Una Ragazza on Eat: Truck Me My Food!

When it comes to eating in New York, my options have traditionally been at restaurants or at home (at a friend’s or my own).

In recent years, an in-between option has taken the city by storm.

Food trucks, sometimes known as mobile kitchens, have been popping up all over the place. About the size of a small U-Haul (a popular U.S. brand of moving trucks), they pack a punch in terms of the range of food and beverages that can come out of that space.

However, it wasn’t that long ago that when New Yorkers think about street food, only three types of food typically come to mind:

1. The hot dog and pretzel stand: So iconic of the city has this become, that the flagship Toys”R”Us store in Times Square has a permanent Lego display of a mobile cart.

2. The breakfast cart: On weekdays, there is one -- sometimes two -- breakfast carts on each block in Midtown and the Financial District, and many others strewn around the city. My staple is the 75-cent sugar donut.

3. The Nuts-4-Nuts cart: The fragrance of honey-roasted peanuts, almonds and cashews almost nearly tempts me to forget my nut allergies whenever I walk by one of these fellas.

Some say the recent food truck phenomenon all began with the DessertTruck. The brainchild of a young Asian-American pastry sous chef from Le Cirque, this was the first upmarket food truck I’d heard of.

One weekend night in the fall of 2007, after my friends and I had finished our entrees, one of the guys suggested we walk up a few blocks to the East Village to find the DessertTruck.

“It’s this truck that sells amazing restaurant-quality desserts, like warm chocolate bread pudding,” explains E, a foodie who works as a restaurant consultant.

True enough, this cute little truck was churning out gourmet items minus the high price tags. Everywhere it goes (you can follow it on Twitter), a queue is in tow.

It wasn’t long before other food trucks selling mobile desserts joined the foray. Even the Cooking Channel has its own ice-cream truck! Over the course of the new year, more and more food varieties started appearing on the streets. Pot stickers (guo1 tie1, for my Mandarin-speaking friends) and Wafels and Dinges (“waffles and thingies”) are some of the popular snacks I'd next encountered emerging from these trucks.

For a recent birthday, I even celebrated the occasion by going on a food truck “hunt-and-eat” in the Meatpacking District organized by the Food Network. The evening began with a long queue to register for a coveted food map that outlines the locations of the food trucks and their specialties. To make things more interesting, a host of restaurants was also invited to participate alongside these food trucks, creating a competition for the longest line of hungry people with “food stamps” in recent New York history. Additionally, retail stores along the route also joined in the fun by offering free wine and champagne to lubricate the thirsty souls while enticing them to browse their fall/winter collection of sunglasses, shoes and bags.

The evening turned out to be a good combination of eating, drinking, and chatting about which pit stop had the best offering. For me, i had not one, but five winners -- sashimi, steak tartare, garlic fries, Belgian waffles and olive ice cream.

Since that day, I have started to believe that one can very well go on a food tour in New York without ever sitting down at a table. I found myself keeping a lookout for food trucks, paying special attention to how they’re dressed since these proprietors needed to attract so much attention and open wallets with their outer covering.

Here is a photo sampling of the colorful mobiles I snapped:

La Cense Beef, voted one of the top 25 best food trucks by New York Magazine, is typically found in Midtown East or the Wall Street area

I spotted Mexicue in Union Square as they were opening shop one Saturday morning

I frequently walk by Ah1 Puo2 de (aka Granny's potstickers), which is parked right outside the new(ish) Trader Joe's on 72nd and Broadway

Pretty, pretty cupcakes... one of my top choices for a food truck theme, if I were ever to open one.

Jumping on the bandwagon of Pinkberry and Red Mango, here comes YOGO in the Flatiron District.

Guess what I found when I paid a friend in Seattle a visit? Here's Maximus Minimus, the pulled pork sandwich food truck in Seattle's famous Pike Place. Note: it's license plate reads "SOMEPIG."

A BBQ food truck in Puerto Rico! Food trucks migrating south for the winter, or a sign that this is really more than a fad?

Perhaps the most entrepreneurial of them all is Cookies N Cream, because it is not even a food truck! It has latched onto people’s psyche that a vehicle shaped like a food truck with a delicious-sounding name must have something desirable inside it. It also has found itself a semi-permanent spot along Broadway in the high-traffic, touristy part of Soho. What does it sell? Funky-looking T-shirts and toys. Judging from the curious onlookers and interested customers, I’d say it may have caught on to something.

