Macarons

Reader, you must remember the awesome Outdoor Expert guy who took me on the crazy adventure at Bukit Tabur and the exciting whitewater rafting trip. He's into the outdoors (climbing, hiking, diving etc.), photography, gardening and... baking. Yes, baking. He's attended some formal culinary courses for breads and pastries, and fancy desserts. What a guy, right?

I was on the phone with him last night.

He: There's a baking class tomorrow. Macarons. Do you want to come?

Me: What time?

He: 10am to 4pm

Me: Hmmm... I would have to skip some classes at gym. But, YES!!!

I hope my pilates and dance instructor isn't reading this. (Sorry! :D)

I first came across this classic French dessert reading my roomee's blog, and was of course, captivated by the sheer variety of vibrant colours (and flavours!) they come in. Then, I came to realise that because they're relatively uncommon here, they tend to be really expensive. And anyone who bought macarons tend to show them off in ways that irritate me. So for a long time, to me, macarons are just fancy desserts, totally gourmet and catered to those rich enough, or those given to anything fancy just because they're fancy. I wasn't interested at all.

Some time ago, though, my roomee attempted macarons and according to her, they failed. This verdict was absolutely according to her, since we never actually saw the finished product - being the perfectionist she is, her "failed" was probably only "not pretty enough" for the rest of us..... Anyway, she inspired me to look up recipes for macarons, just to see how evil they are. No, not very evil in written words, but according to roomee, the technique itself is a major challenge, plus some say the egg whites need to be aged, or something or something else. The point is, macarons are generally considered very challenging. So, I got curious.

I'm rambling (waaay) too much. 

The class was hosted by a university nearby which offers courses in hospitality and/or culinary arts, and they have superb kitchen facility. It was my first time in a kitchen of a classroom setting. There was a demo station right at the front, and two rows of counters equipped with bowls of all sizes, spatulas, and electric mixers and their accessories. For our class, there was an apron, a hand towel and a hair cover for each of us. You know, Reader, the apron alone made me feel more competent already. Self-confidence is a weird thing.

Chef started by talking about macarons, and saying that he will be showing us the Laduree macarons, pointing to the very words, embroidered on his shirt (or whatever you call that robe that chefs wear...)

"Anyone heard of Laduree?"

A few of us, me included, nodded. I nodded wide-eyed. Of course I'd heard of it... my roomee blogged about it! Seriously! We are going to learn the recipe used by the most famous macaron-makers in the world! Honestly, I don't believe they'd give out all the secrets, but hey, the basics are good enough. For now.

So, Chef started by demonstrating a batch. He whipped up the batter, piped them into perfect circles while saying how he'd like to see us pipe (anticipating big time comedy, that is). While the shells were baking, he proceeded to make the filling.

"Anyone heard of Italian Meringue Buttercream?"

Again, I nodded excitedly. Granted, I was already very excited just being in the class. It was quite recently that I was reading up on Swiss and Italian Meringue Buttercream, how they are different and which I should try first should I ever want that much of frosting! 

I don't know how much filling he made, but he used 1kg of butter all in all, so... A LOT. This, he divided into several small bowls and added different flavours to each. We had lime, hazelnut, and pistachio to begin with. Later, he also made strawberry, raspberry, orange, apple, and also a super rich and extremely dark chocolate ganache. 

He then showed us how to assemble the dessert by matching pairs of shells most similar in sizes, piping a small amount of filling on one, and pressing them together. I made a joke about how that's gonna be tough for us, for our shells will all be of different sizes, maybe different shapes as well. Had I known just how really true that was, it wouldn't have been that funny. 

These pretty little things were from the first demo batch:

All the photos were taken using my phone (which has a camera but ultimately isn't a camera) so please excuse their quality...

Chef said macarons are best displayed standing. Someone else made a joke about how ours are not going to be able to stand so nicely due to being out-of-shape and/or having the two halves mismatched in size. Again, true.

The first batch we whipped we used ground almond, resulting in a smooth top. Apparently, both the Outdoor Expert and I aren't exactly very skilled in piping...

Fortunately, they don't look that horrible after assembly. We had to rip those conjoined shells apart, though, and that wasn't pretty nor classy at all.

