d’Alti Gusti

They say you never forget your first time. Having done very little research, I remember not being completely prepared for the formality of the private dinner at d’Alti Gusti (“AG”). I was dressed in a nondescript long-sleeved black sheath and nude pumps, wanting to remain invisible and unnoticed. We were a table of six, and it was the week of my birthday in 2022. I was the last to arrive, and I scampered to the seat at the farthest end of the table, my back to the kitchen. My napkin was quickly placed on my lap. Everything moved like clockwork. The chef and owner, Simon Phillips, quietly positioned himself at the head of the table, and silence fell as everyone looked towards him.

“Welcome to AG,” he smiled, a twinkle in his eye.

What followed was a hypnotic narration by Simon of parts of Virgil’s epic poem, the Aeneid, followed by the presentation of visually stunning dishes representing those verses. I was left breathless, in part by the captivating storytelling, and in part by the exquisite dishes that were created to match the beautiful, poignant, triumphant verses of the Aeneid. We need to acknowledge the beauty of language, art and literature and its impact on humanity; of how our bodies literally ache to see, hear, feel these things, more so in this world of temporary and instantaneous gratification, shrouded in materialism and superficiality. This was one of the greatest masterpieces of Latin literature, written more than 2000 years ago, and AG found a way of respectfully incorporating it into an uncommon but deserving medium, ie. food. I left that evening, belly full, my soul enriched.

AG is a private dining space offering more than just fine Italian cuisine. For the guest, it is a holistic experience; from the moment you enter, you immediately feel the warmth of service, heavenly aromas wafting from the open kitchen while the chefs quietly but purposefully move around the stations. I’ve always said this, and I’ll stand by this – AG feels like home.

What sets AG apart from many restaurants is originality – recipes are created from scratch, guided by the fundamentals. The process requires a sound knowledge of ingredients, techniques and flavours, and experience to know how much to use and when to stop. Restraint.

In recent months, I have had the privilege of watching Simon and his team of chefs, Jonathan and Alvord, conceptualise menus and create dishes. I sit at the side with a cup of coffee and absorb the lessons he imparts, his face stern, as he challenges his boys to attain the high bar set for them. There is an urgency in his voice, at times frustration, and I think I understand why. This has been Simon’s personal endeavour, and one which he has been completely immersed in for the last four years, heart and soul. “What is it that I have built here? What would happen when I am no longer here?” Aside from the huge responsibility of ensuring the continuity of AG for his team, there are also those questions that keep many of us up at night.

What will I leave behind? And will it matter?

How will I be remembered?

How soon will I be forgotten?

AG is Simon’s legacy.

More I would, but Death invades me, Death is now a welcome guest. When I am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast. Remember me! but ah! forget my fate. – Dido and Aeneas/Purcell from Aeneid/Virgil

A couple of years on from my first dinner at AG, we discussed this verse over many, many glasses of whisky, in the dead of the night, oblivious of time, our conversations a desperate attempt to establish our significance as microcosms in this universe. Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas’s haunting melody played in the background. And we pondered on the words and the depth of emotion in that plea. Remember me.

It was impossible not to weep.

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It has been more than 10 years since my last post, and I often ask myself why I bother to keep this website alive. Websites cost money. I look at it, a shell of its former glory devoid of former widgets and links; what remains is only the prose. My life story for 7 years, covered in cobwebs.

And of course I know the reason why I haven’t given up on A Whiff of Lemongrass. I’ve always struggled to express myself fully in person. The words are always in my head, but there is an internal turmoil. What if the intended recipient isn’t receptive to what I have to say? What if I say too much and bore them? What if? What if? What if?

So I write. It becomes an expulsion of raw unfiltered emotions. AWOL is my living legacy. Most of the restaurants listed here have ceased to exist, but the words, the stories, the joy and tears, significant and trivial, they remain.

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Alti Gusti,
8, Jalan 21/7,
Sea Park,
46300 Petaling Jaya

altigusti.com

The photographs from 2009 lacked the withered, yellowed appearance that one would expect of old photos.  There was no mold, no dust, no opportunity to romanticize the experience of flicking through the pictures and feeling the  brittle plastic sheet from the photo album rustle beneath my fingers.  In this decade, photographs are merely a collection of millions of pixels without the benefit of exposure to light or dust.  There is no burning of pictures to exorcise memories; you merely hit the delete button and everything is gone.

