Happy Belly on Eat: Carving out a meal

Home economics was one of my best subjects in secondary school. I even considered taking Food and Nutrition at O-levels at one point. But tell any of my friends that, and they snicker. Tell them that I also knit and crochet, and they dissolve into a laughing fit. It's like imagining Xena the warrior being warm and fuzzy, a friend chortled. Thank you very much.

In any case, my budding culinary abilities were curtailed very early on because my mother, being a homemaker, is also the empress dowager of the kitchen. Meaning that while I was always well-fed, I was never allowed to experiment in the kitchen. So by the time I came to Thailand, all I could do was cook instant noodles and fry an egg. No, I didn't know how to cook rice. Neither did I know how to use the washing machine. But since I had my own apartment and there was no one waiting to pounce on me for dirtying the kitchen, I started cooking again.

My little pantry kitchenette.

Then I discovered the joy of entertaining, of having people come over for dinner -- a ready bunch of willing guinea pigs to try out my concoctions. But because they were dinner guests, I tried to make sure everything look nice. So the table was properly laid out, (wine) glasses in place. And I always remembered to wipe the gravy stains off the edge of the plates (a lesson drilled into me from Home Economics classes). But that was the furthest I would go in food presentation.

After staying in Bangkok for a few years, it occurred to me that food presentation was more than just wiping gravy off the plate. The Thais are the best when it comes to beautiful presentation of food. Even the roadside stalls make sure they prepare the food in such a way that it looks appetising. Perhaps it's just not food, but this importance of looking good permeates everything in society -- physical appearance, studies, work -- giving rise to a Thai proverb ผักชีโรยหน้า, literally "coriander sprinkled on top", which means window-dressing.

Parsley/coriander

The first time I learnt this proverb was during my masters in the university here. We were handing in a term paper and I had mine printed out, stapled on the top left-hand corner. My Thai classmates had got theirs ring-bound, complete with a full-colour cover and protective plastic sheets. They told me that by "sprinkling parsley/coriander on top", they were hoping the paper would look so good that the lecturer would not realise that there wasn't really much substance inside.

But coriander or spring onion aside, the Thai's masterful presentation of food got me interested in fruit and vegetable carving. Now, if the idea of me wielding knitting needles is laughable enough, you're going to go LMAO at the idea of me demurely carving watermelons and what-not. The tradition of fruit and vegetable carving in Thailand apparently originated in 1364 when Lady Nang Nopphamat, who was the chief royal consort, decorated her floating lamp (krathong) with a profusion of flowers and birds, swans, rabbits and many other animals carved from fruits and vegetables. King Phra Ruang was reportedly so impressed by it that he decreed it would be Thailand's art heritage. Since then, fruit and vegetable carving was always an art of the palace, practised only by ladies of royalty and nobility. In 1932 with the change in the form of government, this art form was taught in schools for people of all classes.

Traditional palace art

Eager to join the ranks of, ahem, royalty and nobility, I went out to buy a book on the subject and some knives, and promptly started to teach myself how to carve. Hmm… that dolphin watermelon basket looks really cool, but I really should start with something easier first. So I began with the carrot flower, since it looked idiot proof enough. Then you begin to realise that these picture books, while good, are not good enough. Sure, they have a photo for Step 1, Step 2 and so on. But there were no photos for Steps 1a, 1b or 1c. So your carrot looks one way in Step 1 but looks completely different in Step 2 and you're left wondering how to get from Step 1 to Step 2.

My book

My tools

After some trial and error and ending up with a passable carrot flower, I decided to push the limits with a carrot leaf. This almost stumped me. Either my fingers were too fat or the carving knife was being clumsy (I blame the latter!), but I somehow couldn't bring out the gentle curves of a leaf.

My first attempt.

My one leaf

One day, I decided I was ready to up my game in food presentation. So I issued the invitations and set about preparing my menu of chicken breast stuffed with mushrooms sauteed in garlic and black pepper, served with home-made mash and, guess what, carved veggies! It took me nine hours, counting from the time I went to the market to the time dinner was served, mainly because the carving took a longer time than expected (and I again blame the knife for that).

Nine hours of preparation consumed in under an hour. I think I'll go back to wiping gravy stains off the plate.

The nine-hour meal

My final attempt at fruit and vegetable carving -- A Chinese cabbage rose

Some photos are taken from the Internet.

