Family Reunion in the Food Haven

Wify and I recently made a trip back to Malaysia, ostensibly as an occasion for family reunion since this was to be our first trans-continental trip in almost six years, and secondarily, to relish the diversified food delicacies that Malaysia as a food haven rightly offers. While there, our primary accommodation has been the homely abode of Wify's sis, Bee Yuan, who has a keen eye for exquisite and yet affordable décor, not to mention an equally demanding palate that searches out gastronomic delights in the vicinity of her environs. At the same time, her husband, Boon Hin, took time from his hectic work schedule to be both the gracious host and the ever-ready chauffeur ferrying us on numerous trips in our food quest, chaperoned by their three affable daughters who regaled us with local tales. And to top it all, these outings were graced by our siblings from near and afar who descended on the same spot on cue.

The result is an exciting trip down the memory lane, rekindling our suspended taste for great and yet economic food forays that has long been held in abeyance (just think currency exchange). And I can find no better way of illustrating our good fortune other than the pictorial account below, in no particular chronological order.

This restaurant (or in the Malaysian lingo, restoran), sits right across from a vegetarian restaurant that we have been frequenting for dinners, but remained closed during those occasions. Apparently, the restaurant that features one of my favorite meals, Lei Cha, a taste I developed while working at the Ampang Area in KL, does not operate during dinner time. One fine morning, we decided to give it a try.

What is Lei Cha, a delicacy popularized by the Hakka clan? Here's an account of its historical origin, and its varied medicinal benefits, courtesy of the San Pao restaurant (click on the image for a clearer read). I always empty the entire Lei Cha onto the rice served in a bowl to partake of the congee-like mix, the tea leaving a lasting flavor in my mouth. I enjoyed so much that I forgot to digitalize our patronage.

This is the vegetarian restaurant referenced above. A corner lot, its relatively open configuration permits free flow of the cool night (about the only time when the weather seems comfy to us, save for the air-conditioned indoor setting) air. The service was prompt, delivering just-cooked delicious dishes in quick succession, and the price tag, extremely reasonable. No wonder we made several repeat visits during our sojourn. The name, Guan Zi, literally means self introspection.

We went to KL only once, to visit a Chinese bookstore for arts supplies. En-route, we made a stop for tea tasting here, a retreat from the hustle and bustle of city life. Several foreign tourists came it to purchase tea. The white pot in the foreground contains a famous Chinese delicacy, tea leaf eggs brewed in herbal concoctions that are just what the Sinseh (traditional doctors in the Chinese lingo) orders. "Kedai Teh" is tea shop, while the Chinese character for tea appears next to it.

We were treated to a free demonstration of Chinese tea brewing and tasting by the young sifu (in red), flanked by Wei Joo, our eldest child. The tea shop is stack-ful of all kinds of tea paraphernalia.

And yes, Bak Kut Teh, the toast of the Klang Town in Selangor. "Kedai Makanan" is eatery, used interchangeably with "restoran", while Tatusia is the phonetic equivalent for the name in Chinese, which means "Under the Big Tree", presumably the best setting for savoring the offering. However, being served indoor under a concrete roof works equally for me.

"Bak Kut" means pork rib, and teh, is, no surprise, tea. The pork rib is cooked in clay pot, served with the usual condiment of flour sticks (deep fried in oil) on plates, and Chinese tea served in dainty little cups, complete with rice soaked in the Bak Kut soup (that's the way I like it). The combination works wonder on our palate, necessitating several subsequent trips to the treadmill or the exercise bike, for redemption.

The Legend of Congees and Noodles. They serve both vegetarian and meat congees, and each is delightful in its own right.

On this day, when we were not observing a vegetarian diet in accordance with the Buddhist calendar, we had fish porridge (a local term for congees) served in clay pots, with home-cooked flour sticks (in a basket). Each clay pot of content fills up four mid-sized bowls; so it is rare that a patron would order a pot all to him/herself, we were thus advised by the gracious hostess.

Having dispensed with Chinese food, we now come to the culinary delights of other Malaysian brethrens. First off, roti canai, an Indian food staple that has served me well when I first left the comfort of home and the always on-call Mom's cooking for Kluang located 24 miles away from my home town, for my junior high school. It was my primary breakfast item because of its fast delivery and consumption. Made with a lot of oil, some people may balk at it. No worry, there is an alternative that is served with the same gravy dishes of dhall and curry, which I gravitated to when working in the Ampang area as my appreciation of nutritional balance grew.

Thosai is the alternative for the nutrition-conscious. According to the December 2009 issue of the SIA in-flight magazine (pg. 022), Going Places, that I happened to skim through during our return flight, thosai "has half the amount of calories of roti canai but equally delicious with dhall and curry," to which I concur unreservedly. And those are the hands of my Mom-in-law, a very wise choice by her.

