Everyone's onto their own thing after washing up the dishes after dinner. The Poster Boys are here because their mother had decided to bring the Oui-Ouis over for a couple of days before they leave for Italy. I thought I'd never see them again till next year, realizing too late that I had not taken any photos with them. 

Now they're here after a whole afternoon of playing in water. But I doubt the little one is keen to have his photo taken. They spent the past week in Brest with their maternal grandparents. And N came back with a cold-sore on the lips which even affected his appetite. He's lost one kilogram of weight - that's a lot considering he weighs only 16 kg. 

The FIL will drive JL and I to the airport in Lyon tomorrow after lunch. It will be a bittersweet day, I already know. We're embarking on a new chapter in our life, after a whole year of wandering and wondering in uncertainty. We certainly never expected the wait to be this long when we took the leap of faith, leaving behind our stable, rather comfortable and routine life in Singapore (in other words, boring).  

A friend commented about the good life I live. Yes, T, my life is good in the context of the whole world. But there were days when I refused to even wake up, let alone get out of bed, because I felt stuck in this same life. My 36th birthday saw me homeless, jobless and aimless. But tomorrow, on the French autoroute (which had been so kind to us) to Lyon Saint Exupéry, I will remind myself that I'm moving on. With the love of my life, we're moving on. 

As for the Poster Boys, never mind the photo. At least I get to have them hug and kiss me one more time. I'll ask for very sloppy ones that'll last for months.

There's a voyeur deep down in every one of us. Then for some of us, it's not that deep. 

I'll show you mine if you show me yours... 

Strangers in the night... exchanging trousers... wondering what's inside... 

Okay. Perhaps I'm on a sugar+caffeine high. Or perhaps it's the wind. I get carried away.

My pantry at the moment exists only in my head. We haven't secured our "home" in KL yet. No panic despite our one-way flight four days from now. But since we were talking about cooking at home earlier on, I might as well share with you my pantry list. My apologies for not having any photos as show-and-tell. Another day, maybe.

This has to be my final post on why we don't cook. Much had been said here and here, along with some practical ideas we can adopt. Or try at the very least. I can't think of much else to help ourselves so here's my last shot at it.

I've Never Cooked All My Life

Sad but true: some of us grew up not having done anything in the kitchen. By the time we left home, we relied on street food. Then we got married, have kids, and eventually find ourselves cornered because either we care about what our kids eat, or we find eating out a logistical challenge. But we never really learned how to cook. So how? What do you mean how? 

This follows from my blog entry earlier this week. Again, the disclaimer is there so I won't get dirty looks or not hear from some of my friends in future.

Street Food Galore

With the ever-increasing number of food trucks, food courts, hawker centers and mamak stalls, one starts to think "why bother?". And by the way, have you checked out The Big Group's newer eateries (they're expanding too fast at the expense of quality service and food, in my humble opinion) or the latest Din Tai Fung (err... the Singaporean one, not the one in KL) yet? Speaking of which, I'm also thinking of the Muar gluttons' street wantan mee... You see where we're heading? Exactly! Why bother cooking? 

Look, I love eating out too. But too much of a good thing can be bad for you. How many of us actually pay attention to the amount of pork lard in that serving of char kway teow? The sugar and condensed milk in our teh tarik? "But it just tastes soooo good!", we'd whine. Sure, when it does and we get thirsty, it's probably a few ounces of MSG in the broth. It is affordable and convenient after a day's work, no one's denying that. But what are we doing to our bodies? And again, what are we teaching our children eating out all the time? More importantly, the children can eat without you? No, I don't mean you should hold it against them, let me explain in a bit.

Big disclaimer before I continue: this is not meant to slam people who don't cook. It is also not meant to be sexist. Hence the generic "we" instead of "women" or "some people". 

Home-cooking is dying a slow death especially in big cities like Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. Home-cooking is dying simply because we don't cook like our parents and their parents did. And here's a list of reasons why we don't cook, (based on what I observe around me) followed by some suggestions that could bring us back to cooking at home. I am unable to cover them all within a single posting but will continue with subsequent ones.

Negative first experiences

Some of us did try our hand at cooking. This is especially true when we left home for college, or when we started working and realized how our meagre paycheck couldn't afford our eating out every meal. So we started with instant noodles but grew tired of it. Then we thought, why not make our own steaks and mashed potatoes at home? But because nobody taught us and these we didn't learn from textbooks, we left the pan so smoking hot it triggered the smoke alarm. Or we blitzed the freshly boiled potatoes in the blender, never had we imagined the pressure within would be so great the cover gets blown off, and we spent the night wiping off random globs of spud in the kitchen. Never again.

{ This post was published a day late. }

It's Sunday evening and I have much on my mind. Just two hours ago JL's nephews bade us farewell, having spent a full week with us, most days without their parents. And I'm missing them now largely because the boys, JL and I did many, many silly things together this past week. 