I pressed the right arrow key over and over and over again, each tap of the key hitting a different nerve within my body, an ache despite the lack of physical contact other than my index finger tap tap tapping on the arrow key as picture after picture from another time appear on my 15-inch monitor.

There are no pictures of our meal at Arzak in 2009.

******

We were staying at a B&B in San Sebastián which we eventually discovered was owned by a rather reputable restaurateur in the town.  We didn’t know any Spanish, and he and his employees knew little English, but like love and music, the love of food formed that shaky bridge of understanding.

Arzak was fully booked, but the B&B owner managed to get us a table one sunny afternoon. Elena Arzak personally greeted us and led us to our table beside the kitchen.  After spending some time getting to know us, she disappeared into the kitchen.  What eventually came out was food that was visually magnificent with unexpected flavours and surprising textures.  I don’t have the autographed menu with me anymore, nor do I have any pictures thanks to a strict ruling at the restaurant with respect to the photographing of food, but how can I forget the fresh, juicy mussels with rice vinegar, or the mushroom popcorn, or the lotus root with a mousse made of fish, or the figs, jam-like in texture with caramelised bits and foie gras that melts in the mouth, or the lobster served with crispy potato with an unusual texture, or the poached egg with sesame and seaweed, or the monkfish with olive oil in spherical shapes that had the appearance of bronze metallic paint, or onions cooked and flattened to resemble paper which was then painted on, or pigeon with silver, blue potato juice in blue globes, or strawberry soup and orange with red wine and sesame sugar.  The images and flavours are etched in my memory.  “Why are you smiling?” he asks.  “Because I’m happy,” I reply.

If there is one meal in my life that I never want to forget, this is it.

As we prepared to leave the restaurant, Elena Arzak presented me with an autographed copy of her book.  “You may not understand the language,” she smiled, “but it is a small gift to you so that you remember your time at Arzak.”  I wondered why she would give me a gift  as precious as this.

Her one message to me which I remember to this day is this: “There are people who save up a whole year to be able to dine at our restaurant, and there are people who can afford to dine daily here.  We recognise that, and we treat everyone equally.”

******

We walked along the sandy beach of San Sebastian, the breeze gently lifting the frills of my blouse.  I watched the children build sandcastles and laughed at the faith of fools and a misplaced sense of confidence in an eternity that is so easily washed away with  the rising tides.

A picture of Elena’s father, Juan Mari Arzak, and Elena’s autograph.

 Note: In 2012, Elena Arzak was voted The Veuve Clicquot World Best Female Chef.  The restaurant is currently ranked 8th in the world on the San Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants list.

Arzak
Av del Alcalde José Elosegi, 273, 20015 Donostia-San Sebastián,
Spain.
Website

*This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me

The subject of spirituality naturally arose while we were talking about Nepal.  We were three individuals – one, who had visited Nepal 15 years ago, another who was born in Nepal but had moved away decades earlier, and then there was me – I, who had only seen Nepal in pictures.  We were three individuals who knew each other on vastly varying levels, and we were gathered at the dinner table outside the restaurant one late evening, surrounded by concrete and the occasional passing vehicle, the scent of exhaust fumes suffusing the air and the melodious tinkling of percussion instruments from the speakers softly disturbing the otherwise quiet night.

I cut a tender piece of meat from the plate of pumpkin curry with mutton marrow.  The dish had been cooked long enough for the mutton to lend flavour to the curry, a complex and rich, sweet and savoury, thick broth.  This is a family recipe, so the typical visitor to Nepal may not be familiar with a dish such as this.  At an earlier meal at the restaurant, I had learnt that a spice, “timmur” (with a similar taste profile as szechuan pepper), was used in this dish, which explained the tingling numbness I experienced when I ate it.  This had to be my favourite dish at the restaurant.

“Everyone I know who has been to Nepal comes back with new-found spiritualism,” said one of them.

“It’s inevitable, isn’t it?” I replied. “One has to believe in a greater power when one sees the magnificence of the Himalayas.”