Happy Belly on Love: Finding happily after

I used to think that I’d be married by 25 and have two kids before 30, ensconced in a comfortable five-room HDB flat. But this Singapore version of the American Dream is obviously not coming to pass. I chalk it down to having too much fun as a single but friends and family say it’s because I’m too picky.

Whatever it is, I’m honestly happy although it’s almost impossible to convince the people around me. Especially those in Thailand.

Most Thai girls have one aim in life – find a guy and get married. I know this may sound like a sweeping statement but 99% of the girls I’ve met so far are in this mould. At 24, they start moaning and groaning a great deal if they don’t have a boyfriend. In fact that’s most of what they talk about, other than celebrities and fashion. And the moaning decibels get louder with each passing year.



That’s why the Thais don’t know what to make of me. I’m like a strange specimen from outer space simply because I’m not spending my nights sobbing into my pillow over the lack of a boyfriend or husband. But even if they don’t understand, bless their hearts, they still try to help me out.

Like my maid who did my housework when I first came to Thailand. My Thai was very limited in those days and her English was practically non-existent. After a few weeks, she kept telling me about her son. All I could make out was her son is very smart, very good-looking and works as an engineer. I had no idea why she was telling me all that but since she was a lot older, I decided to be polite and nodded at her smilingly.

Encouraged by my seeming receptiveness, she started bringing photos of her son to show me. I brushed it off as a mother being very proud of her son and wanting to show him off to others. My nodding and smiling continued.

Then the inevitable happened. I’d casually mentioned to her that I was going to visit Ko Kred, a tourist attraction about 30km from where my apartment. And without telling me, she got her son to wait for me at the apartment on the morning that I was going! I stammered out some excuse that I wasn’t well and literally fled from my apartment.

Craftsman at work in Ko Kred, a Mon village.

Now, the tricky thing was how do I explain to her that I’m not in the least interested in her beloved son, no matter how much I’ve smiled or nodded. Plus I didn’t want to piss her off in case she “accidentally” put holes in my favourite shirt when ironing.

In the end, I took the “chicken” way out. Instead of saying anything to her, I found photos that I’ve taken with my good guy buddy and liberally sprinkled them everywhere – bedroom, living room, and I even ingeniously put one under my pillow, so that she’d “discover” it when changing the sheets.

And it worked. She stopped talking about her son. She also stopped talking to me. That was all right with me as long as my could-have-been-mother-in-law kept my clothes and the place spick and span. Lesson learnt: never nod or smile if you don’t have the faintest idea what the other person is talking about.

In any case, over the last few years, I’ve learnt to deflect unhealthy interest in my single status, especially from nosy taxi drivers. Taxi drivers, I’ve decided, are worse than CIA agents. They interrogate you from the moment you get onto a cab and never take no for an answer. How long have you been in Thailand? Why can you speak Thai so well? How much is your rental? What is your salary? What do you work as? Where do you work? Are you married? Why are you not married? Would you like to know my friend?



But there’s one question that I eagerly await because I know I can shut him up with my answer.

Cab driver: Where do you work?

Me: At the church.

Long pause. Everything’s silent other than his brain working overtime to process the information.

Cab driver: So you’re a nun?

I just smile and leave him to draw his own conclusions. A nun. Why not? If the shoe fits, and if it keeps these people from bugging me.



All photos taken from the Internet.

Happy Belly on Play: Sleeping on The Beach

“Come and enjoy the experience of a lifetime, camping on the beach that was made famous by the film “The Beach” featuring Leonardo Di Caprio which was filmed in Maya Bay in 2000.”

That line caught my eye among the chaos of boards littered the path. No, I’m not a Leonardo fan, but I like camping. And I’ve never tried camping on the beach.

“A purpose-converted fishing trawler transports customers to Maya Bay after stopping at the Viking Cave and snorkelling and kayaking at Pileh Bay, Losama Bay or Shark Point. We arrive on ‘the beach’ at around 5pm just as the day tourists are leaving the island, and the island slowly but surely becomes deserted.”

My brain did some quick math and concluded that it was a good deal because it included the equivalent of a half-day snorkelling trip and one night’s accommodation. What finally sold me was the line that said “numbers are limited to 25 people only” and the usually streetwise me fell for it hook, line and sinker.

