Cruisin' Canada: Of Coves, Caves and Birthday Cake 9 Aug 2012 1:50 PM (12 years ago)

This summer, Una Ragazza decided to abandon her long-held beliefs that cruising is for AARP members. A ship was leaving north of the Intrepid here in New York, and she planned a birthday surprise for Un Ragazzo that involved lots of eating, shopping, playing, loving... and eating.

Enjoy her first -- and slightly wonky -- attempt at making a Prezi presentation on her first American cruise.

Oh Canada! Our home and lovely land (for a week)

Una Ragazza on Love: Home is Where the Heart... (Part I) 10 Jun 2012 7:24 PM (12 years ago)

Growing up in Chinatown in Singapore was a busy, noisy and colorful affair. My life revolved around a fascinating two-block radius in the neighborhood of Telok Ayer, meaning "bay water" in Malay.

Learning to bid at a neighborhood charity auction with Ah Ma

At the front of our shophouse was Ah Gong’s stall of immaculately cut fruit and crates of Coca Cola and Fanta bottles. Beyond that, to the left, the five-foot way (shophouse corridor) led to my favorite hangout, the neighborhood mama shop, where I spent many, many afternoons deciding the best way my 15 cents should be divided among the large array of candy, gum and kiam-sng-tee (“salty, sour and sweet” preserved fruits).

As a child, I liked my orange peel salty, sour and sweet

If I ventured a little further west, I could lean against the gates of Chongfu Primary School as I unwrapped my sweets and admired the five-storey-high building, the tallest structure known to me at age five.

Chongfu: The big school on the block

Opposite the school was Thian Hock Keng, the oldest Hokkien temple in Singapore that was dedicated to the Taoist goddess of the sea and patron of sailors. I remember the sale of flowers, incense and food offerings outside the temple, and the giant buses carrying tourists in funny hats and giant black boxes slung around their necks. They often stopped by Ah Gong’s shop to buy a soft drink, where they paid his tourist price of “wahn doll-ah.”

Thian Hock Keng was built with donations from Chinese immigrants grateful for safe travels from the motherland

To the right of our shophouse was the focal point of the neighborhood -- a coffee shop fronted by an amazing muslim-food stall that sold fried chicken, lontong (curry rice cakes) and nasi lemak (creamy rice with chicken, chilli and anchovies). The coffee stall was at the back of the shop, where I used to sit and watch the uncle prepare my breakfast of milo, half-boiled eggs and roti kahwin (toasted bread lathered with egg-jam and butter), which he occasionally scrapped with a small metal knife if he’d left the bread on the grill for a little too long.

The cross-generational appeal of half-boiled eggs and coffee-shop coffee

The shop also housed a delicious economy rice stall, which was a local concept of rice heaped with your choice of meat, vegetables, egg and tofu. My sister and I frequently ordered our favorite szechuan vegetables, pork cutlet with a lobster-red sweet sauce and tofu with minced pork, which the proprietor delivered directly to the dining room behind our fruit stall. Lunch before afternoon school was always tasty and satisfying.

Finally, across our shophouse was a mosque -- which I later learned was our landlord -- and Telok Ayer Green. The latter may be the tiniest park in Singapore, but at that time, crossing it felt like an exhilarating excursion that would literally bring me to the edge of my childhood world.

In the 30 years since I'd left, Telok Ayer Green has been spruced up to include bronze statues of coolie immigrant life in colonial times

In the mid 1980s, due to urban renewal plans, our entire family and all our neighbors were uprooted and relocated to other parts of the island. Back then, I was a pre-teen who was growing up fast, and eager to see a new world. I could always come back to visit, I told myself.

Years went by and I would go on to live in many different neighborhoods around Singapore and within Europe and the United States. During this time, Telok Ayer underwent massive transformation to scrub away its grittiness and increase its tourist appeal.

When I last visited in 2011, my beloved shophouse had been turned into a little food court, flanked by a Korean eatery and an espresso cafe. Office workers from the nearby skyscrapers were pouring onto the street during the lunch hour, fighting for space alongside the many tourists seeking proof of the co-existence of a temple and mosque on my narrow little street.

Despite the gentrification, Telok Ayer remains the ‘hood where my heart is, the place that I believe most shaped the person I am today.

I never thought I’d feel so strongly about anywhere else I’d ever live. Until a recent move to my third neighborhood in New York.

Ah Gong and his giant homemade starfruit juice strainer at the back of our shophouse

Telok Ayer the way I will always remember it

(to be continued)

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[Some pictures taken from the Internet]

Lady J on Shop: Buying second-hand 6 Feb 2012 8:00 AM (13 years ago)

I’ve always had this belief that “One’s man’s trash is another man’s treasure”. The concept of buying second-hand goods sounded a little foreign to me when I was growing up. If the shelf-life of our household equipment comes to an end, we simply buy new ones to replace. And what do we do with the old ones? We sell them to the neighbourhood Karung guni man. Same goes with our newspapers and magazines. We just bundle them up and pass them on to the Karung guni man who gladly takes them in exchange for a couple of cents.

The resident Karung guni man in the 80's

What’s Karung guni? It’s a modern form of rag-and-bone men that visit residences door-to-door. They used to be pretty common in Singapore in the 80’s and early 90s. These days, there are a little of a rarity but I still spot some of them making their rounds in my neighbourhood.

So what do they do? They make their visits in carts collecting old newspapers and other unwanted items. These items are then resold at specialised markets to be recycled and reused.

The term “Karung guni” came from a Malay phrase for gunny sack, which was used in the past to hold newspapers. The karung guni men would haul these heavy sacks on their backs ringing their hand-bells and shouts of this particular phrase - "karung guni, poh zhua gu sa kor, pai leh-lio, dian si ki..." [meaning “Rag and bone, newspapers, old clothes, spoilt radios, televisions, etc” in Singlish and Hokkien] can be heard from a far.

A common site at my neighborhood when growing up

Mom has sold many things to the local karung guni man and she’s often pleased that she made a couple of bucks from the sale. I guess Dad is just happy that the house is not cluttered with too many unwanted items.

So what happens to these second-hand items? If they are in good condition, they are usually being resold at flea markets or even sold on online auctions. Apparently, there are people who trawl these places in search for a good bargain. Well, Mom has always told me to steer clear of these places preferring that I don’t pick up more junk to mess up the home.

I probably tried my hand at bargain-hunting when I visited Melbourne with my friends after graduation. Armed with really little cash then as a student, we ventured into a thrift-shop just wanting to browse but walked out of the store some hours later with huge sacks of ‘treasures’. We found used clothes, jewellery and handbags for as little as 5 AUD. We were thrilled as we combed through the piles of racks happily in search of cheap bargains.

Off to the local Brocante store for some second-hand shopping

I’ve often griped that some of the things in Geneva are a little more pricey compared to what I could get back in Singapore. Some of my expat friends felt the same way too having relocated from the US. But one of them got round to scoring some really cool furniture and household appliances at the local broccante store. I later learned that Switzerland has an active second-hand (gebraucht, occasion) market, particularly in antiques, motor cars, gold and gem stones. There’s also a local second-hand furniture and junk store (Brockenhaus, broccante) in most towns. These items are usually in really good condition because many expats come and leave Geneva in a couple of years, and prefer to leave these items behind instead of bringing them back to their home-country.

So us girls made the trip to the local broccante store one afternoon. I had wanted to browse and possibly get some vintage cutlery and silverware. My friend S wanted to a raclette grill and/or fondue machine. While she didn’t get the item, I went home a happy gal with the desired plates that will be put to good use when we have guests over.

A gorgeous traditional fondue set up for grabs

There you have it, “One’s man trash can really become another man’s treasure”. You never know what you can get while hitting the thrift-shops, so keep your eyes peeled open for treasure may just lie beneath that layer of dust. Just wipe it off, brush it clean and it may just be a brand new item for you.

[Some images taken off the web]

Lady J on Love: Taking stock 5 Dec 2011 8:00 AM (13 years ago)

Time sure flies. We are now into December and this marks my 7th contribution to the blog. Gee, where did all that time go? That would mean that we’ve been living for more than six months in Geneva by now.

I wanted to coincide this entry with the recent major national holiday that most Americans would have celebrated - Thanksgiving. While Thanksgiving is not widely celebrated in Singapore nor Geneva, I know how big this tradition is to my new American friends who will go round the table with their family and friends to give thanks and express gratitude for the recent year. I find the origin of this tradition really meaningful. Even though I have yet to partake in a traditional Thanksgiving meal, here are some of the things that I’m grateful for about living in Geneva.

Honing my cooking skills
Before Geneva, there was Tokyo. It was a time where I learnt how to cook rice. You may think: How difficult can it be? For me, it was rather challenging as I never found the need to learn how to cook while living with my parents back in Singapore.

Beyond instant noodles

Armed with my basic cooking skills from Tokyo, I took on Geneva with confidence only to come crushing down when I learned that Asian ingredients are often hard to come by and expensive when they do. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, so I trawled the internet looking for easy-to-cook recipes that are suited for a noob cook like me.

Making local carrot cake from scratch

I took a keen interest in food blogs and found myself salivating over the gorgeous food pictures. So with time on my hands, I started to dabble in baking. I found myself investing in a hand-whisk, food blender, processor and baking mats, to name a few tools. I never quite imagined myself loving the time spent in the kitchen but as my baked goods started looking decent enough to be eaten, I decided to document my baking and cooking adventures by putting what I cooked/ baked in front of a camera lens and photographing them.

My proudest achievement to date - learning how to make macarons

Looking back, I think I’m really grateful to be able to be given this opportunity to hone my cooking and, along the way, photography skills. I don’t know whether this will continue when we return to Singapore but for now, I’m pretty pleased with how my baked goods and cooked food have been turning out.

Appreciating nature
Having lived in concrete jungles for a good part of my life, I was never one with nature. But ever since I moved to Geneva, I slowly started to appreciate the changing seasons and the wonderful scenes that Mother Nature brings along with them. During my supermarket runs, I find myself taking a leisurely walk and just taking in what nature has to offer.

Sunset in Florence

Weekend getaways
We’ve been given the wonderful opportunity to travel extensively, to see other beautiful parts of Europe and what these other cities and towns have to offer. Geneva is really the perfect springboard for us to fly, drive or train to most cities in Europe. During our stay here, we’ve covered Austria, Spain, Italy and France, among other countries.

Taking part in Oktoberfest in a traditonal Dirndl costume

I’m definitely looking forward to December for that means that we will be hitting the slopes and indulging in one of our favourite wintersports – snowboarding!

I could go on and on with my long laundry list of the other things that I’m thankful for. But, the one big thing I’m truly thankful for is having family and friends who have supported us on this journey.

So raise your glasses and join me as we bid farewell to 2011 and wish you all the very best in the New Year!

Happy holidays!

Lady J on play: The day I felt like Charlie 31 Oct 2011 8:05 AM (13 years ago)

I guess the character Charlie in Roald Dahl’s famous children’s novel titled ‘Charlie and the Chcolate Factory’ needs little introduction. The novel centers around a poor boy named Charlie Bucket whose life changed when he scored a golden ticket and took a tour through the greatest chocolate factory in the world, owned by the eccentric Willy Wonka.

As I read the book and subsequently watched the movie, I kept imagining what it would feel like to actually visit a chocolate factory. My dream came true the day we paid a visit to the famous Maison Cailler chocolate factory in Broc. I mean, we are living in Switzerland which has the highest per capita rate of chocolate consumption worldwide (approximately 12 kg per capita per annum) and what better way to immerse in the Swiss chocolate culture than paying homage to one of the very first chocolate brands established in Switzerland.

Chocolate factories must be a dime a dozen here in Switzerland. I recalled being blown away by the selection and brands of chocolate that one could get here when we first arrived in Geneva. One wouldn’t know where to start in the supermarket when picking out his chocolate. Friends who lived here for over 15 years told us specifically that the one brand of chocolate that most Swiss grew up with is Cailler.

The infamous Maison Cailler chocolate factory

A quick search online and I realised that the Maison Cailler chocolate factory is located in Broc and a road-trip which took us about 2 hours from Geneva to Broc was planned. The factory was a bit out of the heart of town, but thank goodness for our GPS and some strategically-placed signs, we were eventually led to the Maison. We also noticed that the moment we started walking towards the factory, the aroma and fragrance of chocolate filled the air. I felt really excited as the doors to the factory opened.

