x3 the time, x10 the heartache - Recipe: Vegetable Pie with Lentils and Mashed Potato Topping

The birthday boy, one year to date

In class earlier this week, my professor, in reference to the economic concept of "moral hazards" remarked that the rule of thumb for remodeling was "twice the time, and three times the money." It made me think of the situation I have experienced for the last two months trying to get my internet connection set up at home. Four trips to the Orange sales shop, 1 hour 22 minutes and 35 seconds over the phone and four "rendezvous" with different technicians later, I have discovered that doing business in France is "thrice the time and ten times the heartache". An illustration is in order:

Technician 1: Yes yes yes, I will fix today.
(15 minutes later) Technician 1: Oh sorry, your line is not turned on. You must wait.
Me: How long? I've waited for 1 week already! The man at the shop said 4 days!
Technician 1: Yes, he shouldn't have said that. That is bad. Normally it takes up to ten days.

Ten days later...
Technician 2: Your line is not turned on.
Me: But you said 10 days! See this paper over here (gesturing to Technician 1's report)
Technician 2: That technician is only for installation. He doesn't know anything.

Two weeks later...
Technician 3: Yes, I fix today. For sure.
Me: Thank you! I've waited for so long already!
Technician 3: Yes, no problem.
(Half hour later)
Technician 3: You have a big problem.
Me: What? You said no problem! You said you'd fix it today!
Technician 3: Yes, but now there is a big problem. The problem is outside. So that is not my department. Another technician will come and fix the outside.
Me: When?!
Technician 3: Monday. Tuesday. Maybe.

Needless to say, at some point, I was so frustrated that I had the urge to cut all the telephone lines in my neighbourhood with pliers.

View from Pont Neuf at dusk, Nov 2010

Cooper's birthday dinner

While I've been in Internet exile, of course, time has not stood still. The leaves have since changed colours, and the city has taken on a completely different feel than when I first arrived at the tail end of summer. I have had many wonderful adventures in Paris - discovering new neighbourhoods, finding a pig's head at the market, complete with all its hair, eyes and nostrils, trying new restaurants with friends and having them over for dinner. And yesterday, Cooper turned one. It's hard for me to imagine that it really was a year ago that I first laid eyes on him and knew that he belonged with me, and it's almost impossible to imagine life without "the nipper," though I have to say I would save a lot on stationery expenses (see above of the hijacking of my pencil).

Below is a recipe for a simple and yummy vegetable pie, which I recently made for my friend. It is a meat-free version of cottage pie, if you like. The lentils add texture to the stew and a dash of Worcestershire sauce adds depth to the sauce. Serve this with a simple salad and bread if you like.

Ingredients (serves 3-4)
2 tbs vegetable oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
125 g button mushrooms, wiped clean and sliced
2 tbs sundried tomato pesto
2 tsps Worcestershire sauce
1 cup (250ml) tomato passata (sieved tomatoes)
1 bay leaf
1 tbs chopped thyme or 1 tsp dried Herbes de Provence
1 cup (250ml) vegetable stock
400g can lentils, rinsed, drained
800g potatoes, peeled, chopped
100g unsalted butter
1/2 cup (125ml) soy milk for cooking or regular milk
100g grated soy or cheese of your choice
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper of your choice

Method
Preheat the oven to 200°C. In a large pan, heat oil over medium heat and cook onion for 1-2 minutes. Add celery, carrot and garlic and cook for 1 minute. Add mushrooms, season lightly and fry gently until they have just released their liquid. Add pesto, Worcestershire sauce, passata, bay, thyme and stock.
Simmer gently for 15 minutes until vegetables are cooked. Stir in lentils and season, then transfer to a lightly-greased 1.2-litre baking dish. Meanwhile, cook potatoes in boiling salted water until tender.
Drain and mash. Stir in butter, and milk and season to taste. Spread over lentil mixture and roughen top with a fork. Sprinkle cheese over the top.
Bake for 15 minutes or until bubbling and golden.

