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