Cha Xiu Bao

On Understanding Wine Labels, Really

2009-11-22T19:40:41+08:00

Well, the confession is simple. As hard as I live everyday of my life trying to be taken as a savvy wine snob the truth is, I don't understand the slippery business that is wine label at all. I know the grapes and I know mostly what it does but there's always something about the wine I'm drinking that I can't explain. I mean, ALWAYS.

The thing is, I find that nonsense whenever winemakers wrap up a wine talk by saying "I'd like to say more, but I'd better let the wine speaks for itself." I know it's suppose to be rhetoric but still, it makes no sense even if it's just a manner of speaking for the guys. Golly, it's flat out gibberish. Dude, fill me in, it's just a damn liquid and it can't speak no matter how hard I slosh it in my mouth!

I think there's scheme behind this. Wine people are the only bunch who wants to educate us this way so as to sell more. Let's use pork to draw an analogy. We'd describe a well-cooked pork as tender, juicy and what not but we'd never be expected to argue over where it's from, and when and how the hog was butchered, or whether he's chopped down into pieces in a full moon. No, the hog wasn't killed in 2005 and sorry to disappoint you, that was a year of bad weather so the harvest was extremely bad. In fact, I've quitted reading the wine labels seriously for information that I wanted since I figured out my mouth is programmed to eat and swallow, not to decipher the secrecy of the world as the winemakers want me to. In the long run, I'll only see the appeal of blind wine tasting wine when there's something likewise for pork and beef -- and yep, no body is leaving this dining room until someone can tell me how and where this banana was raised.

And if you're still with me up to now, I'd like to introduce to you the best wine I've ever tasted in my life. I knew it the moment I saw it, even without tasted it. Absolutely!

Chinatown Bangkok

2009-11-15T23:36:56+08:00

LEE Mut-lee

The ever-flamboyant Damnoen Saduak Floating Market

2009-11-04T22:17:38+08:00

Sharing with you an HDR photostream of the pictures that I took at the aureate Damnoen Saduak Floating Market. Hope you guys like it as much as I do.

Obama Wins Peace Prize While I Win the Geese Prize Makes Us All Winners

2009-10-14T23:17:03+08:00

Something neither surprising and premature, this goose-all-the-way dinner menu at Yung Kee can single-handedly bring peace to China. Bring all ethnic group leaders together, order this bespoke menu and show them a galore of goose dishes, and everyone will be so dumbstruck and stupefied by the glossy geese that they'll sign whatever you put in front of them. See this Nobel Committee? My bid for next year's Peace Prize, one goose at a time.

National Dish for National Day: Scramble eggs with Tomatoes -- Part II

2009-10-04T23:43:49+08:00

In the last post I left with the announcement that scrambled eggs with tomatoes is our national dish. In the second part, I'll show you the reasons why such announcement was made one by one, like the way Premiere Hu was inspecting the marching troops at the Tiananman Square on October 1st.

There's so many ways for me to begin the inquisition but first off, I must highlight our penchant for the color red and yellow as a nation -- just in case you've no clue of how our flag is like.

Red is, to a large extent, in every Chinese's blood. Historically, red is the color we used to get rid of evil spirit, which explains why the pillars and walls of the palaces are all painted red. Over times, the symbolic value of red gets richer and it equates the color for fortune and joy, to which is why the principle color for lanterns, couplets and jianzhi used in festivals are red. In most parts of China, parents still insist the bride to wear red dress in the wedding banquet (in stark contrast to the West, we wear white clothes during the mourning time).

Then, ever since the dawn of Chairman Mao and the Communist's reign, red has become the underlying color for the Communist party (and the Red Guards). It is also said that the red color in our flag represents the blood shed by mortars who died in the battles for our country.

Yellow on the other hand, not only has been associated with wealth and harmony, but it has been the center color for us since the founding of our totem. It is still not uncommon to refer us as the "yellow" people in usages similar to that of the "black" or "white" people from the past.

At the core of our rapture for yellow, it can also be attributed to the fact we all regard ourselves to the descendant of Yan & Yellow Emperor (Huangdi). Moreover, yellow also unmistakably manifests the color for generations of emperor. Up until the Qing dynasty, yellow clothes was strictly reserved for the imperial uses and commons were forbidden to dress anything in yellow. Each emperor would get a new, bright yellow dragon robe (longpao) on the day of his enthronement; with nine flying dragons embroidered on that. For reason unknown to fashion designers nowadays, the dragons are also painted in yellow [edit: only the dragons for emperor is allowed to be five-clawed; the dragons for the rest are either four or three-clawed so to attest that he's born as the Son of Heaven ]

And lest we forget, the Yellow River is also said to be the Mother River of China and the cradle of Chinese civilization.