It was 1pm and we had arrived at Phi Phi Island, south of Thailand, only two hours earlier. We hadn’t booked a place in advance and it had taken us some effort to finally find a suitable room. But there I was press-ganging my long-suffering friend to check out of the guesthouse and sign up for this sleeping-on-the-beach caper which was set to leave at 3pm.

Imagine having the whole beach to ourselves, I tried convincing her. And see, it’s got flush toilets and electricity, so it can’t be too bad, I added.

At 3pm, we were waiting at the meeting point. By 4pm, there were 20 of us waiting. By 4.30pm, a big group of football jock and cheerleader types joined us, bringing the grand total to only 45 people, plus one baby.



When I saw the “purpose-built” boat, my heart sank even further. It didn’t matter that it had no seats, it was small – way too small for all of us. It could possibly accommodate 25 but squeezing 45 hulking Caucasian sizes into the limited space was worse than forcing sardines into a can.

We left the pier dangerously low in the water and headed to the Viking Cave which is famous for the bird’s nests that the Chinese like to eat. We literally stopped for two minutes and looked at the cave from afar in our coolie boat.

The converted fish trawler continued and finally anchored at Maya Bay. Huh, where’s the promised snorkelling at the gorgeous Pileh Bay and Losamah Bay? I was too disheartened to argue by then, especially since the guide said that we’d only have half an hour to kayak and snorkel before heading to the beach. Everyone started fighting over the two kayaks and 30 snorkels. At least I had my own gear.

There wasn’t enough sunlight by then so there wasn’t very much to see. Jumping into the water had been easy but getting back up was a different matter. There were no ladders. Instead we had to haul ourselves up using the tyre bumpers on the sides. As luck would have it, I slipped while pulling myself up and slammed my right side into the side of the boat. It swelled into a scary-looking bruise.

Injured and upset, I arrived at the beach with the sole aim of finding a way back to mainland. But it was too late – all the daytrippers had gone. I resigned myself to a night of exotic wildness and headed to the toilets for a shower. Oh, there are no showers? Never mind, I saw a hose outside. Ack, the water is salty!

Ever the optimist, I strode to the makeshift drinks stall, determined to buy water no matter how exorbitant it might be. They had Coca-Cola and a range of Thai liquor for sale. No water.

My hair was stringy, my skin was sticky and my side was hurting. I was quite ready to sit down and cry by then. But common sense prevailed and I remembered the bottle of mineral water we’d taken along. That one litre of freshwater would just have to be enough for drinking, general washing (which includes washing of hands for removal of contact lenses) and brushing teeth.

Things got better during dinner which was somewhat palatable, except for the loud house music that was blaring away and the constant acrid smell of cigarette smoke. The staff started handing out mini buckets, a signal that the party was starting. The first bucket – a mixer of Coke and a cheap Thai whiskey – was free.

Being somewhat boring people who don’t smoke, drink or party, we decided on an early night – find a spot away from the pounding bass so that we can hear the waves and admire the stars. We asked for our tent (which was promised) and were instead given a rattan mat, a sleeping bag and a foam block each.


It was amazing to lie on the open beach under the canopy of stars, lulled to sleep by a balmy sea breeze which, unfortunately, also blew sand onto us. I thought of zipping myself up in the sleeping bag to keep the sand at bay but the zip, of course, didn’t work so the sleeping bag was just like a big thin blanket.

Sleep was fitful with drunken revellers taking turns to pee in the sea and generally making a nuisance of themselves. So it wasn’t difficult to wake up to catch the sunrise, except that I was encrusted in sand – in my hair, my mouth, my ear, my nose.

You know how some people say the best is yet to be? The biggest surprise was waiting for me during my early morning visit to the toilet where I was confronted with the unwelcome reminder of womanhood. Nothing’s worse than being caught off guard, other than being caught off guard on an island with no 7-Eleven shops and having to make your own maxi pad.

So it was with great relief and joy that I left The Beach. And the greatest irony of it all – I have yet to see the movie.

Happy Belly on Shop: Conquering my Fear of Shopping Centers

Being the good adopted citizen that I am, I decided to play my part in helping Bangkok return to normalcy after the violence that wracked the city. So I went shopping.


Charred remains of my favourite old-school cinema

Last Saturday was the first weekend that shopping centres in the protest area were reopened after being shut for more than a month. It was also the first weekend that Bangkokians could come out to play after being cooped up for a week at home, held ransom by gunshots and explosions.