“It’s not just that,” said the other man.  “One can find spiritualism in many things.  For me, it was in my interaction with people I met along the way in Nepal.  My conversation with a total stranger there was the turning point in my life.  I was inspired by what she had shared with me, and as a result of that, I knew that I had to take risks and follow my dream.”

He picked up a steamed momo (a dumpling claimed by Nepal, Tibet and the surrounding regions as their own) , and cut it into two on his plate.  Liquid squirted out as he realised, a split second too late, that he should have put the entire thing into his mouth instead.  I carefully handled my momo and ate it like I would a xiao long bao.  I have come to realise that momos are quite different from Chinese dumplings.  Texturally, the skin is doughy and not as fine as Chinese dumplings, and the filling is not as subtle; this one had minced chicken and coriander, while in Nepal, one can even find momos filled with buffalo and yak meat.

“There’s something about travelling alone,” said the first man.  “You have all these thoughts and reflections in your head….,” his voice trailed off.  “You can find spirituality anywhere, you know,” he added, “even here.”

I suppose he was right.  It is in the enjoyment of fellowship and communality, and in things so beautiful and glorious that they make you weep in their very presence.  Art, nature, poetry, science.

The food at the restaurant is not unfamiliar.  Rice is a staple in Nepal, as it is here in Malaysia, and one can order a thali set consisting of rice, black bean daal and a selection of vegetables.  The style of cooking is primarily that of the Thakali people, and many of the spices used in the cooking are flown in from Nepal.  If I had to name one herb that is widely used in many of the dishes here, it is coriander.  Flavours are more indistinct as compared to what Malaysians are used to, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

And so it was that spirituality was never defined in the course of our conversation, each one hesitant to broach the idea of God and the state of our belief (or nonbelief) in a greater being, but each one acknowledging that it represents the divine internal experience of an individual.  Religion, I notice these days, has become a dirty word, that one either attempts to become a part of the world by denouncing it, or quietly practises it for insurance.

I downed my cup of Nepali chyaa, a traditional Nepalese masala tea recipe, and called it a night.

________

*Breathe – Michael W. Smith.  This song, in all its simplicity, has been the inspiration for this post.

________

This write-up is a culmination of two visits, the first, an invited review (thanks, Robin Sherchan!), and the second, an impromptu late night visit after a long day at the office where I was in dire need of warmth (food and company).  I was satisfied on both aspects.

________

For a humorous and totally witty take on his meal at Restaurant Nepal – Himalayan Cuisine, check out Fatboybakes’ blog.  And no, he is NOT one of the individuals mentioned above.  We don’t have deep conversations.  We spend most of our time together saying meaningless things like “yennadei”, “vanakkam”, “biatch”, etc.  Which is fine, really.

________

Restaurant Nepal – Himalayan Cuisine (directly opposite TGI Friday’s, outside)
F-O-6 Ground Level
Plaza Damas Shopping Centre
60 Jalan Sri Hartamas 1
50480 Kuala Lumpur
+6 016 9770 718 , +6 03 6206 3904

Open daily. Lunch and dinner.

www.facebook.com/RestaurantNepalKL

Deep fried momos and steamed momos. RM12. There is also a pan-fried option which I haven’t tried. My personal favourite is the deep fried kind. Nice crunch, crispy skin, luscious chicken filling. Can’t go wrong.

More momos. Steamed momos. Depending on the cook, you may sometimes get the round momos like in the picture above this, or the crescent shaped momos like in this picture.

Bhuteko bhatmas. RM9. Crispy soybeans marinated in Nepalese spice. As a complement to dishes, probably not. But will go wonderfully with drinks. (Tip: Order the Shangri-lla – a light refreshing sangria with finely sliced bits of apple RM9/glass RM40/jug.)

Chicken chilli. RM12. Battered chicken pieces marinated in herbs, fried with onions, capsicum, green chillies and tomatoes in a sweet and sour sauce. Reminiscent of a Chinese sweet and sour dish, but then again, that’s not surprising as Nepal borders China and there will invariably be overlapping influences in their foods.

Aloo silam. RM12. Boiled potatoes marinated with red onions and silam (perilla seeds). Rather unremarkable for my palate.

Chata-mari. RM12. Nepalese version of pizza. Thin crusted battered rice crepes with minced chicken, spring onions, tomatoes and egg.

