[ She said ] I'm still laughing about Huntross the food writer.

[ He said ] They should call him the Extreme Minimalist

[ She said ] The Extreminimalist.

[ He said ] Yeah.

[ She said ] ...

[ He said ] Hey, there's this facebook group "If this group reaches 150,000 I will name my son Batman"

[ She said ] Cool.

J'Approve

Sugur Sugur

[ He said ] Fresh pressed sugar cane juice. With lemon. Fuck yeah.

[ She said ] Such poor language. My parents read this.

[ He said ] Oh. Hello, I'm quite the crass one.

Food Obsessed

I have those few special friends who can talk about food non-stop. When we share a meal, we can have an entire conversation about that meal, or just eat in silence with the satisfactory knowledge that the other person 'gets it' the way you 'get it'. These friends get why I get so excited by a blender full of chilies.

These friends also know that all I ever want for my birthday are cookbooks and adorable melamine mixing bowls. And now all of you know. In fact, look for a sidebar wishlist - coming soon!

But by and large, most of my friends have other interests. With most people I have to pretend like I'm somewhat well-rounded, and try to talk to them about music, or architecture, or typography. But I'm not well-rounded. And it's hard to be interesting when all I think about is food. Two nights ago, Uncle Frank talked about food for an hour straight, seemingly without taking a single breath. He went from how he makes devil chicken to making ice cream in a salad spinner to how he makes chili paste to the difference between Indian and nonya curries.

I LOVE that every single person you meet here has an opinion on food. As far as I can tell, this is what people here do: they eat. And when they're not eating, they talk about eating. Every person has an opinion on chicken rice: "the one at Boon Tong Kee is too greasy lah!" or "the chili sauce at Bukit Timah Road is better than the one at Far East Plaza-ah." Every dish is broken up into components and analyzed. Lawrence will tell you that "the xiao long bao skin at Din Tai Fung is thinner than the one at Crystal Jade, but their dumpling meat isn't as tasty." He's right, you know. "You want the best ice kachang? Let's go. I take you. The one here doesn't use the pure gulam malaka," says Auntie Ivy.

[ He said ] Has no one expressed concern about your trying to scratch my eyes out yet?

[ She said ] Um no. Not yet.

[ He said ] Do they not care about me?

[ She said ] I guess not.

[ She said ] Hey, wouldn't it be amazing if we ran into Huntross-Huntross like 10 years from now, and he was all into food?

[ He said ] Huntross-Huntross, food writer, NY times.

[ She said ] That'd be awesome.

I like

I like this building. It looks like atomic era melamine bowls stacked together. I hope that inside the wall curves toward the floor following the outside contour, because that would be awesome.

[ She said ] Does Izrael spell his name with a Z?

[ He said ] No.

[ She said ] Oh.

IZRAEL!

ANNA!

IZRAEL!

ANNA!

Holy crap we miss you guys. IN FACT we spent (almost but not really) ALL OF TODAY looking for stuff for you two. We really wanted to bring a durian back but we thought about it and realized that we'd probably get thrown off the plane. Cat thought about buying a bird cage or something but then we realized that bird cages probably wouldn't come in pocket-sized things else the bird would be really uncomfortable.

What did we do. Today. Oh the things.

We had more chicken rice. That kicked major ass. But I think the chili sauce was a bit too much for Cat so she huffed and puffed and then ate some more.

[She said] that's bullshit. The chili sauce was anything but too strong! Actually, it could have been a bit stronger.

The lies. The pretense.

Anyways, we really appreciated that email from you (Anna) and we'll see you guys in a few days! We leave Monday for New York and Tuesday for Boston. Oh Cat and I have thought really hard about this and we won't be able to do the marathon this weekend.

Ang Mo Move

Today was gray, drizzly, some 10 degrees cooler than all the other days we've had so far. The rain would start up, then stop again. It was perfect. In Kampong Glam, I ducked into the silk and wicker shops of Arab street, peeked into the windows of a mosque during an afternoon call to prayer, stood mesmerized before hawker as he pulled out dough and folded it with ground pork, onions, garlic and egg to make murtabak.