Crowds are returning to Siam Paragon

The government turned a road in the financial district into a walking street to help traders whose shop space was torched during the riots while shopping centres offered steep discounts to woo shoppers back.

Come out and shop, said the Finance Minister. That’s the most patriotic thing you can do for your country now.

And the city-dwellers responded and spilled out onto the streets in search of a good bargain. I ventured onto the walking street but was cowed by the heaving sweating crowds. So I decided to brave Siam Paragon instead, despite an innate phobia of glitzy malls here.

For some strange reason, I get really atrocious service at shopping centres in Bangkok. The sales staff either ignore me or are downright rude. In fact, I get so stressed that I try to avoid the malls altogether.

Why do I get such lousy service, I’d wailed to my Thai friend. Maybe because of the way you dress, she hazarded a guess. I looked down at my tatty shorts and fake pink Crocs. She has a point.



Service staff here seem to divide everyone into two categories – Speak No Thai and Speak Thai. The former always trumps the latter. The Speak Thai are further split into two categories – the Obviously Foreign and the Possibly Thai. The Obviously Foreign, especially the white-skinned variants, will always be up there with the Speak No Thai.

Now, the Possibly Thai are more complex with its own unspoken hierarchy. The Bangkok elites with their diamonds and coiffed hair are at the top of the pyramid. Provincial Thais and migrants from the poorer neighbouring countries are many rungs lower, with those from the hill tribes close behind. And the sales staff very quickly suss out your social standing from your accent and dressing.

So where do I stand in this food chain?

After almost six years in Bangkok, my Thai’s pretty decent. I speak it, read it, write it, heck, I even dream in it. Everyone just assumes I’m Thai. But, apparently, my accent can go either way – a hill tribe nomad or a rich brat who studied overseas. With my penchant for really casual wear and a complexion that’s a healthy brown instead of porcelain white, my fate is sealed.

While the solution to my shopping woes seems quite easy – just dress up when going out – I’ve probably gone too native to bother.

I came to Bangkok in July 2004 to work with slum kids as a volunteer, so I’ve never got into the whole expat scene. I studiously stayed away from other Singaporeans and mixed mainly with the Thais (except for my British flatmate and some other internationals whom I'd met during my M.A. in Thai Studies course).

I learnt to buy clothes at the local markets and from the roadside stalls to lessen the gap between the slum dwellers and me. Kitten heels got stuck in slum mud, so flip flops became de rigueur. No point wearing your best D&G shirt (not that I have one to begin with) to the slum, only to have the kids’ mucus or other body fluids smeared on it.

Although I’ve had paid employment for the last year now, I still tend to dress down over the weekends. Which probably explains why I’ve been mistaken for my flatmate’s Burmese maid when we were shopping for a water filter or a drinks seller when I was buying a blender.

Yet it was high time that I confronted my inordinate fears of shopping centres and a post-riot trip to Siam Paragon seemed the perfect antidote. Dressed in what was more beach wear than city chic, I was waiting for the fashion police to pounce as I stepped into the hallowed halls of consumerism.


Patriotic music played by a university symphony orchestra

I don't know if it was because of the patriotic music that has replaced the shopping centre muzak or that the sales staff were just thankful to have a job again but a new purse and a new pair of badminton shoes later, the whole shopping experience was not as bad as I had dreaded.

But of course by now, I’ve also figured out the perfect solution to get some semblance of service – just Speak No Thai. Maybe for my next outing to the malls, I could even pretend to Speak No English and just go on and on in Mandarin or Cantonese. Now that would be fun!

Rojak Timeout (Part Deux, by Happy Belly)

After the first Bangkok situation report by Happy Belly came out earlier this week, we received messages from quite a few concerned ESPL readers regarding her safety. Here is an update on her situation.

It was the phone that very rudely jolted me awake at 8.30 a.m. on Wednesday.

“The crackdown has begun. It looks bad. I’m flying home today. You should leave too,” said my Singaporean friend who also works in Bangkok.

“Huh, OK, let me think about it.”

I was still groggy from sleeping at 2 a.m. after my movie marathon the previous night. Struggling to open my eyes, I reached for my home to check the latest Twitter updates. (By the way, Twitter is the best thing ever for crisis situations. TV and radio are slow, and in Thailand, censored too.)

The picture didn’t look good but it didn’t warrant fleeing. Yet.