Jhwol maccha. RM18. Fish in a spicy and sour curry. One of my favourites as it has the right amount of tanginess.

Fapar ko roti. RM7. Buckwheat bread.

Khasiko masu bhat. RM17. Mutton Thakali thali set with black bean daal and an assortment of vegetables. Obviously, this will be a complete meal in itself.  I’d order it again just to eat from the brass bowls. 

Kheer. RM8. Rice pudding cooked in milk and cloves. Leave room for this. That is, if you’re like me and you like sweet desserts.

The welcome

I had just landed at the Langkawi International Airport, and standing before me was a lanky man holding a placard with my name on it.  He had a pleasant smile, this mild-mannered man, and meeting him provided the perfect transition – my passage from hectic city living to paradise.  He allowed me the luxury of dwelling on my own thoughts for the 30 minutes ahead of me, but I was keen to talk.  “What’s the music that you’re playing right now?” I asked appreciatively.   “I don’t know,” he replied sheepishly, and handed me the CD sleeve.  “Mmmm….it’s nice,” I said.  He smiled.  “It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” he replied.  I nodded.  The rest of the time was filled with endless chatter about work and family and religion.  As we drove up to the entrance of The Datai, he took out the music CD from the player and handed it to me.  “Here, you have it,” he said.

The private beach at The Datai

The Datai is located at the north western tip of Langkawi and is surrounded by virgin rainforest with a private footpath leading to the white sand beach.  The Datai’s 54 villas, 16 suites and 54 rooms are all set within the rainforest with their own private verandas.  The first thing I did when I checked into my room was to throw open the balcony doors and inhale the fresh air.  Little did I know that monkeys are common visitors at The Datai, and a dusky leaf monkey was observing me just a few metres from where I stood on my balcony!

The typical visitor to The Datai must be someone who loves nature.   At night, I was serenaded to sleep by an orchestra of sounds emanating from the jungle – the deep croak of frogs to the quiet song of crickets.  Nature’s symphony.  In the day, birds would perch on my balcony, chirping briskly like a bunch of housewives sharing the morning news.  It’s a euphoric and comforting experience.  It’s a place where one can be alone, and yet not feel lonely.

Premium room

The villas offer guests privacy as they are set apart, separated by trees and connected by an intricate series of pathways.  The pool villas, as the name indicates, have private plunge pools and jacuzzis.  They are all luxurious, and are all equipped with a dining table for two, LCD flat screen TV, Bose CD sound system and iPod dock, and their sizes range from 93 square metres to 120 square metres.

The rooms, on the other hand, are no less impressive.  At 62.5 square metres in size, they’re relatively large, and offer views of either the Andaman sea, the pool or the rainforest.  Binoculars are provided in the premium rooms for those who want to do a spot of bird watching.  Of course, what blew me away were the beach villas.  At 218 square metres (for the one bedroom beach villa), the beach villas fringe the ocean on one side and the forest on the other, with a gorgeous outdoor shower, a glass walled bathroom, a 10 metre private swimming pool, a lush garden and a separate dining and living area.  The price is not for the faint-hearted.  Rates start from RM9,550 per night.

Beach villa

There are pros and cons.  Cons – You’re isolated, so unless you have a car, be prepared to dine in everyday.  Pros – Dining in isn’t all that bad.  You have a choice of 4 restaurants (more about the restaurants later), so you won’t go hungry.

The best thing about the resort is the service.  Service is attentive, be it at the resort or the restaurants.  Often, service seemed to be personable as well, as there appeared to be a genuine interest in getting to know the guests better.  I think it works both ways; one has to be interested in getting to know others if one expects others to show an interest in getting to know you.  A smile goes a long way, I’ve learnt, and the eyes speak the heart’s intent.

Next post:  Things To Do at The Datai

Note: Thank you to the management of The Datai Langkawi for inviting me to stay at the resort.  More info can be found at www.dataihotels.com.  You can also visit their Facebook page HERE.