The Masion Cailler chocolate factory dates back to 1897 when Alexandre Cailler, who was bicycling through the area, discovered the perfect spot to open his new chocolate factory. Milk is one of the most important ingredients in producing fine chocolate, so when he saw so many lush pastures dotted by plump cows, Mr. Cailler decided that Broc would be the ideal place to set up shop.

We went on the 45-minute interactive guided tour that began with a video on the history of chocolate. We also learnt how the Swiss learned to further process the cocoa bean by combining it with rich cream, thereby creating the wonderful chocolate that we know today.

Just like Charlie, I was mesmerised by the extensiveness of the factory and as I walked into the olfactory room, my hands dug straight into the bag of roasted cocoa beans to take in a waft of the fresh smells. I hopped from one bag to the next, waiting to see what I will be uncovering next. My attention was immediately shifted when I spied the massive production line where fresh chocolate was waiting to be packaged. I grabbed one of the freshly packaged chocolate and stuffed it in my mouth... Mmmm heaven! That’s what having a good piece of fresh chocolate does to me; my taste buds were treated to the fabulous flavours of the best cocoa and other delicious ingredients all tucked into that little bar.

I want me some of those chocolate, now!

Before the visit ended, we were whisked into a tasting room where large tables were set with trays laden with samples of every imaginable kind of chocolate cut into small tasting sizes. Needless to say, I got to nibble on these complimentary delightful chocolate to my heart’s content.

All that wonderful pieces of chocolate that we could eat.. Heaven!

By the time we left the factory, I felt a little guilty for stuffing my face silly with all that chocolate but hey, I guess for that brief moment, I knew how Augustus Gloop felt. Thankfully, I did not fall into some chocolate lake and get sucked away.

I know.. This definitely would not be the prettiest sight to be photographed in.

This visit to Masion Cailler chocolate factory has certainly taught me a thing or two. I will never look at a bar of Swiss chocolate the same way again and whenever I take a bite of that bar of Cailler chocolate, I would close my eyes and magically whisk myself back to that factory to relieve that chocolate experience.

[Some images taken off the web]

Una Ragazza on Play: Occupy October 29 Oct 2011 8:34 AM (13 years ago)

October. My favorite month of the year. The weather cools down, the fall colors break out. We're that much closer to Thanksgiving (read: turkey and pie).

This year, so much has happened and the month is not even over as I type. The following images captured the essence of October 2011 in my little part of the world.

In early October, everyone's favorite tech genius and entrepreneur lost his battle to pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor. The only appropriate way to capture this tribute outside my neighborhood Apple store was with the iPhone 4S.

During a visit to Zuccotti Park in mid October, I met a range of talented individuals.

This guy had a perpetual grin on his face as he pivoted around to ensure protesters and gawkers alike had a fair chance to read his message.

This guy painted all the flaps of the tiny box he was sitting in.

His latest sign read, "Let's show China how it's done."

The guy in the foreground slept through it all -- quite an accomplishment, considering the musicians on the steps were playing at a volume so loud that the nearby crowd couldn't hear each other speak.

This bicycle picture was taken for Un Ragazzo. It seemed like everyone at Zuccotti Park had a different goal and message.

Bring a t-shirt or apron and get a complimentary silkscreening.

On Halloween weekend, as the snow began to fall, folks at Zuccotti Park hunkered down beside Double Check, the bronze businessman sitting on a nearby bench.

Meanwhile, back uptown, snow accumulated nicely on the brownstone roofs, as smoke spewed from some chimneys.

A pumpkin looked out the momofuku window at the sleet that soon turned to snow.

At the "neighborhood graveyard," the black crow got a new coat of white.

"Good weather" was clearly not in sight at the community garden in the 'hood.

A kids' halloween party snowed in.

Pumpkins on steps in hiding.

With two more days to go, will October bring another interesting twist? Don't hold your breath; Halloween Monday is yet to come.

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Lady J on eat: Fresh foods 3 Oct 2011 10:50 AM (13 years ago)

When we first moved to Geneva, friends talked about shopping for their produce at the weekly farmers’ markets happening in Geneva or the neighbouring towns around Geneva for produce found at these markets is renowned for being locally grown and is often at its peak of freshness. I must say the concept of a farmers’ market sounded refreshingly interesting to me. It’s basically an indoor or outdoor market consisting of individual vendors - mostly farmers - who set up booths or stands to sell their produce, meat products, fruits and sometimes prepared foods and beverages.

In Singapore, we have a similar sort of market as well. Known as “wet markets”, a huge variety of fresh fruits, vegetables, fish, meats, flowers, dried goods and spices, clothes and even household items can be bought there. The term “wet markets” came about for the markets are literally doused with water continually to keep the facilities clean.

"Wet markets" in Singapore

I thought shopping for local produce to stock up on our weekly groceries at the farmers market here in Geneva should be a walk in the park for me since it shouldn’t be quite different from the shopping done in our wet markets. However, my couple of experiences of the farmers’ markets didn’t leave me an instant first impression. I’ve visited the Carouge market which had about ten or twelve stands. It was pretty small and the variety of produce available wasn’t that great. Then there was a bigger market in Rive, the downtown shopping area but I’ve often found the produce available there is overpriced.

A local farmers' market at Carouge

Undeterred by my first couple of experiences, I decided to ask around and found out that there was a bigger farmers’ market that’s opened on Sundays located at Divonne-les-Bains, a town in the Rhone-Alps, France. The idea that a market could remain opened on a Sunday excited me very much for in most parts of Switzerland, the grocery stores are shut. If we decide to stay in Geneva over the weekend, I usually have to plan ahead the dinner menus for the weekend. I bugged J and we were off to Divonne for some fresh produce that very day.

We got an early head-start for most of the farmers’ markets are fully operational from 9am. Getting to the markets early also meant that you are assured of the freshest produce. When we arrived at the farmers’ market in Divonne, we were greeted by throngs of people and there was a general buzz about the place which was so different from the ones that I had found in Geneva. Stalls stretched from the town’s centre and branched into the side streets; for once, I didn’t know where to start. But we remained cool and collected. Armed with our dinner menu in hand, we started to make our way into the crowds.

My eyes darted around the stalls. All the food looked so much healthier and twice as luscious compared to the produce that we could find in the supermarkets in Geneva. We walked on and we saw fresh farm eggs that are almost double the size of the ones back in Geneva. We grabbed a dozen of those for they would come in handy for baking. We walked further and started putting in our bags fresh vegetables that we could use for our stew.

J making friends with the wine-maker and enjoying the spoils of the day

For the first time, I experienced the warm French hospitality here at the farmers’ market in Divonne where stall-owners handed us complimentary tastings of ham and cheese, and attempted to chat with us in whatever little English they could muster. J got to chat with a winemaker and sampled some of the French wine that he made. We ended up with a couple of bottles of the wine purchased at for a fantastic deal thanks to the easy friendship that he had with the winemaker himself.

Before we knew it, our shopping bags were filled with the entire week’s lunches and dinners. I was pleased with what we scored. So we loaded the boot with the week’s marketing and headed back to the farmers’ market to purchase some freshly baked bread, a selection of hams and cheese, which made for a great light meal for lunch by the side-walk.

Packing up when the day is over

This shopping expedition to the farmers market at Divonne kind of reminded me of home, granted that I’m not able to get a hold of other fresh meats and seafood, but the experience felt pretty close.

Una Ragazza on Love: 10 Years 24 Sep 2011 6:31 AM (13 years ago)

On the recent 10th anniversary of the September 11 events, I was up late at night in the old town of Bucharest, catching glimpses of the newly inaugurated twin fountains on TV and hearing the reading of names in the background. Outside the hotel room, in the town square, revelers were drinking tuica (a local brandy made from plums), smoking and dancing to loud music from a Euro band playing on a makeshift stage.

Ten years.

Has it already been that long? In that period, I’ve lived one-third of my life to date and it’s been an amazing one-third of my life. The experiences I’ve had -- from the places I’ve lived in and the trips I’ve taken, to the people (and animals) I’ve met, the friends I’ve made and the things I’ve learnt -- so much had happened in this last third of my life that it would have been unnerving if it all never happened.

A local Bucharest policeman watches over the fun

I loved the last ten years. It is still a while to Thanksgiving but I was in a thankful mood today.

As I lounged on my couch while making myself go on a 60-second photographic flashback of the last 10 years, I decided I’d write down one memorable thing that happened to me from each of the last 10 years that left the deepest impression. Something to love even if it's just because I got to live it.

2002

Italy.

First time living abroad, and I couldn’t have picked a more beautiful country. 2002 was my eye-opening year. It showed me how little I knew about the world, how it’s never too late to learn a new language, and surely there’s more to life than earning a keep in a cube.

You know how it is with first loves? Perugia will always be that.

2003

New friends.

They say you make your best friends in high school and college. I made some really good ones in grad school, in a snowy town in the Swiss Alps. In fact, the Californian, Swiss and I skyped last night about a possible reunion trip to Africa next year. I don’t know which of these is making me more excited: seeing Madagascar or seeing these guys. And Romania would not have been the same without my dear friend M, whose hospitality and friendship almost calls for another trip to Transylvania.

Friendships sealed in cold, cold Switzerland

2004

Displaced.

The feeling of having to leave a place unwillingly is not a good one I wish upon anyone. For reasons that will take too long to explain, I left Europe reluctantly and moved to the U.S. I had really thought that Europe would be a long-term feature in my books but after about three years, I packed everything I could bring with me in my two suitcases and boarded a Swissair flight to JFK.

2005

So many girls.

My first job in New York, like the subsequent ones that follow, had many women. Lots and lots of women. Being in public relations, we are everywhere. Girls straight out of college; girls who had moved from other big cities of San Francisco, Chicago and London; and girls who had followed their banker husbands to Manhattan. It took a while for me to get used to having Page Six and Us Weekly chatter a regular feature in team meetings, and for low-calorie Tasti D (in the pre-Pinkberry era) to become a highlight on slow afternoons.

Before Pinkberry, there was Tasti D

2006

Never too old to backpack.

When friends learned that I’d be on the Trans-Siberian train for five days without shower facilities, the look on their faces was often one of horror. That’s when I introduced my best travel companion, the wet wipes. A month in Russia and Mongolia taught me that backpacking can be fun even when I no longer needed to backpack because it had been the only way I could afford to travel. It taught me to be resourceful and I met some of the most interesting people on this planet.

Not so bad: Cabins were clean, thanks to the provodnitsa

2007

Newly single in the big city.

I moved into Manhattan and rented a tiny one-bedroom on my own. Although I’d been in the area for more than two years by then, I was now single for the first time. In the big, big world of New York. It was a mix bag of fear and fascination.

2008

Undesirable men.

I didn’t know a reasonably small island like Manhattan can hold so many of them. Ladies -- what you see on Sex and the City holds water. And then some.

2009

The ancient technique of bonesetting.

Spurred by a desire to have my chronic hives cured, I visited a Chinese physician while visiting family in Shanghai. I had my knee “reset” -- without anesthesia -- and nearly passed out. The good that came out of it was that I could squat with my two feet firmly on the ground (I’m sure there is something good about that) and that I drastically reduced the frequency of my allergy medication intake.

2010

A place to call my own.

I bought my first apartment in the wonderful Upper West Side neighborhood. Everything in it is now mine to decorate, own and love. It’s one of the best feelings I’ve ever felt in my life.

From this...

... to this

2011

The jury is still out on this one, but if I have to pick something now, it’d be my precious little niece, Mini Ragazza. This first grandchild and little bundle of joy has changed the lives of many people in the family, but most of all, that of my mom who is watching her grow up in Hong Kong. The whole gang of five -- moms, sis and family -- is taking over my apartment during Christmas. Perhaps that would be a worthy rival for the highlight of the year.

Mini Ragazza posing with her first pets

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Lady J on Shop: Going cold turkey on retail therapy 3 Sep 2011 4:53 PM (13 years ago)

If ‘Shopping’ was a subject that I could take in school, I’d probably pass the exams with flying colours. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved shopping. I take joy in buying things; clothes, bags, shoes, cosmetics, etc. Funnily, even going to supermarket to pick up groceries can sometimes be considered a chore to some, but for me, it’s a joy to push the cart down the aisle to pick up the mundane household items.