More Asian than in Asia? – Recipe: Drunkard Noodles

In addition to being Internetless for the past month and a half, my blogging has been stalled by the everyday routines of maintaining a home, seule, plus keeping up with a pile of readings that seem to be extending upwards toward the heavens with no end in sight. But seeing as I was recently surprised by a gift from a dear, dear, friend, sent from the humid and heat-blessed streets of Singapore, which consisted of a most lovely set of chopsticks and matching dog (gasp!) chopstick rests, I thought I would dedicate this post to my new found Asian-ness.

The way to a woman's heart...through all things canine

For sure, I’ve never been one to consider myself inherently “Asian” both in terms of outlook and tastes– for example, I’ve never been away on vacation for weeks and found myself missing rice or a particular place in my home country. Nor do I feel that my views, especially my political opinions, conform to the mainstream. Yet there is no doubt that growing up in Southeast Asia has shaped my perception of the world, in ways I’m always finding predictable, on the one hand, and surprising, on the other. You will never find me, for example,  ever walking in front of a television set (no matter how big the damn screens are these days) while someone else is watching something without first excusing myself for interrupting them and bending forward so as to not block their view (thank you, Assunta!)  And how funny it is, that my Southeast Asian friends here are the only ones that will sit cross-legged on the floor and use the lounge chairs as a “table” for our laptops instead of our actual laps.   A friend of mine recently coyly teased that I seemed more Asian than back when I was actually in Asia – she judged this, for example, by how my face lights up when we plan a trip to the Asian Quarter here in Paris, or how I inadvertently nod in greeting when I see another Asian walking by through the streets of Paris. The other day, I found myself saying, “Look, honey, one of my kind!”

Chalk it up to old age, homesickness, the inability to find anything even remotely vegan in a proper French restaurant, or simply being injected into an environment in which I find, for the first time in my life, I am no longer able to either express myself or understand what others are saying to me, I do seem perhaps more aware of my own cultural differences here. My newfound Asian-ness seems to have manifested, among other things in i) me adopting an ever softer tone of voice when conversing here, even in broken French, ii) a mad craving for spicy food and chilli padi,, iii) the inexplicable obligation I feel to defend Lee Kuan Yew when people comment about the lack of democracy and human rights in Singapore and Asia in general!  and iv) confronting my dinner at a restaurant, thinking to myself how the bland, blanched dish of nappy-textured vegetables in front of me would be just that more palatable had I just a dash of soy sauce at my disposal.

Drunkard noodles is a dish that I discovered on the menus of Thai restaurants in Boston some ten years ago. It goes superbly with drinks, particularly beer, much like Korean/Japanese bar food.  I never quite found a comparison in Thailand, but I do love the spicy, peppery, and savoury blend of the base sauce with the rice noodles and vegetables. I managed to find fresh sen yai noodles, whose counterpart is the humble kuey teow in Malaysia and Singapore, as well as Thai holy basil, both of which I feel make a real difference in the results of the dish. The sen yai noodles are chewier and more malleable than kuey teow, so you are able to cook it and mix it with the rest of the ingredients without everything turning into a pulpy mash. The other ingredients which I feel are a must for this dish is kalian or Chinese kale and capsicum. You can make this with chicken, pork, shrimp or beef instead of tofu, as long as you stir-fry the meats separately before the vegetables. Tonight I was also able to cut down quite a bit on the amount of oil I used by using a good quality non-stick skillet. The list of ingredients may seem long, but the whole meal was prepared in just half an hour.