Second, we shall examine the ingredient itself.

The reason why so many people fail to see why scrambled eggs and tomatoes deserves to be come to the fore is that they fail to see the mighty collective fixation our race has on eggs through this dish like I do. Believe it or not, we heart eggs, or dan in Mandarin and we heart it no less than a French loves cheese. We love it so much so that we must spell and recite the word everyday to put us at peace. For example, we have huangbadan for son of a bitch; bendan for fool; huaidan for douche; qiongquadan for stony-broke person; and last but not least, if we want to ask someone to fuck off politely, we'd ask him/her to gundan. Putting scrambled eggs with tomatoes to the altar in front of Chairman Mao's portrait would be without a question the ultimate way to honor such collective fixation.

But semantic isn't the only reason why we love eggs. Chinese mythology has it that, the first living being of the universe, Pangu, was born inside a cosmic egg in the very beginning of time. The upper half of the egg formed the Heaven (yang) and the lower half became the Earth (ying).

Nay-sayers, by now, would probably be roiled and say my benevolent dictatorship is unjust since for them there's hundreds other dishes like mantou, hand-pulled noodles, Chinese flatbread (xiaobing) or even the Peking duck can give my decision a run for its money. But is there any dish that has diverged better than scrambled eggs and tomatoes, which seemingly bypassed every geographical and ethnical barriers?

Third, the most cardinal argument from me is, the image of the dish mirrors that of our flag -- as though the margherita pizza mirrors that of a Italian flag and the white-feathered Bresse chicken of Bény of a French flag. Well, whether you like it or not, I'm of the persuasion that the most beautiful thing in China is that patriotism will always go first and you don't need to listen to what people say unless you really feel like it. It's time to kiss the eggs and celebrate the national day with it!

National Dish for National Day: Scrambled Eggs with Tomatoes (蕃茄炒蛋) -- Part I

2009-09-30T19:13:16+08:00

As everyone get worked up by the parades and fireworks for the 60th anniversary of the People's Republic of China, I can't help but notice that, six decades on, we've actually made zero progress in naming a dish for our nation.

In a span of six decades, the Communist has managed to transform China from a nation of poverty to one of prosperity. Case in point, every grey-brick courtyard and garden of Old Peking are bulldozed for boxy and uniform high-rises; every prostitute and concubinage -- the so-called the feudal relic of capitalism, are swept from the street to make room for san pei xiaojie (hostess who accompanies clients in drinking, singing and dancing). As a economy that's growing leaps and bound sadly though, there's naught at the dining table to honor the spirit of 1.3 billion people.

The more I think about this, the more the news of all these jubilations become grated on my ears. In fact, I gnash my teeth just to think how hapless and directionless we are on this. Look around, where's the daizibao (大痣報) for this? We survive the daguofan (big cauldron of canteen food), outlast the Red Guards, and even bar the fabulous Gang of Four, yet we fall short to determine what our national dish is?! Is this the personification of egalitarianism or the art of idling, or altogether a joke?!

Alas, had Chairman Mao still be alive today, he would have echoed my loathing for this too. After all, he is the guy who once said that eating is the greatest problem for mankind.

"A revolution is not a dinner party, pussy-losers!" So said Chairman Mao. Such statement can't be truer today than ever. Taking this discourse by heart, I decided it's time like this that summons a benevolent dictatorship and it's time for me to bombard the headquarters of haughtiness and to reinstall the true nature of my countryman -- just to show how loyal I'm to Chairman Mao. Ah, what's the English term for this endeavor? All this for us to have a say (話"乳"權) at the dining table.

So mark this the day, my dearest comrade, the eve of Oct 1, 2009, with Chairman Mao's little red book (毛主席乳露語錄) in my hand and my head facing towards the waving national flag high at the Tiananmen Square, I proudly and solemnly, announce, scrambled eggs and tomatoes is our national dish.

to be continued...