While everyone was busy whipping up the second batch of macarons using ground hazelnut, Chef decorated a cake with some of those he'd made earlier:

Notice the orange one of the left? Yup, ours! Chef walked past our station, picked it up and used it. We totally took it as a compliment of the highest sort and deluded ourselves into many minutes of pure happiness.

Another cake that Chef decorated:

In all seriousness, the first batter we made was too thin, resulting in difficulty in piping and thus, the sloppy, spread-out shells of different sizes and odd shapes. The thinness was due to under-whipping the meringue, said Chef. So, for our next batter, I totally went overboard and "over-whipped". But we got these:

Yay!

We were joking about how we're now ready to take orders for homemade macarons when I realised I'd probably never be able to achieve the same results at home. Reason is, right after piping, we just hung around laughing at ourselves and others, walking about poking our noses into other people's piping, taking photos of all the different colours there are... and let the two student helpers do all the baking for us.

So, yea, I have no idea how to actually bake them. If jamming them into the oven, counting 10 minutes then taking them out works, great. Otherwise..... :P

At 1+ AM

As much as possible, I avoid posting copyrighted photos uncredited, so really, if I knew where the credit lies, I would say it. However, I can't even remember exactly where or when I stumbled upon the following:

I only remember thinking that Julie Andrews looks great! I mean, I don't usually have a thing for older women (older men, yes!) but, whoa... she definitely looks better than the young lady (whose name escapes me right now) next to her.

In the movie, she plays the young lady's grandmother, I recall. When I am her age, I want to look better than my granddaughter (assuming I'll have one)...

Goodnight, world!

P/S: I sort of wrote about my looks and how vain I want to be about it... that makes this my first sort of bimbo post! Yay...?

Cake Tales

Once upon a time, The Roomees gathered to celebrate a very special occasion, which was really a combination of 3 special occasions. They ordered a "triple celebration" cake and the wonderful baker came up with this beautiful creation:

Before the big day, Mee Mee shared with Nee Lee this message she got from the baker:

"... this is the triple-celebration cake. The shell is mango-flavoured chocolate, the blue is white chocolate and the other one is strawberry chocolate and dark chocolate. I hope you'll like it. It's quite difficult to combine the 3 different things together..."

Nee Lee, who was obviously not right then in the most rational mental state, got all excited and said "Three different flavours! So, we'll need to eat 3 slices of cake each to taste each flavour???"

Mee Mee replied, "Yea!!!"

The day came. Mee Mee and Nee Lee were so sure each of the three "sections" of the cake were of a different flavour, they made Bee Ree, official "cake-cutter", slice the cake up from three different angles. The result:

Of course, there was no such thing as three different cake flavours! The entire cake was simply cappuccino walnut. The baker was describing the decoration. Bee Ree and Shell Shell slapped their foreheads.

Recently, The Roomees got together once again for a celebration. Bee Ree bought the most beautiful cake ever:

Mee Mee asked, "Is every layer a different flavour???"

Nee Lee waited in eager anticipation for the answer...

Bee Ree said, "NO!!!"

It was then cut in the dignified manner which cakes should have the right to be.

The End.

Further reading:
The Radioactive Cake Celebration
The Rainbow Cake Celebration

Forty Sets of Sun Salutation

What's running in my mind -

At the beginning:
Right, here we go, I wonder how many we'll be doing...

Completed 5 sets:
Can it be six? Can it be eight? I wish... although, going at this pace, it really doesn't look like it's gonna be this few...

Completed 15 sets:
What? Did she just say "Keep going, do not stop"? Man, we are going for 20 sets aren't we? I'm tired, I'm bored, I'm tired, I'm bored...

Completed 20 sets:
OK, it's gotta be 25. My arms are killing me and I'm starting to go out of breath, but I can make it to 25. Keep going, keep going...

Completed 25 sets:
We are still keeping it going?! GOSH! She's going to make us do 50 sets! Fifty!!! *ARGHHH* I'm so exhausted! I can't make it to 50, I just can't! My arms are wobbly, my almost-completely-healed wrist is starting to hurt, I can't catch my breath, sweat is trickling down my forehead into my eyes and turning into tears.....

Completed 35 sets:
Hmmm, after this I really should get a hot chocolate. Maybe some noodles tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to have that bun I absentmindedly left in office. I hope no ants will get to it... oh, but I still have some gingerbread. So, maybe one of them for breakfast and the other for afternoon tea? And that email... I must remember to attend to it first thing in the morning.....