Ingredients:
300 g fresh sen yai noodles (substitute kuey teow if desired, but cut down cooking time)
2 tbsp vegetable oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
2-3 shallots, minced
1 slice young ginger
1-2 green chilli, chopped
2 tbsp oil
1 block firm tofu, deep fried until golden brown and cut into cubes
4 button mushrooms, sliced
4 stalks Chinese chives, sliced into 2 inch pieces
½ red capsicum, sliced thinly
4 ears baby corn, cut into thirds
150 g Chinese kale, leaves and stems separated and washed thoroughly
1/2 carrot, cut into thin slices
2 spring onions, cut into 2 inch pieces
Large handful of beansprouts
6-8 cherry tomatoes, halved
1-2 tbsp of chilli boh/paste
General handful of Thai holy basil leaves
Sesame oil to drizzle
Lime wedges and chopped coriander leaves to serve

Sauce:
2 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tbsp soy sauce
½ tsp sugar
½ tsp black pepper
2 tbsp water

Heat oil in a non-stick skillet until hot. Add ginger slice, shallots, garlic, and chopped green chilli and fry, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 2-3 minutes. Add mushrooms, tofu, chives, baby corn and capsicum and fry for another 5 minutes. Add chilli boh paste, kalian, carrot and fry for another 2-3 minutes or until slightly soft (Sprinkle in some water at this stage if mixture seems to dry.) To the hot pan, add noodles, as well as beansprouts, cherry tomatoes and spring onions. Working quickly,  add sauce ingredients and toss well to mix. When noodles are just pliable, drizzle sesame oil over the top and add basil leaves. Mix well. Adjust seasoning and serve piping hot with lime wedges and chopped coriander leaves.

Allô Allô – Recipe: Stuffed Vegetables with a Quinoa Filling

In one of my previous posts, I described the difficulty I was facing learning French. Since arriving in Paris, I’ve felt like I’ve been navigating through a very thick and persistent fog. Well, at least a fog of nasally French. The first week, I completely clammed up. To my dismay, everything I had learned at Alliance Francaise seemed to have gone down the toilet, and I felt utterly confused, lost and/or misunderstood. Let me try to illustrate what was going through my head:

Waiter: Bonjour, mademoiselle. ...(and then he goes on)...
In my mind: @!$%^&!!*&^%$@#@!!!@#%^*(@)!@!%%$#@. HELP!

Le Restaurant at Musee d'Orsay, great dining experience if only they understood what I was saying

It is true that Paris has gotten more cosmopolitan and a little friendlier in recent times, but from what I have observed so far, the French take great pride in their language, and are rather reluctant to reveal that they do in fact understand English. For example, last week I caught the salesman at the mobile shop in the act when he responded to something I was asking my friend next to me in English, even though he vehemently insisted he couldn’t speak Anglais. What this means is that it’s really up to me to learn the language, and learn it fast, or give up and spend this year never really immersing myself in the culture and lifestyle of Paris. I’m bent on the former – I do not want to be the perpetual tourist. So each day, I’ve been reciting phrases from my trusty French language pocket book, just before bed and while eating breakfast. The French are much more receptive, I’ve figured out, if you at least try to fumble through with a spattering of French. It doesn’t always work, but I think they feel rather sorry for me, and are more likely to reciprocate by offering me a few words in English. In any case, I have committed to memory what is surely going to be THE  phrase I will be using while I’m here: “je désolé, je ne parle pas Francais. Parlez vous Anglais?”

Ah, but last week I hit a spot of light – I don’t quite know what changed, but suddenly I began to understand what people were saying to me, or more accurately, a couple of sentences here and there. It’s still mighty foggy, but I sort of feel like I’ve had a glimpse of the lighthouse now and I’m no longer afraid I’m going to sail into the abyss.

Man on the street: Bonjour mademoiselle...(and then he goes on)...
In my mind: @!$%^&!!*&^%$@#@!!!@#%^*(@)!@!%%$#@ Petite chien (your small dog) @!$%^&!! Jolee (pretty) *&^%$@#@!!!@#%^*(@)!@!%%$#@ Tu s’appelle (What’s his name?) *&^%$@#@!!!@#%^*(@)!@!%%$#@ Quel age (what’s his age?).

And I verbalise something like this: Bonjour, err, Hi......err, Cooper......errr.....dix (10)....errr...months, err what is months in French?