My favourite type of activity

Just four months ago, we found out that we were going to be relocating to Geneva for about a year. Instead of checking out which apartments to rent, my attention instead turned to checking out where the shopping district was. A quick search on the web revealed familiar brands and I was put at ease for that meant that part of my shopping hobby could continue.

However, I was in for a rude shock when J brought me shopping. The famed shopping belt of Rive was hardly any comparison to Orchard Road (Singapore’s exciting retail and entertainment hub). I was used to manoeuvring shopping malls which housed practically everything my heart’s desire under one roof.

Geneva's shopping belt

But, presented before me was individual shops lined up neatly on the streets with two to three department stores (with a maximum of four floors) for me to explore. Shops were scattered rather haphazardly and if I wanted to get a specific brand of shoes, I would need to take a good ten-minute walk to get to the desired shop.

Well, since I couldn’t find joy in the physical act of shopping, I resorted to Internet-shopping to fulfil my retail-therapy fix. I’ve done that in Singapore, trawling on US/ UK shopping sites to purchase stuff. Yes, granted that it wasn’t going to be instant gratification since it would take about one to two weeks before the goods arrived, but it was the next best thing that I had.

I knew that in Singapore, if the goods purchased via the internet exceeded S$400, it would be subjected to a 7% Goods and Services Tax made payable to the government. As such, I’ve always tried to keep my online purchases capped at S$400 so as not to incur additional charges. However, in Switzerland, regardless of whatever goods purchased on the Internet. It will have to be subjected to a 8% Value-Added Tax made payable to the Swiss Government. Yikes! I sank into mild retail depression and surfing the internet surfing/shopping lost its gleaming appeal to me. Not to mention, it also became a quite an expensive affair to acquire the desired goods.

Queuing to get inside the Prada outlet at the Serravalle Designer Outlet in Italy

So what can this self-professed shopaholic do to get her dosage of retail therapy happiness? Seek greener pastures of course! Geneva is a spring-board to many cities in Europe. Short weekend trips to neighbouring cities of France, Italy and Spain not only allowed us to immerse in the individual city’s culture but also produced higher returns on shopping.

My favourite French word!

Shopping in the form of bargain hunting was taken to another level as I diligently checked out the Europe Summer Sales, resisting the urge to purchase until the desired item was at least 50% off the retail price. We also made a couple of side trips to the factory outlets where greater savings of up to 60% can be enjoyed on previous seasons’ collections. Well, I couldn’t really care if I was decked out in past season’s collections as long as it’s affordable, wearable and most importantly stylish enough to bring me through fashion’s fickle trends.

By the time we had packed our bags and returned back to Singapore for a short vacation in August, we felt that we had all shopped out and I decided to put retail therapy on hold for a while. Well, that was until the Great Singapore Sales plus the recent Club 21 Bazaar Sale came along and busted this recovering shopaholic’s plan.

The sale that busted this "Shopaholic's" recovery plan

[Image of Geneva's shopping belt taken from the Internet]

Una Ragazza on Shop: Buying the Message 26 Aug 2011 11:36 AM (13 years ago)

I like words. I like what words can do better than actions can (think: getting out of an unpleasant situation). I like my job that’s about words. Boggle and Scrabble are my favorite childhood games. I like a good message.

I like writing postcards. Postcards are my preferred travel souvenirs. You send a meaningful picture and expound on the place or image while sitting at the local town square or perched on a mountain top. You may ask, “But if you send the postcards, you end up with no souvenirs at all for yourself.” Thankfully, I solve that issue by sending my favorite postcards to Un Ragazzo.

I really like posters.

In the last few years, I’ve found myself drawn to propaganda posters. It all started when I got lost in a busy alley in Hanoi and stumbled upon a colorful store with posters produced by the Vietcong during the Vietnam War era. Inside, I found many fascinating images, including a poster of the face and upper torso of Ho Chi Minh with a peace-loving dove in the background, made entirely from stamps. In a way, the little poster shop became a museum of sorts as I read the accompanying messages meant for the Vietnamese people during the 1960’s. I eventually purchased a colorful poster of a peasant girl hard at work in a garden, captioned as follows, “Do not grow opium plants.”

Put a stamp on Uncle Ho

Vietnam war-era poster: "Do not grow opium plants"

During my last few trips to China, I’ve also sought out posters from the country’s past decades in museums, galleries and shops. I often wonder about the artists behind these posters, their motivation and circumstances. Were they firm believers of the art they were depicting? Or, was propaganda art a lucrative business? Were these given away for free to spread the message? Where were they put up -- around the home, on shop walls or in public places?

Vietcong support in China

In speaking to a museum worker in China, I learnt that, similar to the way religious art was financially backed by churches in ancient Europe, what I coin “red art” was heavily patronized by the authorities. Contrary to my belief that the posters were distributed free of charge to encourage their use every where, they were actually sold by Chinese publishing houses to the general public, who would buy them during special occasions and festivities to decorate their homes, since entertainment such as television was not yet commonplace at the time.

Earlier this year, I chanced upon a beautifully preserved poster depicting a ballet scene from the Red Detachment of Women (红色娘子军), which originated as a pre-Cultural Revolution-era play about the women of Hainan Island who resisted the nationalists destroying the communist based on the island. Foreigners who know this ballet will recall it as the ballet performed for President Richard Nixon during his 1972 visit to China.

I was struck by the poignant memory the poster scene evoked, and felt I had to buy it. The plan is to frame and hang it in my wrought-iron, military-themed bedroom. I’m actually curious about the reception it’d get from visiting friends and family.

An original 1970 poster of the ballet, Red Detachment of Women. Once revered, then despised. Now, a showpiece in my bedroom

Click on the image above to watch an excerpt from the Red Detachment of Women

The magic of red

Lest anyone thinks that I’m implying propaganda is solely the work of communist governments, the first propaganda poster I own actually came from the U.S. Food Administration -- the predecessor of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) -- encouraging prudence in food consumption during World War I, and a French newspaper promoting readership.

A WWI message by the U.S. Food Administration

For those who grew up in Singapore in the early 80s, you will remember the “Two is Enough” campaign to encourage Singaporean families to “stop at two” children. That was the first time I saw a propaganda poster. I remembered having a strange feeling in my stomach when I first saw it, only because my willful parents had stopped at three instead.

"One umbrella and a single apple: not enough, even if both are girls"

What was the first propaganda poster that you have ever seen in your life?

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Little Pixy Boots: T'is the Season to be Plucking 7 Aug 2011 5:18 AM (13 years ago)

Whoa, I apologise for being MIA for a while. It's been a busy few months for me and I've been flying back and forth Singapore, UK and Norway. Anyway, this post is about *play* so I decided to focus on the popular berry-picking season in summery Norway!

Berry berry, quite contrary

Late July til mid-August is the best time to pluck berries in Norway, although if you travel up north you find that the berry-plucking season extends to as late as September. Recently Viking Man and I had great fun going up a mountain to try our luck with blueberry plucking.

A lot of Norwegians take blueberry plucking very seriously. Others take it as a nice leisure activity with the reward of juicy berries with rich Vitamin C and antioxidants at the end of the day. Many also take it as a excuse to exercise (or å trene) in fresh outdoor air, give their legs a good stretch or go out with someone they fancy in a group date (this applies to many young adults).

Usually the best places to pick blueberries is higher ground on a mountain forest (fjellskog in Norwegian). Usually the best places are low mountain plateaus around 800 - 1200 metres above sea level, which provide nice gradual slopes which are very conducive for blueberries to grow. One new thing I learnt yesterday is that blueberries (blåbær) grow in the same kind of terrain with other berry types like tyttebær (mountain cranberries) and markjordbær (wild strawberries). One of my favourite native Norwegian flowers grows in abundance in this mountain terrain too, but I don't know its name. Would be good if someone lets me know :) I had it in my wedding bouquet.

To our disappointment, we were a little late for blueberry plucking - either that or we chose a mountain too popular for plucking. Most of the blueberries were gone and the sight of blue-stained leaves and no berries isn't pretty. A lot of Norwegians nowadays like Viking Man, prefer to use a berry plucking device ("berry picker") that allows one to pluck berries very quickly but berries come along with leaves, branches and crushed berries, which I dislike. Maybe I'm old-fashioned and picky, but I like to hand-pick my berries despite the slower pace and juice-stained fingers at the end of the day. The berries I get are cleaner and I derive more enjoyment from it. Using a "machine" reduces the tactile and visual enjoyment, I feel.

Anyway, while looking for a picture of the berry picker, I found a nice blog on berry picking in Sweden, where apparently not all the blueberries are plucked yet! Lucky her. I'm envious! There's a picture of the berry picking devise on her blog.

Since there were few blueberries for us to pick, we picked more of tyttebær (mountain cranberries) instead. They ripen about 3 weeks after blueberries so we came just as they are ripening. Some of them are not that red yet because we were picking on the east side of the mountain where the cranberry bushes get less sun.

A lot of the tyttebær were red on one side and white on the other. I find it amazing that the fruits require sunlight to ripen. Look at the pretty little cranberry flowers too! Sometimes when we chance upon a patch where pluckers have not been too, I get a little obsessed with getting as many as possible.

Tips on berry picking:

1. Wear dark old clothing - long track suits are suitable, as well as cotton yoga tights with a dark jacket. Wearing a dark t-shirt and bringing a long-sleeved jacket is good because it gets cold on top of the mountain.

2. Wear rubber boots or summer mountain climbing boots that support the ankles. Berries tend to stain a lot so it would help not to wear fashionable white canvas shoes! Most paths are rocky and muddy, so thicker soles and waterproof material are better protection for the feet.

3. Bring a backpack or sling bag. Keep your arms free from carrying anything. If you bring a bucket and berry pickers, then make sure they are brightly coloured so that you don't "lose" them while you wander off to better pastures.

4. Mosquito repellent - helps to keep the mozzies away!

5. Sunscreen lotion - helps prevent sunburn in case there is strong sunlight.

6. Sunglasses - they come in handy while driving to the mountain.

7. Many snacks! Bananas, "kvikklunsj" (chocolate bars for energy), apples, yogurt etc. In our case, we also brought yummy dried bean curd from Taiwan ("Naughty Spicy Dried Bean Curd").

Picture by Katie the hungry traveler http://katie-thehungrytraveler.blogspot.com/

8. Plastic bags! Clean plastic bags are useful when you are picking berries - sling them over your lower arm or wrist while putting them into the bag (if you are hand-picking), then transfer the berries to the bucket. It's much easier than carrying the bucket around. Plastic bags are also useful as trash bags, because where are you going to discard all those banana skins and plastic wraps? Not on the Norwegian mountains of course. Actually, I must confess that Viking Man did discard banana skins in a hidden corner of a blueberry bush, claiming that nature will take its course to decompose it. He was careful not to fling it anywhere in sight though. I didn't prepare any plastic bags beforehand, so I had to use my tissue packet to stuff all our trash in it.

But as a tool, plastic bags are useful, according to my two meagre years of cherry plucking experience!

9. Gloves - optional. I personally don't care if my fingers get (blood)stained or not, but blueberries can leave quite a purplish stain on your hands. This year I brought a pair, but found them to be more of a hindrance than help. I didn't use them and they kept dropping out of my jacket pockets. I wouldn't bring them the next time.

10. Waist pouch - optional. Bring this if you didn't bring a backpack! But if you are bringing a bucket, make sure that it is not so cumbersome that you cannot climb a mountain with it.

11. A small book on mushroom picking. If you are lucky, you might find that the mushroom season is starting just when the berries ripen! We saw a few mushrooms but didn't dare to pick them in case they were poisonous.

Enough chattering... time for photos :)

Kolsås (or Kolsaas) was the mountain we climbed and I forgot to take a photo of it, so this is from the internet. It is in the municipality of Akershus, west side of the Oslo fjord, near the city of Sandvika. It's a place where the wealthier would live, and has a few farms around the mountain. Along the way up, we saw many signs that explain the geological history of the mountain and rocks. Apparently there is a rare type of basalt lava only found in Antarctica and Iceland on top of this mountain, with a rather unique white speckled appearance after it is cooled. Wish my geography teacher Mr. L.A. Gomez was here! He would explain everything to me much better.

Signs were in Norwegian, though.

