presented at an airport.
I never met Sue Ann before and knew little about her. You see, my Uncle Edward is my father's first cousin but we didn't know any of them until just under 10 years ago when they found us in Toronto through the Internet—before Facebook or Twitter was ever an idea in any university techgeek's mind.
My grandmother's youngest sister was given away as a child (they grew up in Calcutta, India, which is another story to tell another day because I'm of Chinese descent) and apparently wound up being raised and getting married in Singapore. Her family and ours always knew of each other's existence but just had no idea where in the world we were. When we did discover our families, we had a big reunion in Toronto, considering most of my father's cousins live here. Ever since then, we've been family. Most of my aunts and dad have visited and stayed with my Uncle Edward in Singapore, and vice versa; and Sue Ann travelled to Toronto for the first time in her life this past Christmas.
It may seem unusual to be estranged for so many years then suddenly welcome each other in our homes but that's the power of family sometimes.
I was nervous to meet Sue Ann, as I would be with any new person in any setting. But it's a particularly curious feeling when you're thousands of kilometres away from home and asking near-strangers to give up their time to show you around. Luckily, my aunt from Toronto informed me that Sue Ann and I had two brilliant things in common—an insatiable love for food and a high metabolism to keep us tiny.
My first meal with Sue Ann didn't turn out to be at the airport—that will come later—but the brilliant thing about most, if not all Singaporeans is they love food.
That is why their version of airport food would of course be this:
This is referred to as "dry noodles," though to me the distinction between wet and dry noodles was not obvious at first. In my mind, dry noodles doesn't come with anything "wet," such as a sauce. But in Singapore, wet noodles means soupy noodles and dry noodles are indeed saucy. It's inspiring how simple and elegant noodles can be presented at an airport.
I was also introduced to tea with sweetened condensed milk that day. I've yet to recreate the concoction since returning home (it's almost been a year now!) but as I read on a younger cousin's Facebook profile, "Condensed milk makes everything better. I think it's the secret to world peace."
Undoubtedly it very well may be—and the hospitality of loved ones doesn't hurt either.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Lawry's The Prime Rib: Singapore
It's been over six months since I travelled to Singapore so my memory is a little hazy. But I do believe the day after arriving and eating at the Newton Hawker Centre (my first hawker experience ever!), my uncle took me, his son Augustus, and Agus's girlfriend to lunch at Lawry's The Prime Rib fine dining restaurant that originated in Beverly Hills in 1938.
My uncle isn't a very wealthy man but him and his family are on the "richer" side of Singapore's population. In any case, I wouldn't have eaten here if it wasn't for his generosity and excellent food taste.
The experience starts off much like any other a la carte restaurant. You order what kind of prime rib cut you would like first from a menu. Though they are called by many different names, the options essentially range from a thick slab to a very thick slab to a very, very thick slab.
Then the experience takes a small (or maybe big) turn. A little while after everyone orders, this huge steel cart is wheeled out by a chef, decked out in the white suit yards, and slices your cut for you right in front of the table.
You're also given creamy mashed potatoes with a hefty dose of gravy, and a vegetable side option. I chose creamed spinach. I can't quite remember but I believe I finished my entire plate.
Plus we had a traditional Lawry's salad, some kind of soup, and Yorkshire pudding (pictured above). If you didn't know, turns out Yorkshire pudding isn't "pudding" at all — at least not the J-E-L-L-O kind I'm most familiar with from growing up with those Bill Cosby commercials. Yorkshire pudding is a very flaky bread that's kind of laid out like a pie. If you don't know, I love flaky pastries of all varieties so this was a welcomed surprise for me.
Lawry's was easily the most classiest lunch I've ever been served but what I love about Singaporean style (or maybe just my Singaporean family?) is that we showed up in shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops with no problems or looks at all.
My uncle isn't a very wealthy man but him and his family are on the "richer" side of Singapore's population. In any case, I wouldn't have eaten here if it wasn't for his generosity and excellent food taste.
The experience starts off much like any other a la carte restaurant. You order what kind of prime rib cut you would like first from a menu. Though they are called by many different names, the options essentially range from a thick slab to a very thick slab to a very, very thick slab.
Then the experience takes a small (or maybe big) turn. A little while after everyone orders, this huge steel cart is wheeled out by a chef, decked out in the white suit yards, and slices your cut for you right in front of the table.
You're also given creamy mashed potatoes with a hefty dose of gravy, and a vegetable side option. I chose creamed spinach. I can't quite remember but I believe I finished my entire plate.
Plus we had a traditional Lawry's salad, some kind of soup, and Yorkshire pudding (pictured above). If you didn't know, turns out Yorkshire pudding isn't "pudding" at all — at least not the J-E-L-L-O kind I'm most familiar with from growing up with those Bill Cosby commercials. Yorkshire pudding is a very flaky bread that's kind of laid out like a pie. If you don't know, I love flaky pastries of all varieties so this was a welcomed surprise for me.
