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Friday, January 27, 2006
Pineapple tarts
It is a custom of sorts for my family to bake cookies every Chinese New Year, especially pineapple tarts. As a young girl I would often go to the kitchen a week or so before Chinese New Year to find my aunt, grandma and mom baking cookies of all sorts. The one which fascinated me the most was the making of pineapple tarts. Not the sort where they roll up the dough with the pineapple jam in the middle, mind you (I HATE those), I mean the kind with a base shaped like a flower with the jam on top. Many times while I was growing up I would stand there beside them, with eyes wide open, watching them make the dough, roll it, press in the cookie cutter, place it on the tray, fill it with pineapple jam and decorate the top. I would often whine, "lemme heeelpppp" to no avail, as my aunt/grandma/mom would just shoo me away saying that I was too young to help out. When I DID grow up, however, all I ever got to do was to help make the dough, fill in the jam and decorate the top. Noone would let me use the cookie cutter because "you have no experience, and we don't want the cookies to look ugly", although if I was lucky, I got to make one or two.
As the years passed by, we started making less and less cookies, because my aunt, grandma and mom were growing older and making cookies became a hassle, and simply because it was easier (and tastier) to buy cookies from vendors. Gradually the only cookies we were making at all were pineapple tarts, mostly because I insisted on having them.
Then last year the inevitable happened.
"We're not making any pineapple tarts this year," my aunt annouced.
"WHAT??!" I exclaimed.
"We have too many other things to do. Plus if you haven't noticed, we're all getting too old for this."
"But....but....I can help out!!" I whined.
"Do you have the time?"
I thought about my magazine schedule, and shook my head sadly.
"Too bad then."
I was pretty miserable. Sure, we bought pineapple tarts from the shops, but they were all the kind I hated. No one made the kind we do anymore.
This year, my aunt asked me if I wanted to bake pineapple tarts. I told her hell yes.
"But would you have the time?" she asked again.
I thought about my magazine schedule again. "Probably not," I said sadly.
"Well, what about if we make them on Chinese New Year eve? You think you'll have time then? We won't be making a lot, probably just enough for ourselves."
My eyes lit up. The magazine would probably be done by then. I said yes.
Few days ago, when I got home from work I spied freshly made pineapple jam in the kitchen and smiled. We managed to close the magazine quite early as well, so I took a day off to bake the cookies.
This morning I struggled to get out of bed. "Wake up!" my aunt exclaimed. "You said you were going to bake the cookies, weren't you? And didn't you have to drop by the office?"
"Mmmmmm," I moaned.
After I eventually got up and dropped by the office and came back, she was sitting in the kitchen with the dough, jam, rolling pin and cookie cutter on the table.
"I made the dough while you were gone," she said. "At the rate that you're 'helping out', the cookies will only be done by night." She sprayed some flour on the table. "You're going to have to do everything by yourself, I have other chores to attend to. I'll help out later after I'm done."
I nodded and starting rolling the dough flat. Then I stared at it. "Is it too thick?" I asked.
She sighed. "Just make one, and then judge by yourself. If you think it's too thick, then just flatten it out a bit more before you make the next one."
I nodded again and pressed out one using the cookie cutter. Yup, it was too thick. I flattened out the dough a bit and pressed another one out. Much better. Some time later I had filled up a tray, and proceeded to fill it up with jam and decorate the top.
By the evening, we had managed to make enough pineapple tarts to fill about a jar and three quarters. My fingers hurt from pressing the cookie cutter (it was the wood and metal kind), but I was happy. I had my pineapple tarts.
As the years passed by, we started making less and less cookies, because my aunt, grandma and mom were growing older and making cookies became a hassle, and simply because it was easier (and tastier) to buy cookies from vendors. Gradually the only cookies we were making at all were pineapple tarts, mostly because I insisted on having them.
Then last year the inevitable happened.
"We're not making any pineapple tarts this year," my aunt annouced.
"WHAT??!" I exclaimed.