The path crossing the farm that we took to get to the mountain.

We were rewarded with a beautiful view of the Oslo fjord and lowlands after 1 hour of climbing.

We only managed to pluck this much because we began our journey in mid-afternoon and the sun was going down after 4 hours. To ensure an enjoyable trip, try getting up early and traveling in the morning for the picking. Trust me, once you start, you won't stop! There's something about berries; maybe it's greed or some other primeval instinct that makes one want to gather all the berries the eye can see.

Two of our small blueberry pickings. The leaves are stained by blueberry juice.

The progression of the tyttebær - from flower to ripe berries. I've added Norwegian coins for scale - 50 øre, 1 krone, 5 krone, and 10 krone. The 20-krone coin is missing because I didn't have one at the time of photo-taking. 1 krone = 100 øre = SGD 0.22. The 50 øre is like 5 Singapore cents for us.

Even though mountain climbing was hard work, the satisfaction of snacking with a view is rewarding. Make sure that if you are intending to pick the whole day, bring along a matpakke (lunch box) too, so that you can enjoy your sandwich while sitting on the cliff.

I feel so good! One can see the slalom (snowskiing) slope in front of me.

Have fun,
pixy

Lady J on Play: Taking a Walk on the Wild Side 2 Aug 2011 7:19 AM (13 years ago)

Being born and raised in Singapore in the late 70’s, ‘kampongs’ (local term for village) were slowly starting to phase out to make way for new development largely due to Singapore’s rapid expansion, the emergence of tall buildings started to take over the land occupied by the villages. This was probably one of the reasons why I remained as a ‘City Girl’ and the only jungle that I’ve been familiar with is the ‘Concrete Jungle’ where tall buildings and sky-scrapers ruled.

I remembered vividly when the plane landed at the airport in Geneva, I was half-expecting to find a vibrant city. Some of our friends who’ve been here raved about the beautiful landscapes. Silly me thought they were referring to pretty buildings set aside the natural mountains in the Swiss Alps. When our taxi drove us to our temporary apartment, I looked around our surroundings and marvelled at the quaint architecture, excited about the prospects that the new city had to offer.

The first couple of days in Geneva, J and I took time to explore the famed tourist sites of Geneva. Half a day was all we spent to cover sights like Old Town, the Flower Clock and the Jet D’eau. We even had time to check out the Patek Phillipe Museum as we had too much time to spare. As we slowly started to settle into our new lives in Geneva, I was bored with the famed shopping belt of Rive and wanted desperately to explore other parts but I didn’t know where to start.

One of Geneva's most recognised landmarks - the Jet D'eau

On the other hand, J had already took the road less travelled and started to explore the other sights of Geneva through his weekly runs. Starting first with an exploratory run through the park near our place before running further to the lake. On one of his runs, he proudly told me that he actually ran to the border of France, all within the 40 minutes of his running routine.

Feeling a little sore that I had been lazy, preferring to just head to the familiar sights in Geneva, I sought my friend’s - L's - help to explore some nature sites. L had also recently relocated to Geneva around the same time as we did but she has been far more adventurous in exploring the city.

A date was fixed for us to go on foot to explore one of the many green parks that Geneva has to offer. I was kind of nervous for I’ve never been much of a walker but yet I had wanted to go out and play - basically to see all that luscious greenery that Geneva has to offer. The weather was sunny and perfect for our little walk around the park.

Enroute to Parc Eaux Vive

We headed to Parc des Eaux Vives on foot and as we entered, I felt like ‘Alice in Wonderland’ stepping inside another dimension that I’d never seen. Lush greenery surrounded the compound and there were different groups of people just basking in the sunshine and having a good time in the park. I know that Singapore has several green parks but I’ve never been to any of them. I’ve never been an outdoor person and my playground usually comprise of a series of shopping malls where I can meandered the floors or tiny lanes at ease.

I see young adults lying on the greens taking full advantage of the sun and doing a little tanning on the side, parents and their kids playing badminton on the greens, an elderly couple just sitting by the benches talking to each another and dogs running around freely. My senses were suddenly awakened by this scene and the lovely flowers that lined the pavements of the park. The weather was pleasant making it a relaxing walk around the park.

The luscious green fields

It then struck me as I wondered hard on why it had taken me so long to actually explore a park for it never occurred to me that I could actually have fun at the park. I guess one of the main reasons why I never bothered exploring parks back home is largely because of the heat and the humidity. I didn’t want to be drenched in perspiration or end up with unsightly bite-marks from the mosquitoes or sand-flies on my legs.

Here in Geneva, the sunny weather -- minus the horrid humidity that we’ve been used to in Singapore -- made all the difference in making my park experience more enjoyable. I didn't break into a sweat even after my 1.5 hours of walk.

After this ‘green’ epiphany, I started to be more aware of my surroundings and develop a new-found appreciation for nature. I'mnot going to turn into a hiker overnight but we’ve definitely been doing more exploring of the neighbouring cities with awesome panoramic views. We’ve been real lucky to be given an amazing opportunity to be in Geneva where the scenic backdrop for nature is ever-changing and I should be doing more to seize this opportunity when I’m heading out to play.

Taking a step back and honing a new-found appreciation for nature

Una Ragazza on Play: Those Chinese Roots 23 Jul 2011 12:39 PM (13 years ago)

As an ethnic Chinese who was born and raised in Singapore more than 30 years ago, I have a playful relationship with the Chinese language, culture and people. A bit of history may help put this in context.

Until the arrival of the British in the early 1800's, Singapore was a small village occupied by local Malay fisherman. As the island grew into a trading port, immigrants largely from China, and also India, started to flood in.

An image of Chinese immigrants in colonial Singapore. Many worked as coolies or hard laborers

With hardly any money, relatives or friends, my grandparents separately arrived in Singapore about a decade before the start of WWII. There was no courtship since they were match made. My ah ma used to tell me how she didn’t get a proper wedding either as she had married my ah gong during the Japanese occupation and any mass celebration would have attracted unwanted attention and risked their safety. Instead, she was quietly brought to his house through the back door in the middle of the night.

Theirs was a hard life, where money was hard earned and the desire for their children to do better in life reminded me of the many Latin American families who had similarly left their native countries to seek a better future for their children in the United States. I remember being both touched and proud of what ah gong and ah ma had risked and sacrificed for their children, and sometimes wondered what would have become of me had they never set foot on those overcrowded, disease-prone boats to make the journey to Southeast Asia.

Ah ma and ah gong enjoying the fruits of their labor: A son graduates from military school

Throughout their decades living in Singapore, ah gong and ah ma would be constantly contacted by relatives back in China, with requests for gifts or cash. I remember the first time I met one of our relatives living in China. I was barely 10 and came home to see my ah gong drinking tea with another elderly man dressed in similar fashion -- a simple white, short-sleeved shirt, black pants and black-rimmed plastic glasses. I did not remember their conversation, but I did remember that he stayed for nearly a month, with ah gong paying for his meals and other expenses. At the end of his visit, he was also given some boxed gifts containing electronics to bring home.

When my uncle visited our ancestral town in the south of China with my grandparents a few years later, I learnt that he too brought along many gifts and left behind money to build a local school.

For an adolescent who, at that time, was still searching for her cultural and national identity, I was confused by what appeared as excessive gestures of generosity. Are these acts of reciprocation? Why do our Chinese relatives have such expectations of my family? Should I be proud to be Chinese? Or, should I embrace my background as a second-generation Singaporean in a fast-growing, modern, English-speaking society?

With the strong societal value placed on the English language during my teenage years in the 1990’s, it would have been a shortcut for me to try to bury my Chinese roots and focus on living an English language-only world. After all, English is la langue principale in our multicultural island nation.

Thanks to the foresight of a mom who was a Chinese-language teacher in a primary school (local equivalent of an elementary school), that did not happen. Instead, the importance of mastering the Chinese language was inculcated in me from young. In addition to English, we spoke our fair share of Mandarin Chinese at home, watched Chinese TV programs, and listened to Chinese storytelling on Rediffusion, a local wired relay network. My sister and I even picked up some Cantonese by watching Hong Kong gongfu serials.

Una Ragazza and mom after a kindergarten performance of The Lonely Goatherd from The Sound of Music

Memories from years past: the ubiquitous yellow logo on the rediffusion van

Un Ragazzo takes a stab at learning Chinese at a New York university

I remember those grueling nights of memorizing the glossary section of my Chinese textbooks in preparation for mid-year and final examinations. Looking back, I have greatly benefited from those sessions, and credit my mom for being an anchor who believed in me and remained steadfast in her quest to help me master the language during my youth.

As for the seemingly curious behavior of my relatives from China, I have decided that circumstances played a key role and am at least grateful that we had been in a position to help.

Nowadays, I have plenty of fun with being an overseas Chinese Singaporean. Upon learning that I’m from Singapore, acquaintances often ask where in China that is. That would lead to my patient explanation of how Singapore is not a part of China, although we have an ethnic majority of Chinese, and that our roots are indeed from China.

Another curious remark is “You speak great English!” which would be followed by, “Where did you learn it?”

If I happen to like the individual posing the question, I’d answer with a polite “thanks” and go on to explain the bilingual educational system in Singapore. If he or she happen to rub me the wrong way, the more probable response would be a cheeky, “Thanks, and so do you.”

Some foreigners I’d met seem to find it surprising that one person can switch easily between two or more languages. They’d ask, “Can you speak Mandarin?... Wow, what else can you speak?” On more than one occasion, I find myself likening my situation to those of first-generation Latinos in the U.S., who speak fluent English to friends at school, but switch with ease to Spanish when they return home to immigrant parents who are most comfortable with the latter.

Perhaps the question to which I have an evolving response is, “Can you imagine yourself living in China?”

Until recently, my response would simply have been that I love living in Europe and New York.

Things changed this winter when a fascinating colleague from the China office spent two months with me at work. I realized how much I missed speaking in Mandarin and discussing news in Asia. Going for dim sum and szechuan was a matter of course, where I found myself both asking and answering questions as though I’d just emerged from a drought of information exchange.

A letter makes all the difference: A dim sum restaurant in China advertises its offering

A business trip to China this month only served to further wet those taste buds. There was something to be said about working with a full Asian team, where Chinese was freely used, lunch resembled what my ah ma would have prepared, and pork jerky was served during a breakfast meeting.

The poster series of Shanghai ladies that shapes the Western perception of oriental women

Chinese takeout in Shanghai. Yum!

Not as sure about Hong Kong fishball-flavored Pringles

After nearly 10 years abroad, during which I had gone west from Asia to Europe, and in turn from Europe to America, it appears I may be coming back full circle from America to Asia. At least in bite-sized portions of work stints combined with visits to see my precious family.

What would the future hold? Perhaps that's a question for my next fortune cookie.

A fortune cookie in an unexpected place

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Lady J on Eat: Food Junkie 3 Jul 2011 11:37 PM (13 years ago)

I’m a junk food aficionado. Back in the day when I was holding a corporate job, the magical hours for this tummy to growl and rumble would be 11am and 4pm. I would reach out for that bag of potato chips that would be sitting on my table and chomp away happily as the stress melted away. I’d worry about the calories later.

As you can imagine, potato chips are a staple in my home and are always on the grocery list when it is time to stock up on necessities for the home.

When we found out that we were moving to Geneva, the one thing we did before leaving Singapore was to fill our shopping cart with all the local food that we could find at Giant Hypermarket (a local supermarket in Singapore). From Asian sauces, canned food and our favourite instant noodles, to my favourite snacks (of course), we were practically shopping for an army. Kiasu-ism (Singaporean slang for "fear of losing"), perhaps? Not exactly, for we just wanted to be prepared, in case we couldn’t find the food we love in Geneva.

Red Rock Deli Sweet Chilli and Sour Cream Chips - THE BEST!

Before the movers came, J came over to inspect what I’d packed. He frowned upon the bags of chips that I had secretly snucked into the box. "Potato chips?!" he exclaimed. I pried the bags of Red Rock Deli Sweet Chilli and Sour Cream Chips from his hands and stuffed them back into the box. "These are imported from Australia, I’m sure they don’t have them in Geneva," I retorted. "We're going too far away, so just let me have those chips!" Of course, he refused and those two precious bags of chips were unloaded from the box.

