Jolly Folly, Mighty Morphin'

The beginning of classes have reached its denouement. The end of the drama sees me exhausted, slightly wet from the night drizzle, at the almost empty Hotel School at 9:20pm exploiting the wireless internet, in my pyjamas no less. My new house of 12 Singaporeans still does not have working internet, and half of me wishes that I could stay and sleep in school till next week when my permanent connection to my familial, friend and virtual academic world is restored.

I have never felt so pumped before. I have the most amazing classes this semester. I know it sounds like the most geeky thing to say, but I think I will be enjoying school this year!

1) Culnary Theory and Practice - Basics in culinary and loads of cooking up a storm
2) Introduction to Wines - Time to explore the drink I never really got
3) Contemporary Healthy foods - More cooking, but with a mind for health!
4) Catering and Special Events Management - Heard we are organising a charity auction!
5) Finance - bleah
6) Human Resources - More than just the cuddly-huddly motivation speeches
7) Information Systems - bleah

I think now is the best part of the semester. You get all this hype before the monotony strikes, all the choice in the world to sway your mast the direction you want, and talk to a billion people from all race and ethnicities.

My article on Taipei is going to be in next week's Cornell Daily Sun! Will update again so that you guys can read my muses on that wonderful trip. I'm starting work in the kitchen next week too and before long, I'd be slumped against the same chair I am sitting on right now, exhausted, slightly wet from work perspiration, at the almost empty Hotel School at 9:20pm exploiting the wireless internet - only because I have no time to get back home.

Funny, but I'm liking the sound of it already.

Posted by Brandon at Saturday, August 29, 2009 | Permalink

The lady beside me is holding on to a Starbucks Venti cup. She gushes to her partner how clear her IPhone is. She has brown hair, is slightly obese and does an accentuated American accent. And she is just like any other American lady I have seen.

Why do I like travelling to different places? Why did I choose to endure the emotional arduousness of leaving home to study here? Why do I feel proud to be Asian?

The following words fell in place in one of those Don't-Forget-the-Lyrics moment of enlightenment as I was sipping my own coffee this very uninspiring morning: I FEEL AT EASE AT BEING DIFFERENT. Being different makes me feel like I have a place, a sort of market share, and not drowned in the masses.

It must have the recent fever for Asian culinary knowledge, that has contributed to this thought. From Kylie Wong's memoir to Martin Yan's cooking programme, from the study of sushi-making to the analysis of lemongrass, Asian food culture had REALLY REALLY intrigued me for a period lasting more than a month during my summer holidays. With my usually short attention wick, this extended research frenzy is surprisingly burning strong.

This time, I return to Cornell, with a new-found confidence in my identity. I think I bring something different to the table, both literally and figuratively. When we talk gourmet, we almost exclusively think of the French and their "haute"-y counterparts. Where is Asia!

I have this problem when cookbooks call themselves "Asian-inspired". Naming Asian food as such denies the possibility of it gaining ground on that landlord position in our global culinary playground. Just compare how "French cuisine" sounds to the demeaning "French-inspired cuisine". Get what I mean?

I like how Asian food is not pretentiously artistic. I look at pictures of pretty Western plate settings on books and can't help but notice the deliberateness with which photographers and chefs like to position their morsels of food. But with Asian food, we have garnishes, fruit carvings and tangy sauces coming together so seamlessly with the whole artistry of the meal. If French food is a painting in an art gallery, then Asian food is an effortless montage of creativity sitting on a child's easel.

Asian food reminds one of home. Of the times when food is plated on banana leaves. Of times when rice is pickled in sake. You can almost feel the spirit and smiles of the preparer when you tuck in. Maybe that is why Asian food fares so badly in the restaurant scene. The whole decorum of fine dining and mannered eating is a sore misfit with the intense nostalgia that Asian food conjures. There is no structure of starter, main course and dessert. There is no food gone cold sitting at the chef’s window waiting to be served. The roles of maitre d’, busser, chef, host all balled in one – resulting in an immensely raw yet personal cuisine.

Hence, it is not without irony that Chinese and Indian cuisines are considered poor men’s food in the States. Whether this stems from or results in a self-fulfilling prophecy is not important. The thing is that Asians here ARE NOT AT EASE AT BEING DIFFERENT. Walk into any Chinese restaurant and you’d most probably find the same $5.95 or $6.95 choices for lunch specials, one of which must (bizarrely) contain wonton soup. And that 95 odd cent pricing sees no detractors. Indian restaurants remove the guessing involved in their operating model. More likely than not, a buffet is involved, no matter how small the range is. Uncanny isn’t it?