Completed 40 sets:
What? We're done? Did she just say we're done? Oh wow! I'm dizzy, my vision is blurry and I can't really stand anymore... but wow, forty sets! I just completed forty sets of Surya Namaskar! What a great feeling! I wonder how many calories I'd burned there. I'm so gonna blog about this! Yippeee!

Note:
When practicing yoga, one should, as much as possible, rid one's mind of all irrelevant thoughts and focus on the breathing and the poses alone.

Yea, I'm not there yet =P

Storytime

This is one of those really annoying times I've gone to bed more than an hour earlier, only to realise sleep would not come, no matter how hard I try. Yes, lots on my mind. Way too much! It did occur to me to write it all out, for it's what I do best and what brings me rest. Then again, seriously - who wants to read of all the matters that trouble me, things that hurt me, stuff that make me cry et cetera? So, how about a story instead? Surely, when one cannot sleep, it's time for a story?

A couple of years ago, I shared a story of a camping trip I had as a teenager. The rain threatening to flood our tents was just the opening act. The major thing was much, much less amusing. It was, after all, our very first time out camping all on our own, and we thought no further than having the time of our lives. Just imagine - a bunch of girls (40 cadets plus 10 or so probably incompetent "camp leaders" - the committee members) wanting to do manly stuff. The only thing we did sort of okay was pitching up tents that didn't fall down while we were in them - and even that wasn't perfect because we forgot the trenches. (Read the previous story!)

We reached the campsite in the morning of the first day, unloaded all the stuff from the bus, fed the girls their brunch and got to work on pitching up the tents. Then, it rained and drama ensued. Lots of it. (Seriously, read the previous story!)

By afternoon, the rain had stopped. It was bright and sunny and everything pleasant. We hiked a little way off campsite and frolicked in a stream. It was shallow and bubbly, the water cool and clear, and the girls all giddy and silly. Everyone was playing and laughing, enjoying every moment. So far so good.

Then, evening came and it was time to make dinner. It's been a long time, really, but I remember we only had 2 or 3 burner stoves, to be shared by everyone. Dinner was simply some canned food which the girls (4 to a group or so) had to cook by themselves. Here's a picture of how accomplished in cooking girls of my era are: there are 8 girls in my group of very close-knit girlfriends, and out of that, at 15 or 16 years old, only my friend, Big Eyes and me could make decent fried rice, mee or meehoon. Some can't even fry an egg without the final output appearing burnt and butchered. Yes, that bad. But no, no one set anything on fire while cooking - the comedy was to come later.

After dinner we gathered at a small pavilion for some songs, dances, sketches, stories-sharing - all the fun stuff. All the girls were enjoying themselves so much they must have thought that was the best camping trip ever (or so I liked to believe, while I still could...) Then, came the comedy. It's really a tragedy, but since it was such a long time ago, it's become comedy.

My friends, the other committee members, concluded that the cause of this comedy was the girls' dinner. They played in the water upstream, and then collected water downstream to cook with! In retrospect, it might not be likely, for they played in the afternoon and made dinner in the evening... I am more inclined now to think it was because they didn't know the first thing about cooking - most didn't wait till their concoction boiled before taking the pots off the stoves. 

It was bedtime when the first girls started getting tummy aches. It wasn't much of a problem, as we had two toilets right next to the campsite. Within the next couple of hours though, it became quite clear we had a huge issue. Almost all the girls were stricken with diarrhoea. Two toilets to about 40 girls. Imagine. Wait, don't imagine! There was nothing we could do. We were first-aiders and we had first-aid kits stocked full of supplies to treat sprains and strains, cuts and burns, maybe even small fractures, but not food poisoning. The girls just had to take turns at the two toilets until their bowels cleared. The queue outside the restrooms lasted the entire night, until the next morning.

