Half a century ago today, the first Prime Minister of Malaysia stood on a podium in a crowded sports stadium in Kuala Lumpur and, raising his arms in the air, shouted three times "Merdeka!" ("Independence!"). And the crowd cheered, as well they should, because at that moment, more than two centuries of British colonial rule in the Malay Peninsular had come to an end. A new country was born.
Every year, 31st August is celebrated as Malaysia's National Day (hari kebangsaan). All over Malaysia, flags are displayed on car rooftops and buildings, old classic movies are shown on TV, school kids wear brightly coloured costumes and perform spectacular formation dance routines, and major towns proudly host parades and military displays and fly-pasts while dignitaries and members of royalty take the salute.
I personally have always been deeply impressed by merdeka parades. When large numbers of people get together and march in unison to stirring music, it usually brings lumps to my throat and, even though it's not my country, I find it hard to stop myself saluting. Which would probably be pretty bad form, seeing as I am a representative of the former colonial power!
So you can rest assured that I love the Malaysian independence say celebrations, and I think they do them exceptionally well over here. And they do them so well because they really genuinely care about the reasons why they are doing them.
One thing I have learned in my time in Malaysia is just how important patriotism and national pride are to people here. The issue of patriotism is not a joke. The flying of flags is taken seriously and mistreating the Malaysian flag - the Jalur gemilan - is considered very offensive, as is disrespect for the national anthem, the Negaraku. Just to illustrate this, a Malaysian student studying abroad was recently forced to apologise formally to the government for making an online video in which he created alternative lyrics for the national anthem. Some have even called for his passport to be revoked.
In the UK, by contrast, we make fun of our country and our flag, and call it free speech. People don't like to fly the Union Flag, and are embarrassed to admit they are patriotic and are embarrassed - quite rightly - for our colonial past. The royal family, the police, the military and the government are all open targets for jokes. Which is fine - because in the UK we have "Free Speech".
But is it more than that, I wonder? Let's see - what's the most fundamental difference between the UK and Malaysia? Malaysia is a former colony which won its independence from a foreign power, and the UK has, apart from a small Nazi toehold in the Channel Islands in World War Two - never been conquered by anyone else since 1066.
So my point is that it is very easy to scoff and make light of patriotism when your country has never been invaded or conquered. But when you country has had to fight or negotiate hard for its right to exist, then you have every right to stand up, wave your flag and salute when you like.
And that's why I am so impressed with this country. For all its warts - and there are a few - its people every year without fail get together as one and celebrate their country's birthday with pride in their hearts. And it's no joke. No irony. In the UK and other countries like ours, we tend to do this only when we are at war, or under attack.
So my message for Malaysian Independence Day is this - whatever your place of birth, be proud of where you are from, but don't denigrate those who come from other places. They say that the difference between patriotism and nationalism is that a patriot loves his country but respects other countries too, whereas a nationalist only loves his country.
So be patriots and be proud. I may not be around in another fifty years but I hope, and pray, that Malaysia will continue on with pride to become a country which is united, prosperous and safe.
So here's to the next fifty years and more of Merdeka!!!
Friday 31 August 2007
Tuesday 28 August 2007
Harry Potter and the Streamyx Drop-out
It was Arthur C Clarke, the great science fiction writer, who said that any sufficiently advanced technology will be indistinguishable from magic. I totally agree, particularly when the technology in question suddenly stops working for no reason.
If you are reading this post, everything will have sorted itself out. But just in case it hasn't, and you never hear from me again, I leave this little account behind to inform future generations of the demise of Prof. Madder and his wonderful blog, due to the mysterious Dark Magic of my newly-installed Streamyx broadband connection.
I have been happy as a lark on amphetamines ever since I got broadband yesterday. The Internet has ceased to be a slow, comatose crawl and has come vividly and actively to life, thanks to the fast connection speed and a spanking brand new PC.
So last night, I couldn’t wait to get home from work to play with my new toy. The Internet opened itself like a flash, and I made good use of the speakers I just installed to watch a couple of videos on the net. Then, I decided to install some software for my mobile phone and my video camera.
Everything seemed to go smoothly, until my dear Mum phoned up from her villa in Spain. When I spoke to mum on the phone, her voice was drowned out in a sea of electronic computer noise that reminded me of fax traffic with a few R2D2 whistles thrown in. It was just like talking to someone on the other side of the street in a heavy rain storm.
And when I got back to the computer, which I had just restarted after installing the video software, I couldn’t connect to the net. My little blue Streamyx modem should have shown five lights, but only four were shining. Oh dear, what had I done?
Was it my mum’s phone call that somehow interfered with the signal? Can’t be, because she called us yesterday and I was able to use the Net without trouble. Was it because I had restarted the PC after installing the software? I can’t understand why. Or was it because I had just drunk a cup of coffee with four digestive biscuits? You never know! Or maybe it was just magic? It may as well have been for all I know!