Could this be the start of a new trend?

What next -- Q-tips and facials on the go?

Horse With No Name on Eat: Everything Old Is New Again

The extreme make-over. Is there anything more quintessentially American?

It doesn't just apply to blinging out your crib (translation: redecorating your home). You can pimp your ride (overhaul your car), upgrade your spouse's look, get your fine self into a kick-ass new wardrobe (no translation necessary there) and even give yourself a whole new face and body, if that's what you desire.

Even what's on your plate is spared no exception.

In my short jaunts across the US over the last year, I've become increasingly aware of the way restaurants here love taking the so-called “working man's meal” and transforming it into a gourmet sensation.

Take the humble burger, for instance. Perhaps the most iconic of American fast food. Just a buck and change will get you one of these at your nearest drive-through service.

It's a piece of meat between two slices of bread. But then you throw in a little of that American 'extreme make-over' magic. A little herb buttered bread, some wagyu beef, caramelized onions and crisp local vegetables, and suddenly Cinderella's a real dish, all decked out and ready to party.

Television channels like the Food Network, with their many competition-based programs, raise the culinary bar, and exemplify the way simple, everyday food is turned into almost haute cuisine.

There are examples galore of these old-school-meets-new-school transformations. Like pizza. While not officially American in origin, this dish has unequivocably been assimilated into the food culture. In fact, if American movies are to be believed, pizza is probably the official food sponsor of college fraternity houses nationwide.

Pizza isn't confined to the realm of simple doughy slabs with tomato and cheese toppings anymore. One bistro I visited in Scottsdale, Arizona – an upmarket part of the state – created a version with a crunchy, light-as-air base, topped with chi-chi sounding ingredients such as crimini mushrooms, truffled arugula and gorgonzola.

Pizza masquerading as fancy-pants food. Tasted like fancy-pants food. Amazingly, it did not cost me my first-born.

But by far the most interesting and exotic amalgamation of old-meets-new that I've encountered so far is the po'boy, a submarine sandwich made from Louisiana French bread. Wikipedia explains that it supposedly differs from your regular baguette in terms of its crispier exterior texture.

Hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana, the original po'boys - created in simple mom 'n' pop type stores for busy working-class folks of yore - held simple fillings of seafood and meats like sausages or roast beef. They're still considered one of the go-to meals in New Orleans for people on the go.

However, the version I had in California (in a mid-scale Disneyland eatery, of all places) had a slightly more swish spin on it. The po'boy here didn't look at all po', stuffed with filet mignon and “apple-smoked wood bacon”. I'd show you what it looked like, except Mr HWNN devoured the whole thing before I got the chance to take a picture.

The best part of these mind-bending, jaw-dropping creations? They probably cost about the price of having a simple doughy pizza with tomato and cheese toppings delivered to your door. Under $20.

Glorified mac and cheese from a San Diego restaurant. This is a kid's meal, by the way. Since I don't have a po'boy picture you'll just have to ogle this instead. Thankfully, this cost under $20. Just barely.

It made me wonder how would Singapore comfort food, our hawker centre favourites, would fare under similar transformations? Would they survive an extreme make-over? Or as a Singaporean might ask: “Upgrade already nice or not?”

Creature comforts

I reckon there are few sacred cows in our ever-changing Singapore society. But food, especially of the hawker centre-comfort food variety, is definitely one of them.

Singaporeans are mostly creatures of habit. If something tastes good, people faithfully return day after day, week after week to eat it. Queues at popular hawker stalls grow ever longer thanks to the mentality that “If got people queue, sure must be good one”.

Likewise, if the food changes even a little at said stalls, fans tend to be rather unforgiving, voting with their wallets to the rousing chorus of “Aiya, that place standard drop already lor.”

So I can't even begin to imagine what would happen if a suburban Singapore eatery pulled an extreme make-over on local food, because let's face it, while Singaporeans love food of any kind, most are obsessed with authentically Singaporean food.

Mr HWNN and I spent an hour tracking down this Asian eatery on a recent trip to Canada, just so we could have authentically Singaporean laksa and beef rendang. Just how obsessed are we? We missed our flight back to Arizona partly because of the massive detour we took.

Totally worth it.