When we arrived in Geneva, one of the first things that we did was to stock up on groceries for the apartment at the local supermarket near our neighbourhood. A visit to the supermarket would of course not be complete without the customary visit to the snack corner. I was expecting to find a huge selection of potato chips lined up for my picking, but what stood before me was just four shelves of chips from two to three different brands with simple flavours that I could choose from: "natural" or "paprika". Not very exciting at all! Where are the flavours like "honey dijion mustard" “sweet Thai chilli” "cheese" or even "honey roast chicken"? Where are the Pringles and Lays? Those were not in plain sight.

The potato chips section at the local supermarket near our place

Instead, guess which snack had huge rows for the picking? Why, chocolate of course. This is Switzerland after all so I guess the Swiss are really into their chocolate. I was sorely disappointed but grabbed a pack of chips to satisfy my craving. Thankfully, a visit to the larger supermarkets in Geneva yielded better results for the selection of potato chips and I grabbed a couple of packets with different flavours to stock up for good measure.

My secret stash of potato chips procured during our weekend trips around Europe

On a recent grocery shopping trip with a Singaporean girlfriend who’s lived here for over 14 years, I sheepishly asked if the Swiss are huge on snacking for I noticed that the selection for junk food namely potato chips is pretty limited. She smiled and said that the Swiss are generally more health conscious, preferring to snack on fruits or diary products such as cheese or chocolate. I retorted, “Chocolate! That’s not healthy at all!” She chuckled and explained that while chocolate may not be the most healthy snack around, it does contain a number of nutrients (potassium and magnesium) as well as vitamins such as B, D, and E.

I researched further and found that there are actual health benefits to eating chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Apart from tasting good, it stimulates endorphin production, which gives a feeling of pleasure and can also act as an anti-depressant. Dark chocolate is good for your heart for it contains a large amount of antioxidants that can protect the body from aging caused by free radicals. A small bar of it everyday can help keep your heart and cardiovascular system running well.

After-dinner chocolate treat :)

Well, well, what do you know? With this newfound knowledge, I’m now walking into specialty chocolate stores in Geneva to check out their selection of dark chocolate. I’ve fallen in love with dark chocolate that are infused with fresh and fruity flavours such as “orange", “framboise (raspberry)” and “ginger”. And, we started to enjoy having a small bar of dark chocolate after our meals together with our cup of coffee or mint tea.

Will I ditch my love for potato chips and turn into a “choco-monster” instead? Who knows? But living in Geneva and with chocolate being the epicentre of sweet Switzerland, I just might.

Health advisory from Lady J: There’s nothing wrong with snacking, but please do so in moderation.

[Photo credit: Red Rock Deli]

Featured in Cacao Mag: Eat.Shop.Play.Love on the Subway 18 Jun 2011 2:19 PM (13 years ago)

This month, Cacao Mag, a creative art magazine based in Sweden and Taiwan, published a brief feature by Una Ragazza about eating, shopping, playing and loving on the New York subway. Leave your metro card at home; have a ride on us.

The Times Square gateway to the underground rat kingdom

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In 2010, inspired by a certain Julie who set out to cook everything in a cookbook, and a certain Liz who ate, prayed and loved her way across the globe, a Singaporean girl decided it was time to put on paper -- or in bytes -- the adventures that life was bestowing upon her. Roping in friends with a passion for the written word, she launched eat.shop.play.love as a writing experiment to lend a voice to the millions of Asians around the world who have left their native countries to live their lives in a different place, for whatever the reasons may be.

Having lived in six countries across three continents, she writes under the moniker “Una Ragazza” (meaning “a girl” in Italian) to pay homage to the first foreign country she lived in, and quickly fell in love with.

Here are excerpts from her musings on the New York subway.

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eat.shop.play.love on the Subway

To most people, the word “subway” brings to mind a fast-food chain with a slogan to “eat fresh” sandwiches.

An informal poll among friends showed the New York subway evokes strong emotions, with locals calling it “dirty,” “germy” and “rat-infested,” and tourists preferring “overwhelming,” “confusing” and claustrophobic.”

I’ve a love-hate relationship with the subway. While it’s affordable, convenient and fast, it also drips mysterious liquids, reeks of garbage and bodily fluids, and is filled with grouchy people.

Yet, like most New Yorkers, I can’t imagine life without it. In fact, with some hand sanitizer in tow, subterranean life can be colorful.

The denizens of the New York subway keep it humming

eat.

In Singapore, commuter trains are squeaky clean because eating carries a maximum fine of S$500.

Without a food ban on the New York subway, evidence of the crime is often strewn on trains, platforms or tracks.

Oh, and the smell. From the benign to the most intolerable, here’s a sampling: pretzel, hot dog, beef minestrone soup, grilled cheese sandwich, sour cream and onion Pringles, and chicken with broccoli.

Every now and then, an irate soul loses it. This spring, local media had a field day when two spaghetti-chomping girls got into a fight with a woman who said, “What kind of animals eat on the train like that?”

A ubiquitous post-September 11 subway slogan goes, “If you see something, say something.” One frustrated Brooklynite took it a step further. He created Trainpigs.com, featuring those caught with their mouths full.

Do not cross the train tracks because of the electric current. And the rats busy scurrying for leftovers!

shop.

Subway commuters are often greeted by teenagers selling candy to raise funds for a school program. Nobody blinks. Not so with a former gangster-turned-author. Last fall, I encountered a tall man in dreadlocks with a stack of 20 books under one arm, telling everyone we could read his life story for US$10. People started opening their wallets immediately. Never mind if his story’s real; start counting the profits bypassing Barnes and Noble.

Selling spray-paint art at the Union Square station

play.

If you’re ever stuck in the subway system and bored, you may have yourself to blame. Subway platforms are filled with buskers who work hard each year to entertain the 60-odd million tourists and locals. Performance quality is high; to play in a high-traffic subway location, street performers must first entertain the Metropolitan Transport Authority in the “Music Under New York” audition.

Even more fascinating is a secret art exhibition space that “opened” last summer. Housed in an unused and undiscovered subway station four stories below street level, the gallery features street art from worldwide artists who are secretly escorted into the space and given only one night to leave their mark.

Remy Francois, the underground subway king from Haiti, belts out a song

Broadway ads give a glimpse of what's above ground

love.

Can love be found on the subway? Apparently so. Every month, hundreds post messages on the “missed connections” page of Craigslist New York seeking the “jeans guy with salt-and-pepper hair” or the “girl with gray fingerless gloves.” Friends of mine have gone on dates after locating postings describing them.

Not me. My worst personal encounter happened on the Wall Street subway platform seven years ago. Two minutes into a largely one-sided conversation, the guy said cheerfully: “I’m an underwear model. This briefcase is full of briefs. Do you want to see them?”

Tom Otterness's little people witness every kiss and hug in "Life Underground"

* * *

And so goes life on the busiest public transportation network in the Western hemisphere.

Game for a ride?

Getting on the subway at Times Square, the busiest station in the MTA system

The bilingual eat.shop.play.love feature in Cacao Magazine

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Featured on the asia mag: A tribute to Ah Gong 9 Jun 2011 7:16 PM (13 years ago)

The asia mag, also known as asia!, today published a posting that first appeared on eat.shop.play.love.

http://www.theasiamag.com/people/a-tribute-to-ah-gong

Una Ragazza enjoying a family wedding with her favorite guy

asia! is an online and mobile channel to original and insightful content about Asia by Asians. Using material drawn mainly from Asian bloggers, the online publication aims to "give a feel for what ordinary Asians are thinking, saying and doing, a glimpse of the Asia that lies beyond the news headlines."

* * *

Lady J on Love: Roller Coasters 6 Jun 2011 3:04 PM (13 years ago)

As a tween, I've always loved taking roller-coaster rides. Probably because mom always imagined it to be the dangerous ride at the amusement park. But there's something exhilarating about these rides, screaming at the top of my lungs and feeling the winds rush through my hair. I loved the adrenaline rush and that's how I wanted my life to be: a roller-coaster ride, an adventure that surprises you at every corner.

Guess what? I sort of got my wish, for my life after my mid-twenties was exactly a roller-coaster ride. Never a dull moment since meeting my husband, J.

Three years into our courtship, J decided to pack his bags and leave for Tokyo where a new job offer awaited. Things were fine and dandy but I wasn't sure if I could survive the long-distance relationship. I wasn't going to sit around the house, mope around or better yet go all crazy wondering what he was doing in the Land of the Rising Sun. When he popped the question before his departure, I took the plunge and said YES. Mom thought I was crazy to accept the proposal. I guess she was just looking out for me, for fear that he would have a change of heart.

At Farm Tomita in Furano

Thankfully, he didn't. Instead, as cliché as it may sound, absence did indeed make the heart grow fonder. Dates were in the form of online video calls and daily email updates. I also relished our bi-annual holidays to Tokyo that were often peppered with side-travels around Japan with J.

With my classmates from the Japanese language school at the local Hanami (Fireworks) boat party

After a year or so, we finally tied the knot at the end of 2006 and the life as I knew it was packed into 20-odd boxes to be shipped to our new home in Tokyo. My life as an expat wife began. I never really had to cook or do household chores when I was living in Singapore, so I struggled with the laundry and started from scratch honing my paltry cooking skills.

Snowboarding in Niseko, Hokkaido during winter

Ten months later, J's company decided to relocate him back to Singapore and so, 100 boxes and furniture in one huge container accompanied us home. Did I enjoy my short stint as an expat wife in Japan? For sure! In between domestic chores, I roamed the streets freely, sat around in cafes on the busy streets of Ginza, Shibuya and Shinjuku and marveled at the fashion-forward Tokyoites. During winter, I practiced hard at our new-found hobby - snowboarding.

Fast-forward to 2011. A new job offer in Singapore with the opportunity of a temporary relocation to Geneva came knocking. We discussed at length whether he should take up the offer as life back home was on track. Did I want to stay in Singapore and do the long-distance thing? No, for the 14-hr traveling would just kill me.

Do we really want to rock the boat? Not really, as we had just moved into our new place, established a close circle of friends, and were spending most of our time with family and our superbly adorable fur-kid, Sparky, whom we love to bits.

But I knew it was one of J's dreams to work in Europe, and the relocation was going to be for about a year. As the supporting wife, I encouraged him to pursue this dream with me by his side. But what does this second relocation mean for us, or more specifically, me?

Another turn in the thrilling roller-coaster ride, I guess. It would be a good chance for me to take a break and reinvigorate our marriage with more time. I traded my corporate wardrobe filled with frilly dresses and high heels, and reprised my role as a "domestic princess." Well, if I am going to be stuck at home doing household chores and cooking, I might as well give myself a fancy title.

I embraced my new challenge and thought to myself that surely this time round it will be a piece of cake, having done the "expat wife" stint in Tokyo. But it ain't true. I forgot a little thing called "cultural difference" between Asia and Europe. Oh, and let's not forget about the standard of living in Geneva compared to that in Singapore or even Tokyo.

Jet d'Eau - one of Geneva's famous landmarks

According to the Global Cost of Living survey 2010/ 2011 conducted by Mercer, Geneva ranks fifth as the world's most expensive city for expatriates. Tokyo, on the other hand, is now ranked second. However, having lived in Tokyo previously, I felt that the standard of living in Geneva is somewhat compromised.

Yes, things aren't cheap in Tokyo. A decent meal at a random noodle shop would cost me at most 1000 yen (USD 12). But here in Geneva, a simple salad with a drink at a take-out can cost me CHF 19 (USD 22). A bus-ride to town would cost me about CHF 3 (USD 3.5).

I felt miserable at the loss of my financial freedom and having to tighten the purse-strings. The loneliness started to set in and roaming the shopping streets along Rive lost its appeal after a while. I busied myself with chores and spent most of my waking hours in front of my MacBook, but I craved for friendship.

I whined about how miserable my expat life has been. Friends hearing of my sorry plight cheered me up, cyber-friends and twit-peeps sent me virtual hugs, shared their experiences and encouraged me to go out there and find new hobbies.

So, I did. I changed gears and instead of wanting a fast ride, I decided to go on a cruising mode. I picked myself up, made a couple of new friends and kept myself busy with new cyber-projects.