When I phoned the guy who installed the modem, he seemed to suggest that this kind of thing often happens and that I should just see if the problem re-occurs tomorrow. So I just have to sit back and wait for the little PPP light to wink on, then I can re-connect to the net.
But don’t you think it’s a bit silly, having technology that works well for a while, then suddenly, inexplicably, doesn’t work, through absolutely no fault of your own? And the solution doesn’t come as a result of careful, logical diagnosis, but pops up purely by chance?!?
Maybe Harry Potter might appreciate the irony of this situation. But I do not.
PS - there are five lights shining now!!
Sunday 26 August 2007
The Wings of Freedom
Today is the first day of the rest of my life.
I have just taken delivery of my first new desktop PC for about 7 years. It’s nothing fancy – an ACER Aspire 4110, but it’s got all the latest gadgets and bells and whistles that any serious blogger might want.
My old computer, also an Acer Aspire, had been lugging along like a tired tugboat engine ever since I bought it second-hand from a fellow expat back in 2000. But recently it finally started to show signs of advanced age – very slow, Internet connection cutting out randomly, and an annoying tendency to expect me to re-set the clock every time I switched it on! The last straw came last week when the modem developed a seemingly fatal fault, and stopped working.
So, taking advantage of an almost unbelievable special offer in one of the local computer shops, I made my purchase, throwing in a webcam for good measure. I’ve got Windows XP, the latest versions of Microsoft Office (my how different Word looks now!) and a whole plethora of weird and wonderful bits and pieces that I might never use in my life, but which look great on my desktop!
I have just had a man round to install STREAMYX, which is the main Malaysian Broadband service – so I will not have to fall asleep while waiting for web pages to download any more. Despite a great deal of fiddling about, the man managed to set up the service, and I have finally joined the high-speed broadband generation.
This will mean that I will be able to resurrect my old interest in computers that kind of atrophied along with the quality of my home PC. Now, I’m going to get myself updated with all the latest developments – get into wireless Internet, music downloads, video editing, all kinds of stuff. It might even mean that I will be able to post more stuff to you, my dear readers! With more pictures!
In the meantime, I will continue to explore this new Aladdin’s Cave of electronic delights.
Abracadabra!!
Friday 24 August 2007
The Junk
Prof. Madder has just celebrated the end of the week by taking the family to one of Kuching's most characterful eating places. The Junk is situated opposite St Mary's school and nestled in a row of very old-looking shophouses. It is one of the few places in Kuching I know of where Anthony Bourdain has eaten, and there is a photo of him on the wall inside.
The Junk is not just a great place to fill your tummy, but it's also jam-full of the most surprising antiques, and bits and pieces of old lives. Yet it is definitely not a "Theme Restaurant" full of kitschy tat. The theme of the Junk is that there is no theme.
Back in the UK, there are so many of these "Theme Restaurants" which try often too hard to represent some quirky aspect of popular culture or sport. They have all kinds of superfluous items displayed on the walls and ceilings - horse shoes, rows of books, baseball bats, canoes (yes I kid you not!), aeroplane propellers and even hub-caps from 1950s Cadillacs. But although I've been in places like them all over the world, I am never totally convinced that the items on display are actually genuine. I have always suspected that there is a factory somewhere where they actually manufacture the tat that decorates these kind of restaurants.
But the Junk is different. Just start with its name. When I first saw the name, I naturally thought that "Junk" referred to an old Chinese fishing boat. I expected to enter the restaurant and find myself surrounded by fishing nets, lobster pots and other oceanic paraphernalia. But the Junk is so-called because it's, well, full of old junk! And what wonderful old junk it is!
As soon as you go into the place, you see that everything is under lit and there are candles everywhere. There are even fishing nets on the ceiling, along with old photos, advertisement posters from donkeys' years ago, old maps, etc. All the furniture is aged-looking and made of somewhat Tokienesque dark wood. Reminded me of some of the older English pubs back home.
When you go up the rather narrow wooden stairs to the dining room, you immediately encounter one of Kuching's most stunning pieces of organic art. All the way up the stairs, to the left is a most remarkable coral-like encrustation made from the wax of probably thousands of candles, which have melted down over the years and just coagulated into a mass that reminds one of the sci-fi movie The Blob. You can see that this waxen Thing has strata just like rocks, with the darker, older wax visible at the bottom, while the newer crudiments are pristine and white at the top.
Upstairs, there are several tables lit by oil candles, and surrounded by all kinds of stuff. In fact, you will find yourself paying more attention to what is on the walls and in various display cases around the room, than actually eating your food.
They have a large number of clocks of different sizes, all of which are stopped at different times of the day. There is a display frame showing half a dozen old China tea cups, another case containing what look like a very old set of shaving equipment - men's razor, brush, and even an old pocket watch. There are movie posters, modern art prints, ornate lanterns, a rusty and retired office fan on the floor, a miniature cast-iron horse and even the remains of a child's pedal-scooter resting precariously on the window-sill.