I am an accountant, and to a certain extent, I fit the stereotype associated with accountants.  I am an introvert and I am risk-averse.  Change is something that I view as an absolute last resort.  At this point, my friend, Fatboybakes, will probably sputter out an incoherent string of words that will probably include “guffaw”, “roll eyes” and “delusional”.  Public events scare me.  If you don’t want someone to be your friend on Facebook, tell them you’re an accountant.  *crickets*  Oh look, there’s Jules…I haven’t seen him in awhile…ta!  It’s worse if you’re an auditor.  You may as well whip out your mobile phone and exclaim, “Oh dear, my boss is trying to reach me!”, then seek out the darkest corner and play Candy Crush alone for the rest of the evening.

When you’re forced into a situation of change, you have no choice but to swim.  What used to scare you at night now scares you even when your eyes are wide open.  Everything becomes amplified. and soon you become your worst nightmare and you begin to do things that are destructive because you think that when you’re hurting, the whole world will hurt with you.

The fact is, and this is clearly evident in the current times, people have short term memories and what may be sensational this hour will be old news in the next.  We live in a disposable world.  People, objects, memories…they’re all replaceable.

The remedy?  Embrace the change, acknowledge the cause and problem, and fill that void.

To put things simply, I cooked.  I cooked ferociously, day and night, and even when there was no one to eat the food, I’d still cook.

When Bongo Lee told me that she was throwing a birthday party for her brother, I offered to bake the birthday cake.  But here’s the thing – my track record, as far as baking is concerned, is pitiful.  If you have been a reader of this blog since its inception, you may have laughed at some of my struggles (links HERE and HERE).  The oven has always been my enemy.  Nevertheless, I wanted to do this.  There was no back-up plan.

I’d been meaning to try the butter cake recipe from WendyinKK’s blog, named after her friend, Mrs Ng SK, who gave her the recipe, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for me to try it.  It was past midnight when I took out my pans, feeling somewhat intoxicated from the drinks and hokkien mee that I had consumed earlier at The Moon Bar, and I became Nigella, boobs and all.  Adamant that this would not be a repeat performance of my 2008 baking disasters, I followed the recipe to a T.  A couple of hours later, I was staring at my masterpiece.  It was a work of art.

The next morning, I had bigger ambitions for the cake.  I had this sudden brilliant idea that I would sandwich the cake with lemon curd, then coat it completely with lemon butter cream.  My only problem was that the existing cake was too low to be sliced horizontally into two.  Solution?  Bake another cake for the top half.  So with barely a couple of hours to go before my lunch appointment with my parents, I set out to bake the second cake.  This time, Nigella did not materialise.  I was Usain Bolt as I moved at lightning speed.  In a little over an hour, my cake was done.  It was another masterpiece.  I set out to my parents’ place, pleased as Punch.

When I got home after lunch, I decided to slowly work on the construction of the square cake.  After whipping the lemon butter cream and preparing the lemon curd, I assembled the cake.  It looked somewhat lopsided, but I figured that the butter cream frosting would take care of that.  So I painstakingly coated it, layer after layer, with the frosting.  I was meticulous, adding a millimetre here and a millimetre there, but after the umpteeth time of frosting, chucking it in the fridge, then frosting it again, I realised that the cake was destined to look like an amateurish effort at best.

I looked at it sadly and made the executive decision not to serve it at the birthday party.

I am an accountant, and I have this idea of perfection, the devil being in the details and all, and I thought it an abomination to serve something so imperfect to people I barely knew.  I wanted to disappear into a corner and play Candy Crush.

It wasn’t just a cake to me.  It was a projection of the unspoken insecurities and a desire for affirmation.

A couple of days later, I served it to some friends.  They tried it and said that it was good.  I got the affirmation I wanted, but I realised that I was doing it the wrong way.

I am studying the book of Jeremiah now and the following verses in Jeremiah 29 have been seared into my heart –

11 “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

Maybe there is hope for me yet.

Recipe HERE.

In my office of a hundred odd people, it is easy enough to spot the person who has just been to the loo.  With all the newfangled gadgetry in the world, and despite the major renovation of the office toilets a couple of months back, the changes seem to be merely cosmetic.  Mind you, I am thankful that we’ve moved from the ancient look of the 80s (think cheap white fluorescent light above soft board ceilings) to classy maroon tiled finishing, chrome taps and soft warm hidden lighting.  What irks me is the leaky bidet hose which splashes water into my leather heels;  I’ve found a new position while sitting in the loo now – my left foot is raised about a foot off the floor to avoid the leaky hose and my body is contorted to ensure that I don’t fall off the seat.  It’s quite a workout.  I can’t avoid the second problem, though.  The bloody taps are water bombs in disguise.  Don’t be fooled by the elegant appearance; nay, these taps gush like a man ejaculating after a 60-day abstinence and cover your entire chest with enough liquid to douse a fire.