But what does “authentically Singaporean” even mean? After all, if you consider Singapore's mish-mash of races and cultures, which have produced a constantly evolving mix of gastronomic delights, how far back in time would one go to verify said “authenticity”?

In order to understand this, I conducted a highly unmethodical, extremely unscientific, specifically selected survey of foodie friends. They defined “authenticity” of a dish as “something that takes you back to a certain time and place.” (Quote marks added to make it look like I've actually done some research.)

I take this to mean: Something is authentic if it tastes like what we used to eat growing up. So that's a pretty fluid definition to begin with, given that each generation may have its own idea of any particular Singaporean dish, and recipes do change as they are handed down over time.

Whatever the case may be, I'm beginning to think that perhaps we Singaporeans – in particular, the Singaporean diaspora - regard our food and our recipes as a way to stay rooted in a somewhat revolving-door culture.

Just a random glance at the Facebook pages of some Singaporean friends living in Arizona, and you'd understand just how passionately my fellow countrymen and women feel about our food. We religiously replicate Singaporean dishes and success is measured by how much these meals look and taste like those found back home.

That's saying something. Because anyone who has prepared an authentically Singaporean meal from scratch will understand just how time-sucking it can be – from preparing the myriad ingredients to the actual cooking of the food.

To actually go the extra mile and think up an extreme-make over for a popular hawker dish like mee siam (vermicelli noodles smothered in a spicy tamarind sauce), which takes me about three hours to make, is Iron Chef worthy, in my book.

Which is why I'm totally in awe of friends who are able to produce fusion cuisine on the fly. In fact, I wish I had that sort of culinary creativity. My cooking skills are still largely of the paint-by-numbers variety.

An original creation by a Singaporean friend living here in Arizona. Pan-fried spaghetti with chicken, fresh vegetables and a dash of curry powder.

Still, I think many of us in our 20s and 30s - adventurous as we are with trying out new-fangled versions of other people's cuisine – do still jealously guard our parents' and grandparents' recipes.

One foodie friend, Soh Wenlin of the Going With Your Gut blog, gave a good reason why: “I am indeed currently chasing down old-school recipes, mostly because the guardians of those recipes don't have much time left with us!”

Mr HWNN and I make batches of these delicious dumplings - called guo tie - each year, based on his mum's super yummy recipe. The practice of putting these dumplings together with the family started when he was a kid, and now we've passed down the tradition to our own kids.

Point taken. But in that case, would made-over Sg food ever successfully catch on? Will the humble Roti John (a type of omelette sandwich) commonly found in Singaporean hawker centres ever go the upmarket route of the po'boy? Would we want it to, anyway?

One friend offered an answer: “If it ain't broke...” And in addition: “You gonna pay $15 for a plate of fancy chicken rice? Crazy ah?”

Singapore-style chicken rice from the Vancouver eatery. Cost: $8. (expensive by Singapore standards) Good vibes after eating it: Priceless.

Copyright notice: All images in this story are strictly the copyright of the author, and may not be copied or used without prior permission.

Denim on Shop: The shopper rehab programme

It is terribly difficult to have to write about shopping when one of my resolutions this year is to do the exact opposite. Ok, I don't mean cold turkey but my goal is to shop less. Much, much less. I have that resolution in writing, taped to the kitchen wall. This is a big commitment coming from a girl who cannot help herself by constantly scanning the retail environment, even while conversing with others or while wiping up baby milk spit.

Shopping is instinctive to me. I sound like a manic consumerist and am sadly so. Even the simple joy of window shopping can make my day. Likewise, the simple act of being made to walk away from a sale item breaks my heart. (The husband intervention.) I am also well-known in the family for my famous line, "I smell the city!" complete with a long inhale of the stinky air rolling in from the car window as we cruise through Shibuya (one of the shopping havens in Tokyo). You get the idea.

Being deprived of shopping in Tokyo is like fasting when it's Chinese New Year. It's terribly unfair when you are surrounded by temptation. But perhaps describing the Tokyo shopping experience can help me purge the shopping withdrawal symptoms.