I can't begin to describe all of the stuff they have in there. You have to see it to believe it. And, unlike the kitschy eating places back home, one gets the feeling that all of the junk displayed in the Junk is probably the real McCoy. Someone, somewhere in the distant past actually owned and used those clocks and watches, or actually drank from those China tea cups. Everything on display in the Junk seems to carry the almost invisible but indelible patina of human emotion and meaning.
What about the food and the ambiance, I hear you scream? Well, there is nothing junky about the eating experience in the Junk. The seats are comfortably old-fashioned, and not cramped, even when the place is packed. I also thoroughly compliment whoever chooses the background music - there is always jazz, or Latin American rhythms, anything artistic and quirky, and definitely not chart pop, which would ruin the charm.
The menu is a few dark pages bound in flat pieces of wood, and the choice is admittedly limited to Western and fusion dishes such as rack of lamb, pasta favourites such as lasagna, and of course fish and chips. There are usually several chef's specials, and a nice selection of desserts which change regularly. There is a short but impressive wine list and beer for the alkies, and a much wider range of fruit juices, fruit crushes and beverages on offer. I particularly recommend the Ribena Sprite.
When the food arrives, you will find yourself pleasantly shocked. The one thing the Junk has become famous for is the size of its portions. They are theatrically, gutbustingly huge. I warn all of my readers - only go to the Junk if you are really really starving.
This evening, I ordered an excellent carrot soup to start with, followed by a fettuccine carbonnara. The soup came in a plate the size of a car tyre, and there was so much of it, I could have dived in and swum in it!
My niece had the fish and chips, which I have had many times, and she couldn't finish it - the mountain of salad and the ocean-liner sized pieces of fish had to be packed up to take home and only the chips were touched.
My wife experimented with a lamb dish which was not quite so voluminous as the others but made up for it with a riot of colourful vegetables and a very "interesting" sauce.
The carbonnara I had is one of my Junk favourites - a deceptively monstrous mound of creamy, firm fettuccine intimately involved with beef bacon (this being a Muslim country) and pleasingly herby mushrooms.
Heaven on a plate, washed down in my case with a glass of watermelon juice.
Oh, for a life of the senses!!
The Junk is not just a great place to fill your tummy, but it's also jam-full of the most surprising antiques, and bits and pieces of old lives. Yet it is definitely not a "Theme Restaurant" full of kitschy tat. The theme of the Junk is that there is no theme.
Back in the UK, there are so many of these "Theme Restaurants" which try often too hard to represent some quirky aspect of popular culture or sport. They have all kinds of superfluous items displayed on the walls and ceilings - horse shoes, rows of books, baseball bats, canoes (yes I kid you not!), aeroplane propellers and even hub-caps from 1950s Cadillacs. But although I've been in places like them all over the world, I am never totally convinced that the items on display are actually genuine. I have always suspected that there is a factory somewhere where they actually manufacture the tat that decorates these kind of restaurants.
But the Junk is different. Just start with its name. When I first saw the name, I naturally thought that "Junk" referred to an old Chinese fishing boat. I expected to enter the restaurant and find myself surrounded by fishing nets, lobster pots and other oceanic paraphernalia. But the Junk is so-called because it's, well, full of old junk! And what wonderful old junk it is!
As soon as you go into the place, you see that everything is under lit and there are candles everywhere. There are even fishing nets on the ceiling, along with old photos, advertisement posters from donkeys' years ago, old maps, etc. All the furniture is aged-looking and made of somewhat Tokienesque dark wood. Reminded me of some of the older English pubs back home.
When you go up the rather narrow wooden stairs to the dining room, you immediately encounter one of Kuching's most stunning pieces of organic art. All the way up the stairs, to the left is a most remarkable coral-like encrustation made from the wax of probably thousands of candles, which have melted down over the years and just coagulated into a mass that reminds one of the sci-fi movie The Blob. You can see that this waxen Thing has strata just like rocks, with the darker, older wax visible at the bottom, while the newer crudiments are pristine and white at the top.
Upstairs, there are several tables lit by oil candles, and surrounded by all kinds of stuff. In fact, you will find yourself paying more attention to what is on the walls and in various display cases around the room, than actually eating your food.
They have a large number of clocks of different sizes, all of which are stopped at different times of the day. There is a display frame showing half a dozen old China tea cups, another case containing what look like a very old set of shaving equipment - men's razor, brush, and even an old pocket watch. There are movie posters, modern art prints, ornate lanterns, a rusty and retired office fan on the floor, a miniature cast-iron horse and even the remains of a child's pedal-scooter resting precariously on the window-sill.
I can't begin to describe all of the stuff they have in there. You have to see it to believe it. And, unlike the kitschy eating places back home, one gets the feeling that all of the junk displayed in the Junk is probably the real McCoy. Someone, somewhere in the distant past actually owned and used those clocks and watches, or actually drank from those China tea cups. Everything on display in the Junk seems to carry the almost invisible but indelible patina of human emotion and meaning.