Book Extract: "Fortress Besieged" by Qian Zhongshu, translated by Jeanne Kelly and Nathan K. Mao

2009-09-28T23:27:01+08:00

Set on the eve of the Sino-Japanese War, Fortress Besieged recounts the exuberant misadventures of the hapless hero Fang Hung-chien. After aimlessly studying in Europe at his family's expense, he returns to Shanghai armed with a bogus degree from a fake university. On the French liner back, Fang's life becomes deeply entangled with those of two Chinese beauties -- when he does finally make it home, he obtains a teaching post at a newly established university, encounters effete pseudo-intellectuals, and falls into a disastrous marriage. A glorious tale of love, marriage, war, calamity, disillusionment and hope, this is one of the greatest Chinese novels, combing Eastern philosophy, Western traditions, adventures, tragicomedy and satire to create a unique feast of delights.

For dinner that evening, his mother herself prepared fried shredded eel, chicken wings in soy sauce, stewed chicken with melon and shrimps cooked in wine -- all his favorite local dishes. She picked out the best pieces for his bowl, saying, 'How terrible it must have been for you, living abroad for four years with nothing to eat!'
Everyone laughed and said she was at it again. If a person ate nothing abroad, how could Hung-chien keep from starving to death?
She said, 'I can't understand how those foreign devils stay alive! All that bread and milk. I couldn't eat them if they gave them to me free.'
Hung-chien suddenly felt that in this family atmosphere the war was something unbelievable, just as no one can think of ghosts in broad daylight. His parents' hopes and plans left no room for any unforeseen circumstances. Seeing them thus so firmly in control of the future, he too took heart and thought that maybe the situation in Shanghai would be eased, and there would be no outbreak of hostilities. And if there were, they could be brushed aside and ignored.

Nicolas Sarkozy is a Chinese? Ah-huh.

2009-09-17T23:00:47+08:00

My heart really skipped a beat when I read such a stunning discovery as I leafed through a local newspapers leisurely just the other day.

Against all odds, a scholar in China has, after 2 years of searching and digging and, equally lengthy time of Mr. Sarkozy's presidency, come to the conclusion that Mr. Sarkozy, the 23rd President of the French Republic, is in fact a man of Chinese ancestry.

To begin with, the acclaimed scholar points out the fact that Sarkozy is the son of Nagy Bocsay Sarkozy Pal, who's no less a Hungarian aristocrat himself. This one is easy, as our ace historian reckoned: Nagy means big and Pal means Paul in Hungarian, whereas Bocsay means the clan of Bocs in Jurchen (whose link to Hungarian as Tungusic people is strong), which means altogether it sums up Paul of Sarkozy family of the big Bocs clan. To keep up with the Joneses, the scholar goes further to say that such style of naming kids bears no difference to what we do in China -- say, the third son of the Zhang's family of Xidan Hutong.

As if the discretion level of his oddball elaboration isn't already high enough, the scholar goes on to unveil the background of Sarkozy's granny. The Chinese root of Ms. Csafordi Toth Katalin, he says, can't be more visibly apparent. Not only is there a piece of entry for Toth in Jinshi, the History of Jin as a family name, but also is there a significant nomadic people called Xianbei of whom the Csafordi tribe was belonged to once upon a time. So authentic is Sarkozy as a common last name back in the good o'days of China that he even asserts that Sarkozy family could have emigrated to Hungary from China as recent as the Qing dynasty.

And if all this stands accurate, then there's only one thing left for Sarkozy to prove that he's not a prodigal son. He should remember the saying about returning home clothed in glory (on Airbus rather than Boeing of course). The way I see it, the only way for Sarkozy to fulfill his filial duties is to return home on the Ching Ming Festival to offer obeisance at his family temple, attend to the ancestral graves and make acquaintances with local notables.

But before I order my posses to sound the drums and gongs to welcome Sarko boy's homecoming, I'm struck by a pounding question myself, which is, where shall he go to, given the vastness of China as a country?

Dang, where the hell is the root for the Sarkozys' in the Middle Kingdom? The last thing I want is to let the President of France navigating for his root in China on the off chance.

Muddleheaded, I pick up the takeaway menu of my favorite chachaanteng, of where I learned much of the geography about China from.

The first dish I notice is Fujian fried rice. Could the Sarkozys' be the descendent of Fujianese? Yet, my limited culinary knowledge tells me that there's no such thing as Fujian fried rice in Fujian. People living in Fujian knows nothing about Fujian fried rice just the same way alike Bill Clinton was totally in the dark about there's already an authorized translation of his biography selling in China before it was officially released in his home country.