1) New Year Sales

The biggest sale in Tokyo is the New Year's Sales. Before my kid was born, the 2nd of Jan was like Christmas Day shopping for myself. The malls slash up to 70% on price tags, they have big wagons of nice things at prices I can finally afford. There is a big boom of retail spirit with cashiers ringing to counter the somber quiet of the cultural New Year spirit at home. They also have my favorite 'fukubukuro' which is a 'lucky bag' of mixed items concealed but priced very cheaply at US$10/30/50/100. (They call it Happy Price- another gimmick to lure a sucker like me.) The strategy is to buy them at stores you frequent so you don't end up with things you won't want. I am always tempted to try my luck at them but the husband always stops me from buying 'mysterious garbage'.

A fukubukuro and it's contents

SALE- need I say more?

2) The Welcome Service

As much as the incessant high-pitched nasal sirens of 'Irashaiimasen' (welcome in Japanese) annoys me, I have come to enjoy this robotic greeting. It feels nice to be acknowledged as a potential customer. It feels very democratic that they are not discriminating against this sorry-looking mom-daughter pair who appears to be in disarray.

A bevy of beautiful sirens

3) The Wrapping Service

At cashiers of most reputable stores, the staff would always ask if you are purchasing the item for home use or as a gift. And no item is too small or too insignificant to be wrapped up lovingly. Yes, I have even tried to have them gift wrap a pack of black hair rubber bands I had bought for my daughter, simply because I felt like I was in the mood for some pampering and I fudged the truth about the gift bit. Well, it was for someone else wasn't it? Having my purchases wrapped up with soft paper or put in pretty gift boxes or sealed with a pretty sticker makes me feel like I have a Christmas present for myself everytime I shop. But these days, the eco conscience has gotten the better of me so I try to go without the wrapping frills lately.

See the beautiful fan knot on top of the silver bag? Plus an extra paper bag to bag that gift!

4) The Sales Staff

Speaking Japanese more these days has become more dangerous for a shopper like me. It means I am more able to engage and hold conversations with the shop staff. Before I used to say 'Wakarimasen' (I don't understand) and they smile and waltz away gracefully. Now, when they approach me with information about the dress I have gentle caressed between my fingers, I get to ask them more questions such as, 'do you have it in other colors?' Customer service in Japan is generally top class. They are quick to pick up things for you to match an item with and should you dare proceed into the fitting room, they are quick with compliments of how great you look in the item and listen attentively to why you are not too happy with it. (One word about the fitting rooms is that they expect you to take off your shoes to step inside and it is very inconvenient, especially during winter shopping when I have to keep a toddler on hand and take off long boots!) If it doesn't fit as you expected, they promptly go off and bring you two other pieces which might fit the bill. I have been conned more than once because I have succumbed to their friendly flattery. And it really helps that they are so well-groomed in a style that reflects the fashion point of view of the shop! It always make me feel like I am taking honest fashion advice from a fashionista or at least, a fashionista wannabe.

Spot the patient sales clerk standing on alert even before the shop opens

5) The Retail Look

They put a lot of effort in retail decor such that every shop looks unique and distinct. Because the marketplace is so congested, a lot of pain is put into the visual presentation of the shop and design consideration is taken at every angle you turn. This is not limited to top-end boutiques and also applies to the regular shops here. So there’s a lot of exciting eye candy around as everything is always fresh and new. The elaborate decor often looks like they have been sourced specifically such as an old European sewing machine or a life-sized stuffed baby giraffe.

A huge Kaws statue showcased right at the entrance of a shop called Original Fake. I have always wondered how they got that giant down to that basement level!

6) The Seasons

I love how the shops are always on trend but not homogenous looking. If puffy sleeves are in season, you can be sure to find them in varying materials, adornments, colors, and textures. You seldom worry about wearing something the same as the next girl on the street. Even if that should happen, you can be sure that the Japanese girls would mix and match and accessorize their apparels very differently. The seasons ensure that one continuously gets a refreshing sense of newness every time one shops. It is also a big driver for food and beverage sales. The Japanese market is known for releasing seasonal ‘limited edition’ flavors or packaging to entice customers so you are always spoilt for choice. How about that green tea Kit Kat or Hokkaido butter potato chips?

One snack, 3 different flavors for each region makes SIX 'limited edition' flavors

7) The Details

Even when shopping for an apple, the information displayed next to it tells you where it is grown and how sweet it would be and if they can, they describe the type of sweetness you can expect. (For example, sweet like honey or sweet with the right tartness.) For garments, some shops have tags on them that subtly outline the key-selling 'Point'. Perhaps it is special lambswool or a pearl button or a short write up of where the brand is from (England/Paris/Italy). A look at their fashion magazines can show you the lengths they take to differentiate between 10 similar but different cream cardigans. Or check out an online website like zozo.jp. Every question that might cross your mind is listed and if you are worried about the fit, they provide you the model's measurements for you to project how you might differ.

