Growing up in a small town where the "town center" is basically a grid of five vertical streets with six streets cutting across, I remember when Kentucky Fried Chicken opened its doors here. Prior to that, we had at best, Chicken Delight, a lesser known franchise for fried chicken. And no, McDonald's was at least ten years away from setting up shop because the building it occupied had yet to even exist.

Back in the early eighties, all our birthday celebrations were dinner prepared by my mother, depending on whose birthday it was, with all the birthday kid's favourite dishes. The week before our birthdays, my mother would ask for our wish-list, not for presents, but what we'd like to have for our birthday dinner. Can you imagine what happens when you have six children? My mum sure has a wide repertoire of dishes off her fingertips!

But for my birthday that year, my parents decided to take all of us out for dinner. Where else but the Kentucky Fried Chicken in town. So it was really BIG DEAL for me - I think I was turning eight. So off we went - wide-eyed and all - getting excited at the slightest details. It was nothing like the KFC we know today for back then, disposable wares were considered luxurious. So we still had our chicken, coleslaw and whipped potato all served in plastic plates and bowls, with stainless steel cutlery.

The fried chicken was so-so. My mum could easily make the same with a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken powder. It was the coleslaw and whipped potato that caught my attention. How could someone make vegetables so creamy and delicious? Vegetable dishes at home had always been stir-fried or cooked in curry gravy. I'd never knew that vegetables can be so creamy yet non-spicy. And that bowl of potato covered in brown sauce, why can't they use larger scoops?

My mother-in-law sent me a cookbook by postal mail when we were living in the States. All because her son expressed his love for savoury cakes that he could only have back in his parents' home. The book, small and slim, has no less than seventy recipes for cakes both savoury and sweet. Not that I am supposed to make every single one of them but rather, for me to look through and compare variations of savoury cakes, so that I could come up with one I could claim ownership of.

In general, to compare making a savoury cake to that of a sweet one, there is only one phrase to sum it all up: same-same but different. Obviously there is no sugar in the former, while butter makes way for olive oil, sunflower oil or even white wine. Instead of chocolate chips, nuts, dried fruits, ingredients such as ham, sausage, shrimp, cheese, olives, capsicum, zucchini are used. There is even one recipe in the book with chicken gizzard. 

But thank God my husband prefers simple combinations of ham, cheese, olives for the cakes, just so he could pair it with something else on the side. Just a few suggestions here: lightly tossed greens, chopped salad like tabbouleh, coleslaw, warm tender carrots for a light dinner, or rock melon with prosciutto on a super-hot day. 

I will be lying if I tell you it is easy to make these. (I will share with you my mistakes at the end of this post.) But they are nonetheless edible as long as you pop a nice homogenous batter into the oven. It can be done with a balloon whisk or wooden spoon - you just need to work your arm muscles crazily for some ten seconds when incorporating the oil. Remember to hug the mixing bowl with your left arm to keep the bowl still while stirring with your right hand, and then repeat the process changing arms. Crazy, I know, but it costs nothing.

First things first: kla-foo-tee. That's how the word is pronounced. 

Clafoutis is one of the classic French desserts which you will never find in most cafés or dessert shops. Probably because it is so easily homemade that one is embarrassed to charge money for it. Okay, I was only half joking. Unless it is served in pretty single-portion baking dishes, charged at the same price point as crème brûlée, I really doubt it'd be feasible to put clafoutis on one's menu. And that's my half-assed amateurish deduction as to why it is rarely found when eating out. 

Clafoutis is essentially a baked, firm batter with some fruit in it, the classic choice being fresh whole cherries. Talk to the French about cherry clafoutis and you will see the opposing sides of pitting or not pitting the cherries. The latter, some say, will add a subtle nutty flavour to the dessert. Ask my mother-in-law and she will shrug her shoulders and say that's how she does it because she doesn't have time to remove the stones, and besides, why spoil something that's not broken?

"Bienvenue à ma maison!" 

Those were the first words my father-in-law said to me the moment I stepped out of his car after an hour and a half of soaking in the sights along the French autoroute starting from Lyon-Saint Exupéry airport. The air was fresh and cool, you would agree too had your feet felt the terracotta tiles on the ground. Not that I was barefoot. A pair of house slippers were waiting for me in the bedroom. Still, I could feel the coldness of the ground wearing them.

That was June six years ago, when I couldn't understand 95% of what I heard around me. Most of what I learned back then I did with my eyes. I remembered faces and places, really, short of sounding like the Beatles' song: JL's immediate family, close family friends who are family too, his best friend, wife and children, one of whom JL is godfather to. 