Next up is a dish called Yangzhou fried rice. Mmm, who's to say the Sarkozys' can't be spawned in Yangzhou in the first place? I have no sooner illustrate this point further than my less than cuddly waitress gives a big scoff at it. Check out the chaxiu (BBQ pork) in it. Yangzhou fried rice was invented here in Hong Kong for sure, and you call yourself a foodie?!

No matter. I go deeper at the menu and flaunt the last entry of page, the Hainan chicken rice to my waitress. Bitch this, bitch! The Sarkozys' might as well come from Hainan. But which style of Hainan chicken rice you're talking about? The ones by Singaporean, Thai or Malay? Once (I) have the best Hainan chicken rice of my life in Bangkok. Yum yum.

Though I'm this close to a breakdown, I somehow start to get her point. I mean, what's the point of evocative name if it has gotten nothing to do with the place it engaged? To make matters worse, I have had a Hainan chicken rice in Hainan not that long ago (last month to be exact) and it was absolutely one of the worst Hainan chicken rices I've ever had in my life. Even the Hainanese reckons the same. They have with them what they called the four famous dishes of Hainan and guess what -- none of them is Hainan chicken rice.

The lesson is simple I think: who cares where it comes from as long as it rules?

Book Extract: "To Live" By Yu Hua, translated by Michael Berry

2009-09-14T22:45:45+08:00

Fugui, the prodigal son of a wealthy country landowner, squanders the fortunes of his family in gambling dens and brothels. He has little respect for his father and still less for his father-in-law. He neglects his daughter and is abusive toward his wife.

The following is from a scene where his wife Jiazhen was trying to insinuate Fugui to stop fooling around with a dinner she made.

One day I came home from town and, just as I sat down at the dinner table, I noticed a strange smile on her face as she brought out four different dishes. She poured me a glass of wine and sat down next to me while I ate and drank. Her beaming expression seemed a bit strange. I couldn't imagine what good fortune had befallen her. I thought as hard as I could, but couldn't figure out what the special occasion was. I asked her, but she wouldn't say. She just gazed at me with a strange, elated smile on her face.

Those four dishes were all vegetable dishes. Jiazhen had prepared each one differently, but as I got to the bottom, I started to find pieces of pork hidden in each dish. At first I didn't really pay attention to this, but as I ate the last dish, I discovered that there was again a piece of meat on the bottom. At first I was stumped but then I began to laugh out loud. I understand what Jiazhen was up to. She was trying to teach me that although women all look different on the outside, when you get down to it they are all the same.

Dimsum they're not: only candle's flame in the wind

2009-09-06T23:05:16+08:00

Okay, here're the facts. These are not dimsum.

Fact is, as dimsumlicious as they're to look at, they're not edible at all.

Fact is, despite the close resemblance of what they're ostensibly shaped for, say, hargaw, siumai, chaxiubao and what not, they're nothing but candles.

Fact is, even though the maker claims that they smell exactly like what they appeared of, they're still nothing but w-a-x. And I can assure the fact that you'll get burned if you ever try to swallow it to validate that claim.

Factually, I wouldn't recommend such attempt for these are made in China, which automatically makes them stand a slim chance to pass even the flimsiest safety standard around the globe. I repeat, they're Made in China; so bedroom x gluttony ~~fetish~~fun at your own peril.

Fact is, I am running out of facts.

So let's get emotional.

Amy Ma gave me this the other night at a dinner.

She is the hottest food writer in Hong Kong [edit: her column is called the "Hot Table," tip your hat, dude].

She gave no one else but me [edit: in the presence of a whole bunch of guests -- hint taken].

She said this is the prefect gift for me [edit: she giggled when she said that, wink wink].

We stuffed our face with truffles that night [edit: truffles are aphrodisiac, it's a scientific fact].

Oh, Amy, thank you. Allow me to be sentimental and reciprocate your generosity with a couple of phrases borrowed from the famous work by poet Du Fu:

DU FU: The Fine Lady 杜甫:佳人

"绝代有佳人... 万事随转烛。"
"Unrivaled in beauty, there is a fine lady...
All things are as fickle as candle's flame in the wind.

For you, Amy, they say this is the original for the expression 'candle in the wind'. 'La vie de l'homme est comme une chandelle dans le vent'.

Flogspotting: Fancy Fast Food

2009-08-25T23:17:23+08:00

"Yeah, it's still bad for you -- but see how good it can look!"