It was divine providence that I would be meeting an old friend for lunch just after encountering yet another harrowing session in my office loo.  One learns to be dignified in such conditions.  Look him in the eye, give him a strong handshake, and stand at an angle so that he does not see that you’re a candidate for a wet t-shirt contest.

We had decided to walk to Chinatown to have lunch.  A brilliant idea as the strong gusts of wind from the passing vehicles would ensure that my chest (dress) would dry by the time we reached our destination.

Now pay attention to what I’m about to share with you.  If you’re looking for an Indian meal that will make you shed tears of joy (well, to be honest, you’ll also be tearing up with all the dust from the nearby MRT project), then you’re at the right place.  At the intersection between Jalan Tun HS Lee and Jalan Sultan stands a narrow shoplot bearing the name Yong Bee with a pa kua mirror above the entrance, but you won’t find any Chinese food here.  You will see a smiling Indian man with a thick MGR moustache standing behind trays of hot curries, peratals and stews.  You can tell that the food is freshly cooked from the steam emanating from these trays.  A queue will start forming at 11.45 in the morning, and the food is all but gone by the time he closes at 3.30pm.  The sweet and savoury mango chutney that he makes is so good that I can eat it with plain rice and die happy.  His mutton peratal is tender and cooked in a rich and thick sauce perfumed with coriander and turmeric and ginger.  Everything is decidedly homecooked and reminds me of mum’s cooking (especially that mango chutney!!).

Go early for the best stuff.  Open Mondays to Fridays for lunch only.

Oh, I should let you know that the kiwifruit blogging competition is over.  I ended up in 5th place while my arch-nemesis, Fatboybakes, stood at 3rd.  Congratulations, Swee San, on winning the super prize.  This social media thing is just not for me.  Nevertheless, it was good fun getting the creative juices flowing.  I can’t believe I’m saying this but….*gasp*….is FBB….*gasp*….my muse?

NAHHHH!

Did you know that the kiwifruit acts as a meat tenderizer?  There are so many ways to tenderize meat.  You could physically tenderize it with a meat mallet, or you could use natural tenderizers, like the kiwifruit, to tenderize it.  Kiwis, like papayas and pineapples, contain enzymes that apparently break down surface meat fibres, so I put it to the test and got myself a sirloin from Jason’s to do the experiment.  Unlike FBB aka the Arch Nemesis aka Tangechi, I am not “atas” at all, and will gladly eat a cheap cut for the sake of science.

I spent a grandiose amount of RM18 for that slab of meat.

Using half a kiwifruit (which is all one needs – any more and it would be a waste), I rubbed the kiwifruit all over the sirloin, but the fruit was very ripe and disintegrated in my hand.  There is a picture on my SD card of the raw meat with green glob and tiny black seeds all over it but I’ve decided not to share it here.  Unsightly is an understatement.  Ordinarily, when you see green stuff on your meat, you’d be inclined to throw it out anyway.  After half an hour of checking on it in the fridge, I decided to just wipe off all the kiwi from the meat using a paper towel.   Try not to leave the fruit on the meat for too long as the meat may become mushy.

With a squeaky clean piece of meat (yes, I removed every single seed), I sprinkled on some steak rub that my friend, Adle, got me from Montreal.  Good stuff to mask any lingering kiwi flavour (unless, of course, you enjoy the flavour of kiwifruit on your meat…no one’s judging you).  While cooking the sirloin, I tossed a simple salad made with momotaro tomatoes, kiwifruit and a balsamic dressing.  By the time I was done, the steak was ready.

And the verdict?  The meat was tender, so I can conclude that my RM18 experiment, admittedly an amateurish effort at best, was successful.

At least I have evidence to prove this theory, unlike a certain Tangechi who put up a picture of a heart, purportedly mine, and alluded to it being hard.  Tell me, can an angel’s heart be any harder than a summer’s breeze?  A gentle caress of butterfly whispers?  Bordier butter on a crisp piece of  toast, melting on the tongue, then filling the mouth with the scent of a thousand flowers?

