Neighbours Who Love To Give

My house was apparently once a stable and a part of a bigger farm. The other buildings of this "farm" have long been divided into smaller lots, and the proprietors of these, make up my neighbours. We have since gotten to know around half of our neighbours, who are generally septuagenarian and my favourite one, our pal, Pierre, an octogenarian. He and his wife, Solange are just wonderful neighbours who like to give us things - mostly produce from their 3,500 metre squared garden chum orchard. They have been sending us basketful of tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, mirabelles, flowers and so on and so on. The other day, they brought over apples and again, tomatoes! Isn't that nice? Now, if I was still living in concrete Petaling Jaya, I would perhaps be getting less of such kindness from neighbours. That's the beauty of living in the countryside. An abundance of vegetation. A profusion of genorisity.

In return of their kindness, I would add ample calories to their diet by baking them a cake or two!

DIY or Bricolage in France

Service is expensive in France. Gone were the days when I used to call the family handyman to fix things in the house. Gone were the days when I would pay an affordable amount (even with my then measly salary), to paint, to assemble Ikea furniture, to get some minor plumbing or electricity job done. Over here, you 'get down' to it yourself!

When I was back home in Malaysia, I never did any work, except of course the work I have to do to earn money! I never did my own laundry, I didn't need to cook, I didn't need to make up my bed, I didn't need to iron clothes, do the dishes... nada! It helped that I was mostly living at my parents! Wati, our lovely maid, was my PA, butler and confidant! None of that here, mate. Unless you live-in the Elysée Palace or belong to the Rothchild family, no one really has a live in full-time helper. It would just cost too much for the average family, and plus, you would be entagled with strict employment laws left, right and centre! So, I say again, over here, you work your butt off for that job to be done or get things fixed.

Since I arrived here, I have done all of the above plus... steam off stubborn wall paper from walls; used a fancy sanding machine to sand numerous things including again, walls, dressed in workman overalls, complete with goggles and mask; layer walls with an umpteenth number of paint coating; assemble numerous Ikea furniture and objects (yes, I did the impossible... ); helped to install clip-on wood flooring, use cement and special tools to fill-up holes and recently, gardening. And I mean getting on all fours to get rid of weeds! This list, I assure you, will not be exhaustive!

For the most part though, it is my husband and his brico-savvy dad who does the more complex work, especially those requiring drilling. My father-in-law has paved tiles to the floor for his son at numerous location, he has changed door handles, fixed an old but trency-again toilet flushing system, and many other more difficult work requiring precision. My husband, on the other hand, has sawed-off doors, fixed our new locking system, the alarm system, changed water taps, install/remove big kitchen appliances, fix a malfunctioned washing machine and the list goes on...

As you can see above, my FIL, Jean, who is reaching 75, but still fit as a fiddle, is in the midst of fixing our new gutters.

This is the reason why DIY shops flourish alongside hypermarkets in France. In my considerably small region there are two giant names in DIY in France - Leroy Merlin and Mr. Bricolage, and I could name many many other shops found here which is related to DIY. Getting someone to do it is just too expensive. That's why the French don't have enormous shopping malls for people to kill time in! There are just so many things that have to be done yourself that will occupy your free time.

Laying wood floors and removing wall papers and painting, just for the living room, would have costed us over 6000 euros, excluding any materials needed to be purchased. We saved that amount simply by reading the instructions included and doing it ourselves... and of course broke our backs in its course ;).

Another Lovely Bouquet From My Son - from the Market

In France, EVERYONE goes to the market (or what some people call Farmers' Market, and what we Malaysians call 'pasar tani'). This entry was supposed to simply log my eldest son's weekly weekend gift for me which he choses at the market every Saturday morning with his papa. In fact, I should elaborate a little more about this French habit - taking a caddy or a woven basket to the fresh market whenever it's market day in their area!

I dread having to wake up early to go get some fresh local produce at the market which for us is only available on Saturday mornings, 10 km away at Chateauroux centre. When I arrived in France 4 years ago, my husband would drag me to the market when it was 'market day' to buy some fruits and vegetables or even some meat or fish. At that time, I couldn't see the point of walking 20 minutes to reach our destination and then queue for miles to get all these stuff which would be easily available at a supermarket. Worst still, they tend to cost more, and you would have to queue more than once. You would buy kilos of food and would have to walk back with all the weight. Pointless. Or so I thought. Four years later, it all makes sense. Buy local. Buy organic and even better, buy from smaller farmers. It costs a little more but the resulting taste of these produce are worth every penny (oh, sorry, I'm in France, so, centime).