"We have too many other things to do. Plus if you haven't noticed, we're all getting too old for this."
"But....but....I can help out!!" I whined.
"Do you have the time?"
I thought about my magazine schedule, and shook my head sadly.
"Too bad then."
I was pretty miserable. Sure, we bought pineapple tarts from the shops, but they were all the kind I hated. No one made the kind we do anymore.
This year, my aunt asked me if I wanted to bake pineapple tarts. I told her hell yes.
"But would you have the time?" she asked again.
I thought about my magazine schedule again. "Probably not," I said sadly.
"Well, what about if we make them on Chinese New Year eve? You think you'll have time then? We won't be making a lot, probably just enough for ourselves."
My eyes lit up. The magazine would probably be done by then. I said yes.
Few days ago, when I got home from work I spied freshly made pineapple jam in the kitchen and smiled. We managed to close the magazine quite early as well, so I took a day off to bake the cookies.
This morning I struggled to get out of bed. "Wake up!" my aunt exclaimed. "You said you were going to bake the cookies, weren't you? And didn't you have to drop by the office?"
"Mmmmmm," I moaned.
After I eventually got up and dropped by the office and came back, she was sitting in the kitchen with the dough, jam, rolling pin and cookie cutter on the table.
"I made the dough while you were gone," she said. "At the rate that you're 'helping out', the cookies will only be done by night." She sprayed some flour on the table. "You're going to have to do everything by yourself, I have other chores to attend to. I'll help out later after I'm done."
I nodded and starting rolling the dough flat. Then I stared at it. "Is it too thick?" I asked.
She sighed. "Just make one, and then judge by yourself. If you think it's too thick, then just flatten it out a bit more before you make the next one."
I nodded again and pressed out one using the cookie cutter. Yup, it was too thick. I flattened out the dough a bit and pressed another one out. Much better. Some time later I had filled up a tray, and proceeded to fill it up with jam and decorate the top.
By the evening, we had managed to make enough pineapple tarts to fill about a jar and three quarters. My fingers hurt from pressing the cookie cutter (it was the wood and metal kind), but I was happy. I had my pineapple tarts.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Lunch
I have never been very close to my mom. Throughout my life so far she has more or less felt more like a stranger living in the same house than my mom. One of the downsides (of many) of a relationship like that is that we don't know each other very well, food preferences included. So when she mumbled something to me while I was half asleep about offering to buy me lunch since she was going to be at 1 Utama, alarm bells should have rang in my head, but unfortunately I was too tired to realize what was inevitably going to happen.
When I finally woke up and went downstairs, I discovered a Subway sandwich sitting on the dinner table waiting for me. Uh oh.
I sat down and gingeryly unwrapped the sandwich. Red and white coloured sauce oozed out of the sandwich and dripped into a pool on the paper i had just gently peeled off. Great, I thought. I don't like putting tomato sauce on my Subway sandwiches. The mayonnaise is there if I feel like it though.
I took a more detailed inspection of the sandwich. Wheat bread. Not like I care. Stuffing looks like turkey. I like. Then I took a bite and groaned inwardly. The sauce wasn't tomato, it was chilli. And I really don't care much for chilli sauce.
I rolled my eyes. Oh well, I knew it was going to happen. My fault. I took another bite into the sandwich and bit into a pickle. My face wrinkles a bit. I look at the sandwich again. It's full of pickles. Which I don't really mind, but don't like having that much of either. I did a quick check of the sandwich again. At least there were no olives.
A few more bites later, it dawns on me that the sandwich I'm eating tastes a hell lot like a Ramli burger. In fact, it even oozes out sauce like one! I like Ramli burgers, but it would have been really nice if I COULD TASTE THE TURKEY.
I related the lunch to my kid brother when both of us were home later at night. He couldn't stop laughing. Apparently he had told mom to buy me the turkey breast sandwich because it was my favourite, but forgot to tell her what sauce to put on it. So she proceeded to instruct the counter person to dump every imaginable sauce on it, mayonnaise, tomato, chilli....you get the idea. Which was how it turned into the gooey mess I ate. LOL.