For more information on Zespri kiwifruit, check out their website.  The above post is part of the Zespri 14-Day Daily Scoop of Amazing Challenge.

Well the kiwifruit eventually arrived this afternoon, so I’m no longer kiwi-less.  Have been doing all these Mat Salleh-type recipes so far, so figured I’d do something closer to home.  Gosh, I haven’t made this dish in years.  I used to cook it in a turbo broiler because that little contraption can go up to pretty high temperatures, but my turbo broiler has since exhaled its last breath and mum lives too far away for me to borrow hers on demand, so I’ve learnt to use my oven instead.

It’s best eaten with a plate of steaming white rice.

Malaysiakiwi

Ingredients

Fish fillet (about 600g)
Banana leaf
Aluminium foil
(A) 1 1/2 tbsp curry powder
(A) 2 tsp chilli paste
(A) 1 tsp turmeric powder
(A) 2 stalks lemongrass (sliced finely – root end only)
(A) 2 tbsp oil
(A) salt to taste
(B) 1 tbsp tamarind mixed with 100ml water and squeezed for juice
(B) 100ml coconut milk
(B) 1 tbsp sugar
3 ladies fingers, sliced thinly
1 brinjal, chopped
1 kiwifruit, cut lengthwise
1 tbsp finely shredded bunga kantan
1 lime, cut into wedges

Method

Heat oil in wok. Fry (A) until fragrant. Add (B) and bring to a boil. Cook until gravy is thick. Put aside.

Place banana leaf on the aluminium foil. Put a couple of spoonsful of gravy on the banana leaf and place a fish fillet on the gravy. Pour a bit more gravy over the fish, then place some ladies fingers and kiwifruit around the fish.

Wrap the package neatly, then place the package in the oven.

Bake at 250C for about 20 minutes or until foil package puffs up.

Remove package. Cut open and serve with shredded bunga kantan and lime.

For more information on Zespri kiwifruit, check out their website.  The above post is part of the Zespri 14-Day Daily Scoop of Amazing Challenge.

Fact – kiwis improve bowel function.

(Sung to Bruno Mars – When I Was Your Man, and dedicated to my arch nemesis, Fatboybakes)

Where’s My Jamban?

Same shit, and you feel just a little thinner now
Farts sound like ammo, you sure don’t sound the same
When you step into the loo it’s like warfare in town
Cause your fart breaks a little and the loo’s aflame
And it all just sound like poo, poo, poo, poo, poo…

Hmmm too young, too dumb to realize
That I should have bought you pampers and washed your hand
Should have hidden all the kiwis when I had the chance
Take back all my kiwis turn on all the fans
Now FBB is pooing, and he’s pooing in my jamban.

Cool cakes, pavlovas, curries and outlandish purees
This kiwi has turned you into a good housewife
Now you hafta, hafta get to clean up the mess you made
And the smell haunts me every time I close my eyes
It all just sounds like poo, poo, poo, poo, poo…

Too young, too dumb to realize
That I should have bought you pampers and washed your hand
Should have hidden all the kiwis when I had the chance
Take back all my kiwis turn on all the fans
Now FBB is pooing, and he’s pooing in my jamban.

Photograph kindly provided by Fatboybakes.

For more information on Zespri kiwifruit, check out their website.  The above post is part of the Zespri 14-Day Daily Scoop of Amazing Challenge.

Post scriptum:  To the Zespri gods, please take this as my contribution for Day 12 (Friday).

Made a green smoothie today using a whole head of broccoli, an avocado and a green kiwifruit.  Topped it off with a cup of low fat unsweetened yoghurt.  I didn’t feel like adding any other liquids to my smoothie today as I wanted something quite slushy, halfway between drinking and eating my vegetables and fruits.  It’s a great alternative to having nasi lemak for breakfast, and it’s pretty tasty too.  Just be sure to rinse the greens well.

Hmmmm.  Been awhile since I had nasi lemak for breakfast….. Time for a binge.  Next week.  Today, I’m a cow. (Call me Moo-na)

For more information on Zespri kiwifruit, check out their website.  The above post is part of the Zespri 14-Day Daily Scoop of Amazing Challenge.