What about the food and the ambiance, I hear you scream? Well, there is nothing junky about the eating experience in the Junk. The seats are comfortably old-fashioned, and not cramped, even when the place is packed. I also thoroughly compliment whoever chooses the background music - there is always jazz, or Latin American rhythms, anything artistic and quirky, and definitely not chart pop, which would ruin the charm.
The menu is a few dark pages bound in flat pieces of wood, and the choice is admittedly limited to Western and fusion dishes such as rack of lamb, pasta favourites such as lasagna, and of course fish and chips. There are usually several chef's specials, and a nice selection of desserts which change regularly. There is a short but impressive wine list and beer for the alkies, and a much wider range of fruit juices, fruit crushes and beverages on offer. I particularly recommend the Ribena Sprite.
When the food arrives, you will find yourself pleasantly shocked. The one thing the Junk has become famous for is the size of its portions. They are theatrically, gutbustingly huge. I warn all of my readers - only go to the Junk if you are really really starving.
This evening, I ordered an excellent carrot soup to start with, followed by a fettuccine carbonnara. The soup came in a plate the size of a car tyre, and there was so much of it, I could have dived in and swum in it!
My niece had the fish and chips, which I have had many times, and she couldn't finish it - the mountain of salad and the ocean-liner sized pieces of fish had to be packed up to take home and only the chips were touched.
My wife experimented with a lamb dish which was not quite so voluminous as the others but made up for it with a riot of colourful vegetables and a very "interesting" sauce.
The carbonnara I had is one of my Junk favourites - a deceptively monstrous mound of creamy, firm fettuccine intimately involved with beef bacon (this being a Muslim country) and pleasingly herby mushrooms.
Heaven on a plate, washed down in my case with a glass of watermelon juice.
Oh, for a life of the senses!!
Thursday 23 August 2007
Guilty Secrets...
OK, I admit it! I'm a hypocrite. And you wanna know why? Because I just went out and bought Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
At the RM 109.90 price!!
Despite in previous posts pouring scorn on those profiteering bookshops who sold the book well over the odds, I succumbed to temptation and bought a copy now that it's payday and I'm rich again.
Don't worry, I don't think I have entirely sold my soul. The place I bought it, you see, was the kedai koperasi (co-operative shop) at my university. Not one of the big profiteering book chains, but a small store set up by the university to help the students and staff. So that's alright, then. My sociopolitical conscience is safe.... Sort of..
Besides, I was genuinely impatient to find out who gets killed off in this the last book in the Potter series.
I have already read the first five chapters and the body count is mounting. It is genuinely gripping stuff, and Rowling's style has gradually evolved and matured along with many of her readers. Gone are the mildly amusing English eccentricities and silliness present in the earlier books - this is a serious thriller set in a world which has become utterly familiar, yet ominously terrifying. I can't wait to get back to the book after posting this...
Maybe if you are all good readers and click on my advertisements, I will write a proper review of the book when I've finished.
To be honest with you, Harry Potter is just the latest in a long list of great things that I have got into long after everyone else has done them and moved on. Take pop music for instance. When I was young, everyone was blowing up their hair and throwing themselves all over the place to the sounds of the Smiths, the Pet Shop Boys and Depeche Mode, to name a few great icons of the Eighties and early Nineties.
Yet at the time, I couldn't stand them. I much preferred Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson. I thought the lead singer of the Smiths sounded like a manic depressive on mogadon who produced music to slit your wrists to. Depeche Mode were just weirdos with silly hair and make-up, to me then. And the Pet Shop Boys well, what were they on about, eh?
Now I'm an old codger of 42-ish, look at me. What are the most frequently-played CDs in my car? The Smiths Greatest Volumes 1 and 2. An absolutely superb double CD remix compilation of - you've guessed it - Depeche Mode. And a similarly brilliant collection of the Pet Shop Boys' Greatest Hits. And I keep on playing them, over and over, because I love them for reminding me of the fun I never had.
In fact, if you really want to know, the past is for me by far the richest source of musical enjoyment. I'm not saying that I don't rate the current music scene - oh no. I think, for instance, that Robbie Williams is a wonderfully inventive cheeky working-class genius who makes me proud to be British whenever I hear his stuff. I am also turned on massively by the innovative and exciting vibes of hip-hop and jazz, and the way rappers like Eminem twist the language round and round and speed it up in ways never imagined before excites my linguistic sensibility. And I think George Michael, for all his mercurial temper, has one of the best soul voices in existence.
But, as some old fogies might say, they don't make songs like they used to. Like, for instance, the Beatles. Like Elvis. Like Bowie. Like the Stones. Like Pink Floyd. Like Led Zeppelin. Like the Doors. Like Stevie Wonder in his Songs in the Key of Life period. Like Michael Jackson when he was still black.
I could go on of course.
I came to all of these artists much later than their maximum sell-by date, and because of this I appreciate them more. And the reason is that time, as well as healing all wounds, helps us to see the value in things that we just couldn't appreciate at the time because, well, we were too busy experiencing them to notice.