I’m by no means proud of myself, of course, and far from a model student of the French language. I continue to disgrace myself on a regular basis as I go about my business in the neighbourhood. Just the other day, I mistakenly thought the grocer was talking to me, to which I responded, when he was in fact, doing something quite different.

Grocer: Allô, Allô
Me (excitedly): Hello!
Grocer (with indignation): Pah! Not you, I’m asking my worker to answer ze telephone. Allô, Allô not hello!
Me: Oh, sorry... How much for these strawberries?

Alamak! :) 


I’ve always liked stuffed vegetables – they look lovely, and are a shoo-in for dinner parties. Many types of vegetables can be made to be natural “receptacles” for fillings – whether eggplants, mushrooms, capsicums or zucchini – as long as they have a relatively sturdy skin and rather supple flesh, they should work. I was stoked to discover quinoa and soy cheese at a health food store this weekend. Being quinoa-based, this recipe, partly Middle Eastern, partly Mediterranean -inspired, is a healthy and delicious way to meet your essential fibre and protein needs. Essentially quinoa can be treated like rice both in terms of pre-cooking preparation and the cooking process itself. Wash it in a couple of changes of water and remove grit, and use about 1 cup quinoa to 1 ½ cups of water. Here I used eggplant and green capsicum to stuff and added a bit of ground coriander for a subtle touch of spice. Baking the vegetables first covered with aluminium foil achieves two things – it helps to keep the stuffing moist and soften the vegetables without the need for additional breadcrumbs or sauce.  Serve this dish with lightly sautéed greens of your choice.

Pack the stuffing into the vegetable shells using the back of a metal spoon

Ingredients:

• 3/4 cup uncooked quinoa
• 1/2 head garlic
• 2 small eggplants or 1 medium plus 1 medium green capsicum for stuffing
• 2 to 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 1 medium onion, peeled and finely chopped
• 1 red bell capsicum, cored, seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch dice
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 teaspoon coriander powder
• Lemon zest from 1 lemon, finely grated
• 1/4 cup low-fat ricotta cheese or vegan substitute
• 1/4 cup roughly chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus more for garnish
• 125 g cherry tomatoes, chopped roughly
• Extra virgin olive oil to drizzle

Heat oven to 200 degrees Celsius. Place garlic in a piece of aluminium foil, drizzle a bit of extra virgin olive oil over, and wrap to make a parcel. Bake in the oven until cloves are soft, 20 to 30 minutes. Let cool, and squeeze the soft garlic from the cloves, mash into a pulp and set aside.

Meanwhile, cook quinoa according to package ingredients. (It should take between 10-20 minutes). Stand for 10 minutes, fluff with a fork and leave to cool for a bit.

Cut the eggplants in half lengthwise, and place the halves cut sides up on a cutting board. Using a paring knife, cut around the perimetre, leaving a 1/3-inch-wide border and being careful not to cut through skin. Cutting down through flesh, cut lengthwise into 1/4-inch-wide strips. Using a teaspoon, scoop out the strips, keeping skin intact. Cut strips into 1/4-inch dice. Set both the diced eggplant and shells aside. Halve the capsicums, scoop out white membranes and discard seeds.

In a large skillet set over medium heat, warm 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add onion, and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft and slightly browned, 4 to 6 minutes. Add eggplant, bell pepper, coriander, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon black pepper. Cover; cook, stirring occasionally, until browned, 6 to 8 minutes. If mixture starts to become dry, add the additional tablespoon olive oil. Lower heat and add quinoa. Mix well.

Add lemon zest, cheese, parsley, remaining 1/2 teaspoon salt, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Stir to combine.

Fill each reserved vegetable shell with quinoa mixture. Cover with aluminium foil, give the dish an ever so light drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. Bake until warm throughout and shell has softened, 20 to 25 minutes. Remove foil, and continue cooking until tops are lovely and toasted,  a further 20 minutes or so. Remove from oven. Sprinkle with parsley, and serve.