Nasi Lemak, a traditional Malay dish, has found itself ensconced now in the offerings of food vendors of all races, a testimony to its tremendous popularity. The same article referenced above entitled "Trim the fat" that invites readers to "enjoy your favorite Malaysian dishes with less guilt" has the following healthier options to offer: "This dish of coconut milk steamed rice is often served with condiments such as fried ikan bilis (whitebait) [or anchovies?], roasted peanuts and a fried egg. Leave out the first two and replace the latter with a hard-boiled egg." Sound advice, but be prepared to lower your expectations for the reduced package just doesn't taste the same. I believe in occasional indulgence.

Satay, another mainstay of the Malay cuisine, is another must-taste, which we did at the KLIA just prior to our departure for our return flight. For a leaner version, here's what the same issue of Going Places has to say: "The BBQ-skewered meat is a great source of protein and only contains around 140 calories per skewer but you can have a leaner version by skipping the accompanying peanut source - the meat is flavored enough to be eaten on its own." However, I hasten to add the same caveat as above.

And the pride of Malaysian Bakery, Secret Recipe, backed by its inroads into the Asian markets. Truly Malaysia Boleh (Malaysia Can do credo).

The toast of Secret Recipe, the cheese cake. And the contented smile on Wify's face says it all.

The extended family gathered at the Old Town White Coffee, having high tea the Malaysian way.

Another variation of the three-generational family complement taken at Bee Yuan and Boon Hin's home (the smiling couple on the left in the front row, with Bee Yuan holding Bibi, one of the two family doggies. Try to spot the other one, Bubu).

A Moment of Fright, but no Danger that ended in a Family Reunion

After more than 3 years of physical separation, we were united with our elder S in US last night. He flew in with his uncle (my Bro) from Malaysia, a flight journey that took about 25 hours of air time, i.e., excluding transit time. The route took him via Singapore, Tokyo, Minneapolis, and finally, Orlando, on NW Air.

Earlier in the day, my bizarre string of events continued to unfold. First, I had a flat tire, the front driver side. It must be a slow leak over the night, though I did feel a bit heavy on the steering when I was parking last evening after I got home from work, but did not pay any attention to it as the minivan was just serviced a day earlier, with wheel alignment and tire pressure check and all.

So I called Triple A, of which I’m a member. I have previously availed of their tire changing service several times, free. This did not seem to warrant anything differently. I guessed it could be a busy Saturday morning, or maybe fewer Triple A road assistants were working. It took them about one and a half hours to reach me. That the developer has deemed it fit to change the address of our complex did not help matter too. For one thing, Mapquest could not find the new address, but the US Postal Service obviously has no problem delivering our mails.

Anyway, getting tired of waiting and also entertaining the half chance that they might not turn up after all and that we had a schedule to catch (to fetch my S and Bro arriving later part of the evening in Orlando), I proceeded to do the tire change myself, armed with some similar experience gained in Malaysia and also after witnessing the same thing done by the Triple A here. Back in Malaysia, the spare tire in my car was kept in the trunk, easily accessible. For the minivan, it’s stored below the engine chassis, and is accessible through a relatively elaborate, at least to the mechanically challenged, process by unscrewing a nut in the car compartment, which then releases the cable strap that keeps the tire in place, and gradually lowers the tire to the ground.

But first I have to find the tools (the jack, the long spanner, the jack handle, etc.), which are kept in a hidden side pocket in the cargo compartment. And yes, I have not touched, nor bothered to look for them in the past three years. So it took me a little while to release them from the grip/clamp, taking pain to memorize their positions, orientations, etc., so that I could put them back the right way, i.e., snugly.

Then it’s into the car compartment (middle row) under the floor mat to unfasten the screw that locks the spare tire in place, underneath the engine chassis as aforementioned. Just when the spare tire was being lowered, I got a call from the Triple A road assistant asking for direction (how come I’m not surprised?).

So my first tire change in US was stopped short there and then. And I have a little cut on my hand to show for that. The guy arrived 15 min later and completed the tire change in less than 10 min, using the power tool to unscrew the bolts, nary a sweat.

But that was not all. Driving with one spare tire (and one more thing, back in Malaysia the spare tire is the same size as the other tires, and the same rim size and width. Here the spare wheel looks darned thin, obviously that’s meant to be a spare, and not a replacement), I reached Sears Auto Center, the tire outlet nearest my home (about 1 mile away), related the problem (the serviceman went round the minivan, pointing out to me that some of the tires have suffered the consequences of wheel misalignment, even showing me pictures of the resulting uneven wear and tear, but I stayed true to my sole purpose: just repair the damaged tire), gave my particulars when asked, and settled into NEXT, the novel by Michael Crichton that I brought along, in the waiting room. Soon I was lost in the intrigue involving gene patenting, DNA testing, and academic dishonesty weaved by Crichton. One hour passed, just like that, and I got impatient. After all, the guy promised me an hour, a good hour, those are his words.

So I stood up, and scanned the work space which is separated from the waiting room by a glass window. Strange, I could not find my minivan from my vantage point that covers the entire work space, unobstructed. I next sauntered out of the waiting room, and saw my minivan parked on the outside. Going around it, I noticed that the flat tire has been put back where it belonged, properly inflated. So what’s happening? How long has it been sitting there, waiting for his owner to come and claim it? Questions and questions.