At the RM 109.90 price!!
Despite in previous posts pouring scorn on those profiteering bookshops who sold the book well over the odds, I succumbed to temptation and bought a copy now that it's payday and I'm rich again.
Don't worry, I don't think I have entirely sold my soul. The place I bought it, you see, was the kedai koperasi (co-operative shop) at my university. Not one of the big profiteering book chains, but a small store set up by the university to help the students and staff. So that's alright, then. My sociopolitical conscience is safe.... Sort of..
Besides, I was genuinely impatient to find out who gets killed off in this the last book in the Potter series.
I have already read the first five chapters and the body count is mounting. It is genuinely gripping stuff, and Rowling's style has gradually evolved and matured along with many of her readers. Gone are the mildly amusing English eccentricities and silliness present in the earlier books - this is a serious thriller set in a world which has become utterly familiar, yet ominously terrifying. I can't wait to get back to the book after posting this...
Maybe if you are all good readers and click on my advertisements, I will write a proper review of the book when I've finished.
To be honest with you, Harry Potter is just the latest in a long list of great things that I have got into long after everyone else has done them and moved on. Take pop music for instance. When I was young, everyone was blowing up their hair and throwing themselves all over the place to the sounds of the Smiths, the Pet Shop Boys and Depeche Mode, to name a few great icons of the Eighties and early Nineties.
Yet at the time, I couldn't stand them. I much preferred Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson. I thought the lead singer of the Smiths sounded like a manic depressive on mogadon who produced music to slit your wrists to. Depeche Mode were just weirdos with silly hair and make-up, to me then. And the Pet Shop Boys well, what were they on about, eh?
Now I'm an old codger of 42-ish, look at me. What are the most frequently-played CDs in my car? The Smiths Greatest Volumes 1 and 2. An absolutely superb double CD remix compilation of - you've guessed it - Depeche Mode. And a similarly brilliant collection of the Pet Shop Boys' Greatest Hits. And I keep on playing them, over and over, because I love them for reminding me of the fun I never had.
In fact, if you really want to know, the past is for me by far the richest source of musical enjoyment. I'm not saying that I don't rate the current music scene - oh no. I think, for instance, that Robbie Williams is a wonderfully inventive cheeky working-class genius who makes me proud to be British whenever I hear his stuff. I am also turned on massively by the innovative and exciting vibes of hip-hop and jazz, and the way rappers like Eminem twist the language round and round and speed it up in ways never imagined before excites my linguistic sensibility. And I think George Michael, for all his mercurial temper, has one of the best soul voices in existence.
But, as some old fogies might say, they don't make songs like they used to. Like, for instance, the Beatles. Like Elvis. Like Bowie. Like the Stones. Like Pink Floyd. Like Led Zeppelin. Like the Doors. Like Stevie Wonder in his Songs in the Key of Life period. Like Michael Jackson when he was still black.
I could go on of course.
I came to all of these artists much later than their maximum sell-by date, and because of this I appreciate them more. And the reason is that time, as well as healing all wounds, helps us to see the value in things that we just couldn't appreciate at the time because, well, we were too busy experiencing them to notice.
Thursday 16 August 2007
Phantom Vibrations
Strange things happen when you wear your mobile phone clipped to your belt…
Apart from constant cramp caused by the damned thing digging into your gut when you are sitting down, and the constant danger of someone snatching your phone when you’re not looking, there is a very spooky phenomenon associated with wearing your phone on your belt. It’s called the Phantom Vibrations!!!
Allow me to explain. I’ve never understood people who carry their phones in their hands everywhere they go. I mean don’t they want to have both hands free when they are watching TV, going to the toilet, drinking coffee, shaking hands or (God forbid) riding their motorbikes? My niece, who is staying with us for a while, sometimes carries TWO phones AND her purse at the same time when we go out to Chillipeppers. I mean, haven’t these people heard of POCKETS or BAGS?
So, when I carry my phone, I want to keep it somewhere out of the way, unobtrusive and not causing any encumbrance, because I’m the kinda guy who definitely does not like to have both hands full. And that’s why I wear my phone, inside a neat little leather pouch, clipped to my belt.
You wouldn't have guessed it, but I’m very particular about phone etiquette. I’m one of those people who were born before mobile phones started to take over our lives. So I believe that it is ostentatious and showy and pretentious to carry your phone around everywhere you go, letting all and sundry see it. I believe that your phone should be carried discreetly out of sight, like James Bond carries his gun, only to be whipped out when needed.
I also believe that it is extremely rude to let your phone ring loudly in public, especially in meetings, at dinner or in cinemas, and especially if your ring tone sounds like Mozart, a police siren, or even worse, like the latest Justin Timberlake song.
So, I always have my phone on silent mode, or, as it’s sometimes known, kinky mode….And it’s kinky, because, ahem, it VIBRATES when someone is calling you or sending you a message. And that’s fine and dandy with me.