Downsizing– Recipe: Pasta Primavera

I’ve decided that it’s no fun cooking for one. Not only are you boxed in terms of choices of what you can buy at the grocery store, since there is only so much one person can eat, it’s also awfully boring. My dinner table is at the heart of much of my social life. Around it, I gather the people I cherish and share with them the “fruits of my labour” –new homes are blessed, sick ones nurtured, Christmas toasted to, birthdays celebrated.  It makes for such a vastly different dining experience.  After cooking for company for so many years, and for one famished, gym-going brother, in particular, I’ve become so accustomed to buying enough for family sized meals that it’s almost automatic. Tonight, for instance, I inadvertently made enough pasta for 4 “me’s”, which means I’m stuck eating the same thing for dinner (and cold at that, since I don’t have a microwave) for the rest of the week! 

Although I’ve only been here for a week or so, I can feel the seasons changing. It’s starting to get quite chilly in the evenings, and my thin cotton shorts are no longer sufficient to keep me warm at night. Sigh. I miss my hot water bottle. Cooper, too, is learning to adjust to the weather, for example, by curling up in a tight little ball (but not before coming to my side of the bed to try to get me to pick him up and cuddle with him) and tucking his paws under his sweater in his doggy bed. 

Can you really say no to this face?

Pasta Primavera is a great way to capitalise on fresh seasonal vegetables.  Often made with a tomato base , especially in the US, it can also be absolutely delightful with a light broth and some flavoured olive oil during the Spring. What you want to ensure is that you have a nice contrast of colours – red, green, orange, purple – and that you cook the vegetables so that they are just done, and not soggy. Start with the vegetables that take longer, for example, eggplant and capsicum, before adding those that need to be cooked ala minute such as broccoli, French beans or zucchini.  Note however that the estimated cooking times below are for my new continental stove, which looks sleek and sexy, but I’ve discovered, takes forever to cook anything (no char kuey teow from this kitchen, that’s for sure).  For a spicy kick, add a teaspoon or so of some red pepper flakes and fresh basil for unbeatable flavour.

Serves 3-4 (or 1 lone ranger with ample leftovers)

Ingredients:

250 g spaghetti or linguine

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

1 medium brown onion, chopped

4 cloves garlic, chopped

Pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)

About 4 cups of vegetables in season, for example:

1/2 small eggplant, cubed

150 g button mushrooms, sliced

½ red, yellow or green capsicum, core removed and cut into long strips

1 small head of broccoli, cut into florets

1 small carrot, cut into desired shapes

A handful of cherry tomatoes

1 bay leaf

1 tsp dried oregano

1 large handful of fresh basil leaves, chopped (substitute 1-2 tsp dried basil)

½ cup dry white wine

1 x 400g pasta sauce of your choice (for example: Marinara or Napolitana) 

Freshly cracked black pepper and sea salt to taste

Red pepper flakes and Parmesan cheese to serve (optional)

Fill large stock pot with water, salt generously and bring to the boil.

In the meanwhile, heat non-stick skillet or a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add olive oil and swirl to coat. Saute’ onion and garlic until fragrant, about 3-4 minutes. Add hardy vegetables such as eggplant and mushrooms, season lightly while adding to the pan the red pepper flakes, if using. After about 5 minutes, add the broccoli and carrot followed by about ½ cup of white wine. Bring to a boil, and then add bay leaf, oregano and half of the basil leaves. When mixture has been slightly reduced, pour in pasta sauce, adjust seasoning and simmer of low heat for another 5-10 minutes until vegetables are fork-tender and the sauce has thickened slightly. 

At this stage, cook pasta according to package ingredients. Drain and return to the pot.

Just before serving, add cherry tomatoes to the pasta sauce and stir well. Toss pasta with the sauce and garnish with extra red pepper flakes, Parmesan and chopped basil leaves, if desired.

