The Thrill Is Gone

The Boyfriend had to see the Raffles Hotel once. So on an afternoon when I was struggling with a cold and jet lag, a lovely restored hotel seemed just the amount of sight seeing I could muster. We arrived about a half hour before they started serving afternoon tea. I thought we would walk around the hotel and work up an appetite for another meal.

Off we went:

I enjoyed the Leica shop, the APC shop and we both enjoyed the Raffles Hotel Museum. There were some lovely old memorabilia and letters from the hotel's heyday. Photographs of the restoration work really showed how much the building had deteriorated and needed the work. Funny that the museum was the only part of the hotel in which I could feel what a lively place the hotel had been. A model of the hotel also showed that there was now a rooftop swimming pool. I imagined the hotel guests lounging around or splashing about in the pool as we padded quietly around the museum.

After the museum visit, we were just not ready for another meal. I wanted to leave. As soon as possible. As we wandered the galleries all afternoon, there was barely anyone else around. I was sad that the restoration had done away with all the bustling life I remembered of the old hotel.

Raffles Hotel

1 Beach Road

Singapore

(6337 1886 / fax 6339 7650)

Mannequins

The Boyfriend spotted this great fabric shop in the Arab Quarter. The fabrics are really beautiful. For whatever reason, this reminds me of Mario Bava.

Night Time Skyline

Taken on the night we went for a walk along the Marina Promenade with our friends, D and C.

Tranquility

Our friend, also D, lives in a house with a koi pond just off the front sitting room. After a stressful day at work, he finds it soothing to sit by the pond with his fish. Each fish has a distinct personality. When he feeds them, one or two will come and eat out of his hand.

Thanksgiving Interlude

Before it's too late to be appropriate, I am interrupting the Singapore posts to share highlights from my Thanksgiving Dinner. As per our tradition, the Boyfriend, his son and I went out to dinner at the Gotham Bar and Grill. I had my usual Thanksgiving lobster:

This year, it was Thai-spiced Maine Lobster with some water spinach, snow peas and rice noodles. It was divine. The roasted lobster meat was perfect - flavourful, springy but yielding. And the broth tasted like lemongrass kaffir lime-laced lobster bisque.

My favourite of the desserts was the slightly bitter Chocolate Sesame Devils Food Cake. I love a rich, dark chocolate:

Needless to say, I fell into a blissful food coma on the sofa at home after all the richness.

Gotham Bar and Grill

12 East 12th Street

New York, New York 10003

(212) 620 4020

Tropical Storm

One of the great pleasures of our hotel room on our Singapore trip, was remote controlled blackout curtains. Pitch darkness at one push of a button. The only way I could tell night from day whenever I woke up was by sound - the discreet alarm clock was on the Boyfriend's side. The chorus of frogs meant that it was still night. Bird call - of many birds - meant that dawn was breaking. The steady sound of the waterfall alone meant that it was probably mid-morning.

A few days into our trip, I woke up to an unfamiliar sound. I had trouble putting my finger on it. No sound of frogs. No sound of birds, either. No sounds of people moving around outside. Then I realised what it was - the sound of the waterfall in stereo. I went out onto the balcony. It was a proper Tropical Storm. The skies had opened up and the palm trees around the pool flapped about wildly under the downpour and wind. It was still dark but the raindrops reflected so much light that the sky was a pink gold.

Lunch in the Botanic Gardens

On the last day of our quick jaunt to Singapore, the Boyfriend and I went to lunch in the Botanic Gardens. It was a great suggestion from our friend D whom we had seen the night before. In fact, he had suggested a night time walk in the gardens. Coming from New York, the idea of park and night seemed a not-so-great. I remember walking through the Central Park as darkness descended. It was a little sinister. Of course, I highly doubt there would be anything remotely sinister in the Botanic Gardens at night - we were in Singapore, after all. A night time walk in a garden could be romantic even. Except for mosquitoes. Lots of them. They seem to like me a lot. So we spent the last evening at Dempsey Hill - more of that in a later post.

D had suggested that we go to lunch at Halia restaurant and then take a leisurely walk through the gardens before getting our bags and going to the airport. As it turned out, we had a lovely, albeit brisk, walk to the restaurant in the gardens and a longer meander after lunch. Here are some highlights of the walk:

It was relatively overcast and I was blown away by the beauty and tranquility of the lovely, vast green space smack in the middle of a very bustling city. The rainforest part of the gardens bordered one side of the path we walked along. So on our right, we had gorgeous open gardens and on our left, what looked like a thick rainforest.