I stumbled upon a Chinese market, selling everyday things: needles and thread, washcloths, tea pots and cups. Among the cheap plastics and porcelain I spotted two bins with wooden spoons. One bin had common looking spoons that you can buy in any kitchen supply store. The other bin had long, slender spoons that looked like they'd be used for stirring a large pots. I grabbed one and reached for my wallet. Then I noticed the vendor holding the spoon and tapping his heel with it. "For shoe," he said. I quickly realized that he meant that this isn't a cooking spoon but a shoe horn. "Still want it?" he asked. I pretended like I knew it was a shoe horn all along, nodding "of course I want it." So, you see, I couldn't admit it to some man I'll never see again that I mistook a shoe horn for a cooking spoon, but I'm writing it up in a blog for the world to see.

Whoops. Stupid Ang Mo wants to cook with shoe horn!

When I told Auntie Lillian my embarrassing story and showed her the new implement I would take home and hang by my shoerack, she said, "No, this is a spoon you use to mix durian cake."

So now I'm totally confused. Did the man think I wanted to use the durian cake spoon as a shoe horn because he couldn't imagine why I would be buying a durian spoon? Or was he just selling durian spoons that doubled as shoe horns?

"I guess I don't blog as much because if I did, I'd just be blogging about how we want to scratch each other's eyes out."

"Hey my mom and dad read this blog. They'll know you want to scratch my eyes out."

"Oh."

"We should blog about this. It's so meta."

No, you see: I'm special.

Chris tells me to stop acting like I'm all tough by pretending to like durian. I say, you're Mexican. What would you know about it? Actually, as much as I hate to admit it, you're right. I really WANT to like it because I've spent so much time obsessing about it. It's like nato. I really want to like nato because so many people hate it, but it's just about the most disgusting shit ever. Worse than durian. Freaking crazy Japanese...why would you put that in your mouth?

So Auntie Lillian, deciding that my incessant talking about the durian equated with my tender love for the durian, served a Thai durian cake for breakfast. The durian cake is compressed durian flesh, slightly dehydrated and more consistent and chewy in texture. What it is also is a much more potent version of this chinese cheese: the durian distilled. It's like a kick in the face, but the kind that makes you want more.

But seriously, how would you even know that a durian has spoiled? Would it have to turn black and fuzzy before you knew that it was past its prime? What I can't help wondering about is who was the first nutso to try this fruit? As animals, we have natural instincts to protect us against things that are spoilt. Who was this early Chinaman that cracked open a durian and thought, 'smells rotten. I think I'll eat it'? Freaky guy! Or did this love for durian emerge during the Cultural Revolution famine?

Let me tell you a story: ever since returning from Korea, I've been craving Hae Jang Guk - a hangover remedy of a stew that Gina's aunt introduced us to at a fish market in Pohang. Mind you, we hadn't touched alcohol all trip, so no hangover remedy was actually necessary. Being stone cold sober also made this stew somewhat hard to put down. Hae Jang Guk comes in many versions. This one was a fiery, peppery broth with lots of greens, and a giant squishy pock-marked square chunk that looked like grey tofu. This chunk was congealed boiled cow's blood. I forced down a couple of respectably-sized bites, and broke up the rest with my spoon to hide under the greens. The blood was metallic, drying, stomach-churning, gag-reflex-inducing. I've told this story countless times - trying to reframe it as a story of cultural englightment, or repackage it as one of new-found friendship. But honestly, it's a story about my need to feel special by eating something that most of my friends wouldn't even dare to try. Which is why I have been craving Hae Jang Guk: I want to have it again and I want to like it.

The same goes for the durian.

World Famoustest

When someone tells me that I need to do something because it's famous, I always think back to Route 1, just outside of Boston. Route 1 is home to the restaurants collectively known as the 7 wonders of the world. Among them are the Hilltop Steakhouse, The Leaning Tower of Pizza, The Weathervane Restaurant housed in a giant ship. And I wonder about the audacity of naming your joint Kelly's World Famous Roast Beef. Does being mentioned once in an international publication confer 'world famousness' upon an eating establishment? If someone not-in-the-US reads this blog, and now knows about Kelly's Famous Roast Beef, then is it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Oops. Damn it!