Is this roller-coaster ride going to be smooth-sailing from now on? I hardly think so, as we're still trying to adjust to the ways of living here in Geneva. Singaporeans who have been living here for a while tell me in time to come, we will fall in love with this city. I'm still waiting for that day to come, but I guess as with all great love stories, mine can and will be nurtured.

Our love affair in this new city awaits

[Photo of roller-coaster sourced from the Internet]

Rojak Timeout: The Zoo in My 'Hood 5 Jun 2011 2:03 PM (13 years ago)

Today's Rojak is by Una Ragazza, whose world continues to be surprised by the non-human species.

* * *

Since my recent friendship with Maggie, my four-legged canine buddy in New York, my senses have been my acute toward the non-homosapiens that roam this earth, and more specifically, share the urban space that city dwellers occupy.

As if to read my mind, I was greeted this morning by a cheerful article on the homepage of the New York Times about the wonderful life of a 21st-century dog in America. According to the market research firm Packaged Facts, American pet "parents" spent a record US$55 billion on their pets in 2010, which is more than the GDP of Belarus, a country with about 10 million people.

Four-legged fine dining

(picture by Gary Bogdon for The New York Times)

Just when I thought the fascination for dogs must be out of this world, I learnt of a new "pet shop" that had opened its doors in my 'hood. A visit to the store revealed that it is really a mini urban zoo. Yes, dogs are the pets of choice in America. But little did I know that US households also own millions of birds, small animals and reptiles.

To the nice lady who, bless her heart, told a six-year-old me that problem-laden humans have no time and energy to take care of pets, I have this to say to her: "Mom, this place has been added to your itinerary for your visit to the city this Christmas."

As for the rest of you, brace yourself for a little visual treat of my corner zoo.

The signs say it all. Get ready for a colorful and noisy adventure

An animal enclosure not unlike those you'd see in a respectable zoo

Pacific Coast Blend... Pasta Ensalada... Nutmeats and Fruit Blend... What's your cockatoo in the mood for today?

African grey, Amazon, conure, eclectus, lori, canary, finch, lorikeet, macaw, parakeet, parrot, toucan... just a sampling of the types of birds with specialized bird food on sale

Woodblocks, feathers, whistles, balls, ropes, chains, keys, rings... who says bird play is boring?

The big boys get a big enclosure... the use of the word "cage" is banned here!

A curious conure comes close to check out my iPhone

Not your average ga-zuak: these 500-dollar water lizards were slithering around with vigor when their tank was approached

Fifteen minutes can save you 15 percent or more on... hey, it's my buddy Geico!

The hamster corner has adorably-packaged food to match the cute factor of its recipients

Over at the reptile corner, soft and comfortably dry moss awaits the next python, gecko and corn snake

* * *

Una Ragazza on Love: Four-legged Love 22 May 2011 6:31 AM (13 years ago)

Dogs in Manhattan.

According to a canine version of the best cities in the United States to live in, the 1.5 million dogs registered in New York City live in the country’s top 10 because of friendly doggie day care, luxury doggie hotels, and lovely places for dog walks and to meet other four-legged friends, such as Central Park, Riverside Park, Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridge.

More than 450 stores in the city cater to pets, peddling pet jewelry, clothes, pet food, pet portraits, spas complete with doggie cam, dog walking and veterinary services; whenever they can, those frequented by pet-loving celebrities take the opportunity to generate a little publicity of their own.

A google imaging of the pet stores in the New York City area

Dog of Jill Zarin of "Real Housewives of New York" fame looking "fashion forward in a Canine Styles Handknit Sweater"

At the Muse Hotel in Times Square, the title of “director of pet relations” belongs to a six-year-old teacup pomeranian who prefers Prada, ahi tuna and spa visits. Ginger’s favorite haunt is the “Canine Court,” a 15,000 square-foot doggie playground complete with an open field and obstacle course and helps dog and owner plan shopping trips to Tiffanys and Bergdorf Goodman.

According to the Health Code of NYC, all dogs must be on leash no longer than six feet in length. However, since 2007, certain park areas have allowed dogs to be off-leash during early-opening and near-closing hours. Here, an activist group celebrates an anniversary of the ruling

I grew up having no interest in pets. A goldfish and a rabbit might have made brief stays in our home, and that was about it. Because of the number of people in the household and the small roof under which we all lived, there prevailed a general familial attitude: “As it is, humans have so many problems. Who has time and energy to take care of [insert species of pets]?”

It didn’t help that my mom seemed to have an immense fear of dogs. Every time we walked past a dog, she would tug my hand so that we’d walk faster away, or go in a different direction, from the animal. Subconsciously, this pre-programmed behavior led to my own baseless fear of dogs.

When I think of my most memorable canine experience, I remember a particular teenage encounter with a terrier in the void deck of my piano teacher’s HDB flat (ground floor of a government apartment building) in Ang Mo Kio. As I walked toward the elevator, the dog which was unleashed started barking incessantly and ran toward me.

Gripped with unexplained fear, I started running, only to slip on a puddle of water and fall head-on into a sharp corner of a rectangular pillar. The impact knocked me out cold. When I woke up, I was seized by a sharp pain on my forehead, probably similar to that experienced by Harry Potter whenever He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was close by. My mom was calling my name, pleading with me to stay conscious. Minutes later, when a dazed me looked into the mirror, a multicolored bruise the size of a baby’s fist was sitting firmly on my forehead, with a darkening red line down the middle threatening to split and expose the blood clot beneath. In the weeks that followed, I would endure a mix of pity and ridicule from friends and strangers who asked for the story.

Yes, those were embarrassing moments. For years, whenever a fierce dog came into sight, I would look around for puddles and pillars for fear that a sequel might take place.

But who knew that it would take Un Ragazzo just days to help me overcome my deep-seated canine fear?

Coming from a family of dog lovers, he agreed this winter to dog-sit for a friend for a week. The third wheel in our relationship was a friendly, medium-sized dog with black, shaggy hair. Her most adorable feature is a small patch of white hair next to each of her green eyes, which adds wisdom to this already intelligent girl.

The first time we met, Un Ragazzo made sure he entered his apartment first and, as she came scurrying to the door, gently told her that there was a visitor. A nice visitor. The talk seemed to work. After 30 seconds of protective barking, Maggie calmed down and came closer to check me out. She did not make a lunge at me, but simply stared for a long minute before deciding that I could stay.

The whole time, I was getting flashbacks of my horrendous terrier episode from more than a decade ago, and my forehead began to hurt a little. “Rooted to the ground” pretty much summed it up.

Un Ragazzo persisted. With immense patience, he taught me Dog Handling 101.

“Get down to her level. She reacts well to that.”

“Now, make her do a trick and then give her a treat. She always needs to do something to get a treat.”

“Don’t call her name if you’re trying to tell her to behave. She thinks you’re playing with her otherwise.”

This dog has a character of her own. She would stare intently whenever Un Ragazzo paid me a little attention, such as with a hug or a kiss. It was almost as though she was jealous. She wanted to come onto the couch and sit between us. Soon enough, she learned to like me and we were playing hide-and-seek and going out for walks in the neighborhood.

Maggie pays a visit

Maggie frolicking in cold white powder

By the end of the week, I’d fallen in love with a dog. My first canine love. It was a strange, fuzzy feeling for someone who has never viewed it possible to have anything more than a play-toy experience with a pet.

My new-found love and interest in dogs naturally brought out the geek in me to learn about the various types of dogs. To that, Un Ragazzo was pleased to oblige. When the world's most popular dog show rolled into town, he got premium tickets to the Madison Square Garden event.

The result: the best Valentine's Day present ever.

Official ticket to the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show on February 14, 2011

Finalists of the hound group at the 2011 Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Little Pixy Boots on Shop: Mother's Day 8 May 2011 6:20 AM (13 years ago)

Today is Mother's Day in Singapore! I almost feel ashamed that I almost never shopped anything for my mum this day, except bring her to a restaurant or make a homemade card for her. This year, I cooked a breakfast of mushroom-cheese omelette for her with a side of toast, salad sprouts and cherry tomatoes.

For some, red carnations means Mother's day

As you can clearly see, I have a hidden agenda to convert my meat-devoted mum to a healthy vegetarian diet. I apologise that I'm not a food blogger so I didn't take a picture of the omelette I made... but I think my parents appreciate that I can cook and don't do an indecent job of it :p

One thing I want to examine within myself today is whether one truly needs to shop for a gift in order to be "sincere" in congratulating or showing love to loved ones. I have always been feeling slightly guilty that ever since young, I've felt that the one (and sometimes only) thing I could do when it comes to friends' or family's birthdays, was to make home-made cards or presents. That's because over the years, my income has been unstable due to freelancing, and when I was younger, I was ingrained with a thrifty mentality because my pocket-money was quite small.

My friends and family have all expressed much gratitude over the years about the beautiful home-made cards I've made, even though a lot of them are made from recycled material. I told them it's because I can't afford to buy expensive presents, so the only way I can show love and well-wishes, is to give up my time to make cards and express how I feel.

And since this is Mother's Day, maybe I can show you what I made for my Mum's birthday last year (the ones made in my childhood are slightly too kiddish).

A hug for my mum

I was in Norway then so I think my mum was really touched to have received this card from me. Actually looking at this, I think I still draw in a rather kiddish manner, albeit a more skillful way. I don't make apologies for it - I just like this style.

When I was in England with my favourite friend, Hobbit, I adopted his mum to be my mum because she is so generous at heart and such a well-bred lady in true British upper-class manner. So I drew her a really simple card for her birthday:

The Mother Figure

Even though I'm not a little girl, and neither is she a mermaid (check out the legs), I thought that us walking hand in hand towards a sunset was nice.

There were other times when I feel so much appreciation for my team members at volunteer work or friends that I make a range of cards. I like to think they prefer cards to chocolates. Just a highlight:

Holiday in Norway

This card is called "Holiday in Norway", because I was having a holiday in Norway then. Duh. Very creative, pixy. Drew a bit of the grass and the sky around :)

But the card I was most proud of, but least appreciated (or so I heard), is this one:

"Dream"

I had spent a lot of effort on this card, cutting up bits and bobs from my old photographs, digging up leaves I collected from my travels, buying feathers and embellishments and making sure the paper is shaded to a nice aged maroon colour. I had to pass to the intended receiver via the family secretary. Guess what happened when I had the chance to ask him afterwards if he has seen it?

He gave me a puzzled look and said he has had a pile of cards and presents from well-wishers and he hasn't opened them all, so apparently his housekeeper must have cleared them up for him - which means he has probably not and never will, see this card.

Ah well.... the heartache of giving and not having the gift received.

I do wonder how people can in their ignorance, treat other's love and well-wishes lightly. Perhaps they are just not very appreciative.

Sometimes I wonder if the act of giving has become commercialised and "stereotyped" by the media and society around us. For example, is it a life-and-death matter for a female to receive a diamond ring for her engagement or wedding (I would like a carat, thank you)?

I for one, haven't received any diamond ring from my husband just yet. What I'm wearing now is a rather inexpensive ring, but I know very well without the diamonds that prevailing culture demands, that he loves me very very much. A cold stone of the hardest substance on earth, isn't going to represent the depth of his heart.

To me, every trial we go through, every kiss, every hug, and every ounce of respect and equality he gives me, is a diamond in itself. Because I know, that in so many societies and cultures in the world, women don't get the respect that they deserve, nor do they get equality, including Singapore.

the ring that is not made of the hardest substance in the world

So yes, I don't have a diamond on my finger, but I think I am the richest woman in the world.

I've come to realise that in the act of giving, whether it be a home-made card or a diamond ring, the most important factor is that the gratitude/love expressed was received.

So remember, you don't need an expensive present to show your appreciation for your mum. Give your mummy a nice big hug today (and tell her you love her)!

Hugs are immediately appreciated, methinks :)

Happy Mother's Day!

xoxo

pixy

P.S. I'm back in Singapore (just in time to participate in the exciting elections 2011!) and will be going home in a week...my Norwegian home with spring flowers! Oooooo... I do get a little frustrated sometimes when I've been in Norway 3 times for spring and missed the cherry blossoms in my garden there. I am praying that the flowers would wait for me to come back!

Una Ragazza on Shop: Shopping for a Party 17 Apr 2011 5:01 AM (14 years ago)

This winter, I attended a Chinese New Year event organized by the Singapore Consulate in New York. Food, as usual, was the impetus for my RSVP. This time round, however, something was different.