Ironically, all but one of us, the seniors, were fine. We sat a table with wooden benches, kept awake in shifts and actually had the time of our lives. I had my first experience of the I'm-being-watched feeling. I was back-facing this really huge tree, and I kept having a feeling that something was watching me. I turned back several times in the course of half an hour or so, and saw nothing but that tree. A little while later, a friend joined me, and it wasn't several minutes before she turned as well, citing the same feeling of being watched. Then, a third friend came and joined us, and that feeling went away. We talked and joked and laughed, and talked and talked some more. Reader, you know how I somehow have the ability to say the stupidest things in the wrongest times to cause unwitting listeners, usually in the midst of drinking, to spit water they are otherwise supposed to swallow. (Example here) So, my friend was sipping tea from a glass we'd been sharing (by "we", I mean all my friends at the table and those who came and went) and I said something, well, "funny". She nearly choked on her drink, spit the very last drops from her mouth back into the glass and laughed heartily for a good couple of minutes. After that, we left the table for a while and when we got back, to our horror, we found the glass almost empty. Someone had drunk the spit-mixed tea! We asked a few girls in panic and found the one who drank from the glass. She was clearly very upset when we told her, but it was still pretty funny to us. So, we went around telling the funny story to our other friends, until my bestfriend frowned when we told her. She drank from the cup too, she said, indignant, but the story just became doubly funny.

While we were having all that fun, the girls were still taking turns at the two toilets. Then, one of my friends started feeling sick too. By that time though, half of us had stayed up half the night, so it was time to end our "watch" shift and go to sleep. My friend told the following story for years afterwards although I have absolutely no memory of it. According to her, right before we went to sleep (we were in the same tent), she told me she was afraid to go to the toilet on her own in the dark, but she knew she would need to, with her tummy aching and all. I, she alleged, declared that I will go with her when she needs to - just wake me up, buddy! And then, when she really needed to go and tried to wake me up, I simply turned to the other side without opening half an eye and continued sleeping. Seriously, she told this of me for years!

Anyhow, we all made it through the night. A bunch of us, me included, woke really early and took a walk along a trail where we saw beautiful rays of sun piercing through the thick morning mist onto a bunch of giant bamboo plants. We hurried back to the camp to get the others to go and have a look, but everyone was too sick and too tired, and they just wanted to go home. They said it was the most horrible camping trip ever and they just wanted to go home.

We made the girls take down their tents and pack up while we did the dirtier job. What dirtier job, you ask? Remember, 40 girls having diarrhoea through the night and two toilets. Someone's gonna have to clean those two toilets. So, we wrapped ourselves up in black garbage bags and we did. We even had a photo taken of us - all in a row in garbage bag fashion - but I don't think I have it anymore.

The End.

Sleep will come now.

The Traveler

The thing is, I never really considered myself sociable (I still don't). I don't like approaching people and most of the time, I don't enjoy small talk with non-friends. When I was in school, my friends and I were expected to foster friendship with cadets from other schools during events like annual gatherings and campfires, and I would be one of those who'd perform most poorly in this "socializing" task. 

I used to think it's because I am somewhat shy, but once, when I dared describe myself as "shy" and all of my closest friends gave the same response, "You must be kidding!", I had to accept the fact that maybe it isn't shyness. I mean, I'm talkative by nature and I find it hard to run out of things to talk about, so if I really want to, I guess I shouldn't find it hard to simply walk up to someone and start a conversation. So, maybe I just don't like taking the initiative to be friendly. In fact, most of the time, I wish strangers wouldn't talk to me. For the "protagonist" of this post, though, I'm glad he did.

It was a lovely evening and I was taking a solitary stroll along the beach. A bunch of local men were bundling tourists onto a banana boat and they asked me to join in for a ride. I politely declined, citing fear. They offered to let me ride in the speedboat (which will be pulling the banana boat) instead. I declined again and after several minutes of courtesy chit-chat, I went on. A little way ahead was a lone man with tousled shoulder-length hair, relaxing and watching life around him. He smiled warmly as I walked by and I smiled back (because it would be impolite not to). It took no more than ten or fifteen minutes' leisurely pace to reach the end of the stretch at which I turned back. The man was still there, and as I passed him again, he smiled and said "Hi."

I said "Hi" in return, and we started chatting. 

It began as all usual conversations would - where we are from, whether we're there for work or leisure - and then, I took an extreme interest in him. He's traveling to see the world, he said, in his mobile home, which he's driven all the way from his home in Germany, out of Europe, through the Middle East, India, Indochina etc, and had been parked at Batu Ferringhi Beach, Penang, for ten days. I was beyond amazed. I am aware that it isn't uncommon for some people to take months off work (and regular life) to travel, but that was the first time I'd met anyone who's spent almost a year on the road... literally! At the time of our chance meeting, he was a week away from the first anniversary of his traveling, and his journey wasn't at its end... once he's reached "the end" (I think it is Singapore, but my memory is poorly these days) he will turn back and trace a slightly different route back to his home, possibly through vast China. That will take another year or more.