Lawry's was easily the most classiest lunch I've ever been served but what I love about Singaporean style (or maybe just my Singaporean family?) is that we showed up in shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops with no problems or looks at all.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Singapore, Newton Hawker Centre
After three days eating my way through Kuala Lumpur as much as I possibly could, I took the 8-hour train ride to Singapore to meet my uncle who lives there. (Can you believe I didn't have to pee the whole time? Mind over matter, my friends.)
My uncle was awesome. He was waiting for me as soon as I got in at about 10:20 on a Friday night. He immediately offered to take me home to shower and change, then to do what Singaporeans do best -- eat.
We went to Newton Hawker Centre, which is one of, if not, the most famous hawker centres in Singapore among tourists. It's open concept with food stalls lining the perimeter, serving all sorts of Singaporean dishes. You sit at a numbered table, go up to the stall, order, give them your table number, and in a few short starving moments, your food arrives. You pay the food runner and dig in.
While we waited for food, my uncle ordered lime juices to satiate our thirst. This is a very common drink in Singapore, and it's exactly what it sounds like plus sugar. Considering how much I love citrus, it was perfect for me.
My uncle ordered an enormous feast, considering it was just me, him and his super skinny competitive synchronized swimming 17-year-old daughter Priscilla. We had Singaporean classics: oyster omlette and chili crab; as well as little clams in a spicy sauce, some fried greens, and seafood tom yam soup (not pictured).
The chili crab came with little warm bread rolls that kind of reminded me of marshmallows if you can imagine.
I'm not sure what this cost because my uncle paid for everything, but each dish, since they were all seafood, probably ranged from S$7-S$15; and one Canadian dollar equals about 1.5 Singaporean dollars.
Singaporeans seem to love spicy foods, sauces and seafood. How they cook and eat it all in the thick humidity year-round is beyond me. But thank goodness they do because this is like their version of fast food, and I really, really love that. Hot, super tasty food and lots of it!
My uncle was awesome. He was waiting for me as soon as I got in at about 10:20 on a Friday night. He immediately offered to take me home to shower and change, then to do what Singaporeans do best -- eat.
My uncle ordered an enormous feast, considering it was just me, him and his super skinny competitive synchronized swimming 17-year-old daughter Priscilla. We had Singaporean classics: oyster omlette and chili crab; as well as little clams in a spicy sauce, some fried greens, and seafood tom yam soup (not pictured).
The chili crab came with little warm bread rolls that kind of reminded me of marshmallows if you can imagine.
I'm not sure what this cost because my uncle paid for everything, but each dish, since they were all seafood, probably ranged from S$7-S$15; and one Canadian dollar equals about 1.5 Singaporean dollars.
Singaporeans seem to love spicy foods, sauces and seafood. How they cook and eat it all in the thick humidity year-round is beyond me. But thank goodness they do because this is like their version of fast food, and I really, really love that. Hot, super tasty food and lots of it!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
The beauty of what's real.
It's a clichéd image. A long stretch of golden sand, deep blue ocean water, a bright sky and a hot sun overhead, the sound of the waves crashing up against the shore, and an endless amount of time to sit, relax and soak it all in. This is my trip to Mexico to a deluxe five-star all-inclusive resort. This is something many Canadians get to enjoy. Time away from the office, school, snow, cold, city streets, boring surburbia, everyday life. Instead of thinking it as a cliché, I imagine it to be a beautiful dream where the weather is perfect every day, you can eat and drink as much as you like, and you don't have to worry about any problems.
I spent six of seven days in that fantasy world. And it was the perfect get-away I needed. But on a morning of one of those seven days, I stepped into reality. I visited a small Mexican town centered in the tourist development area of Huatulco where I was staying.
The cab ride into town is about seven minutes long and costs $2.50 CDN. Split amongst three riders, I owe $0.83. The roads have sharp curves because they follow the land of the mountains. It is relaxing to feel the wind blow across my face and watch the scenery pass by in a car that looks like it was made 20 years ago.
The town is small but densely populated with stores, markets, restaurants and bars. No building is taller than two stories and all storefronts are brightly painted in pastels. In the center is a huge park with stone benches, a fountain, and blossoming trees and bushes. The sky is overcast and the morning air is starting to thicken with humidity. My companions and I wander through a mall first. It always surprises me to see Westernized commercialization in developing countries. The mall is white and beige and spectacularly clean. They have stores selling Guess-like clothing at Guess-like prices, Adidas shoes, Puma gear, and novelty souvenir shops where a magnet costs more than the total cab fare. But the convenience store is ridiculously cheap.
"I got this bottle of grapefruit juice and pack of gum for 85 cents!" says Kashlee, a fellow Canadian travelling on her own, who my friend Danielle and I met at the resort. "Are you ready to go to the markets in town?" she asks.
The market isn't what I imagined. In a whole square block, I enter these large open doorways into dark and narrow aisles, jam-packed with stalls selling more things than I could have imagined. We come across so many different trinkets--wooden toy motorcycles, black stone animal statues, beaded jewellery, ceramic plates--all handcrafted and traditional to the Mexican culture. Old women and young children are at every corner, waiting to sell you these tourist goodies. And along the perimeter are produce, meat and fish stands. A large bowl of prawns stare up at me with a thousand black beady-little eyes. The scent of fresh mangoes somehow manage to permeate the air. We see a young woman carving the sweet fruit into a tropical flower-like shape, held on a stick so you can eat without getting your hands sticky.