When I finally woke up and went downstairs, I discovered a Subway sandwich sitting on the dinner table waiting for me. Uh oh.
I sat down and gingeryly unwrapped the sandwich. Red and white coloured sauce oozed out of the sandwich and dripped into a pool on the paper i had just gently peeled off. Great, I thought. I don't like putting tomato sauce on my Subway sandwiches. The mayonnaise is there if I feel like it though.
I took a more detailed inspection of the sandwich. Wheat bread. Not like I care. Stuffing looks like turkey. I like. Then I took a bite and groaned inwardly. The sauce wasn't tomato, it was chilli. And I really don't care much for chilli sauce.
I rolled my eyes. Oh well, I knew it was going to happen. My fault. I took another bite into the sandwich and bit into a pickle. My face wrinkles a bit. I look at the sandwich again. It's full of pickles. Which I don't really mind, but don't like having that much of either. I did a quick check of the sandwich again. At least there were no olives.
A few more bites later, it dawns on me that the sandwich I'm eating tastes a hell lot like a Ramli burger. In fact, it even oozes out sauce like one! I like Ramli burgers, but it would have been really nice if I COULD TASTE THE TURKEY.
I related the lunch to my kid brother when both of us were home later at night. He couldn't stop laughing. Apparently he had told mom to buy me the turkey breast sandwich because it was my favourite, but forgot to tell her what sauce to put on it. So she proceeded to instruct the counter person to dump every imaginable sauce on it, mayonnaise, tomato, chilli....you get the idea. Which was how it turned into the gooey mess I ate. LOL.
Monday, January 16, 2006
This lady who drives a land rover was blocking the road and holding back about 6 other cars. She had already reversed her car but seemed to be having problems moving it forward.
I went over to see if she needed any help, though she didn't and said that her car couldn't warm up. I turn around and walked back to my friend's car--since I couldn't help her.
As a bad joke, I yelled (out to my friend) "She said to go screw yourselves." Another lady in a BMW thought I was directing those sentiments to her and the others.
"Is it a drunk man?"
"Who is that?"
This launched another person's curiousity. And so, I had to explain that I was joking and the person had car trouble. I must learn to keep quiet.
I went over to see if she needed any help, though she didn't and said that her car couldn't warm up. I turn around and walked back to my friend's car--since I couldn't help her.
As a bad joke, I yelled (out to my friend) "She said to go screw yourselves." Another lady in a BMW thought I was directing those sentiments to her and the others.
"Is it a drunk man?"
"Who is that?"
This launched another person's curiousity. And so, I had to explain that I was joking and the person had car trouble. I must learn to keep quiet.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Love and hate
Why I love my job:
1. I can come in at 10.30am and no one will bat an eyelid (although I have gotten reprimanded on occasion. Heehee)
2. The people.
3. The office environment.
4. It's nice to see your work sitting on the bookstore shelves.
Why I hate my job:
1. The pay.
2. TEH BOREDOM!!1~!
1. I can come in at 10.30am and no one will bat an eyelid (although I have gotten reprimanded on occasion. Heehee)
2. The people.
3. The office environment.
4. It's nice to see your work sitting on the bookstore shelves.
Why I hate my job:
1. The pay.
2. TEH BOREDOM!!1~!
Monday, January 02, 2006
Hang Tuah eats sushi
Me: Hey, that guy sitting over there sure looks a lot like M. Nasir.
Significant Other: Really? *turns around and looks*
Me: Well?
Significant Other: You idiot, of course he looks a lot like M. Nasir. He IS M. Nasir.
Me: ...Oh.
Significant Other: Really? *turns around and looks*
Me: Well?
Significant Other: You idiot, of course he looks a lot like M. Nasir. He IS M. Nasir.
Me: ...Oh.