I walked to the front office, waited in line and approached the attendant (with some displeasure at being kept waiting), and popped the million-dollar question: Is my car done? The attendant bent down to a compartment below and pulled out a plastic bag soon after. He retrieved a form from it and told me, yes, your car is ready (and no, I did not ask him when that was) and there is no charge.

Just when I was thinking, yay, they must have realized the inordinate delay that I had suffered and was about to give me a free work order, you know, like some eateries who promise that the food order is on the house if it is not delivered within a certain time frame, the guy said nonchalantly, because we could not find the leak after the water tank test. This is the usual test when a tire suspected to be leaking is placed under water after inflating and one just looks for the tell-tale air bubbles that rise to the surface. The conclusion: no air bubbles, no leak. So did somebody let go of the air intentionally?

This is not good. I would rather it be due to some mechanical causes. Sensing my apprehension, the shop assistant ventured that sometimes dirt particles could collect around the valve, preventing it from being closed completely after air inflation through a spring mechanism. So the slow leak. And he advised me to keep monitoring and to come back if the same problem recurs.

Half believing his seemingly rational explanation (the mal-intent found in the alternative explanation is too much to stomach), I drove home to tell wify about the good news. Yes, they did not charge me for the work not done. And yes, there are honest operators here too, thus restoring my faith on human integrity.

No, that’s not the end of the twist. The best, and should I say, the scariest, was yet to come. We left for Orlando around 5.30pm, via Interstate 4. There was some weekend traffic, perhaps because of the Mother’s day weekend, but we were able to cruise along, with wify settling into a mild slumber on the passenger seat next to me.

Then lo and behold, a thing (it looked like a dark container or something) just jumped out from the back of a pickup truck in front on the middle lane (I was on the outer lane on a 6-lane dual carriageway), my preferred position when overtaking.

I tried to swerve around the fallen obstacle, which was then bouncing in front on my lane, but failed. So while keeping my foot on the brake pedal, but not in full press so as to lose control of the minivan, I tried to run over the thing, hoping for the best.

Thomp, Clomp, Sizzzzzz.......

Instead, the thing got stuck under the front bumper and was dragged along the whole time I was trying to steer the slowing minivan to the emergency lane, noticing that a SUV was approaching my rear at considerable speed through my rearview mirror, and actually cutting into the emergency lane (perhaps seeing, from his perspective, that I was struggling to stop the car on the outer lane). I managed to stop the car about, oh, may be a hundred meters or so from where the first encounter occurred, and after what seemed like an interminably long time, in the emergency lane. The SUV must have reverted back to the outer lane and passed me by when I was trying to catch my breadth. I may have stopped breathing during that few seconds of hell.

However, I soon recovered my senses. First, I put on the hazard lights, and then opened my trunk cover to indicate approaching vehicles that my car was immobilized. Then I went to the front to survey the damage. It’s a black plastic container that had been partly broken by the “ordeal”, but otherwise staying pinned under the front bumper, between the two front wheels. I called out to my S to help me extricate the intruding object while I lifted the front bumper, maybe by several inches. Unusual times call for unusual display of strength, the adrenaline push doing its job no doubt.

The unwelcome object thus removed and disposed of down the slope next to the emergency lane so that it would not be in the way of traffic, we continued our way, at first cautiously to check whether there was any other damage to the car handling, feeling blessed that we have emerged from the duration-limited but definitely high shock value adventure none the worse. I shudder to think if it were a metal container, my front wheel bursting in contact, and sparks flying, igniting a conflagration …

And the pick-up truck did not even stop, probably its driver did not even realize the mayhem he has caused, which is unlikely as we drivers are always watchful of scenes behind through the rearview mirror. [My Bro just raised another possibility after I related the mishap to him this morning: the container could have been filled with liquid that could promote hydro-planing, a phenomenon whereby a moving vehicle is sliding along on a wetted road, without any steering control, or worse, filled with petrol or some highly inflammable liquid. How a human mind can just think of the worst of worst.]

The rest of the journey ended without any more untoward incident. Instead, the mood was expectant, playful, and excited as seen from the following series of photos taken at the Concourse A of the Orlando International Airport with some famous imaginary characters. Well, it's Orlando right, where DisneyWorld and the World of Make Believe hold sway?

The Spidey connection: Mom's Medusa touch

The goofy Dad, belied by his facial expression that borders more on seriousness,
than, well, goofiness.

The Lilo kid in our D. And obviously
our younger S was not game for the photoshoot with fictional characters.

But on our returning journey, when turning into Fowler from the Interstate 75, I temporarily lost my sense of direction and ended up going around for 10 min before I found the way to our home. Things have a way of interfering with one’s perspective when driving at night.

The night ended with us catching up with our S and my Bro after all these years. And I slept soundly through the night, knowing that Mother’s Day would beckon in the morning, which it did, and that will be the subject of another blog.

Mom reunited with her elder S, equally missed by his two siblings.
Soon the remining sibling will fly in from Portland, OR on coming Thurday.
Our first family reunion in close to four years.