Every morning they would be up - between 7:30 and 8am - before us but no problem, as that's their quality time with Mamie (grandma for the French kids). Papie would have already left the house to attend to his garden a short drive away and he wouldn't be back till 11am. Thus between breakfast and lunch, JL and I had to keep an eye on them. I loved it because that's when JL's at his most creative, coming up with ways to play with whatever's available. How many ways can you play with a ball? Infinitely many.

The brothers, E and N, are truly lovable. They're also my poster boys - both are photogenic, and cooperative even to the point of working the camera without me prompting anymore. When they were younger (also when JL and I had only two weeks at most every June and December in France), they'd be conscious of the camera. These days they not only do not care when the camera is pointed at them, they'd even ask for me when something special or hilarious takes place. Like when they're having some fun in the bath, or when they want to see themselves doing their favourite things, predictably involving balls and bicycles. 

Do you enjoy ironing? 

Sorry, let me rephrase... How does the thought of ironing make you feel?

I used to despise it and thus bought only clothes that didn't require ironing. Until I got married, had to iron some of the husband's shirts occasionally, still hated it though a little less, and later on, became more competent at it and have since grown to like it.

Most people dread ironing largely because they never really learned how to, let alone realized how their choice (or the lack thereof) of iron and ironing board can totally affect their experience. It's almost like driving a car. Before buying it, you would have asked: Are the seats comfortable enough to take you through a 5-kilometer jam? Does the dashboard look cool enough for you? How does the steering wheel feel? And the accelerator? Does the car say "you" all over? Will you and the vehicle become one on the road? 

Now I know some of you may laugh at what I've just said. Of course we'd ask ourselves 101 questions before buying a car! After all it is a major financial commitment we're signing ourselves to. An iron and the accompanying board cost no more than a couple of hundred bucks tops. Why think so much? 

Oh wait, before I continue: if you think ironing is something only maids do because they are paid and thus have no choice but to do so, you can stop reading now and get back to Facebooking. Otherwise, please carry on :)

I just had to write this down. It happened last evening. My in-laws were hosting dinner for seven - JL's godfather J, the animated aunt M and husband M, then four of us. They were arriving at seven thirty and knowing this side of my family, one is always on time if not early. 

The MIL, when she's expecting guests, would do her food shopping a day or two before. And on the actual day, one would normally see something on the stove or in the oven late afternoon. Yesterday at six, the kitchen was quiet and empty: no soft whistling from the pressure cooker, no simmering sound, no ticking of her mini timer, and the biggest red flag (for me, at least) - no smell of cooking. 

Out of curiosity, I took a peek in the kitchen only to see her sitting at the table, reading Le Canard enchaîné. You may recognize the word canard as duck, but Le Canard enchaîné is anything but a cookbook. Ten minutes later, she was solving a Sudoku in one of her weekly magazines. Yes, yes, yes... I know about her Boy Scouts-style readiness and Zen-like calmness in the kitchen. But there is really nothing in the kitchen! Not the slightest hint at dinner for seven adults. All I knew was she wanted to try her friend's recipe for a lemon tiramisu, no coffee, no cocoa.

We spent last week in KL and finally met our relocation agent in person. My head spun after nearly 20 apartments across 11 developments within a 2-km radius -- all in three days jet-lag inclusive. It's exhilarating and sure beats the hell out of watching episodes of HGTV's House Hunters (International) on the couch!

The property market in KL city center is very dynamic with established developments competing against a handful of recently completed ones. We even saw one which was so new the kitchen fittings have yet to be even installed. But it was funny because minutes before that unit, we were in the show unit which was so tastefully done up by the interior designers. Should have recorded the husband's face when we stepped into the actual unit. But oh, if only we could extract that kitchen and family area right next to it for our next home!

It's Monday morning bright and early - 6:20am - at the KLM lounge at Schiphol: soft eclectic mix of music accompany the early (mostly tired nonetheless) business executives; delightful clinking of glasses and frothing of milk from the coffee machines at the food service area. And what truly draws the line between relaxing and relaxing: no smartypants monkeying around (yes, he's almost like Tom Cruise on Oprah's couch), only to outdo himself later by catching bubbles with his mouth, reporting his every achievement to the mother, who probably thinks her son is the world's most adorable kid, never mind that he's disturbing everyone else around. 

Smartypants aside, nor are there young, eager, first-time Asian parents who attend to their baby's cooing. (Seriously!) I'm not racist but I think it is just the Asian parenting style. Young mummy kept shushing the little one so that baby will sleep and not make noise. But she didn't realize she was the cause of annoyance because whenever she does her larger-than-life spin of "sshhh, ssshhhh, sssshhhh...... ssh, ssshhhhh.......", she could put the entire section of passengers to sleep. Just that we're all adults, hullo... One word to her: SHHHHHHHH.