The easiest way to pronounce this dish accurately is to be doubtful, as if you find its name so incredulous you think someone's taking you for a ride. And you think about the words "way" and "meow". So you ask again, with much caution, "Char? Kway? Teow??"

That's it! You've nailed it. For our non-Malaysian/Singaporean friends, the aunty at the hawker stall would be so proud of you. For the uninitiated, char kway teow (in Hokkien/Fujian dialect) literally translates to fried rice-noodle strips. 

Two weeks ago, I fried my first plate of char kway teow at Bayan Indah's beautiful kitchen. I loved that precious few minutes of frying in a well-seasoned wok, with detailed guidance from my thoughtful instructor Pick Shan. With that little punchy boost to my culinary self-esteem, I went home wanting to make the ideal plate of char kway teow. Ideal in my book, at least. 

So I wrote in my scribble book, "What makes a good CKT?" and here is a compilation of my thoughts.

Washing a basinful of bean sprouts brings me back to different stages of my life.

I think about the Chinatown in Boston where I'd stock up Asian supplies I could never find from the online grocer: dumpling skins, fresh egg noodles, sauces and vegetables. The fresh produce section would smell of bean sprouts, or mung bean sprouts as they call it. The place was crammed with old folks scrutinizing yellow crunchy pears for spots, workers packing newly delivered vegetables into quantities that could easily feed a family of eight, and then there's me - the one who felt neither here nor there. 

Ever since we settled down in the current home, I've started revisiting my cookbooks and food-related magazines. I miss the days when I could subscribe the usual home and living magazines for what a cup of coffee would cost. And spending an afternoon checking through every issue I had, tearing out pages of recipes for that one binder I left the U.S. with. As for the magazines I had kept from our days in Singapore, I still have a few with me, looking as good as new cover-to-cover. 

Late last week I read the May 2010 issue of Food & Travel, and was very pleased to come across a recipe for fluffy pancakes. If you bake often, it helps to associate the word "fluffy" with "buttermilk". Also, there is no reason to panic if you can't find buttermilk at the supermarket. Whenever I needed buttermilk, there would be barely three or four cartons on the milk/dairy section. However, problem solved: to substitute one cup of buttermilk, you just need to stir half a cup of plain natural yogurt in half a cup of whole milk.

So on Saturday morning, I thought I'd make some pancakes for breakfast, especially since the husband had gone through an entire week without his usual cake. I've also learned that a stack of warm pancakes is good incentive to get someone out of bed. This is really easy as you only need a mixing bowl and a whisk. Leave the stand mixer alone.

Cookbooks are like movies. It is impossible to watch every one of them. But the really good ones will stand the test of time. Do you remember watching a movie when you were a kid, not liking it much because you thought it was your father's kind of movie? Yet a timeless classic will still be there when you've reached a certain (st)age in your life. It was only recently that I started looking up Clint Eastwood movies. Not because I'm getting old but rather, because I've enjoyed his more current movies (Hereafter, Invictus, Gran Torino) - as actor, director, producer and/or composer - I wanted to see him when he was younger. 

I suppose it's the same with Anthony Bourdain. We've all watched Tony travel the world eating his way into someone else's culture. Most people had already read Kitchen Confidential, the book that made him The Anthony Bourdain. I've read much about it but I don't think I should read it yet. (A pretty good idea for a Christmas present within budget, though.) I was more interested in his Les Halles Cookbook and had finally added it to my collection last July. It was first published nine years ago but I'm glad to read it now, not any earlier. Otherwise I wouldn't have understood nor appreciated his wisdom and humour. Just look at the tags - they are recipes either done or to-be-done.

Over the past week, I discovered the joy of Instagram-ing. And this was the first photo I took. 

You see, I've never had a smartphone until last Wednesday (10 April 2013 for the record). Up till that morning, I was using a basic Nokia C2-01 which has since been "demoted" to host my Singapore number, which in turn had been kept on an ancient Nokia Supernova model that needs to be charged too often. JL could probably guess it - the reason I've been delaying the smartphone upgrade was because I was waiting for an iPhone that fits my hand comfortably. And to hold a photo-frame close to my ear is completely out of the question. Samsung Galaxy users, what were you thinking?!

By Wednesday night, I thought, "Wow! I didn't just get upgraded to an iPhone... I got a new CAMERA!". Instagram along with its selection of filters is awesome under low-light condition. I haven't really played with it long enough - can one control the white balance on the iPhone 5? In any case, this will keep me occupied for a while before the heart itches for a new camera lens.

Today's post hopes to address a common household problem: overly enthusiastic meat-eaters who see vegetables as garnishes meant to be swept aside. We are not just talking about the kids, but the adults whom the former monkey after. It is amusing to hear adults instructing their little darlings to "eat your vegetables" because if the older generation does not have the habit of consuming their greens, that same phrase will then be seen as a form of punishment. Children might even begin to resent vegetables since they are the only ones eating those. Grudgingly, if I may add.