But, and here is the really eerie bit: sometimes, the vibrations are not real. THEY ARE PHANTOM VIBRATIONS!!! This unearthly phenomenon has happened to me several times now. Picture the scene. I’m in the restaurant with the family and I feel that little tingling feeling at my left hip that tells me a call is being made. So I say to the wife “oh, someone is calling me, darling”, and promptly reach for my phone. But, but no call is registered on the phone’s screen!! THE CALL DID NOT EXIST!! IT WAS A PHANTOM VIBRATION!!!
It even happens in the car, while driving, for goodness’ sake! I’m driving along nice and jolly, then suddenly, I feel that little vibratory thrill on my left gut and, as soon as I check the phone later on to see who it was who called me, THERE IS NOTHING THERE!!!!
And it even happens when I’m not carrying my phone!! What’s going on?!?!
Now, I’m not suggesting there is any supernatural origin to this phenomenon. I don’t really believe in ghosts. It’s probably caused by wishful thinking, or a freak nervous reaction to my constantly getting messages or calls, or a reaction to too many fizzy drinks. Or maybe it might be highly localized hunger pangs.
Or it might just be secret messages being transmitted to my tummy by aliens. Maybe one night, when I was asleep, little green alien doctors came crawling through my window and implanted a little alien tracking device in my gut. And when I get my phantom vibrations, that can mean only one thing…….THEY’RE COMING TO REMOVE THE STITCHES!!!
But seriously, whatever it is, I just put it down to one of the inevitable consequences of using technological tools in the early 21st Century. I know what you’re thinking!! Wash your mouth out with soap and water!!!!
Sunday 12 August 2007
You Say Tomato...
There is a café in Kuching that used to waste a whole kilo of tomatoes every week because of one man. And that man is me.
The café I am talking about is called Chillipeppers, which is really ironic given what I said in my previous post about my aversion to Chili. But the great thing about Chillipeppers is that it allows me to completely side-step my chili problem and eat lots and lots of other lovely things that absolutely do not have any chili in them!
And my favourite breakfast, without fail, is the smoked turkey ham and cheese croissant. This delicious repast always comes with a couple of tomato slices in it. Now, let me reveal another dark secret from my culinary life – if there is anything I can’t stand more than chilies, it’s tomatoes. They make me puke, simple as that. I can’t understand it, because I like tomato puree, tomato ketchup, tinned Italian tomatoes, and of course the tomato sauce they put on pizzas.
Now, many of you reading this are probably nibbling with indignation that someone could be so averse to tomatoes. Even my dear wife, who can eat them till they come out of her ears, is always nagging me to eat my tomatoes, because they are good for me and will help me to get thinner.
So what’s a boy to do? Stay off the tomatoes and get fatter, or eat his tomatoes like a good boy and see if it will help him to reduce his voluminous tummy? Well, what with all the health issues floating around our family at the moment, I have decided to bite the bullet (or at least the tomato anyway) and try to take some tomato from time to time.
So every time I go to Chillipeppers I now eat the tomato slice, thus helping Mr. Tommy to reduce his wastage overheads. And actually, the tomatoes are not bad – especially if I close my eyes and think of
But nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever make me change my mind about chili. It stays in hell where it belongs!!
Sunday 5 August 2007
Voodoo Chillin'
One of the great things about South East Asia is the food. In fact, that's so much of a truism, that we may as well say 'one of the great things about the South Pole is the snow'.
In Malaysia, I cannot even begin to describe the salivatory delights of the different cuisines - Malay, Chinese, Indian, native, fusion, Western, Nonya, Kelantanese, Minangkabau, Indonesian, and I could go on and on and on until I need a new belt.
However, I have a handicap when it comes to enjoying all this culinary wonder. And it's quite a serious handicap, really, for anyone who lives in Malaysia and needs to eat. And it's this:
I can't stand chili!!!!!!!
Now by chili, I don't mean those innocent-looking, red or green or yellow things that some people put in salads and call peppers, or paprika or capsicums. I have no problem with those at all.
Also, I don't mean the kind of chili used in chili con carne, that wonderful Mexican addition to world culture, that I used to enjoy so much during my American posting in my youth.
By chili, I mean those little tiny carrot-shaped red or green flakes of hellfire that are used in almost any dish in Malaysia that you care to try. Especially the Malay food, nearly all Indonesian dishes, and, absolutely everywhere else. It's even in pizzas, and all branches of KFC offer chili sauce along with tomato ketchup.
I mean, it's hard enough getting used to the tropical heat as it is, especially for a Gentleman of Girth such as myself. So imagine what it’s like to be presented with thousands of degrees of additional blistering heat in the form of a meal that, on the surface of it looks delicious, but is laced with those little red cluster bombs.
Chillies in Malaysia come in different sizes and colours - mostly red and green - and range from a few inches long to a few millimetres. Apparently the smaller they are, the more deadly the payload. The smaller ones are commonly known as cili padi in Malay, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous!