Bonjour, Paris - Recipe: Soupe Poireaux Pommes de Terre

The River Seine, forever immortalised

Hello, everyone! After a 13 hour flight and two hours spent sandwiched between grumpy and disgruntled travellers at immigration at Charles de Gaulle airport, Cooper and I arrived in Paris earlier this week and are now settled in to our little flat in a small corner of the city. While I've now lived in Boston, Guangzhou, London, Singapore and Kuala Lumpur and have always considered myself quite the global citizen, I found myself right about yesterday hit suddenly by a sharp bout of homesickness and an intense craving for a hot, fluffy bowl of jasmine rice and tofu. Paris is gorgeous and romantic, but like all global cities, it has the scale, density and diversity that can be as overwhelming as it can be exciting. Worse, I seem to be suffering from a weird case of immobolitis, where I can’t seem to open my mouth to speak any French. But perhaps I'm feeling this way also because I've discovered, that there are only two things that I can eat at a typical French brasserie - frits (french fries) and salade verte (green salad), and that can get old pretty quickly.

So, though I never imagined I would be one of those "typical" Asians, I found myself hopping onto the Metro yesterday headed straight for Chinatown to stock up on rice, tofu, chillies (god, I miss spicy food) and...*gasp* instant noodles. I will admit that it was heart-warming to see the brands of food on the supermarket shelves that I've come to associate with home for some years.

The streets of Paris, teeming with life  (and dogs!)

Despite missing Singapore, I am completely in love with the city’s architecture, and the many outdoor cafes and markets that are scattered throughout my neighbourhood. A gal (and her dog) can get used to this, let me tell you. I picked up a couple of seasonal vegetables yesterday at the local grocer. For my maiden post from Paris, I present below, a classic soup called Soupe Poireaux Pommes de Terre or Leek and Potato Soup, which is rich and full of flavour. Serve this soup with crusty bread and a salad and you’ve got a lovely supper.

Serves 4

About 1 kg slender leeks
2 bay leaves
20 black peppercorns
4 sprigs fresh thyme
2 tablespoons butter
2 large garlic cloves, minced
1 medium brown onion, chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine
3 1/2 cups vegetable stock
450 g new potatoes (Yukon gold or red-skinned, for example) about 4 medium
1/2 to 1 teaspoon fine sea salt
Freshly ground pepper
1 cup soy milk
Crème fraîche, for serving (optional)
Chives, chopped for garnishing (optional)

First, prepare a bouquet garni by tying together the bay leaves, peppercorns, and thyme in a package using cheesecloth and kitchen twine. Alternatively, you can use about 1-2 tsps dried Herbs de Provence.
Next, trim the leeks, keeping about two thirds of the green part. If your leeks are on the thick side, remove and discard the fibrous outer layer. Carve a deep slit all along the length of the leeks, driving your knife almost to the other side, but not quite, to expose all the layers. Run each leek in turn under a stream of cold water, green part down, to wash away the sand and grit. Squeeze off the excess water.

Separate the white from the green parts. Discard the toughest green leaves, and set aside the most tender. Slice the leek whites thinly. Peel and dice the potatoes into small cubes.

In a large stock pot over medium heat, melt the butter and add the garlic and onion. Cook for 5 to 6 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the garlic and onion are soft. Add the sliced leeks and cook until wilted, a further 5 minutes or so. Add the wine, and boil until reduced by half. Add the bouquet garni, vegetable stock, potatoes, and bring to a boil. Season to taste. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes. Add soy milk and simmer soup for another 10-15 minutes, or until the potatoes are falling apart and the flavours have developed.

Purée the soup, in batches, if necessary, using a blender. (I did not have one on hand, so I used a fork and mashed the potatoes, in batches, in a small bowl). Taste, adjust the seasoning, and return over low heat.
Shred the reserved green leaves of the leek into fine ribbons. When the soup returns to a simmer, add the leek ribbons, stir, and remove from the heat. Cover and let rest for 5 minutes. Serve hot, with a spoonful of crème fraîche and some snipped chives, if desired, and a hefty dose of pepper! Viola!