When we got to Halia, I asked for the glassed-in air-conditioned room. The covered outdoor area looked lovely, but even a short walk on an overcast day could induce perspiring in the tropics. We opted for the two-course set lunch, the highlight of which was the Spaghetti with Chilli Crab, the restaurant's take on the popular local dish. I was thrilled we got to cross that off our foods-to-try list and that it was done without my having to excavate the crab meat out of crab shells. I loved the sharp spices and heat of the dish. The soft and smooth textures of the crab meat and pasta contrasted so well with the vivid sauce. I also have to make a special note of the standard breakfast tea they served at the end of the meal. I imagine it probably came from a supermarket standard teabag, but it was so strong! My after school mugs of tea came back to me instantly. (Of course, again, I inhaled lunch before I even looked at my camera on the table.)

Lunch over, with some time on our hands, we decided to explore a bit of the gardens. We went to the National Orchid Garden next to the restaurant. The varieties of orchids were pretty staggering - small, large, bright, pale. Everywhere we turned there was another gorgeous orchid species:

We had to skip the covered enclosure - with even more orchids - because I could feel the mosquitoes within two steps into the shade.

The sun had come out and I was reminded of Noel Coward's song about Mad Dogs and Englishmen. It was clearly time to return to the hotel for a rest before the twenty-odd-hour journey back to New York.

More images from the Botanic Gardens:

One of the things I love about Singapore, is proximity of nature in its incredible beauty.

Halia Restaurant

1 Cluny Road, Ginger Garden

(enter via Tyersall Road)

Singapore

(6476 6711)

Singapore Botanic Gardens

1 Cluny Road

Singapore

(6471 7361)

Chicken Rice at The Chatterbox

The Boyfriend and I went on a mini break to Singapore a few weeks ago. Six days on the other side of the world! He had never been to Singapore. I grew up there and one of the things I miss the most about Singapore is the food. He was looking forward to trying all the things I talk about all the time. (I had planned on taking copious photos and put together a Singapore food journal. Unfortunately, I would dive headlong into most of the meals and only realise I forgot to shoot the picture when I came up for air mid-meal.)

One photo I managed was the first - late - lunch of the trip. (We had already decimated a breakfast of Mee Siam, Popiah, Sooh Kuey, Otah and Kaya Toast - hence the late lunch - when I looked to the right of my plate and saw my camera sitting on the table still ensconced in its case.)

The lunch - many hours later - had to be Chicken Rice at The Chatterbox. Flavourful, tender chicken in a savoury, slightly sweet sauce. Delicious, delicious savoury rice cooked in chicken broth / fat. Perfect, intense, sweet, thick soy sauce; perfect mellow ginger sauce and perfect chilli sauce with a kick. Everything tasted as I had remembered it. The boyfriend finally understood what I had been talking about for years and years.

Singaporeans take their Chicken Rice very seriously. There are debates about who makes the best Chicken Rice in Singapore. A friend of ours was taking us to have Chicken Rice at the Tien Tien stall in the Maxwell Food Centre. The taxi driver thought the one at Thomson Road was better. For me, there is no substitute. No trip to Singapore is complete without a trip to The Chatterbox for this dish. I've been eating this at The Chatterbox for as long as I can remember. It's my Proustian madeleine, really.

We also ordered an appetiser portion of Chicken Satay. I forgot to take the shot.

Chatterbox

1/F South Tower

Meritus Mandarin Hotel

333 Orchard Road

Singapore

(6831 6291)

Brush with Fashion Week

The boyfriend and I were walking up Mercer Street on Saturday afternoon when we happened upon Karl Lagerfeld.

He was going to his car, amid a small crowd parted like a mini-Red Sea, outside the Mercer Hotel.

He trailed Chanel 5 drydown in his wake.

Mini Break

The Boyfriend had a four-day weekend to switch from the normal work week to a Wednesday-Sunday work week. So Sunday, we went off on a mini break to Connecticut. We stayed by a gorgeous lake:





We ate some delicious food: Sauteed Wild Mushrooms and Fresh Corn Salad (I only managed images of the starters; the meal just took over and I forgot to photograph the amazing Lamb Tagine and Seared Scallop main courses):





The next day, we went for a drive to take in more views before heading home:

Summer Rain

Last summer we barely had a summer. It rain much of June and the days were cool. Mother Nature is making up for that this year. We have already had two heat waves. On the days that are not scorching hot, it has been humid. So a walk down the street becomes something of a wade through the thick air and one is covered in perspiration quickly no matter how short the distance. It's been this way for weeks now.