I am still not fully converted to market-going rituals, preferring to push the cart and march alley by alley at a hypermarket nearby, and not having to chat about nothings with those you bump into at marché. Although, now, I totally understand why the French gets excited over the trip to the market - old habits die hard, just like mine!

Maggi Mee, Fresh Figs and Basil

I was excited the other day when I stumbled upon packets of Maggi Mee at Auchan, another chain of hypermarket in France, just like Carrefour. I'd like to consider myself as the 'adaptable' woman, y'know, not always hung up over things I grew up with - things like maid service, teh tarik, and of course, the infamous Maggi Mee. We all know that it's not really good for you - after all its fast food. But who can fight the power of desire? And above all quick, light ready-in-2-minutes meal. Once in a while I would get my parents to send me a box of these bright yellow packets of flavoured noodles. And to my surprise, I discovered that you can even get Maggi Mee in Chateauroux, the city with that one Malaysian, yours truly here. I decided to sample one to check whether they taste as mind-boggling hot as the one I get delivered by post from Malaysia.

Verdict: it's the same recipe! (too hot for what I was used to before)



Before I discovered the practice of eating food during it's season, I never knew figs to be other than the ugly-looking dried version. Fresh figs are funny to eat and marvelous to look at. Last night, we had figue au miel for dessert.



I love Basil. I love the plant. I love it's taste. And I love pesto. I thought that it deserves an inclusion in my blog entry today as I had purchased a pot to keep indoors this winter (if it survives). That's all.

Bouquet from my son

Last Saturday morning, my eldest son, 3 years old, went to the farmer's market in town with his papa. He returned with a a big smile on his face and utter thrill to hand me over this beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Merci, mon cherie. T'est mon petit chouchou!

Hari Raya

Hari Raya Aidilfitri of 2009 fell last Sunday, the 20th of September. This is the 4th Raya in a row that I am away from my Malaysian family.

A typical Raya day in Malaysia would start with the women busy preparing the Raya spread beginning almost right after the last break-fasting session, or else, soon after midnight. Although most of the dry food would have been prepared much earlier - like cookies and long-preserving fruit cakes, the night before Raya, mothers and their daughters would run around the kitchen making sure tomorrow's table layout would be filled with delicious dishes. The morning of Raya itself, the men in the family would head to the nearest mosque to make their Raya prayers, returning home to a family, all dressed up from head to toe with new clothing and shoes. Those days, my mother would even change all the curtains and all the cushion covers with new fabrics. The excitement would continue with the entire family being seated at the dining table to gobble up all those long-awaited festive plates. Although it is just breakfast, we would eat as though it is a full lunch or dinner! Soon after, the more senior of the family would sit themselves on a chair or sofa, awaiting the younger ones to come on their knees to ask for forgiveness for any previous year's wrong-doing directly involving that person! The best bit would be the cash money, in the form of Ang-Pow, which would be handed out to the young children of the family. The day would then continue with visits from friends, relatives and even neighbours of various background and religion where the food would continuely be served, with upbeat festive music blasting in the background!

Hari Raya for me in France for the last 4 years have just been ordinary days. One day when I have the courage and better kitchen skills, I will brave myself to prepare edible Raya dishes to my French family and friends.

May My Tok Rest In Peace...

My grandpa, Tok, was born on the 17th of May, they year 1921. I didn't even know that he was also a Taurus, born on the same month as me - until I was told of his birth date on the day he died. There were a lot of things that I didn't know, and still don't know about my Tok. Fond memories of him still floats lovingly within my thoughts and the best quality about him remains - he was a gentle, kind man who spoke English very well. I didn't remember my childhood with grandparents who smothered over me. I didn't remember a grandpa who would take me fishing or play kite. I do remember a grandpa who was soft spoken, and spoke caringly about how to lead one's life. There were many laughs, but as it was such a long time ago, the subject-matters are blurry. I do remember being extremely sad when it was time to return home from our many visits to my kampung, Kuala Kangsar.