Chili is used in everything - grated in fried rice, added to soups, mixed in with noodles, cooked with chicken and fish and forms a major part of one of Malaysia's great signature dishes - nasi lemak. Nasi lemak is rice cooked in coconut milk, with various accountrements that include dried anchovies (ikan bilis), half a boiled egg, a handful of peanuts in their skins, sometimes some curry chicken and finally the dreaded sambal belacan.
Sambal belacan is basically reddish-brown prawn paste which is mixed in with dried chillies. The prawn paste has a pungency that makes my eyes water from across the street, especially if it is being prepared the old fashioned way using pestle and mortar.
Now, on the surface of it, Nasi lemak is absolutely delicious - the rice is heavenly, if fattening, and the peanuts are a nice peck, and even the dried anchovies are jolly in a fishy, crunchy sort of way. And the chicken or the egg are, well, chicken or egg.
But nasi lemak only works for me if you take away the sambal belacan, with its deadly payload of chili. But the irony of it is that if you do that, it wouldn't be nasi lemak. Rather like eating fish and chips without the batter.
So I politely avoid the stuff. Which is hard to do if you work, like me, in a place where nasi lemak is always served for breakfast whenever we have meetings. Sorry, friends.
So, I hear you scream, what on earth do you eat if you can't take chili in Malaysia? Well, judging by the size of my stomach, I don't starve. Find out more in my next exciting chili-free post…
In Malaysia, I cannot even begin to describe the salivatory delights of the different cuisines - Malay, Chinese, Indian, native, fusion, Western, Nonya, Kelantanese, Minangkabau, Indonesian, and I could go on and on and on until I need a new belt.
However, I have a handicap when it comes to enjoying all this culinary wonder. And it's quite a serious handicap, really, for anyone who lives in Malaysia and needs to eat. And it's this:
I can't stand chili!!!!!!!
Now by chili, I don't mean those innocent-looking, red or green or yellow things that some people put in salads and call peppers, or paprika or capsicums. I have no problem with those at all.
Also, I don't mean the kind of chili used in chili con carne, that wonderful Mexican addition to world culture, that I used to enjoy so much during my American posting in my youth.
By chili, I mean those little tiny carrot-shaped red or green flakes of hellfire that are used in almost any dish in Malaysia that you care to try. Especially the Malay food, nearly all Indonesian dishes, and, absolutely everywhere else. It's even in pizzas, and all branches of KFC offer chili sauce along with tomato ketchup.
I mean, it's hard enough getting used to the tropical heat as it is, especially for a Gentleman of Girth such as myself. So imagine what it’s like to be presented with thousands of degrees of additional blistering heat in the form of a meal that, on the surface of it looks delicious, but is laced with those little red cluster bombs.
Chillies in Malaysia come in different sizes and colours - mostly red and green - and range from a few inches long to a few millimetres. Apparently the smaller they are, the more deadly the payload. The smaller ones are commonly known as cili padi in Malay, but that doesn't make them any less dangerous!
Chili is used in everything - grated in fried rice, added to soups, mixed in with noodles, cooked with chicken and fish and forms a major part of one of Malaysia's great signature dishes - nasi lemak. Nasi lemak is rice cooked in coconut milk, with various accountrements that include dried anchovies (ikan bilis), half a boiled egg, a handful of peanuts in their skins, sometimes some curry chicken and finally the dreaded sambal belacan.
Sambal belacan is basically reddish-brown prawn paste which is mixed in with dried chillies. The prawn paste has a pungency that makes my eyes water from across the street, especially if it is being prepared the old fashioned way using pestle and mortar.
Now, on the surface of it, Nasi lemak is absolutely delicious - the rice is heavenly, if fattening, and the peanuts are a nice peck, and even the dried anchovies are jolly in a fishy, crunchy sort of way. And the chicken or the egg are, well, chicken or egg.
But nasi lemak only works for me if you take away the sambal belacan, with its deadly payload of chili. But the irony of it is that if you do that, it wouldn't be nasi lemak. Rather like eating fish and chips without the batter.
So I politely avoid the stuff. Which is hard to do if you work, like me, in a place where nasi lemak is always served for breakfast whenever we have meetings. Sorry, friends.
So, I hear you scream, what on earth do you eat if you can't take chili in Malaysia? Well, judging by the size of my stomach, I don't starve. Find out more in my next exciting chili-free post…
Saturday 4 August 2007
Just can't resist....
Sorry about this, folks. They say there is a little kid in all of us, and, well, my Inner Kid needs just one more kick around the sand pit before going to bed...
I just visited another branch of one of Kuching's most 'popular' bookshops and noticed an amazing 59 unsold copies (well, let's round it up to 60!) of the new Harry potter book, being sold at the maximum price of RM 109.90. Prof. Madder noticed that the previous book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, was on sale for RM 39.90. What a difference two years make!!