After passing through the security checkpoint at the entrance of the consulate, I approached the reception desk and was handed a leaflet about voting in the upcoming parliamentary elections by overseas Singaporeans. Unfortunately, because I had spent less than 30 days in the last three years in Singapore, I learnt that I did not meet the qualifying criteria to cast a vote.

While disappointed, I went on in and the lo hei, satay and mee goreng distracted me enough that I didn't dwell on the issue that night.

In recent weeks my attention has reverted to the subject of the Singapore election because of the interest and excitement among friends and family back home who have regularly chattered online, most frequently about candidates newly fielded by the various political parties.

In the past, the general apathy among Singaporeans toward political matters had at times left me disappointed in what I feared had become an overly-complacent society which would not cope well with a change -- any change -- in status quo.

Despite not being able to participate in the electoral process this time round, my Singaporean friends and I exchange viewpoints on our hot-button issues, the various parties and candidates. I'm glad in the confidence and interest that Singaporeans, at least some, seemed to have found in politics, something that was visibly absent in elections of yonder.

Those looking for this blog positing to get real political and dirty may be disappointed. Instead, I encourage you to take a break from all the politicking and join me on a little shopping excursion.

* * *

The newfound enthusiasm for politics among Singaporeans has inspired the following musings that liken these weeks of deliberation, campaigning and decision-making to our national hobby: shopping.

In a way, voting in an election is not too different from shopping. The 2011 Singapore shopping experience is shaping up to be pretty colorful.

First of all, there are some plausible options on what to buy. Instead of the ubiquitous house brand of soy sauce, a shopper can choose from some new varieties. Not that the usual item is lacking in quality, but that every now and then, a shopper welcomes a change in the way his soy sauce seasons his food.

Which soy sauce is best for me?

Secondly, the advertisements for the products on sale are working. People are talking about the samples they got for the new perfume, and its upcoming launch party. People are engaged. People care about their choices.

Thirdly, people are showing up at the product conferences. The travel exhibitions with giveaways, discounts and hula dancers... people are here to see what they've got.

At the ever-popular NATAS (National Association of Travel Agents Singapore) fair: Which travel package is best for my family?

No one can deny that the single largest game-changer has been the advent of socia media. It has practically reinvented the shopping experience. Facebook pages advertising the benefits of the brands have sprung up in force, backed by product endorsements among bloggers and traditional media. Product demonstration in Ang Mo Kio void deck, volunteers needed? Not a problem. One Facebook update or Tweet, and the need is taken care of.

Increasingly, Singaporeans seem to have had enough of the bench-warming act. People are generally more interested in learning about the product attributes of their laundry detergent rather than opting to settle for the one with the largest advertising budget with the most prominent shelf space in Cold Storage or NTUC.

Some have even taken to doing their own research to find out if the detergent companies are telling the truth! Citizen journalism: now we're talking.

However, many of us are also grappling with the idea that we can influence the price and varieties of cooking oil sold in the provision shop by our nearest MRT station. What are we going to do with this power? Will we end up doing something "wrong" and hurting ourselves? In the first place, is there something wrong with my mini-mart's offering of cooking oil? Are we over-thinking it?

What about product guarantee? While some brands have been in the market for a long time, the manufacturers advertise their quality and commitment to innovation.

Look, we are Yeo's packet drinks. You've grown up with us and loved our soya bean, barley and chrysanthemum. We even have winter melon and green tea now. Why do you want to try another brand? Stick with us, we're tried and tested. We've grown up with you.

I guess the biggest unknown for undecided Singaporeans is the post-purchase experience. For most, we do not know the recourse, if any, if we were to buy chicken rice from a different stall and drink sugarcane juice from a new vendor.

The old man from whom I always buy my weekend breakfast: His nasi lemak needs more ikan bilis (fried anchovies) and his belachan (Malay chili paste) has room for improvement, but at least I know the quality of his product. If I were to go across the street, will the food taste better, or will I instead be besieged by a bad case of food poisoning?

For kiasu ("afraid to lose") and kiasee ("afraid to die") Singaporeans, this is a trying time indeed.

The country is at a major crossroads, and for many of us Singaporeans, there is a feeling that change is palpable.

May the best chicken rice stall win.

Healthy competition is in; chicken rice war is out

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Little Pixy Boots on Eat: Norwegian Office Lunches 10 Apr 2011 12:39 PM (14 years ago)

Ever since I've worked in a "normal" office with normal office hours in Norway, I've noticed some things are different from Singapore. For example, lunch hour in Norway is not exactly an hour - it's half an hour. That's because Norwegians prefer to finish the day early and fast so that they can get home early, relax or enjoy the summer sunshine before it's gone for the day. Full-time work in Norway is a strange 37.5 hours, unlike most countries where it's 40 hours per week. So it turns out, a lot of Norwegians begin their day early and have their dinner at home at 4 pm or 5 pm, something almost unheard of in Singapore, and certainly not in Spain, where most working people get home at 8pm or 9pm.

Time for lunch is "normal" enough at 12pm. Lunch is called "lunsj" in Norwegian, with the same pronunciation. Which incidentally brings me to the strange fact that Norwegians call their dinner "middag" which means "midday" and "ettermiddag" for afternoon, so in Norway "ettermiddag" comes before "middag". Strange, huh? I haven't figured that one out yet.

Unlike Singapore, where food is cheap (yes, I know Singaporeans complain all the time that food prices always go up, but wait till you see the prices on food menus here, my friends!), Norway is horrendously expensive to eat out everyday. So what companies offer as a benefit or part of the package deal for the employee, is a canteen with subsidised or free food, or office lunches in the pantries of smaller companies. Of course, employees still contribute a small sum of money per week to office lunches, but as I was earning puny money as an intern, I get to eat for free.

Office lunches in Norwegian offices can be a rather monotonous affair, but they do try to spice it up every Wednesday and/or Friday. Norwegian lunches are usually simple and not served hot. Most offices I've been to for lunch, serves bread with a variety of spreads, "pålegg" (which means something to have on top), and fruit. Juices, milk, tea and coffee accompany the food, as most (western?) Norwegian people like to have coffee or tea after their meals.

A typical Norwegian lunch with brown cheese

My office serves the usual but there was a brief period of time when yours truly added spice in their lives. We were in a temporary office for 3 months where there was a stove and an oven, and we could work wonders - pizza, thai phad thai noodles, pasta salad, risotto, scrambled eggs - you name it, we make it. I say "we" because when I first came, there was another female intern in the office from Finland who is preppy, funny and has a British accent. She was the one who urged me to cook outside the lunch box, within a time limit of 30 minutes. That was when I saw the benefits of frozen broccoli, fast-to-cook pasta and rice, and ready-to-eat chicken salad.

I've come to realize that frozen vegetables are usually pre-cooked half-way and all you need to do is to dump boiling hot water into a bowl, throw them in and voila! Cooked broccoli in 5 minutes! Very useful when you have tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, paprika to cut up otherwise, while watching the pasta boil in another 5 minutes. My Finnish cooking-comrade (FCC for short) used to almost exclusively cook most lunches, even though according to our company's rules - there is a "chef roster" that rotates among the colleagues per week. I think she just likes to take care of food for everyone and somehow all the could-be chefs got lazy and relied on her.

Maybe the men are just waiting for a woman to serve them! hah.

I don't know why but after I started my first try at cooking thai curry noodles for lunch, I seemed to get special requests every time lunch comes around. Usually they are quite subtle... they start by discussing something special that they would like to have at around 10am. Then they ask very nicely, "Har du lyst til å lager mat?" (Have you lust to make food?)

Usually because I love cooking and feeding people, I wouldn't say no. But I do remember one day being so tired that I said very succinctly, "Jeg har ikke lyst til å lager mat". I remember how disappointed the girls looked though. I guess sometimes a girl's going to have to take care of herself first before others!

My challenge during such "Asian" lunches is how to shorten the preparation time and cooking time to just 30 minutes. With lots of stress and sweat, of course. It helped that my FCC is a superwoman when it comes to speed of chopping, slicing and peeling, because she turned out to be my sous chef on more than one occasion. I loved frying the garlic and onions while preparing the meal, but at the same time, I had to be conscious to not be too near the food and air out the kitchen while cooking. That's not easy because when I opened the window during winter, -15 degrees celsius air swooped into the kitchen.

The reason I had to be conscious about how I smell is because the first few times I cooked, I remember going to my Norwegian language class after work and feeling apologetic to my neighbouring classmates that I stink/smell like fried garlic.

I really had no desire being remembered as the "garlic girl".

So anyway, my green and red thai curry noodles was a big hit. So were my stir-fried tofu with grill spices and spring onions. A few times I recall getting compliments on my cheese, mushroom and onion omelette too. There were a few times when I was the sous chef and helped my FCC with her famous pesto pasta with sun-dried tomatoes, feta cheese, olives and cherry tomatoes. That was really good because it lasts for two days in the fridge.

Thai red curry

The last time I remember cooking an Asian lunch for my colleagues is an adventurous phad thai noodle. It's challenging because I've never cooked it before, and I have to do it within 30 minutes. My kitchen was also appliance-challenged, because all we had are two pots - on a magnetic induction cooktop. With an induction cooktop, I have difficulty lifting my pot and flipping my noodles, omelette etc up like a normal Chinese chef does, because induction works by contact - no contact, no heat. It didn't help that we didn't have a saucepan and proper frying ladle too, so I was working with limited tools.

But at the end of the lunch, somehow even my most amateurish attempt was praised. I think Norwegians are just much more appreciative towards a sincere effort.

Those were the days, my friend - I thought they would never end. But they did. I have just left this job as my contract ended and before that, I was preparing "normal lunches" again because we moved to an office with no stove or oven. So I tried to be creative - buy the meats that my colleagues liked to eat, broccoli salad (just additional hot water, pine nuts, raisins needed), avocado as a "pålegg", different cheeses, fruits, lemons, smoked salmon etc. Somehow I think I had gained a reputation of making good lunches, which is a nice reputation to have.... just because I like to feed people well. I remember my colleagues tried to name who is a "feeder" and who's an "eater" in our company, and I was a feeder like my Finnish cooking-comrade!

I'm going to miss those guys, but probably not the lunches, because it gets monotonous for a vegetarian like me. It's hard to get vegetarian "pålegg" in normal supermarkets so I had to stick to vegetables and cheese all the time. Most pålegg for Norwegians mean boiled egg, liver pate, ham, kaviar, some canned fish, cheese and chocolate spreads, especially Nugatti. I don't like the chocolate spreads and seldom take egg, so I get limited options.

Nugatti Air - a airy favourite for the boys

Well, that's that. I'm going back to Singapore for two weeks this coming Saturday, so I'm looking forward to a gastronomical party! Rojak, laksa, rice dumplings (all vegetarian of course), here I come!

:P' ' '

pixy

Pictures from the internet.

Una Ragazza on Eat: Smells Like New York 3 Apr 2011 4:03 PM (14 years ago)

Ah, the things that happen in New York.

This week, a congressman from the New York borough of Staten Island introduced a bill to make pine the “official scent” of New York. His case was that while New York had an official flower, tree, bird, animal, insect, fruit and muffin, there is no official scent to bring the state together. “And that stinks,” he said.

For a city still undergoing an economic recovery, the news was not welcomed by many. In fact, a Facebook page called “New Yorkers against PINE being the ‘Official Scent’ of New York” was created on the same day the news broke on April Fool’s Day (which the congressman denied was a joke).

The New York Times takes us on a walking tour of the smells of New York

If not pine, what then, do New Yorkers think should be the official scent of New York. Here are a few olfactory choices to get us thinking. If any one of these garner enough support, we may very well have to consider overturning the “pine bill.”

10. Bagels

The fresh smell of bagels puts a spring in my step on weekday mornings. Entering the deli a block from the office never fails to put me in a good mood. Beware -- avoid the onion or everything bagel if you're meeting with the boss in the next 4 hours!

9. Bacon and eggs

On weekends, I used to go for a run down the Westside highway when I was living in Chelsea, occasionally ending my exercise by ducking into a diner because I can't resist the sizzling sound and smell of bacon on the grill. Pair it with a bellini and good coffee and your weekend is set.

