"You see? You have to use butter! Not vegetable oil..." the husband said as he rolled his eyes. 

Let me tell you about my husband's eyes. When relaxed, he has some of the kindest eyes I have ever seen. (Not that I have seen many because I rarely look at people in the eyes - deep within I've always suspected myself a case of mild autism, and not just because of the eye contact part.) 

Sometimes JL looks stoic in photos as a consequence of keeping his eyes opened far too long that his smile is lost. But he makes me laugh when he rolls his eyes, for they can nearly pop out of the sockets. Especially so when I know he has proven me wrong, like on this particular evening. 

This is one of the things that remind me of growing up in Malaysia. With any heavy-going coconut-milk laden meal, a pickled salad is what you will want to have as accompaniment to cut the fat. It takes no time to prepare and is highly variable thus a no-brainer side dish.

The free and easy preparation for the pickling liquid is but a 4 : 3 : 3 ratio of rice vinegar, sugar, water, along with a generous pinch of salt. The salad can be made well in advance and if left uncontaminated, can keep up to two days in the refrigerator before colours from the vegetables start to bleed. 

Among the food places I miss the most in Kuala Lumpur, Chawan has a special spot in my heart. Tucked in a corner in the Bangsar Village neighborhood, the semi-al fresco eatery was a favourite pit-stop on days when I was in no hurry between French lesson at the Alliance Française and grocery shopping at the Village Grocer. 

Speaking of the latter, just last week, I had trouble recalling the name of the store even though I could still picture the sections and aisles clearly. Especially the pork store-within-a-store. This random bout of amnesia reinforces the good habit of snapping candid photos of one's mundane routine, because what is mundane today may become sweet reminiscence in future. Friends with kids would agree. Likewise friends who are nomads.

One late Saturday afternoon, I had my best meal at Chawan, perhaps because I starved myself earlier on knowing what I would order from their menu of Malaysian comfort foods. But what really got me in excited anticipation was that I was finally meeting two dear friends from secondary school - after twenty lost years. E and A were schoolmates a year my senior, with whom I would loiter around the open hall in the afternoon after lessons. Being Convent girls, we certainly were not the giggly sort. No. We were the cackle and guffaw type. The ones teachers would find a menace to classroom orderliness.