Back on the streets, the sidewalks are busy but not crowded. We wander off to a more residential area. Little cocoa-skinned girls don puffy, laced, pattern-stitched dresses. On one road, a boy cries his head off while an older lady stands in the doorway, watching him steadily. There is only a hard void-like expression on her face. The sounds of the place are rhythmic Spanish music, fast-talking speech in a language I don't understand, cars and bikes puttering along, kids yelling, and our footsteps hitting the pavement.
"There isn't really anything left to see," remarks Kashlee. We've walked the entire town in about an hour. Much of the time was spent idling in shops. Danielle also isn't feeling well so we decide to head back to the resort. I don't really want to leave. The allure of the town is so powerful. It's the authenticity, the rough life, the fact that people live and don't have the luxury of lounging on what is really their beautiful beaches all day long. "I can see why you would want to live here now," I tell Kashlee. She's been raving about Mexico since the moment we met her. I didn't understand the appeal until now.
The trip into town is real life for me. And as much as I enjoy losing myself to fantasy, I love to be engaged by the world. I love to know what the real experience of real people are. I don't need the sugar-coated, glossed-over version the vacation brochures try to sell. There is an emptiness in that dreamworld that could never sustain and fulfill me.
I loved lying on the beach for six of seven days. It was that one morning when I visited the real world that will stick with me forever. The real world isn't a cliché, but it is more timeless and beautiful than any picture-perfect beach.
I spent six of seven days in that fantasy world. And it was the perfect get-away I needed. But on a morning of one of those seven days, I stepped into reality. I visited a small Mexican town centered in the tourist development area of Huatulco where I was staying.
The cab ride into town is about seven minutes long and costs $2.50 CDN. Split amongst three riders, I owe $0.83. The roads have sharp curves because they follow the land of the mountains. It is relaxing to feel the wind blow across my face and watch the scenery pass by in a car that looks like it was made 20 years ago.
The town is small but densely populated with stores, markets, restaurants and bars. No building is taller than two stories and all storefronts are brightly painted in pastels. In the center is a huge park with stone benches, a fountain, and blossoming trees and bushes. The sky is overcast and the morning air is starting to thicken with humidity. My companions and I wander through a mall first. It always surprises me to see Westernized commercialization in developing countries. The mall is white and beige and spectacularly clean. They have stores selling Guess-like clothing at Guess-like prices, Adidas shoes, Puma gear, and novelty souvenir shops where a magnet costs more than the total cab fare. But the convenience store is ridiculously cheap.
"I got this bottle of grapefruit juice and pack of gum for 85 cents!" says Kashlee, a fellow Canadian travelling on her own, who my friend Danielle and I met at the resort. "Are you ready to go to the markets in town?" she asks.
The market isn't what I imagined. In a whole square block, I enter these large open doorways into dark and narrow aisles, jam-packed with stalls selling more things than I could have imagined. We come across so many different trinkets--wooden toy motorcycles, black stone animal statues, beaded jewellery, ceramic plates--all handcrafted and traditional to the Mexican culture. Old women and young children are at every corner, waiting to sell you these tourist goodies. And along the perimeter are produce, meat and fish stands. A large bowl of prawns stare up at me with a thousand black beady-little eyes. The scent of fresh mangoes somehow manage to permeate the air. We see a young woman carving the sweet fruit into a tropical flower-like shape, held on a stick so you can eat without getting your hands sticky.
Back on the streets, the sidewalks are busy but not crowded. We wander off to a more residential area. Little cocoa-skinned girls don puffy, laced, pattern-stitched dresses. On one road, a boy cries his head off while an older lady stands in the doorway, watching him steadily. There is only a hard void-like expression on her face. The sounds of the place are rhythmic Spanish music, fast-talking speech in a language I don't understand, cars and bikes puttering along, kids yelling, and our footsteps hitting the pavement.
"There isn't really anything left to see," remarks Kashlee. We've walked the entire town in about an hour. Much of the time was spent idling in shops. Danielle also isn't feeling well so we decide to head back to the resort. I don't really want to leave. The allure of the town is so powerful. It's the authenticity, the rough life, the fact that people live and don't have the luxury of lounging on what is really their beautiful beaches all day long. "I can see why you would want to live here now," I tell Kashlee. She's been raving about Mexico since the moment we met her. I didn't understand the appeal until now.
The trip into town is real life for me. And as much as I enjoy losing myself to fantasy, I love to be engaged by the world. I love to know what the real experience of real people are. I don't need the sugar-coated, glossed-over version the vacation brochures try to sell. There is an emptiness in that dreamworld that could never sustain and fulfill me.
I loved lying on the beach for six of seven days. It was that one morning when I visited the real world that will stick with me forever. The real world isn't a cliché, but it is more timeless and beautiful than any picture-perfect beach.
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