[source: Fancy Fast Food]

It's said that a country gets the foodies it deserves. Look, fine dining in a fast food nation, albeit in some distorted ways... This lovely blog just reminds me a book I bumped into at the bookstore this morning -- How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World. There's such a lot of world to see, ain't it?

Best Milk Tea Competition in Hong Kong

2009-08-18T21:34:03+08:00

Once again I'm lost about how can the English press ignore a milk tea brewing competition in Hong Kong altogether. I mean, Suu Kyi and drug test in schools?! Move over.

Then again, you can argue to buy into the verdict of this competition, which took place over the weekend in a tea fair, is no less different than to trust what a couple says in the wedding ceremony about marriage. Granted, what the judges are sipping probably won't be equal to what ends up serving the everyday clientele, but apparently who's the king of xi mut lai cha, or pantyhose milk tea, is a very burning question for the locals: it has graced the headlines for pretty much all the local newspapers on Sunday.

But to fess up, these are just trivia. What matters most is who's the champion when it comes to the finest Hong Kong-style "silk stocking" milk tea. And herein is the lowdown in brief.

The king of pantyhose milk tea is a shop all the way from Hung Shui Kiu, Yuen Long -- no need to blush if you haven't got a single clue of its whereabout. Last time I check, it is the most isolated landmass of Hong Kong. Men live there still keep pigtail while women continue the practice of foot-binding. The name of the ~~ranch~~ chachaanteng is Tai Fat and their milk tea costs just HKD11.

The second best is a chain called Tai Hing Roast Restaurant. Their ice-chilled milk tea would definitely tickle you to death in the scorching summer if you are a big fan of it.

Still, the bombshell must be the 2nd runner-up as it was won by an obscure tuck shop in Sham Tseng, with their homemade milk tea selling at HKD68 per cup (yes, you read me right!). I don't know about you, but the idea that someone is peddling a cup of milk tea brewed with pantyhose and rust kettle at such a whopping high price in Sham Tseng doesn't stand well with me at all (check out the literal meaning of the place in English, if you'll excuse the pun!). One thing is certain, they'd better make it damn good, and damn good to the last drop because it will be stampeded by every milk tea lovers now that the beans are spilled.

[Pictures courtesy of Sing Tao Media and Tai Hing Group]

"I Love Taiwanese Chicks" Fried Chickens: Models For Nothin' And Your Chicks For Free

2009-07-31T07:17:51+08:00

Chrissie, AngelaBaby, JaniceMan, Annabella, A.Lin, Annie G, Anjaylia, E-Cup Baby, Manga Maggie, Rainbow and the Tasty Angels...

I must confess the idea that these are the alias of some screwed-up hip-hop singers did flash for a split second as I typed this. But this is far from it. What you read are the names of a bunch of so-called "pseudo-models".

And, what's more, just like you, I've no idea what the hell a pseudo-model is when this term first came up to me when I was reading the SCMP while waiting for my private jet for meeting on issues about global warming in Geneva. Back then, I was tempted to think that that is some models devised by mathematicians to solve the problems of the world before I realized it is tailored by the English press for models in their teens.

Although you can always argue the variance between cup size 34C & 34D IS something experts should analyze in particular for academic achievement thorough out their career.

While it's encouraging to see the English press is finally catching up with the social phenomena, it is sad to see how out of sync they are with the locals. For that's there's no way we're calling these models with that peculiar term. Across the board, we call them liang-mo "靚模" in Cantonese. Compounding the word liang (teenagers) and mo (an abruptly chopped-up word for models, locals ever-lasting battle to make every English words into one syllable).

Despite the lost in translation, the confluence of liang mo and the fast food culture is still validly here. More than ever, sophistication is taken as a burden. Hong Kong, as a place, is all about face value.

Still, why swim against the tide when it couldn't be more obvious that things have changed? To keep the music playing even when such a fad is done with, I might just throw out a few more Cantonese nomenclature with translation just in case:

