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!)

Crepes, Christmas & Raclette

Oh, winter is here. Strangely, I don't feel as cold as the past years (perhaps its because we have upgraded our heaters) but l'hiver est la. This weekend was winter style eating weekend. We had, raclette for dinner yesterday and this evening we had crepes. Both a typical cold season food to normally enjoy amongst friends and family. Raclette is basically melted cheese eaten usually with boiled potatoes and some charcuteries (cooked, dried or smoked meats, usually thinly sliced). Although, usually it is only the special kinds of raclette cheeses that are used to be melted on a raclette machine. Basically, a device with about 6 individual heating plates placed at the centre of the table for the cheese melting. While you peel the skin off your boiled potatoes, the cheeses (which comes in a variety of flavours) are placed under the heating device. When it has melted, and just a little gratinee at the top but not burnt, you would scrape the lovely delect of yellow goo with a wooden scraper or bread (so as to not hurt the non-stick lining) and pour it on your potatoes. Mmm...at just the thought of that! The trick is to NOT drink any liquid when you are devouring these delicious mouthfuls as it may cause some stomach upset. But because they tend to be on the salty side, and too much salt equals thirst, you tend to take your chance and gallop down your drinks anyhow.

Mami Mimi's crepes this evening was just awesome (she's my mom-in-law, Grandma Mimi as how I like to refer her as). Mami Mimi, according to her son, can't really cook, as in, she's not much of a cook, but she ace at making crepes! Now, we all know what crepes are... pancakes! But not pancakes as we know it eaten by the Americans. The real French crepes are delicate, thin and light. And are wonderful eaten sucree (sweet) or sale (salty). Tonight we had it with cheese, mushroom and bechamel sauce, ingredients that were layed out on the table for the fun assembling process. For the sweet-toothed, and normaly left to the final few crepes to be eaten at the end after the savoury fillings, there were rhubarb-strawberry jam, fleur d'orangier (orange flower) honey and sugar.

We went to Botanic in the afternoon, about the only shop that is occasionally open on Sundays in France. Botanic is a popular chain store that is a jardenirie and animalerie. Basically, they are a shop that sells botanicals and pet animals. My husband LOVES this shop. It used to be his desired outing in weekends (less these days because of his increasing load of work). We have not been for ages but decided to go for our son's sake because their Chrismas decorations are out for sale. (My husband did not find the Xmas decos for sale at Ikea very impressive, in contrary to me who likes the modern and new, as opposed to him, liking the unique and artisanal). Christmas is after all, a month around the corner so it's time to bring out the sapin (Chrismas tree) and start hanging up those blinking Xmas lights and decos. Being brought up by parents who regard celebrating this or even mere acknowleging Christmas as blasphemous, I am of course, a little on the slow side to warm up to the idea of Christmas. After all, the French don't give a hoot about the religious association of this fete and merely celebrate it for celebration sake, as remnants of their religious days.

Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, la la la la la la laaa....

The countdown begins!

Queueing in France

Firstly, let me tell you that I have decided to do away with the fancy attempt to be complicated and write in the third party!! It's more fun to write freely without all the folly! So, here we go...


Yesterday, I got excited with my darling's kind offer to drive me to Ikea (no, he doesn't like to go anywhere except sit and work in front of his laptop; and yes, I can't drive myself these days as I am unable to squeeze in between the driver's seat and steering wheel). Getting excited over a scandinavic furniture shop, you ask? I wander that myself sometimes! But shopping in a place where the prices don't strangle you at first glance and being in a familiar globalised environment eases my French claustrophobia just a little ;)! For the past couple of years, we had to settle on driving an hour to Lyon for its nearest outlet and stuff all our purchased loads in our little car. So, naturally, I am thrilled at having one finally opening in Grenoble itself!


Obviously, Saturday is not the best day to go to a popular shop, with all the weekend crownd heading towards the same direction. But we managed to find a parking spot nonetheless after a couple of rounds. The only thing I was worried about (as this 'outing' is one of those rare occasions that I get to do these days as a form of relaxation. Yes, you got it. Shopping equals relaxing for me!) was the masala-ed mackarels my hubby had pre-programmed in the oven to finish cooking at 12.00 noon... And what time is it at that point of arrival when I glanced at my watch? 11am! Shock, horror! Is my hubby crazy or what, to first, setting a limit to my shopping interlude, and secondly, to allow just a mere hour to do the Ikea tour in the 2nd largest Ikea in France, browse through products at my usual leisurely pace dreaming of our future living room and kitchen, QUEUE and drive the 20 mins, back home! By the way, just to add, my hubby turns to a monster if he doesn't feed his stomach at a specific time every meal time.