Different names for different apples but they must all be really sweet!

So you see, I have given you 7 good reasons to try out the shopping experience here in Tokyo for yourself. It is definitely overwhelming at first but it would trigger and expand your visual appetite in a way that nothing else would ever compare. I know that as my shopping cravings when I am back home has been cured! Haha.

Well, all this talk of shopping when I am on a 'diet' is making me very hungry. I think I would have to now go and satisfy my pangs by going to the supermarket to shop for some groceries. That's the real reason why I cook quite a bit these days. All that fresh food from the frequent marketing (read: shopping) has to be put to good use!

PS: I'd always thought Ms Gilbert was missing an important chapter and I am so glad this blog owner thought the same.

(Some pictures sourced from the internet)

Duck's Nuts on Play: Call of the Wild

I've never quite considered myself a city gal, at least while I was in Singapore. Yes, I lived in an urban environment, but I did climb a couple of trees, hiked in Malaysia sometimes with my dad, and read every book written by British veternarian, James Herriot, so I figured that counted for something. But holidaying in countries like Great Britain, Australia and India certainly jolted me out of that false impression.



It looks like the kangaroo is lifting the car!

It's most stark when it comes to animals. In Singapore, getting to see an animal means going to the zoo or visiting your school's garden. My school's garden, so I was informed (though maybe the school's officials were just blowing their own horn - I never got to find out!), was pretty good compared to other schools - it had chickens, terrapins, rabbits and more. I visited the garden daily and especially loved to squeeze the seed pods of the balsam plant and hop on the stones across the pond while the terrapins lounged about in the sun.



I loved squeezing the balsam pods. Photo by Vertigogen on Flickr via Creative Commons

These little creatures, though, are I guess what one would describe as domesticated animals. They were certainly not wild.

A few years later, I was excited beyond belief when I visited England and Scotland. Sheep! Actual live sheep! I'm not dreaming! OMG!!!! I still distinctly remember the gently rolling green slopes dotted with little clouds of white and the three sheep who blocked the small country road we were driving on and didn't allow us to pass.

My best sheep encounter though, was near the bottom of the Himalayas in Kashmir. There, the sheep were herded around by child shepherds and were more than happy to pose for me.



This sheep on the Himalayas in Kashmir looked like it was crossed with a cow.



Again in Kashmir. Very cute!

But the sheep, though, were not wild animals either. They were farm animals, and, as you can tell from the photos, quite comfortable with my presence near them.

So it was only in the past two or three years that I finally saw wild animals (I'm not counting visiting the zoo!) such as camels wandering the desert in the Middle East and kangaroos hopping across large paddocks in outback Australia. There was something magical about watching the graceful creatures move with ease in their favourite environment.



Who goes there? A forester kangaroo at the Bay of Fires in Tasmania.



Are you sure that's not a stuff toy? A wombat at the Bay of Fires.

In those moments of watching the kangaroos, wombats or even multi-coloured wild birds (that I didn't know the first thing about) eat, sleep and graze, my breathing would become more relaxed and my shoulders less tense, while my eyes would soften. It was like I was home - finally reunited with nature and its creatures with whom I had shared the planet all my life, but rarely in the same place at the same time.

Next stop - Africa!

Little Pixy Boots on Shop: Shopping in Norway

A white Christmas in Norway

Pardon for the late post... I've been busy with Christmas, New Year's and my birthday today. As much as I want to spend the whole day lying in the arms of my loving Viking Man, I got up from my slumber to finish this post.

I wanted to first write about Christmas shopping, but ended up side-tracking to my knitting experience. But hey, the first thing you need to know about shopping in Norway is - don't expect the big shopping centres that you can find in Tokyo, Bangkok or Singapore. I'm not a big shopping fan, but even I miss the usual hustle and bustle of the busy shopping places like Takashimaya and Bugis Street in Singapore. It was nice just to do window shopping and enjoy the colourful sight of clothes and wares in Singapore.