It is time to resist conforming to expectations. And to rise from the ashes!

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, August 23, 2009 | Permalink

Today I bought a Subway sandwich. As I took the first bite, the richness of the honey mustard was sensory, olfactory to be exact. It was wheat bread, not white. Cold ham instead of cooked meat. A salad of olives, tomatoes and jalapeno peppers.

And a Subway sandwich must go with a diet coke. It all reminds me of the ironic American psyche. 1000 calories from towering burgers - no sweat. But 100 calories from the Coke McCoy is almost taboo, spawning a series of even more sellable lites and zeros. I am a victim of such clever deception too.

The thing is that I don't want Subway.

I have grown used to smelly armpits in my mid-day sweat, never mind that it has given me rashes on that leathery skin. My aunty's high-decibel burp that is as jolting as but more familiar than my Verizon Wireless phone alarm, chilling as but more manageable than the gusty Ithacan winds. Where am I to find my pandan leaves, the lahs and the lehs, the squeaky clean toilets and my silly friends, when I take off from the world's number one airport?

Why is it that it is only when you are close to losing something when you realise that you need it? I wish I could change what is on TV in front of me, honestly. So very coincidentally, Channel 8 is broadcasting an info-documentary on Chong Pang where I spent a good decade of my formative childhood, the times when I still wore a bib and my teeth were pearly white.

Surprise, surprise, that it was also today when my Grandmother called me from her home. Knowing how tight a knot she ties on her purse strings, I was utterly surprised that she said that she wanted me home if any opportunity presented itself in the next few years. She was the one who raised me when my parents were busy slogging to feed me. Boy, am I the most blessed man on earth.

My link with Singapore is like a ship anchored to the seabed. You don't see the ropes in action on a fine day, but when a storm starts to brew like right now, you will see how unyieldingly strong this anchor is rooted to the ground. My mind is spinning its own whirlpools. The clock is ticking.

Posted by Brandon at Sunday, August 16, 2009 | Permalink

Chiang Mai is a city which I will never forget. I don't think the word for it is quaint (there's still the dusty air and over-volumarised traffic that blemishes our idea of its beauty), nor is it spectacular (Bangkok takes the hat in being home to the most magnificent palaces and temples).

What Chiang Mai has is character. It is lazy, yielding and indifferent all at the same time, without losing the pulse a city should possess. This is where you can be riding elephants one day, rafting down a river another, or simply be holding on the edge of your seat in a tuk tuk navigated by a reckless, speed-thirsty driver. Its charm is really quite hard to put down in words. Rarely does a place become so touristy and yet remain so enticing in the eyes of the frequent traveller or city dweller.

It is hard not to notice the abundance of ang mohs on the streets. Whether it is one of those rich, old men splurging their pension away in rejection of Manhattan-style retirement (smelly, cramped, crowded), or another of those rich, old men living their sexual fantasies here where sex is cheap, there is little wonder why even prices are tiered to milk the purchasing power of foreigners. Foreigners, especially non-Asians, are called farangs. Farangs pay more for attractions when locals enter free and sign an inflated dinner bill for they are not Thais. Of course this is a major source of controversy in Chiang Mai.

Travelling in Chiang Mai opened up a new insight for me. I used to curse touristy things, because they show nothing authentically local. But am I also right to say that especially for a place like Chiang Mai, playing the touristy card helps to expose its culture to the world in ways that the authenticity card would not have?

Ok, what I'm trying to say is that people will not hike into the jungles of Chiang Mai to learn about mountaineous tribes like the long neck tribes, because the routes are too arduous and difficult. But with tourism, such inroads are opened up. We can blame tourism so much for the commercialisation of everyday life, the destruction of habitats, the exploitation of animals etc., but no one looks at the slew of benefits that befall the protesters who ironically are appealing for an end to this all.

But more importantly, what does being a tourist entail? Who REALLY cares if the version of the long neck tribe portrayed to tourists is NOT what is REALLY the case in the depths of the mountains? Does it matter - this issue of authenticity?

I think at the end of the day, tourists seek an experience outside their everyday lives. There is something alluring about checking into a hotel, hopping onto a plane, wearing a camera around the neck and donning a tropical hat. In other words, there is something alluring about touristy things. These things make you FEEL differently, whether it is that of being spoilt by pampering service or that of simply being happy after watching an animal show. Being there at the Eiffel Tower, the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China gives you this FEELING of having been there, done that. And tourists LOVE feeling this feeling. Of accomplishment. Of superiority.

Now, do we still need authenticity? Hmmm.

Posted by Brandon at Thursday, August 06, 2009 | Permalink