I watched the simplicity of having family and friends around, spending the day talking about everything under the sun, even taking naps at the corner if one wishes so. I followed everywhere JL went as he followed everywhere his father went: the bakery, the deli, the florist, the tabac shop for newspapers. Everywhere. The French really kiss a lot, I thought to myself. Even men greeted each other with a touching of cheeks and pats on their backs with varying strengths, as if a sum of how long since you last saw each other and how much you love the other person. But all done naturally, quietly, and absolutely without exaggeration.

My friend K is a full-time junior college teacher in Singapore. She has a cute toddler who is turning three this year. And he is expecting a baby sister in the coming weeks. So when I saw the photo K sent me of her 15-minute creamy mushroom spaghettini two weeks ago, she really made my day. First, someone actually tries my recipe. Second, that particular someone could have easily justified not wanting to cook.   

Feeling encouraged, I told her I'll work harder on the 15-minute theme. So it got me thinking: how can I reduce cooking time? Can I possibly put a meal on the table faster than 15 minutes? And I have not forgotten my promise to my schoolmate D who asked for a simple aglio olio pasta a while ago. 

I went to the post office two days ago. While I am familiar with stamp purchase and mailing of parcels, my trip this time required taking a number. Mine was #1130 and the counter was only serving #1108. Might as well come back later, I told myself. But then again, at 11:15am, it might get worse since the office lunch crowd would soon invade the mall. 

Trust me - you wouldn't want to be hungry and looking for a table any later than 12:15pm in KLCC Suria mall. Just look at the Petronas Twin Towers and its new Tower 3. Can you imagine the office workers there, spanning from the administrative staff to the Big Shots (self-proclaimed and otherwise)? Which means there are queues everywhere from nasi lemak bungkus counters to fancy overpriced eateries, at least two with poor hygiene. (It is not easy trying to forget the restaurant whose staff you had witnessed leaving the washroom without washing her hands. A former classmate in my language class had also warned the few of us never to patronize the restaurant where he worked, followed by a demonstration of how his colleagues prepared the drinks.)

I strolled towards Uniqlo, greeted by the chirpy staff with echoes of their trademark "welcome to Uniqlo" in sing-song style. I must have been there for quite a while, because when I returned to the post office, it was serving #1124. Great. Even greater was that a few people had given up their numbers, and in less than 10 minutes, it was my turn. 

The word "easy" has different meanings. It largely depends on the person saying it. If Heston Blumenthal says it's easy, you might still need a blow torch, candy thermometer, syringe or some dry ice. When Anthony Bourdain says it's easy, you should read his recipe carefully and then read some more on the key techniques that he has mentioned. When Jamie Oliver says it's easy, it is likely that you are able to improvise his recipe. After all, that's his style.

When I say it's easy, it is easy. And I'll try to share as much details with you so that you are confident of pulling it off, even if your stove had not been lit for months, or in some extraordinary cases, since the day you moved in.

One of the husband's achievements of late - in terms of assimilating in KL - is watching Celestial HD channel. For the benefit of our non-Malaysian friends, Celestial HD is like HBO but only in Cantonese and occasionally Chinese. One can sit all-day in front of the TV watching back-to-back movies. We don't do that, though, because we don't have much time together during the week so TV-time is minimized. 

Instead, we regularly scroll through the channel guide to record movies which we think may be interesting. If there is one improvement Astro could work on, it is to indicate the main cast of every movie in the write-ups. Only on weekend afternoons do we catch up on what had been recorded. If we can't sit through the first ten minutes, the movie is deleted. "Next!...."

I am so proud of the fact JL has watched all three parts of Infernal Affairs. And by the third installment, he was able to think like a Hong-Kong mafia boss and predict what is ahead. He loves saying "hai meh?" ("really?") in various tones of speech: sarcastically, sincerely, comically. And he makes the hospitable aunties at our regular Chinese eatery laugh when he says "mmmm goy..." ("please" or "thank you") and "mai dan" ("check please"). 

"So who's your favourite actor so far?" I asked him last night.

Short of planting my own xiao bai cai and kneading my own dough for fresh noodles, it gives me great pleasure to say that I made my own plate of wantan mee. All within 15 minutes.

You'd probably remember my previous post on the effortless 4-3-2-1 homemade char siew, and another on what I'd affectionately call "my little soldiers on standby in the freezer". If you foresee a few solo meals ahead for whatever reason (especially if you're a SAHM, or when the spouse goes on a business trip), I'd strongly recommend that you upgrade your meals by staying away from MSG-laden instant noodles. All because eating without your loved one is miserable enough, let alone eating crap without your loved one. Instead, make the dumplings and char siew in large batches, preferably on different days, zero-pressure, and you'll have many 15-minute meals to enjoy.

I've tried many marinades in different proportions and finally found one that tastes just right. When I took a closer look at what I've jotted down, it made me laugh. There's a name to this recipe. I called it the "4-3-2-1 Homemade Char Siew". 

A few things to take note of, though, if you are trying this for the first time.