If you're no more in your teens, you become a chun-mo 中模 (middle-aged model);
If your sophistication level is even higher than the first one, you become a suk-mo 熟模 (ripe model);
If you're originally from the Sichuan province China, you are a 'Chuan-Mo, 川模;
If you're a mix, you're a wan-mo 混模 (mix model);
If you're born ugly and too poor for nip and tuck -- yet still die to be a model, you're a chiu-mo 潮模 (chic model), for there's no word else for attention whore like you;
If your hands look great, you can of course be a sou-mo 手模 (hand model);
Likewise, if you've a good nose and you want to earn your keep with it, you're a bay-mo 鼻模 (nose model);
If you're gifted with a pair of spindly legs, you can be a gaek-mo, 腳模 (leg model);
If anything goes and you don't mind flashing your whole body, you're a tui-mo 脫模 (nude model);
If you're frequently booked for shows selling lingerie, you're a yu-mo 乳模 (breast model)
If you've good teeth, and not shy to flaunt it, you'e a good chee-mo 齒模 (teeth model) in the making; and finally,
Luck is you if have good voice and can sing like a lark, for you're a born yin-mo 音模 (voice model).

I'm not kidding, these translation are as faithful as I believe they could be.

Now though, I've a more pressing issue to deal with, which is, what to do with the name of this laid-back, make-do Taiwanese deep-fried chicken breast specialist, opened by a lovely Taiwanese lady? There's little hesitation when I settle for "I Love Taiwanese Chicks Fried Chickens". Because, at the end of the day, whether I call it a gal, bird, cat, fox or lady, it's all the same woman to me.

Shark's fin buffet -- bad taste to be honest

2009-07-23T23:37:34+08:00

Usually I'd try as far as possible to keep morality issues away from my culinary world because a) it will more or less ostracize a great deal of choices from my plate given the fact that I'm living in the part of world where Chinese "values" prevail, and b) the bottom line of me can be incomparably low and elastic when it comes to food decision so I don't see any reason why I should bothered with it anyway in the first place.

But from the Life section of our SCMP today, it is a bit cross the line even by my standard:

Yet another hotel is forgoing political correctness for mass local appeal. The Marco Polo Hongkong Hotel's latest culinary push is a new shark's fin buffet. The Tsim Sha Tsui inn's Cafe Marco, throughout August and September, will serve numerous specialty dishes with the endangered animal's part.

... The hotel will cook shark fins in all manner of unusual methods, including as an appetiser in green papaya salsa, mixed with scrambled eggs and even in desserts like mango cheesecake, coconut panna cotta and chocolate tart.

I mean, do we really need this in HK? A smart gourmet choice or simply bragging right? Granted shark's fin can be taken as symbol of wealth and prestigious, but the simple fact is that unlike most other meat and fish, as a ingredients shark's fin yields no flavor at all by itself. So why touts a dinner with it as the centerpiece?

The only palpable reason for such an idea is that they think the menu will stand out among the avalanche of PR releases we get daily and hence the seats will sell faster. Hey, this is shark's fin; it's rare and costly so come and get it. Yet, at HK$378 per head, the charge is a big giveaway for anyone who knows a thing or two about dried seafood: the price is barely enough to cover either the low grade pectoral fin (牙棟翅/勾) or even worse, the dorsal fin (脊翅).

I suggest you skip it but for this reason alone.

News in HK: Menstrual meal maid walks free as case dropped

2009-07-17T01:30:00+08:00

From The Standard:

"Prosecutors have dropped their case against an Indonesian maid accused of using her menstrual blood in cooking dishes for her employer.

Indra Ningsih, 26, admitted to police mixing the blood in a pot of vegetables she was cooking, and was subsequently charged with "administering poison or other destructive or noxious substances with intent to injure."

However, prosecutors decided the charge could not be sustained, after the government laboratory and doctors said menstrual blood is not toxic, although it may carry a virus..."

Gee, this is downright outrageous, and flipping disgusting, more so if you buy in the proverb "you are what you eat". No emulsion of menstrual blood on my plate, please.

The Liquid Nitrogen Blowjob

2009-07-16T07:23:50+08:00

The man, identified only as Martin E, was working on a recipe involving liquid nitrogen when there was "a huge explosion", according to the Berliner Morgenpost.

One of the 24-year-old's hands was instantly torn off by the force of the blast, while the other was later amputated in hospital.

While feeling bad for the young chef in the news, it reminds me a famous quote by a kendoka (master of kendo) whose name I can't remember: "Those who do not fear the sword they wield have no right to wield a sword at all."

Speaking of the devil... some breaking news about him at here.

Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs

2009-07-15T22:06:35+08:00

The Sony people should totally ask me first: their new production could have 1.3 billion more viewers digging had it titled itself either "Cloudy With a Chance of 4-head Oma Abalones" or Cloudy With a Chance of Dailian Sea Slugs". It's too late now...