Oh well, too bad, because I wasn definitely not going to let a deadline to interrupt my pleasure! So, there I went, taking my sweet time to please my eyes and savour the clever ideas, while my hubby briskly walked forward as though there was a walk marathon record to break! As we reached the end of the shop, our greatest nightmare await us... the infamous French queue. Every counter had at least 10 agitated people waiting in line. Time is ticking, my hubby is getting nervous, as his planned timing will not be met with after all... So, he sweetly calls me, "Darling, I need you...". "Yes, love, I'm coming..." He points me out the many lanes with logos of a handicapped person and a pregnant woman. 'Femme Enceinte' (pregnant woman, yes, that is what I am). "Go in front," he tells me. "What? Pass everyone?!", I squirmed. Hmm. So, there I went zig zagging passed trolleys and looks of annoyance, fury and outrage. One lady gave me a bitchy look and even attempted to block my pathway to prevent me from passing her! My hubby explained that his wife is pregnant. She replied that she notices but gave an I couldn't-care-less-look. I got through anyway and reached the cashier. "Je peux passer?" (Can I pass?"), I asked the young chap, while pointing at my round tummy. He allowed me to, with an obvious nod, as expected, and stopped his cashing out for the lady I was about to piss off! She, at first, was confused and did not know what was going on, until she saw the obvious. She rolled her eyes and started mumbling in uncomprehensable French. I asked my hubby to follow suit and began myself to vocal MY annoyance, naturally in my preferred language, English.

I looked up at the signboard above me and said cooly, "If THEY don't like it, then why do they have such a privilige?...," talking to my husband, of course. APPARENTLY, this wondrous woman, enthusiastically responded, IN ENGLISH. "It is not because we are French! You have an option and you insisted and we let you passed," she uttered as-a-matter-of-fact-of. Bitch! What she REALLY meant to say was that, there was a choice for me NOT to insist as there is really nothing 'wrong' with me, or rather, I wasn't exactly in a state of desperation that REQUIRED an urgency to exit quickly. And what she really REALLY wanted to say was that I did not exactly look fatigued by my pregnancy and nor was I going to labour, so why did I need to annoy everyone in line and inisists on my so called prviliged priority? Super bitch! My hubby then gave HIS piece of mind, "Heck, I don't even understand my own people!" clearly stupefied by the individualistic behaviour of his fellow countrymen... I then looked at the selfish French ass of a woman to address her directly what I was about to say and said, "In MY country we don't even have such a thing. So, no one complaints and you just suffer (meaning people like me)." That's true, correct me if I'm wrong but back home in Malaysia, there are no, or at least not many, public priviliges like this, especially for the expectant but I'm pretty sure that people would let or even OFFER a queueing pregnant lady through, WITHOUT the need of a directive. That's just the way we are. That's just our culture, to sympathise and to help. Not in France, my dear!

So, back to the incident. She apparently stopped there. I guess she realised that she better not fight with a PREGNANT ASIAN lady (ie for fear of mendling with issues of racism AND bullying the 'weak'!).

After we post-mortemed the incident, on our way back home, it finally hit me why they were doubly pissed off! Not that I am defending them here... But perhaps, and maybe perhaps, IF I had politely asked each and everyone whether I could pass them (rather than barging through), then maybe just maybe, their reaction would have been less hostile? Nah... The French are just damned selfish people! Unless you are about to die or in my case, my water broke PLUS severe labour contractions began, and I was rolling on the floor, maybe they might let me beat the queue! Oh, but don't count on a smile to come with that!

Mr. & Mrs. T then reached home, ate their delicious baked masala mackerels and happily lived ever after.

Bash-free day

Ok, today they won't be any French bashing! Today has been a rather good day. Why? Rescue arrived! Two 73 year olds arrived from Chateauroux to stand by for the D Day. Bless their souls... They have just arrived from a 10-day vacay on the apparently beautiful Ile de la Reunion, a Golden wedding anniversary gift from their only child, and 2 days later they drove 6 hours to be here. Nowhere can you find parents-in-law so lovely, so kind, so sincere, so simple-hearted. But Sha has not reciprocated as much as she should. And we all know why... Oh but today, is a positive day! So, no complaints!



They brought back plenty of gifts, and most of them were for their only daughter-in-law! A bunchful of artisinal goods, a bunchful of fresh local produce. Now what should she buy them this Christmas?...



The French Reunion Island, as we call it in English is located in the Indian Ocean, nearby Madagascar and Mauritius. And as it's neighbouring islands, La Reunion has Asiatic influences through its olden days' immigrants. Spices added to dishes, like their 'Carry', which is in effect curry, their 'masale', which is masala as we know it and'achar', same thing. It's a sub-tropical island which means it is the ideal temperature! Not too hot and never cold.

One fine day, a sure destination!