Everything seems to be heightened in the heat. Sounds seem a little louder, nerves more easily rattled. Walking up University Place a few nights ago, the boyfriend and I became hyper-aware. This used to be normal when New York was a more dangerous place, but we haven't had to feel this way in quite a while, especially not on University Place! It was just something in the air that made out antennae prick up.

Now we're having a proper summer rainy afternoon. It's not buckets of rain being tipped into the street. Nor is it typhoon-like sideways rain and wind extravaganza. It's just a soft, gray cast and gentle rasping of water coming down. The rattling construction noises from across the street have been muted and it feels like a much needed wash of what-I'm-not-sure. It just reminds me, in light and sound, of the magical Sunday afternoon when I was very young when I discovered René Clair's AND THEN THERE WERE NONE. Just a quiet, gentle, gray moment in time.

The Wonders of a Trip to Whole Foods

Having had a very sheltered childhood and adolescence, I am still deeply fascinated by the game of social interactions and flirtation. Thank goodness I went to a coed high school and had quite a number of male friends. There were no parties whatsoever for the entirety of my teenage years save one at the junior boarding house at age thirteen and the senior graduation party. Needless to say, I was quite oblivious to the flirtatious and sexual tensions at play at both.

Hence a trip to Whole Foods can become something of a wildlife exploration for me. What people want by the way they dress and behave can be so clear without ever having to examine their verbal ques. In fact, sometimes what they say tends to confuse the matter. I feel like I am witnessing something like the human animal version of David Attenborough’s LIFE ON EARTH, an imaginary Attenborough voice pointing out the important signals each member of the species provides the other in the courtship and mating ritual taking place.

The boyfriend and I were in the hideously crowded line in the Express checkout line several weeks ago, “Express checkout” being a relative term in the Union Square branch. The assembled crowd trudged along slowly when I noticed a girl with very short shorts ostentatiously displaying the back of her right leg as she shoved her basket along as her line moved. Then she stopped and talked to the fellow in the adjacent line. There was much smiling and eye contact. I looked to see if there was touching of her blonde hair at the appropriate pause. No, but when the line moved again, there was another very extravagant show of the back of her leg. I wondered if she realized that she had the slightest beginning of cellulite. Being a girl, I would notice these things. More overelaborate leg swinging. I would say not. Her cashier number came up. She finally picked up her basket and left. It was hard from where I stood to see the reactions of the fellow she was performing her display for, but given the smile on her face, I would say the mating dance was a success.

Then on our way home, I spied a couple in front of us. The woman was in a road accident of an outfit – tight grey jersey dress and 6-inch stilettos. Her heels were so high that she had to hold on tight to her date to avoid falling over. Her figure was too wobbly to carry the dress off. Her sides quivered as she staggered along. I looked at her thinking that the point of wearing a thong was to avoid visible panty lines. There was an entire visual thong line on display in front of me – the small of the back and the sides of the waist! They were going to The Strip House at 10pm.

I thought of Dean Wareham discussing visible panty lines and his now wife, Britta Phillips, in his memoir, “Black Postcards.” He said women tend to view visible panty lines as unsexy. That is not always the case, as is evidenced by someone describing Phillips as having the sexiest visible panty line in Indie Music. The woman walking into The Strip House is a million miles away from Phillips. However, given that she was out on a date to a very nice steakhouse, I would say that her choice of plumage did the trick in the courtship and mating game.

Just because...

Last week, inspired by Rita Konig's T magazine blog post, I bought some flowers for my bedside table.

Di Palo's

The boyfriend has just returned from a trip to Di Palo's. He brought back many goodies: roasted peppers, chestnut honey, olive oils for cooking and finishing, burrata... When he was unpacking, he put two warm, unlabeled packages in my hand. They turned out to be slow-cooked, Umbrian-style porchetta they make in-house. With no self-control, I reached for knife and fork and attacked one of the packages on the kitchen counter. I felt liked I had died and gone to heaven. I often feel this way when I go to Di Palo's.

Di Palo's Fine Foods
200 Grand Street
New York, NY 10013
(212) 226 1033

Hermès Fever

I have been following reports of the goings on at the Hermès Sample Sale, which opened to the public today, on Racked New York. Their reporter arrived at 7:55am and did not enter the sale until 9:18am. A post at 3:24pm reported that the wait was around two-and-a-half hours. Needless to say, this sample sale is not for the faint-of-heart. And thank goodness for all the people in the queues that it's a beautiful day - lovely light; a bit nippy, but tolerable.