Reverse psychology, this

2009-06-21T09:01:16+08:00

A380-themed restaurant in Taiwan; serving you with, of course, nothing but the best of in-flight food.

Lover's Tears -- Heartbreak Sour & Spicy Noodles

2009-06-21T00:07:34+08:00

Lover's Tears 情人的眼泪　

为什麼要对你掉眼泪？你难道不明白为了爱？

Why am I in tears for you? Don't you know that's for love?

只有那有情人，眼泪最珍贵，

Tears are only precious for true loves

一颗颗眼泪都是爱，都是爱!

Every single drop is love, every single drop is love

为什麼要对你掉眼泪？你难道不明白为了爱？

Why am I in tears for you? Don't you know that's for love?

要不是有情郎，跟我要分开，我眼泪不会掉下来，掉下来。

I won't be in tears if my lover isn't leaving me, I won't in tears

好春才来，春花正开，你怎舍得说再会？

Spring is right here, and flowers are in full bloom; how can you be so cruel to say goodbye?

我在深闺望穿秋水，你不要忘了我情深深如海。

I'm alone, missing you in my boudoir; please don't forget my love is as deep as the sea

为什麼要对你掉眼泪？你难道不明白为了爱？

Why am I in tears for you? Don't you know that's for love?

要不是有情郎，跟我要分开，我眼泪不会掉下来，掉下来。

I won't be in tears if my lover isn't leaving me, I won't be in tears

我眼泪不会掉下来，掉下来。

I won't be in tears, I won't be in tears

Tear-jerking & nose-blowing HOTNESS

Heartbreak Sour and Spicy Noodles (edit: word-for-word translation of the shop's name)

Address: 94 Fuk Wing Street, Sham Shui Po, Kowloon

Tel: 2720 8222

In Search of the Perfect Ser Dou (Snake Pit) in town

2009-06-12T23:58:58+08:00

The city’s a flood and our love turns to rust

Were beaten and blown by the wind

Trampled into dust

I’ll show you a place

High on the desert plain

Where the streets have no name

Contrary to the ravishing and love-or-death Madam Bai depicted in the famous folklore (白蛇傳) ‘Tale of the White Snake,’ I find it rather strange that the Cantonese mostly conjugates snakes to lazybones. For them, people on French leave are labeled as ser wong, or snake king (蛇王). The term ser dou (snake pit, in English) is the kind of hangouts for these good-for-nothings corporate leeches to fling themselves together.

Granted that location is crucial for every good ser dou (蛇竇), it is more about attitude, and the kinship inside that count. Here’s some basics that must be followed for an ideal ser dou to be constituted:

1) it must breathe a dungeon-like aura. Metaphorically it’s like a prison must stay prison-like to breed a sense of belonging among cellmates (meaning nothing pejorative here). More to the point, the place must be dim, somewhat manky (barely acceptable), and seemingly forsaken by all (particularly your bosses) to achieve a stress-free slumbering-ship. Some classic giveaways for the quintessential loafer la-la land: a belying entrance to shield out unwanted disturbance, proximity to a public W.C. (or a trash storage), the basement of a haunted building, et cetera.
2) staff capable of providing you with the most lethargy service in this world; given the illegitimacy of the circumstances, the last thing you want is conspicuous consumption. In short, a perfume that tweets ‘I’m a desert island, go mind your own business’ well before you creak your first step inside.

But whatever the yardstick is, Rainbow Service on the 8th floor of TakShing House must be the place for the ultimate ser wong emancipation. It is completely on a realm of its own, epitomizing the kind of seclusion only spaceships deserve.

The place is strategically ambushed among a fleet of dentists and doctors, suggesting better of a place for memorial services than one for restoration. As elusive as John Cusack’s office on floor 7½ of Being John Malkovich, there is no door knob to be found at the end of the shadowy corridor that pulls loafers of all stripes (to the black hole of vitality). What, no doorknob?! The door for the stealthy dining room is actually, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t, hidden behind the emergency exit next to the registered address. Well, what else should we be surprised, save that we don’t need to land on some ditch in Yuen Long at the end of the meal (it’s New Jersey in the movie)?

Still, there’s an important etiquette not to be dozed off with. An honorable ser wong never greets anyone by name. A knowing nod and wink go a long way – the code of ser wong brotherhood calls for zero divulgence even upon whipping and lashing; otherwise, you’d only be a snake in the grass!