Tok lead a simple but complicated life. He had always been overshadowed by my late grandma who came from an aristocratic background. They married the usual way, by arrangement by both families. He had worked as a health officer for the district and this was reflected obviously by his image - he always wore clean, crisply ironed short-sleeved clear-coloured chemises and grey pantalons, his black hair with not a trace of grey, would be neatly sleeked back with Brylcreem, his secret to healthy hair.

His simplicity took a complex turn when he reached his senior age. He married a relative, years younger than him, which was obviously arranged by the more senior members of the family. A daughter resulted in this union, my half-aunty, whom I have never met till this day. This polygamous marriage had strong objections by his first family. But no one dared to ask him, what REALLY jolted him to make such a drastic decision - disappointing and above all hurting his first wife, my grandmother? My grandma had always called him "heart" (pronounced "haad"). But unfortunately, we assume, that was the extend of their loving expression of each other. Poor communication, lack of expressiveness, and limitive culture and religion prevented a healthy, thriving marital relationship.

That was the fate of my grandparents. Silence almost killed everything.

I loved my grandpa and grandma. But until now, I wish I had a more re-active grandparents.

The last time I saw them was in 2007.

May they rest in peace.

Below is where they used to live and the recurrent house in most of my dreams.

The Right Kind of Awkward

I don't know what to title my post today, so I decided to use my favourite phrase of the day which I heard from Lily Allen in the car, while driving to Carrefour after dropping of the kids at their schools.

The Chilli Con Carne of last night was surprisingly delicious but unfortunately it was a total failure with the kids (sigh). It went straight into the tupperware last night and into the fridge. That will make our dinner for tonight. I am back to square one. Still bewildered about what to cook for the kids (sigh again).

On a happier note, my cousin's daughter (what would she be? My second niece?) who is married to a Norwegian and lives in Oslo, emailed me good news by telling me that they may have found my long lost Norwegian friend, Monica Ehly Lovald. There is a street address and a phone number which I will try and call when I have some clear time.

Monica was my best friend when we were in secondary school in Brussels. The quirky and the shy, that was us, I guess. Although we were friends for a number of years until I lost touch with her when our families moved away from Belgium, I never knew much about her family, except that she had a younger brother named Lars and a mother who was Canadian. When I googled her recently, to my surprise, I discovered that her father was an important person. He was an Ambassador to the UN and a Special Envoy for Financing for Development for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Wow. Well, I hope that it was her father, because when I image-googled him, he resembled so much my friend.

I was quite a glutton today for lunch. Perhaps because I was alone, which means no-holds-barred! I had a crispy Tandoori Chicken sandwich, a couple of Financier and a Choux Chantilly! Just for the record ;) ...

Tonight I Make Chilli Con Carne for the Kids

Today I am in a total state of blur-ness... the issue today is what to feed the kids for dinner. As Rayan, now 3 and Adam, nearly 2, reach the age of choosy-ness, I am becoming more and more challenged with their wants and don't-wants. Feeding them for dinner has never been an issue, until recently. Before, it was all about, getting whatever vegetables available in the fridge and steaming and blending them with my trusted "bledicook". The result has always looked like something coming out of a sick dog's mouth, but my sons had been loving every single spoon of 'em! PLUS, they were healthy! Extremely low in salt and nearly no unhealthy fats in every serving. Wonderul mom. Now, mom, or Maman as I am called (still strange to my ears), is not so wonderful anymore. Dinner time is beginning to be harder. One now knows how to say, it's not good (Ce n'est pas bon..) and the other just pushes his plate and frantically moves his hands in a "no no" manner.

What do I make for these choosy kids of mine so that they will enjoy dinner time again? It's not helping that the Ecole Maternelle and the Creche is feeding them with Elysee-type food... starters, main, desserts, the works, all in 3-Michelin style cuisine. Now I am put in an uncomfy position of constantly being dumstruck when it comes to dinner time.

So, what do I do, as what all pro-internet moms do? I googled "what to feed my 2 and 3 year olds"! Most of the top results were of American origin. As usual. I browse and I browse and finally gave in to all that's American. Forget boring steak hache and puree. Forget Mame's "soupe".

Tonight, I will make from scratch, the famous, Chilli Con Carne!

(Watch out kids, andle, andle, yariva, yariva...MeHico is here in France!)