Bugis Street as seen from the eyes of Tor Eigeland

Here in Norway, I feel that almost every shopping centre of the vicinity carry the same branches of H&M, Cubus and Dressman. Perhaps the closest resemblance to the modern shopping centres in Singapore is the Sandvika Storsenter. But as Norwegians say, it's on the other side (Western) side of the Oslo fjord and far away from where I live. The "western" side also implies that it belongs to the wealthier part of the society.

Sandvika Storsenter (which means Sandvika "big centre")

Now living on the eastern side of the Oslo fjord doesn't mean I'm poor, but since I'm trying to be thrifty in the most expensive city in Europe (and some say the world), I got more into DIY. This, of course, makes Christmas gift-shopping a creative endeavour. Norwegians actually celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve, with gift-opening on Christmas eve evening, which almost sounds like a heresy to Americans and British worldwide.

Now, having grown up in a traditional Chinese family with no Christian tradition whatsoever, I was clueless how Christmas gift-giving would be. In Singapore, Christmas was a light celebration with friends because two of my friends' birthdays fell on Christmas Day and two days after. We had always exchanged gifts that cost no more than SGD 10, just for fun. Therefore the gifts I brought to Viking Man's family was a grand total of *two* relatively cheap gifts from UK.

Imagine my embarrassment when I found out that the unstated expectation was to fill up the space under the Christmas tree with presents, even if they are just chocolates, sweets or marzipan wrapped up as gifts. I presented my two gifts happily, only to find out that I was receiving many more presents in return. The total sum of my presents must have exceeded the amount for the family.

The mountain of gifts below the tree...

So in 2010, determined not to lose out (yes, the typical Singaporean "kiasu" scared-to-lose spirit still lies active in me), I prepared one month in advance to give my hubby all that he needs and more. I decided to challenge myself with a new hobby - knitting! Yes, Norway is a country where knitted clothes are very practical for -20 degree Celsius winter. I thought Viking Man would be impressed when he receives my first ever knitted piece of love (which he was). On top of that I had to juggle work, Norwegian language classes, and long-distance commuting while hiding my knitting from him.

As a kid, I was never a big fan of knitting because it always seemed so technically complicated with its own Da-Vinci code of knots and bobs. Yet one evening, inspired by a knitting shop's Christmas window display, I popped in and asked in my broken Norwegian:

"Jeg lurer på om jeg kan knit a lue." (I wonder if I can knit a beanie hat)

The world of wool

Oops, I didn't know the words for "knit", which is "å strikke" in Norwegian. I gave up struggling with Norwegian after that and started asking in English for wool and "whatever" I would need. The shop lady knitted me the first round of the "lue", gave me some strange looking needles and told me to knit "two rights and two wrongs". I ran to class muttering "two rights and two wrongs" under my breath without understanding what they meant, but I knew they were important.

Later I found out from my knitting mentor that it meant two knit stitches and two purl stitches (which goes the opposite direction of the knit stitch). "Wrong" in Norwenglish (Norwegian English) means "opposite". And my knitting mentor is - *drumroll* - my bridesmaid, who is a gym instructor, of all people! Apparently in Norway, all teenagers were taught to knit in school, even the boys. My bridesmaid, J, happens to be passionate about knitting even though she's an extroverted fitness role model who used to be a professional dancer.

Yes, it's not only old grannies who are knitting experts in Norway.

My first attempt at knitting was full of mistakes and challenges, because J is a busy woman and I had to find other sources to rescue me from my "wrongs". Fortunately my colleague pointed me to a knitting shop "Strikkedilla" in Oslo City, one of the biggest shopping centres in the centre of Oslo. It became my refuge whenever I needed guidance, extra needles or simply an experienced eye and hand to correct my mistakes. I actually didn't even know which part of the beanie I was knitting and needed to ask a lot of questions before I could understand. It also took a lot of reassurance from the knitting experts that I (they) would be able to undo any mistake I made.

I regret not choosing a brighter colour for the lue,
but that gives me an excuse to knit another!
(P.S. pardon the untidy desk)

The week before Christmas, I managed to tough it out despite my doubts about my knitting ability and the lue's colour, size and shape. The lue was completed late at night after everyone had gone to bed. When Viking Man saw it on Christmas, he was touched by my knitting but later commented that the shape was rather like a sotong (squid).