Rainbow Service

Address: Room 810, Tak Shing House, 20 Des Voeux Road, Central

Tel: N/A Opening Hours: 0900 to 1430 hrs; weekdays only

(Note: don't tell them that you're sent by me)

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto

2009-06-11T18:40:45+08:00

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, domo...domo

Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto

For doing the jobs that nobody wants to

And thank you very much, Mr. Roboto

For helping me escape just when I needed to

Thank you-thank you, thank you

I want to thank you, please, thank you

Molecular cooking is so yesterday lol... bonus slideshow here

I want to become a cooking diva scout one day how do i do that?

2009-05-19T23:31:09+08:00

Dear Mr. AllExpert,

Well my name is George W. Bao. I am 16. I live in Portland Street, Mongkok.

I have been reading cookbooks and watching food shows for 11 years now. As you can pretty well figure out, I have been watching these kinds of stuff like since I was born. I always wanted to be involved in the cooking world one way or another.

My question is, I want to be a scout for cooking diva one day. I am pretty good at scouting out ~~hot, voluptuous and~~ young gals good with spatula but I am only limited to some stuff. Like I can't afford to dine every night ~~and hit on gals~~. I just watch gals cooking it from my house. I want to know what kinda of studying I need to do in college to get me ready and what else I need to do. I am not all that great at cooking myself. Right now I am mainly helping my mom to make breakfast; like cereal and stuff. I really want to learn some cooking skills after class but I have to much to worry about because I plan to start my own model agency too. I don't know what to do. I will be a sophomore next year so I kinda have 3 years left to decide but I need to know now.

My cousin said that I might need to start from the bottom. All the in and outs of it. Real bottom. Like volunteer to be a delivery boy for our neighborhood burger joint for a while, which my uncle owns but then again I don't have a driving license. My friend said that I should go the "bar and shopping mall" route. He said that I should just walk to a gal and tell her tonight is her lucky night because I am gonna be in the publishing business soon and I could make her a cookbook writer if I felt like to. If that is true I will work on my game.

I hope you can help me out with my situation because I want to someday be the guy that scouted out the next Nigella Lawson. My email address again is georgebao@yahoo.com.

Peace out and I hope to hear from you soon.

Bibendum on your iPhone

2009-05-10T11:23:37+08:00

In case you haven't added it to your apps collection already. USD7 for NYC. No luck for Tokyo or HKG yet.

A "wan" (bowl) of swine for a round of "rou"

2009-05-03T22:35:11+08:00

What, are we gonna quit pork because of the swine flu? Not by a long shot. Here's some jokes about swine to lighten up the stoic face.

(1)

A learned scholar was hosting a dinner party for their four sons-in-law. The dining table was sprawled with all kinds of delicious dishes. To get everyone into the spirit, the sons were asked for verses of pleasant things in life that comes in seasons. The eldest one sparked off the game right away with "lurking a jazzy lawn in spring" 春遊芳草地. "Marvelous." said the father. The second son-in-law was equally sharp and followed with a witty riposte: "admiring the lotus pond in summer" 夏賞荷花池. The third son-in-law mused for a short while and said: "drinking osmanthus wine in autumn" 秋飲黃花酒.

The scholar was so far very pleased by how quick-witted his sons-in-law were. Now his eyes rested on his youngest son-in-law, who so happened, unlike none of his well-educated brothers, was a illiterate lived on inherited wealth. His valet was dying to give him a prompt at the back: "My lord, try matching it with 'soothing snow-white poem in winter' 冬吟白雪詩!" Still the prompt was too dim for the son to hear it through. Minutes passed and the rest of the table started to exchange looks. Suddenly, the youngest son-in-law screamed in ecstasy when he spotted a dish on the table: "you don't say, it is "stir-fried pork with winter bamboo shoots 冬笋炒肉絲!"

(2)

A man treated his visiting friend for a home dinner. There's only one dish on the table: a bowl of tofu. "Tofu is my life. Nothing in this world can beat it." so proclaimed the man. Few months passed and the man got invited by his friend in reciprocal. This time round, there're two dishes on the table. One was braised pork and the other tofu. Strangely, the man's chopsticks didn't touch the tofu at all from start till end.

"What's wrong with the tofu? I thought you say it's your life when we dine last time," his friend asked curiously. The man returned without too much of a thought: "My life? I can give it off whenever I see the pork."

Julie and Julia

2009-05-01T16:07:26+08:00

What's for dinner?