8. Pizza

In my opinion, pizza is one of those things to eat within minutes of it being ready. There are so many pizza delis in the city, and many with half-bought pies sitting on the deli counter for too many hours. Over time, I've learnt to either hold my breath while walking past a pizza deli or to quicken my foot steps.

7. Chinese takeout

Being Chinese, I'm certainly biased toward Chinese takeout. I eat more than my fair share of General Tso's chicken, fried rice and egg foo young, and am thankful that I have a door to my office at work so that I can spare my otherwise hapless colleagues who prefer a simple and odorless lunch of cereal, fruit and yogurt.

Tasty as it is, my attitude toward Chinese takeout is similar to that toward durians. Lovely to smell and eat while I'm at it; take it far, far away from me once I'm done.

Tip: throw away the leftovers in the office pantry, not in your personal trash can.

Durians -- lovely to smell, but only while you're eating them

6. Street meat

I was introduced to street meat within days of starting my first job in New York. The term is loosely used to mean any meat sold by street vendors, including hot dogs, kebabs and steak sandwiches. My favorite street meat vendor is Rafiqi's, a turkish kebab and meat-over-rice stall which is run by an enterprising Middle Eastern man with nearly 20 trucks around the city.

A crowd-pleaser is the lamb or chicken over rice. White sauce? Yes! Red sauce, yes!

For tip on post-meal disposal, refer to #7 above.

Rafiqi's: Reliable street meat serving Midtown (and elsewhere) for more than a decade

5. Coffee grounds

Coffee is a daily, necessary drug that transcends class, gender and race; students, the employed, and the unemployed all need this to power through our days. That means a ton (literally) of coffee beans are used, generating a staggering amount of coffee grounds. Since the city garbage trucks do not pick up trash on a daily basis, the resulting coffee smells -- fresh, stale and rotting -- is a rather permanent feature of the air we breathe.

4. Beer/Vomit

I'm terribly thankful that St. Patrick's Day makes its appearance only once a year, and that the accompanying madness is pretty much contained within that day. But when that day rolls along, the damage sometimes appears insurmountable. Working on Second Avenue in Midtown means walking by drunk people as early as during the lunch hour. Never mind that there are policemen around -- this is the only day of the year that they can drink in uniform, so don't venture too close to one if you're looking to make a complaint about the vomit splattered onto your pants.

3. Laundered suit

With apartment sizes as tiny as 300 or 400 square feet, most New Yorkers do not have a washer and dryer in their apartments, or even in their buildings. Many send their laundry and dry cleaning to the shops, which number in the thousands to serve the millions of office workers. The result is the smell of starch and laundry detergent in high-traffic subway stations serving the financial and legal businesses concentrated in the Financial District and Midtown.

2. Urine

Crazy as it may sound, in a city where apartments and office space go by the millions, New Yorkers still have to put up with the smell of urine -- from humans and pets -- in every neighborhood, even swanky ones like Soho and West Village. The worst places are in phone booths and corners of subway stations. I have personally witnessed more than my fair share of peeing men in both these locations. Time to install some public toilet facilities? I think so.

1. Garbage

Finally, garbage. This problem is usually worse in the summer, when the soaring temperatures cause the unmentionables in the garbage bags to disintegrate faster and emit more pungent gases. However, this recent winter has proven us wrong. Winter garbage can stink pretty badly as well, especially if the city waste disposal trucks don't pick them up for more than a week!

Trash piling up outside a bar-restaurant in Midtown

Have a better idea for an official city scent? Leave a comment, and state your case.

(Some pictures taken from the Internet)

Horse With No Name on: Something Like Love 20 Mar 2011 11:56 PM (14 years ago)

Over St Patrick's day, a week after disaster struck Japan's northeastern coast, the family and I had travelled to a small mountain town in Colorado. I was quietly sitting in a childcare centre at the area's ski resort, watching my younger daughter play with the other kids, when a grey-haired lady cautiously approached me.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her warm, weathered face full of emotion. I was pretty drained from the remnants of a bad cold, so I thanked her kindly for her concern.

She seemed lovely. Despite her age, her outfit belied her energy and obviously eccentric sense of humour: a festive green, tartan skirt, dark knee-high socks, with a green silk flower tucked into a bun in her hair.

But I was tired and distracted, and hesitant to be drawn into conversation. As she went on, I nodded politely, not really hearing her, until the words “quake” and “tsunami” shattered my reverie.

“Is the rest of your family alright?”

It was then that I realised she had presumed my daughter was Japanese, and read my grumpiness as quiet despair for my “fellow countrymen”.

A younger, snarkier me would have coolly pointed out that not all Asian-looking people come from the same country. For some reason, I didn't.

She looked confused when I told her I was from Singapore, which wasn't really in or near Japan. I felt her cringe as she realised her faux pas (It was obvious she meant no offense) and she tried to salvage the situation by asking if anyone I knew was affected by the quake or the subsequent nuclear crisis.

Not wanting to exacerbate her awkwardness, I mentioned I did have a friend with family in Japan, but they were safe. I explained where Singapore was, how far we were from the danger zone, and thanked her for her solidarity with victims of the quake.

She visibly lightened with relief. It was a short, if bizarre, conversation, but I sensed her heart was in the right place, and her sense of empathy was profound, even if it was directed at the wrong person.

I was packing for this road trip to Colorado the day the triumvirate of disaster hit Japan. It was surreal watching that unending flood of water smash through cities and towns, upending homes and annihilating everything in its wake. And the ominous ashy plumes over the Fukushima nuclear plant hung like the most godawful leaden feeling in my gut.

I felt that same way as a young reporter watching the horror unfolding on the news in 2001 and 2004, when New York's Twin Towers collapsed and massive waves consumed towns and villages in Indonesia.

It was a distant, hollow, helpless, sickening sensation. Followed by the need to offer solace to those who were hurt, but not knowing how.

I couldn't help but hear echoes of this sensation in the condolences offered by random Americans we met during our road trip. (Yes, green-skirted St Paddy's lady wasn't the only one who mistook my husband and children for Japanese tourists.)

There were the hotel desk clerks and a waitress at a small sushi restaurant in Utah, and even a stranger in a Colorado national park, who came up to my husband and politely introduced himself before offering (what my husband assumed to be) comforting words in Japanese to my very perplexed two-year-old daughter.

It would have been easy to be cynical about these little episodes. To dismiss them as small-town ignorance trying too hard. But something told me not to give in to the negativity.

Because the outpouring of sadness and solace from these complete strangers was truly astounding. Something in this tragedy had obviously struck a chord with these ordinary Americans. The people of this country are, after all, no strangers to natural disasters.

Seeing and hearing of the devastation heaped upon another nation, a developed nation, one so prepared and ready to meet disaster head-on... Perhaps they too felt that sickening sensation in their guts. And so they tried to offer solace, but didn't know how, or to whom.

At some point, I began to wonder if we weren't providing these well-wishers with a little catharsis for their well of emotions. One desk clerk we met in Holbrook, Arizona, was on the verge of tears as she recounted a group of stranded Japanese tourists she met in California during the week.

“They basically had nowhere to go. Can you imagine going on holiday and then finding out you have no home to go back to?” she asked, her downcast eyes shining with sadness.

These small encounters reminded me that even the smallest gesture counts for something in the grand scheme of healing. .

Because for every ounce of this positive energy, there will surely be those who mock other people's tragedies - dolts in the media who dole out hurt and negativity to bolster their own misguided agendas, anonymous Internet commentators who rejoice at some perceived cosmic vengeance enacted on their behalf.

What good are the good intentions of the ordinary in the face of such extraordinary cynicism?

How can simply feeling empathy compare to volunteers who get into the thick of things, like those I interviewed in the past who helped Indonesians affected by the 2004 tsunami rebuild homes and schools?

In the last couple of days since returning home, I've realised empathy is just the beginning. You need that spark of emotion to spur you into action. And if action is the enemy of helplessness, then there those in our midst already in the thick of battle.

And I'm not talking about the big charity or relief groups. While I ineffectually wrung my hands, wondering how or what to do, there were those who took what talents they have and translated them into ways to help and heal.

As a regular crafter, I often scroll through Etsy, an online market for handmade goods, for inspiration. Now, you'll find a growing number of sellers there donating 100% of their profits on certain products – from jewellery to art – to aid for Japan.

Then there's this craft-loving mama of three little girls. She grew up in Singapore and now lives in the US, and writes a brilliant, funny sewing tutorial blog called Ikatbag. Despite how busy she always seems from her blog entries, she created what she calls an “Owie Doll” for Japan, with proceeds going to a charity to aid relief efforts.

Even though the sale on the doll has closed for now, she mentioned on her blog that she might start it up again soon.

Similarly, a team of two ladies who run a children's fashion-and-toys start-up in South Africa are selling a specially designed doll, nicknamed Georgie, to lend a hand.

“My friend Aki is in Japan and over the last week I was frantically trying to get hold of her,” explained Devika Rosalind Muttiah, who along with Barbara Geldmacher, helps to design clothes and dolls for their company, called baba-dash.

Frustrated when she couldn't get help to her friend through expeditions that were heading to the disaster-ravaged country, Devika said a “lightbulb went off over her head” and she realised what she could do.

Coupled with Barbara's creative design of the doll, the duo are hoping to team up with a reputable South African charity through which they hope to send money from the sale of Georgies, which they are currently only selling in South Africa, to fund aid to Devika's friend and her friend's community in Japan.

Hearing and reading of work like this, I'm slowly beginning to realise that even if I can't join a rescue expedition to Japan, I can still try to contribute. It's just a matter of harnessing what I do, what I have or what I know in order to move forward.

Like writing about those who are taking action, and giving their causes an extra voice.

Or gathering warm clothes my family no longer needs (thanks to the short Arizona winter) and finding a way to donate them to some of the hundreds of thousands now left homeless in Japan, many of whom are trying to salvage what's left of their lives while battling the frigid and seemingly unending Japanese winter.

“Are you okay?” It's amazing what three little words can do. That simple, innocent act of reaching out to a stranger, to make a heart-felt connection, might mean a world of the difference between individuals floundering in pain, and a global community trying to find its footing together.

Rojak Timeout: A Tribute to Ah Gong 20 Mar 2011 5:09 AM (14 years ago)

Today's timeout is by Una Ragazza, who wrote the following note to her grandfather for the memorial service that took place during his second death anniversary this month.

For all of you who ever had a relationship with your grandfather, this is for them too.

* * *

My earliest memories of my grandfather were that of a stoic man bent over a sink while rotating a papaya or a pineapple in his left hand and fiercely carving away at the fruit's skin with his right. The thought of 121 Telok Ayer Street brings to mind the colors, sounds and smells of a busy, crowded household. I can almost taste his homemade starfruit juice and multicolored agar-agar.

These were fond memories of my favorite man when I was growing up.

Every night, as the Chinese drama serial on SBC Channel 8 started to wind down around 10:30, it was the cue that the shutters at the front of our fruit shop would be coming down shortly after. My ah gong was finally closing shop to join us in the living room for a little bit of TV and relaxation before bed, and before a whole new day would start and repeat itself all over again.

"As skinny as your ah gong" was to be a refrain that I would hear throughout my childhood. For some reason, it was a mark of pride for me. Something that I could share with him. I enjoyed being told that I'm the only grandchild with wavy or curly hair, just like how my dad, and his dad, are the only ones in their respective generations with "different" hair.

They say men -- especially Chinese men, or old Chinese men to be precise -- don't know how to show love. Or, could it perhaps be that we were just not paying enough attention?

My ah gong showed me plenty. I loved the way he answered my shouts of "Ah Gong!" whenever I came through the front door with a prolonged "O...y!" He was always so happy to see me and would run up -- or look up from his Lianhe Zaobao or Wanbao -- with a beaming face.

I can probably write a little book about everything I remember about him, but for now, for today, these few tidbits are enough for me to remember and celebrate my ah gong. A man whom I've come to know as a provider, a family anchor, an acrobat (remember the fruit-cutting?), a soccer fan, a loving husband (all the way until her last breath), and the ever-present grandfather that had taught me diligence and love in his own way.

Ah gong, if you were still here today, I bet you'd love to go for a bike ride in Central Park with me. And race me up Harlem Hill. In the meantime, let me keep practicing so I don't lose too miserably when we next see each other.

121 Telok Ayer Street: the shop house of special significance to both ah gong and me

A piece of home that I will always love

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