So, rather than go on childishly digging away at the booksellers (who I actually respect a great deal of course), I thought I would take pity on them by offering some light-hearted advice on what to do with all those unsold copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
1. Make them into a life-sized model of the Petronas Twin Towers
2. Fill up two or three Space Shuttles with them and blast them off into space
3. Sell them to Dubai for their offshore land reclamation projects
4. Let the Army use them for target practice
5. Make furniture out of them
6. Make a new Malaysian island out of them
7. Give them their own web site
8. Use them for landfill
9. Make bullet-proof vests out of them
10. Make a reality show about them
11. Sell them at a price everyone can afford…
There. Now, I promise, there will be no more postings about Harry Potter! Expelliamus!!
I just visited another branch of one of Kuching's most 'popular' bookshops and noticed an amazing 59 unsold copies (well, let's round it up to 60!) of the new Harry potter book, being sold at the maximum price of RM 109.90. Prof. Madder noticed that the previous book, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, was on sale for RM 39.90. What a difference two years make!!
So, rather than go on childishly digging away at the booksellers (who I actually respect a great deal of course), I thought I would take pity on them by offering some light-hearted advice on what to do with all those unsold copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
1. Make them into a life-sized model of the Petronas Twin Towers
2. Fill up two or three Space Shuttles with them and blast them off into space
3. Sell them to Dubai for their offshore land reclamation projects
4. Let the Army use them for target practice
5. Make furniture out of them
6. Make a new Malaysian island out of them
7. Give them their own web site
8. Use them for landfill
9. Make bullet-proof vests out of them
10. Make a reality show about them
11. Sell them at a price everyone can afford…
There. Now, I promise, there will be no more postings about Harry Potter! Expelliamus!!
Wednesday 1 August 2007
A Teaspoonful of Poetic Justice
Well, Prof. Madder thought he would make good use of his leave and have a look around the bookshops, to examine at first hand the debris left behind after the Harry Potter War in Kuching. Only had time to visit two of the town's most well-stocked emporia. The first one, T***s Bookshop in Crowne Plaza Riverside, showed many signs of the mighty struggle arising from the heroic standoff made by this and other shops against the forces of the Free Market.
Not only was the shop nearly empty (mind you it was lunchtime on a Tuesday!), but Prof. Madder noticed two mountainous piles of unsold copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, right in the middle of the children's section. A quick count revealed approximately 180 unsold copies of the most popular book on the planet, all arranged in nice neat little piles resembling two lonely hillocks!! And, shock-horror, the price was RM 109.90!!!
I thought I would take pity on T***s, which is probably Kuching's best bookshop, by buying some (non-Potter) books - an excellent collection of horror stories by Rudyard Kipling, and two diet books for the wife. Interestingly, when I went to pay, there was a rather contrite letter posted on the counter that apologised for any inconvenience now that an agreement had been made to sell the Potter book at RM 109.90, and that, as a special consideration, the book will be available at 20% off to normal buyers and 25% off to members like me.
But even the RM 82-odd reduced members' price is too much to pay. These cartels need to be punished, so I am going to wait until Christmas or thereabouts, when the price will inevitably go down below RM 50. And I'm going to studiously avoid any plot spoilers in the newspapers and on the net! So please don't tell me who died in the end!!
The other bookshop I went to, P*****r in the Hock Lee Centre, interestingly had hardly any Potters left, and they were selling for the RM 109.90 price tag also. An interesting anomaly, that, but probably an exception that proves the rule, as Holmes might have said...
And a tiny crumb of satisfaction lifted the corner of Prof. Madder's mouth as he walked away to his car...
Not only was the shop nearly empty (mind you it was lunchtime on a Tuesday!), but Prof. Madder noticed two mountainous piles of unsold copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, right in the middle of the children's section. A quick count revealed approximately 180 unsold copies of the most popular book on the planet, all arranged in nice neat little piles resembling two lonely hillocks!! And, shock-horror, the price was RM 109.90!!!
I thought I would take pity on T***s, which is probably Kuching's best bookshop, by buying some (non-Potter) books - an excellent collection of horror stories by Rudyard Kipling, and two diet books for the wife. Interestingly, when I went to pay, there was a rather contrite letter posted on the counter that apologised for any inconvenience now that an agreement had been made to sell the Potter book at RM 109.90, and that, as a special consideration, the book will be available at 20% off to normal buyers and 25% off to members like me.
But even the RM 82-odd reduced members' price is too much to pay. These cartels need to be punished, so I am going to wait until Christmas or thereabouts, when the price will inevitably go down below RM 50. And I'm going to studiously avoid any plot spoilers in the newspapers and on the net! So please don't tell me who died in the end!!
The other bookshop I went to, P*****r in the Hock Lee Centre, interestingly had hardly any Potters left, and they were selling for the RM 109.90 price tag also. An interesting anomaly, that, but probably an exception that proves the rule, as Holmes might have said...
And a tiny crumb of satisfaction lifted the corner of Prof. Madder's mouth as he walked away to his car...
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