I asked for his permission to take a photo of his mobile home. He graciously allowed me.

I spent the evening talking to this fascinating man. He told of his many encounters in the foreign countries he's been - the people, the culture, the ease or difficulty with which he made his drive across and meeting other travelers like himself. He showed me his solar power generator, which provides electricity for appliances in his vehicle; the little boat and the bike which he hauls with him, for local exploration when he's parked somewhere; picture books of common objects which he uses for communication in countries which languages he doesn't speak - he would just point to the picture(s) that indicate what he needed; and a map on which he tracked his journey thus far -

I had so many questions to ask - he put up with me good-humouredly and answered everything. He talked of his life (and life in general) in Germany, his work, his wife and children, and his past travels. He asked me stuff as well and I painfully remembered I don't really know much about interesting spots in my country. Remember the last time I went gallivanting around town with the lost boys from Europe? Yea, that was the one and only time. I kept thinking, if it was my bestfriend, she would have made a far, FAR better conversation with this traveler than I ever could have.

I don't generally talk to strangers, and still don't think it is wise to, but for this - well, I guess I'm fortunate. It isn't yet a year since our chance meeting. He should still be driving, somewhere, right now. All the best, F! Thank you for your stories.

Meg

A little more than a year ago, I wrote about Love Never Dies (I pre-ordered the DVD and it is right now on its way to me! Yay!), ALW's sequel to his (non-arguably, surely) greatest work, The Phantom of the Opera.

I've been listening to the cast recording very frequently all this while. At first, I focused on just the music, like I'd said I would in my previous post, but of late, I can no longer ignore some disturbing facts about the story. I can no longer ignore how wrong it is that Meg gave everything for the Phantom who regarded her as nothing more than a convenient existence. The Phantom is a genius, but so incredibly arrogant and self-centered he didn't give a damn about anything beyond himself and his selfish love for Christine, all his IQ isn't nearly enough to make him bearable. Yes, he actually cared more about his love for Christine than for Christine herself, but that will be a whole other post. This post is about Meg.

As the musical begins, we hear of Meg's desperate hope to impress the Phantom with her singing and dancing. We hear of her working hard at improving her performance and striving to be worthy of his regard. The Phantom doesn't see nor hear her, however, for he is busy professing his love to an automaton in the likeness of Christine.

Madame Giry tells Meg that the Phantom has been composing "something glorious" late at night, and implies it would be for her. It isn't an unreasonable expectation, for Meg indeed is the one who has stayed faithfully by him, performing every show and drawing in crowds, and is actually the star at Phantasma. Who would be more deserving?

But no, for all that she's done, Meg gets the "cheap vaudeville trash" she's always got, and the "glorious" new aria is meant for Christine.

It's the last show of the season -

SQUELCH
Ladies and gentlemen… Mr Y is pleased to present to you his final surprise of the season...

GANGLE
A command performance by Christine Daaé, the most heavenly Diva of this or any age…

FLECK
But first, for those of you whose taste is a little more earthbound…

SQUELCH
The Sweetheart of the Midway…

GANGLE
The ooh La La Girl…

FLECK
The incomparable…

TRIO
Meg Giry!

Christine is a heavenly diva, and Meg is but earthbound.

As the musical draws to its end, we hear of Meg's other sacrifices -

I took a little trip to Coney Island.
I took a little trip, because of you.
I did as mother said,
and followed where you led
and tried to do what little I could do.

Well here’s the way it works on Coney Island --
They make you pay for every little crumb.
I gave what they would take,
I gave it for your sake,
now look at me and see what I’ve become.

Bathing beauty,
on the beach…
Bathing beauty,
in her dressing room…
Bathing beauty,
In the dark,
on their laps,
In their beds --

She gave herself to men, literally, to ensure the Phantom's plan for Phantasma is realised, and in the end, he said

We can’t all be like Christine --

No, Meg is simply Meg. Meg is not Christine. No matter how much she gives, how hard she works, how willingly she sacrifices herself, she will never be Christine to the Phantom. It's not Christine's fault; it not even so much the Phantom's. Meg should never had believed she could be anything more than just... Meg.

Are you anyone's Meg? Stop. Don't be.