My Present, My Now, Happy Birthday to Me

Baby pic
Mummy and botak me

What’s the obsession with the Number Three?
I must insist that it doesn’t suit me
I squeezed and I scrunched but could barely free
Any memory of turning thirty.

I can hardly sing, I didn’t win the grammy
I dance like a klutz, quite like a zombie
A philanthropist I’m not, I’m no Gandhi
I can’t bake although I worship Jamie.

Well the walk down the aisle must definitely be
The highlight of being two and thirty
And even then I almost nimbly
Did a somersault in my snugly tied saree.

My hairstyles have ranged from short to frizzy
My hair colour would have made Renoir envy
Isn’t it a mystery why as a baby
I was hairless and bald just like my hubby?

These were the years of discovery
New interests like painting and making jewellery
And then came blogging, my latest hobby
It was a match made in heaven, like me and Kenny.

I suppose I should count myself lucky
For weekend B^*ches like dear Hairy
Who spends a good hour or three
Explaining to me his love for KFC.

Dear God, when I grow to be forty
Let my boobs be big and firm and perky
Let my waist always be twenty three
Inches, not metres, possibly?

Oddly enough, I am not wrinkly
It must be the char siu I eat regularly
For fat is surely the instant remedy
No crow’s feet, but I’ve become rather pimply.

The elderly are definitely quite happy
Just look at my idol, F-B-Bee
I must be like him, benevolent and jolly
A baker of pavlovas most legendary.

Yes, age, welcome, I stand and greet thee
Take me, mould me, and keep me healthy
I’ve never been happier, this is my ecstasy
My present, my now, happy birthday to me.

Pavlova
Please sir, may I have some pavlova?

Haiku for Edamame

edamame

Was it in 2006? Or 2007? I discovered you in a Japanese restaurant, and I glanced at you thinking that you weren’t very delectable and pushed you away for other meatier stuff. After all, you were just a bean.

You appeared before me, over and over again after that.  You didn’t give up.  Soon, it wasn’t just at Japanese restaurants.  It was also at friends’ parties and supermarkets.  I have to give it to you, you were persistent.

My first taste was with hesitation.  I licked you.  You were salty.  I bit into you.  You came into my mouth.  It was love at first bite. You are a little…nutty.

I like you, Edamame. You may be Japanese, but I am colour blind.

martini with edamame

Intoxicated
Sensations spilling forth like
Beans into a filled glass.
.
I’m inebriated
By the combination of
Martini and soy.
.

martini with edamame

Who needs olives?
Variety bordering on risqué
Makes a better tale.
.

cupcakes with edamame

Is it about food
Or of the man who brings
Love in a cupcake?
.
You envelope me
In sunshiny coconut
And edamame
.

dancing with edamame

Visions of dancing
On grainy wooden floors seasoned
With life’s experience.
.

edamame necklace

Fill me with life
Like the soil of the earth
Not cold hard coloured stones.
.

my temple

This is my temple
I taste your saltiness
You energise me.
.

edamame necklace

Take me and my heart
Can you hear it thump thumping
My Edamame?
.
A badly written haiku by LL, dedicated to you, who left  10 years ago.  We were colour blind.

.

How To Make Your Man Happy For Under RM30

Duck and mango salad
Roast duck and mango salad (with char siu surprise)

With the way things have been in the political scene, it’s hard to think of only food all the time.  But if one had to just talk about food, how about that Samantha sushi scene in Sex and the City, eh?  I cackled till I cried.  And talking about Sex and the City, I was reading Kevin Cowherd’s article in The Star the other day where he said that men should refrain from watching this movie…let your wife watch it with her girlfriends, bla bla bla….well, I have only one thing to say.  Bald Eagle is a real man, baybeh, coz he surprised me with tickets and laughed throughout the movie.  But then again, how many straight men can confidently tell you that Blahnik isn’t the name of the latest space shuttle to take off from Russia?  And talking about men, I’ve been faithfully listening to Flyfm for the longest time, for 40 minutes in the morning from Mondays to Fridays which adds up to a gazillion jillion hours, but I’m finally going to change loyalties.  Why?  Have you heard their latest lame car-giveaway-to-Mazlan-almost-a-scam thingy?  Whoever came up with the idea ought to be sacked.  Anyway.  I’m in a dilemma right now.  I don’t know what to listen to in the mornings.  I’m stationless.  Decisions decisions.  And talking about decisions, if you’re like me, a devoted wife who wants to provide only the best to her husband every night (and I’m still talking about food here), I am sure you would be occasionally faced with mental block.  It is even more of a challenge for me ever since we resolved, 6 months ago, to eat salads for dinner at least 3 times a week.  I mean, how many different ways can one present a bunch of leaves?  But I suppose when you’re fast approaching the unmentionable years (grey hair, sagging breasts, et al.), it is wise to eat less and eat healthy.  Or at least, I try.  20% of the time.  Anyway.  Bald Eagle was one very happy man this week thanks to me.  (We’re still talking about food here.)  I fed him this very easy to prepare roast duck and mango salad (with char siu surprise).  The base consisted of a bunch of rocket and coriander leaves, a fistful of sweet and crunchy taugeh (bean sprouts), julienned red capsicum for colour and chopped ripe mangoes for sweetness.  Because it was beginning to feel thai, I added a packet of glass noodles (pre-soaked to soften), and then tossed all the items in a sauce made with olive oil, ground palm sugar, a dash of sesame oil, peanuts, minced dried shrimps (fried) and the sauce that came with the roast duck which I had purchased from a chicken rice stall in Lucky Garden at 9.00pm after a hard day’s work.  Well, we all need cheat tactics.  The sauce had a garlicky sweet flavour, so I didn’t bother adding more garlic.  While waiting for the roast duck to be chopped by the kindly old man at the Lucky Garden stall, I saw a tiny piece of glistening fatty char siu.  If there’s one thing I cannot resist, it’s char siu.  Especially if it’s fatty.  A little bit unpremeditated (and unhealthy!), but like my philosophy in life and everything else, cooking should be an adventure.  So in went the roast duck and the char siu.  I squeezed the be-juice-s out of 5 calamansi limes onto the pasta to lift the flavour, and I can tell you this – Bald Eagle was one very happy man that night. (Are we still talking about food?)