I no longer have the wherewithal for sample sales. When I first started going to these sales, they were usually crowded, but there was often no line. It was as if the people who went to these sales were part of a secret club. I bought lovely things at sample sale prices: a grey silk/cotton Philosphy shift or a thick cashmere Michael Kors tee shirt for $50. Then one Sunday night, I heard Carrie Bradshaw mention "sample saling" on SEX AND THE CITY. I knew it was over. Lines appeared outside the sales, the wait got much longer and the prices much higher.

The very first sample sale I ever attended did not even take place in New York. I was in Paris and spotted a little notice for an Hermès sale in Libération. Being the fashion-obssessed student that I was, I went, probably skipping one lecture or another. It was a half-hour wait outside on a very cold March morning. Once inside, I was stunned to see people grabbing things as they appeared on the sales floor. The M.O. was grab first, evaluate later. I felt a weird disconnect between the ultra refined image of Hermès and the savage behaviour I saw around me, but I got into the spirit of things. At the time, scarves were the equivalent of $50! I bought presents for my mother and sisters, not to mention myself. I emerged breathless and triumphant.

My most remarkable Hermès find, however, was not at that first sample sale. The most unexpected find would be in a non-descript space on Broadway between Broome and Grand streets. This was, again, many years ago when Soho was in the midst of its change from arty neighbour to the mall that it is today. The art galleries were all but gone, but the established mall stores had not quite made their ubiquitous presence felt. Sales would take up residence in store spaces for a few weeks at a time and then disappear, never to be seen again. The shopping area I loved was Nolita. It was in its heyday. Ordinarily, I would never have walked into any of these random sales, but my friend had found a Miu Miu dress in one of them. She wanted to go have a look. I thought, why not. The most temporary, ugly store fittings housed some real designer odds and ends. I wandered over to the scarf display. There was a large contingent of Ferragamo scarves and the salespeople knew what they were. I browsed casually, not expecting to find a bargain when I spotted a blue scarf covered in calligraphy. I tried not to gasp visibly. I asked to have a look. It was the real thing. It had no price tag. I took it over to the cashier. The manager looked at the scarf; I looked nonchalant. He said he would give it to me for $30. I bought it immediately. No one could quite believe my story. I imagine I have the same reaction when I read of people finding Kelly bags in faraway thrift shops for $100.

Think Pink

Lately I have been very taken with Jeska Hearne's Lobster and Swan blog. It is unabashedly girly and lovely. I am very drawn to her unapologetic expression of her feminine eye and taste. It cheers me up no end to visit her blog.

I have a very complicated relationship with being girly. I have always loved girly things. My mother would have really preferred to have boys. Going through old family photographs one day, I was shocked to see an early family portrait in which both my older sisters looked like they were in drag! There was the trip, at six years old, to the hairdresser's to get a fringe for my bob. My hairstyle became a crewcut; half an inch of hair all round. My mother just insisted on taking more off and I was unable to stop the proverbial car crash, stunned as I was in the hairdresser's chair. I was traumatised. The hair looked so wrong with my royal-blue-pinafore-on-white-shirt Catholic school uniform. (I liked nothing better than to look at the girls' party dresses with ruffled skirts at the French children's clothing store at the local shopping centre. Crew cut + ruffly party dress was not something I had envisioned at the time, though the look proved quite effective in an 80s Valentino ad later on.) Out of school uniform, all the children at home wore tee shirts and shorts. And they were handed down from sibling to sibling. On the one hand, it was a lesson in investing in good quality clothing. On the other hand, my immediate sibling was a brother. Needless to say, looking girly was a bit of a struggle in those days. The clothing alone can be a subject of many, many posts...

So in the spirit of girliness, and as an antidote to another dreary, grey day, I am posting images of pink things around the house. Playing the song from FUNNY FACE is optional:



What I see first thing in the morning



What I feel like doing when it's grey and dreary outside



What is in the front hallway at present

Still Winter...

Just when I thought spring was coming, I woke up to this:



Now it looks like this:



The current winter storm warning is expected to last until tomorrow evening, but the snowy forecast lasts through Saturday.

Sigh.

What a Difference a Week Makes

I woke up this morning and noticed that the light has changed. Maybe Spring is coming. Now I will rub my eyes, stretch and start making excursions from where I have been hibernating.