Anyway. Last month, on a drive down Rte 1 to Rockport with Leo, I admitted to him that I have actually eaten at most of these places during undergrad. Then thinking back to those dark years, I realized that the common thread, the partner in most of these crimes against gastronomy is my dear friend Vijay. I can't sufficiently explain what possessed us to try the flaming desserts at Kowloon, or have well-done steak with boiled-to-death asparagus at the Hilltop, where most of the patrons have never seen an Indian person - or anyone in their twenties, for that matter - and stared at us the entire time.

Vijay knows the truth about my humble culinary beginnings, and I sometimes worry that one day he'll find pictures of the early creations that I had sprung upon my 'old friends' and show them to my 'new friends.'

The weird thing is that I'm sitting in a Kaya toast and coffee joint (world famous, mind you) and they're playing the soundtrack of Next Stop Wonderland on repeat which coincides with those dark years, back before I grew taste buds.

Where was I going with this? Right. Some foods do deserve their international celebrity status, even if their fame came as a result of a government advertising campaign in in-flight magazines. Such is the case of the Singapore Chili Crab - yep, capitalized.

On our return trip to Master Crab, we had the chili crab, the pepper crab, and the repeat of the salted duck egg crab. Master crab has some 12 variations of the crab dish. The chili crab may have gotten picked arbitrarily as the national dish. It got to the party early and it's all played out. All the taxi driver uncles will tell you that pepper crab is the one to try.

The words 'crap' and 'crab' sound very similar when said with a Malay accent, so I didn't immediately understand why Uncle Frank kept saying "crab crab in tomato sauce" about the chili crab. This Ang Mo, up to her elbows and ears in "crap crab in tomato sauce", was kind of glad to have a break from spiciness. The pepper crab was good too - also moderately spicy, more dry than the other preparations, with buttery black pepper sauce. I could describe it, or I could do the cheap thing and tell you: you had to be there. It doesn't look like much. The crab sort of looks like it threw up on itself, and they don't even bother to reassemble to make it look like the pictures at the stalls. But trust you me, it's magical.

The regrettable thing about crabs, gong-gongs, choot-choots, laksas and mees is how messy they are to eat. I haven't yet managed to have a meal where I didn't spill coconut juice on my bag, dribble palm sugar syrup all over the table, slap myself on the chin with noodles, or drop a crab claw on my skirt. It also made me realize that this food requires your full attention, making conversation during the meals nearly impossible. Dating here would be a disaster. Wait...dating is a disaster for me regardless, but Singaporean food would add another challenge. Oh the self-deprecation!

PS Vijay, We're going to Kelly's when I get back. Don't tell anyone, okay?

Onomatopoetic food: Gong-gongs and choot-choots

Gong-gong approximately translates as dumb-dumb. These shell creatures are so named for their apparent laziness. Chickens can theoretically run away from your knife, and oysters give a good fight using their adductor muscle, and you have to catch fish before you can eat them. Gong-gongs just lie there until you pick them out of the water, steam them and pull them out by their feet to dip into chili sauce. They're so beautiful - beige with blue and purple and white swirls. One you pull them out, they recoil to the shape of their shell. They're toothsome and springy, and they taste like the ocean.

Dumb-dumb could also refer to a whole range of non-motile shellfish like clams, mussels, but those have somehow escaped being given such a graceless name.

Another such name is choot-choot. This snail is named for the sound that you make when you place it whole into your mouth and suck it out of its home: suck-suck... slurp-slurp.

It's so basic. In most other cases, we don't call cows beef, or pigs pork (well, sometimes I do...), but these poor shellfish are only relevant as nutrition.

We're Crazy for Bird Bird Chicken Rice

Anyuta, you have to come to Singapore. The chicken here is SO good! The chicken in the US is bred for its size and ability to gain weight rapidly, not for its taste. The chicken in Singapore is fed crack to make it crazy good and addictive, and to make us act like idiots.