Au Revoir, Singapour - Recipe: Steak Au Poivre

Against Singapore's striking skyline, a group of students cheer each other on at the Marina Barrage

When I look back at the year that has been "Sinning in Singapore", I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude. The circumstances that brought me across the causeway to make this country my new home were difficult, the reasons for staying rooted even more so, but I now know that I would not have had it any other way. Over the last twelve months, I've had to take a long, hard look at myself and what I want out of life.  By forcing me to acknowledge the mistakes of my past, I gained the invaluable experience of knowing myself better (the good, the bad and the ugly) and hopefully, with this knowledge, I can learn to be a better daughter, sister, friend, "mother" to Cooper, student. The last year gave me the opportunity to grow intellectually, emotionally and socially (too bad not economically) and to reevaluate my values and the principles that guide me.

Some of the oldest and most beautiful trees in Singapore can be found in Bukit Timah

Before I came here I was told that Singapore was not a nice place to live in - people told me that it would be too materialistic, too scripted, too sterile. I have to acknowledge that there are certainly some elements of truth there, but then again, all societies it would seem suffer from those traits, just in varying degrees. I have come to find Singapore quite charming (if only for the fact that it is refreshing to be in a country where things operate smoothly!). As I move my boxes and bags by the door and the clock ticks closer to this evening that will see me hop onto the plane to Paris, I am thinking about my most memorable moments of the year, inter alia:

• My brother and I struggling with my grocery cart full of wine and cartons of coke and 100 plus at Shop & Save at Westmall, and grunting as we carried our groceries to our shared apartment in the early days.
• My "secret" walks with S at the Botanic Gardens after economics and behind the library during night classes, when we just couldn't concentrate anymore.
• Saturday mornings at the Bukit Timah market, stopping to talk to the mutton, vegetable, and noodle sellers who often wondered whether I was feeding a family of ten.
• Running all around Singapore taking photos and having dim sum with KT and PC in Chinatown.
• Early morning breakfasts and walks with Cooper at the Botanic Gardens.
• The chaos, crowds...oh and hmmm, the food at Little India
• Watching the cars zip by along Dunearn Road with B on Sunday mornings
• Gal time with G - meeting at Robinsons, catching a rom-com at Plaza Sing and lounging by the pool during the weekends
• Having a quiet chat with TM and Z about relationships in a corner of the tree-lined, quaint BTC campus
• Getting my hands utterly smothered with chilly crab at East Coast Parkway
• Enjoying great conversations, facilitated by soggy fries and sauvignon blanc, at the Wine Company
• Driving through Singapore, just like the old days, with dad and mum to look for items for the house, stopping for chicken rice for lunch.
• Looking for the "elephant" of Linden Drive and talking late into the night with S, with Amby and Rover by our side
• Hyperventilating while driving through the narrow streets of Serangoon Gardens
• Watching the ships, tankers and the blinking lights of Sentosa while enjoying a glass (or two) at the Promenade
• Nighttime walks, especially after the rain, at Hillview
• Dancing at a concert at the Esplanade, even though I probably looked like a fool

Nothing says Gong Xi Fa Cai like a steaming hotpot

At the end of the day, life, I suppose,  is not one big thing, one big goal, one big moment, but a million different things all jumbled together. So much of what I associate Singapore with has revolved around the kitchen - having friends over for a dinner party, cooking half a cow for the brother, reuniting with my loved ones for Chinese New Year and Christmas. So, Au Revoir, Singapour - I will miss you.

To symbolize the move, I am presenting below, a recipe for Steak Au Poivre, a classic French sauce that is absolutely exquisite. I am also sharing some tips on cooking steak, a meal that I've always been a little afraid to serve because of how badly it can go. The recipe is per portion, but you can easily double or triple up if you're feeding a crowd.