Two hours later, while I was sitting down to a breakfast of bad news and a ham-and-cheese sandwich, my Aussie neighbour came to say that they were starting to burn tyres in a street near our apartment.

I lost my appetite.

TV news further confirmed that the protesters might spill inwards from the main road. Plus, a stage had been set up near my place where some 1,500 renegade protesters were gathered. And if the troops bulldozed that place, there were only that many streets that they could spill into, one of which would be mine.

Stay or leave – it was a very difficult decision. I’d never liked running away from anything. But the thought of being totally sealed in by an angry mob was equally choking. I could have stayed at a hotel where some of my colleagues were staying but I wasn’t entirely confident that that stretch would be spared.

So I up and left on a one-way ticket to Singapore. As the hard-to-find taxi drove to the airport, my heart sank as I passed the scenes of destruction all around me. The Land of Smiles is irrevocably scarred. I got to the airport by 1.30 p.m., having swung by the bank to take out some cash just five minutes before it closed.

As I waited for the next five hours at the departure gate, it was with both horror and relief as I followed the nightmare unfolding on Twitter. Shopping centres were on fire and my favourite cinemas had collapsed. Electricity and phone signals were both cut. It was a city run amok.

It was only when I came back to Singapore that I realised how living on the edge of violence had taken its strange toll on me. When there was thunder last night, I woke up with a start thinking it was an explosion. Or when the helicopters flew past in the morning, I felt the familiar fear grip my heart that the troops were coming.

No one knows when this will end but I need to go back soon. My two hamsters need me.

Rojak Timeout (by Happy Belly)

Just like the spicy rojak salad dish, the postings here are about anything and everything under the sun. They're meant to make you a keen, lean, lovin' Internet machine as you wait for the next story to be posted by our authors.

Today's Rojak Timeout is by Happy Belly in Thailand.


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Happy Belly says:

My neighbourhood the battle zone

For the first time in my six years in Bangkok, I went to the supermarket on Sunday morning to seriously stock up my fridge. Not my usual flippant two tubes of Pringles and one pack of Kit Kat but proper rice and canned food.





When I got to Tops, it seemed that the entire neighbourhood had the same idea – and had emptied the shelves. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Not during the coup, not during other mass protests.

I’d left the stocking up a bit late and there was no fresh food to be had. No pork, no chicken, no beef, except for some $60 airflown Aussie beef that no one had touched. Even the remaining veggies looked sad and stringy. I had to scramble for whatever was left because it certainly felt as though locusts had descended on the supermarket.



The expatriates were loading their shopping carts with frozen pizzas, pasta sauces, canned tuna, wine, milk and bread. The locals on the other hand were going for instant noodles, canned sardines and soft drinks. At least there wasn’t going to be a fight there. What else do people buy in a crisis? Toilet paper and sanitary napkins were apparently top picks.

No one – I suspect not even the government – had expected the situation to end up in such a protracted state of violence across the city. The clashes that began on Thursday night had killed 33 and injured 239 across Bangkok by Sunday night.



Many of those killed were innocent civilians. A taxi driver who dropped off a passenger got shot in his lung. A charity medic got killed while trying to help an injured protester. A singer and his friend were on the balcony of his 27th floor apartment. Both got shot, one died.



My apartment is just three short streets away from one of the deadliest flash points between troops and protesters. On Saturday, I had felt safe enough to go for a walk and ambled down the alleys that led to the disputed road (see photos) but by Sunday I wasn’t going anywhere near there.

The road which I take to go to work is now a battlefield between the troops (with their rifles and live ammunition) and the protesters (with their mini Molotov cocktails and firecrackers). The spot where the first fatality fell is a few steps from my favourite roast duck shop. The street where I take a motorcycle taxi from went up in flames.



There’s no immediate end in sight, despite the government’s repeated assurance that they have everything under control. The violence is escalating and spreading to more spots in the city and neighbouring provinces. The protesters are willing to negotiate but the government says it’s gone beyond the point of negotiation.



Violence begets violence. And the people who suffer are the residents in the hot zones where smoke plumes, gunshots and explosions reign. There are many who have no access to food because stepping out of their apartment means walking straight into the live firing range.

As for me, I’m going to hole up in my apartment – not that I have a choice since I’m effectively sealed in with all the roadblocks around – eat up all the food in my fridge and hope that the supermarket restock the shelves soon.