Other than my knitting adventure, I was also on the lookout for presents to my other friends too. In Norway, it is common to have Christmas markets in late November and December but I kept missing out on those because they are held only on certain days in certain locations, which requires some research before December.

The Christmas market in Barcelona

However before this past Christmas I managed to attend a Christmas market by happy coincidence - I went to Barcelona and happened to walk into a Christmas market just outside La Sagrada Familie, a famous church designed by Gaudi. I was so glad that I purchased many smalls gifts there for my friends, including a Santa Claus on skis as a small present to my knitting mentor.

Little Christmas tree ornaments

Awww...aren't they sweet?

Hehe... looking at the photos from the "rojak" Christmas photo post makes me realise that I have indeed a more festive Christmas time in Norway. It's a classic place to experience Christmas - snow, wooden huts, pine forests, Santa Claus, real Christmas trees. Best of all, there is a fireplace with real log wood to burn and give warmth to the whole house. Ahhh..... what better life could one ask for?

Have a great New Year, everyone!

pixy

N.B. Some photos are taken from the internet.

Group Rojak Timeout: Holiday!

Week One of 2011 is almost over, and some of us girls on eat.shop.play.love are still recovering from our year-end hangover. Take a 3-minute virtual vacation with us to the many corners of our lovely earth: Tasmania, Oslo, Barcelona, Turks and Caicos, Vegas and New York.

Duck's Nuts Says:

I usually head overseas this time of the year to visit my family in Singapore and in other countries, but I decided to stay and enjoy the Australian summer this time round. I still find it odd to celebrate a sunny Christmas, but a week-long jaunt to Tasmania to meet a friend satisfied my longing for some time away from Sydney. We visited three national parks at Maria Island, Ben Lomond and Mt Williams, and did some hiking and camping.

Here's a rainbow over Maria Island, which is off the coast of south-east Tasmania. It used to be where some convicts from Great Britain were held, before becoming a site for cement production. It's now a national park.

The painted cliffs at Maria Island, formed through the percolation of ground water through the sandstone.

The water was so still you could see the sky reflected on it. Seeing this made me feel like I was in a painting.

On the other side of Ben Lomond, we walked down a road called Jacob's Ladder, which is very steep.

No holiday in Tasmania is complete without a glimpse of the local wildlife. I think this one is of a kangaroo and her joey at the Bay of Fires. The wild kangaroos and wallabies stare at you straight in the face for the longest time before hopping off when you near them.

Sights like that make me wish I grew up on a farm, with lots of vast open space, rather than a HDB flat!

***

Little Pixy Boots had a lovely Norwegian holiday, sprinkled with a little Spanish excitement in Barcelona.

Dear Santa, I just wanted to say, "Merry Christmas to Chew."

I don't usually have bacon for breakfast, but I couldn't resist.

Jultomten (the Christmas elf) caught taking a break.

"Honey, that's not exactly hiding the presents from the kids."

Enough sugar to power a day of sightseeing in Gaudi's city.

"I've never said that attaining enlightenment was easy."

***

Cirrus Cloud takes not one, but two, vacations to end the year with a bang! First up was fabulous Turks and Caicos. Next, a New Year countdown in Sin City -- Las Vegas.

Glorious.

Here's a view from my room in Turks and Caicos, when I open my eyes in the morning...

... When I turn to my right whilst in bed, this is what I see.

Watching the sunset, sipping a cocktail. Life is good.

View from our room in the Wynn in Las Vegas, NV.

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Una Ragazza enjoys Santa's Christmas gift of a snowy blanket that brings joy and havoc (depending on who you ask) to the New York Metropolitan area. Nothing like 30 degree F weather to make you look forward to jumping on a 24-hour plane ride home to the equator!

Overnight, the a/c gets a white cap that is a foot-and-a-half tall.

Kids of all ages and sizes rush to the once-grassy slopes of River Side Park with their sleds. Wheee!

White and serene. A zen Manhattan that we rarely see.

On the 10th day of Christmas... the garbage has still not been cleared!

... two broken washing machines, and a beer bottle stuck in a Christmas tree.

Making s'mores in my fireplace. Delish!

Doing research for our upcoming Singapore vacation in Cafe Lalo, while waiting for Meg Ryan to show up for a cheesecake and an espresso.

From all of us here at eat.shop.play.love -- have a fabulous 2011!

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