Ingredients
1 rib eye steak, about 1-1 1/2 inches thick, weighing about 200g each
1 clove garlic, smashed lightly
1 stick of rosemary
Olive oil to drizzle
Fleur de sel and freshly cracked pepper to taste

For the sauce:
2 shallots, minced finely
2 tbsp Cognac
1/4 cup reduced brown stock
2-3 tbsp whipping or thickened cream
Freshly chopped parsley to garnish
Fleur de sel and coarsely cracked pepper to taste

First, prepare your steak. Place your steak in a bowl large enough to accommodate the whole piece. Pat dry with paper towels. Rub salt and some pepper onto the meat. Drizzle olive oil, about 1-2 tbsp over the steak on both sides. Rub the clove of garlic over the meat and give it a light whack or two with your stick of rosemary for extra flavour. Leave aside for about 1 hour - this helps to bring the meat to room temperature.

Heat a non-stick pan over high heat until it begins to smoke slightly. Take it off the heat and add steak to the pan. Sear for 3-4 minutes on one side. Reduce heat to medium-low, turn steak over and cook for another minute or so for rare, or 3-4 minutes for medium. At this stage you can test for doneness by pressing the steak with your thumb. It should feel rubbery and make a slight dent (like putty) if its medium and rather firm (like a just ripe mango) if its well done. When steak is cooked to your liking, remove to a serving plate and tent with aluminum foil.

In the same pan, brown your shallots, scraping the bottom of the pan. When shallots are wilted, add Cognac and let most of it boil away. Add reduced brown stock to the pan, crank up the heat a little and simmer for another 5 minutes or until slightly thickened. Add cream and a generous handful of coarsely cracked black pepper. Add salt to taste and garnish with parsley. Pour sauce over the steak and serve immediately.

Recipe: Peppery Pork Tenderloin Stir-fry with Mushrooms

Pepper has been cultivated by native farmers in Sarawak for many generations, and constitutes an important cash crop for the local economy

Pepper is probably the most widely used spice throughout the world, and no wonder. Just a dash of freshly cracked pepper over the top can liven up pasta, add balance to a sweet or salty dish, and bring assertiveness to an otherwise plain sauce. Whether its white, black or pink, most of the dishes I make  at home come with a hefty dose of pepper. Having recently traveled to Sarawak, I managed to see the pepper plants (yes, they come from plants, not mines, B), cultivated by Iban farmers, along the Kuching-Serian stretch.

Pork and pepper are a match made in heaven. Growing up, my mother often made Teochew porridge for lunch. As those of you know, paring dishes with the plain porridge is absolutely key. My mother always served the right mix of savoury dishes that made for a great Sunday meal (followed by a short nap in the afternoon). One of them was a simple stir-fry of pork slices or liver with slivers of ginger and pepper. This is an adaptation of this dish with a slight Thai touch.

Ingredients:
1 pork tenderloin (about 350-500g), sliced into wafer thin pieces
1 small carrot, sliced thinly diagonally
125 g button mushrooms, sliced thinly
2 slices young ginger
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 spring onion stalks, sliced thinly diagonally into 2 inch pieces
2 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp corn starch
1 tsp Shao xing wine
Salt, pepper and sugar to taste
1/4 cup water
Drizzle of sesame oil

For the sauce:
2 tbsp oyster sauce
2 tbsp fish sauce
1/2 tsp sugar
1 tsp freshly cracked white pepper

Marinate pork tenderloin with Shao xing wine, a dash of salt, pepper and sugar. Add cornstarch to the bowl and mix well. Set aside for half an hour.

Heat non-stick skillet over medium-high heat and add oil. Swirl to coat. Add ginger and garlic and fry gently until fragrant. Add pork tenderloin and stir-fry until it changes colour, about 5 minutes. Add mushrooms and carrots and fry for another 3-4 minutes or until mushrooms release their liquid. Sprinkle in water, add in sauce ingredients, lower heat and simmer, covered for another few minutes or until pork is fully cooked. Add spring onions and a drizzle of sesame oil, if using, and mix well. Serve hot.

Malaysia is among the top 5 pepper producers in the world. Sarawak black pepper in particular is famous for its distinctive flavour.