On a personal note, now that I am taking a break from French lessons, it's been weeks since I last hung out in Bangsar Village. JL and I had been spending Saturday mornings in Bangsar Shopping Centre: get the weekend paper, have early lunch followed by some piccolo latte over a book or two, leaving groceries to the last. I think the husband really deserves whatever he fancies during weekends. He works too hard. 

Once of the books I read last weekend was Antonio Carluccio's Simple Cooking. Now if I ever, ever, have the chance to have my own cookbook published - and have a say in its design and layout - it will be about the same size as Antonio's book. Home kitchens in big cities are getting smaller, so if that's my target audience, why the need for a large coffee-table-book size? While at it, I will also insist on full-page full-colour pictures of every dish facing its recipe. 

It's no crime to dream.

I am not kidding you. In fact, the "5 minutes" starts from the point of putting the can on the kitchen counter till having your first spoonful of these salty, buttery sweet corn kernels. I always keep a can or two of these in the pantry because there will be days when I'm all alone at home and instead of yearning for a full meal of carbs, I think about those styrofoam-cup-fuls of jagung sold for no less than RM3 or S$2 in the malls. Honestly I had not bought those for too many years now.

When you are invited to any reception in Malaysia, it is common to see a buffet spread of local cuisine. This is not because Malaysians cook a lot, but rather, Malaysians eat a lot. After all, who'd want to attend some event if there wasn't any free makan? Even at home, when one is expecting company, at the very least, one should consider getting some snacks - curry puffs, assorted kuih-muih, banana fritters or you char kuey - since these are available as long as one's home is within civilization. Otherwise, one can consider preparing something right from the home kitchen. It'd better be really good friends who are coming, then. 

One of the local dishes which I missed dearly living abroad was mee siam. Yes it is available in Singapore but somehow, it wasn't my luck to taste very good ones. Besides, the Singaporean mee siam is different from that across the causeway. It comes with a tamarind-based broth and the condiments are mostly added at the point of serving. The Malaysian version is dry with most of its condiments cooked together with the rice vermicelli. 

I can't help but digress. Just utter the words "mee siam" to any adult Singaporean and chances are, you'll hear "mee siam mai hum" (mee siam without cockles) within minutes. It was the talk of the nation for weeks back in 2006 after Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong said it in his national day rally speech. Haters jumped at this golden opportunity to prove the disconnect between the PM and his countrymen. Someone plastered the phrase to Black Eyed Peas' My Humps and the Youtube video went viral. I think PM Lee meant to say "mee siam mai hiam" (mee siam without chilli) but then again, I don't recall people ordering mee siam that way either. Hmm.

So ANYway, I made mee siam for the second time in my entire life. The first being two days ago. I had this craving simmering within after eating a bland version of it a couple of weeks ago. You can say that my indignation drove me to it. So after some reading on the internet, my first attempt took place on Tuesday as JL left on a business trip. I had no problem having mee siam for a few meals. There was another "first" - I've never blended any paste in my life! I took it positively because now I can finally put my six-year-old handheld blender to good use. (I've only used the immersion blender and whisk components all this while.) 

It was also my first time using taucheo, preserved soybean paste. I tasted it out of the jar - it's really salty with a faint sour aftertaste to it. 

Taucheo reminds me of a rather cool ex-colleague turned friend who, in reply to people calling her, would say, "Yes? Si mi taucheo?" 

If you don't get it, I shouldn't explain.

Over a year ago, I would look forward to Thursday evenings in Kuala Lumpur because a new episode of Jamie's 30-Minute Meals would be aired on the TLC channel. Despite that I was far from happily cooking back then, I was intrigued by the idea of a complete meal served in half an hour, with dessert. The 40-episode series and its accompanying cookbook drew flak from people who paid £26 for the book only to realize the meals took 60-90 minutes to prepare.

Not that I am biased, but to be fair, one has to look at the situation objectively. That's Jamie Oliver we're talking about: the charismatic creative multi-tasker who flips meat fillets with his bare hands. This is one hyperactive boy-master who punctuates his cooking with large slaps and claps of the hands, tilting his body sideways at an angle while telling you what he's going to do next. I don't think he's on a caffeine high. I think he's a natural genius. 

But then again, he has most ingredients prepared in advance for him, safe for the handful of fresh herbs he pulls from the pot. He blitzes his way through with the Magimix food-processor which someone else will wash thereafter. He sweeps crumbs off the worktop, just, like, that. And he walks his drained pasta, still dripping, between the sink and his cooktop. I'd be upset if Jamie Oliver was my husband. But I'd take his cookware and serveware in a heartbeat.