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.

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.

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.

One of the things I've been practising in the past year is to make crêpes. It sounds trivial: flour, eggs and milk beaten up to produce a runny batter which is then spooned onto a heated pan, flipped over and voilà. But you know what they say -- talk is cheap.

What is the right proportion for the three ingredients? The eggs and milk: cold or at room temperature? Whisked or blended? Pan: cast-iron, non-stick or stainless steel? Heat: low, medium or high? Fire or induction? One can read up on the internet and still messes things up when doing it, for instance, lumpy batter that is not ready for the pan. And finally, there's the look on the husband's face that says it all. Meaning, he still prefers the ones he had as a kid. Meaning, "The next time we go back to France, I'll ask my mum to teach you."

Which was what he did. And she did. And thus I did. In fact, in the past months I've turned crêpe-making into an organized process which, in my humble opinion, is worthy of ISO certification. JL now asks for them and can take up to eight crêpes per seating. Me, I happily oblige every time since it's been internalised. It may not be the world's best recipe but it's definitely one I can call my own.   

This can be done with just a wooden spoon and a bowl for the batter. But allow me to share some key details which you won't find in any magazine or food article:

* As soon as you decide to make crêpes, take the milk, eggs and a tablespoon of butter out of the fridge. Leave these on the counter to warm to room temperature. Until then, carry on with your life.
* Measure the flour by weight, not by cup. My "Golden Ratio" -- 100g flour : one egg : 250ml milk. Laugh all you want but, you're welcome.
* It is easy to obtain a lump-free batter when you use a blender. But you can also get a smooth batter with just your spoon. So you don't need a blender, really. You just need to know how to do it with your hands. I'll describe it later.
* You need to "rest" the batter for at least an hour before using it. Trust me. 

Ready? Let's just work with 300 grams of flour. Follow the Golden Ratio and it's always one tablespoon of butter. 

Start by making a well with the flour in your bowl. Break one egg in the well, use your spoon to cut into the yolk. Working in a small circular motion, gently incorporate the flour with the egg until you get a pasty texture. Add a small amount of milk and keep mixing the ingredients slowly but thoroughly. Alternate between adding of egg and milk till the third egg. Continue to stir in small amounts of milk to incorporate all the flour. Then, stir in the butter, a pinch of salt, and a teaspoon of sugar. And finally, stir in the remaining milk. You'll get a very runny batter, much like the consistency of heavy cream. Now let it rest.

After some years of teaching mathematics and music in Singapore secondary schools, I have two words engraved on my forehead: Best Practices. And this is my setup for crêpes - from left to right - input, process, output. Also, I find that induction cooktop is better than gas (fire) because the pan is consistently and evenly heated up. More pleasant to work with too. I use moderate-high heat and only start when my palm feels hot over the pan. With just that tablespoon of butter already in the batter, there is no need for oil on the nonstick pan.

The rest of it comes with practice, practice, and more practice. First, you get the hang of the process, right from taking the ingredients from the fridge to eating it. Then, work on getting the exact amount of batter to put on the pan. If you keep using the same ladle and pan, very soon you'll be able to tell if it is too much, too little or just right. Work on your wrist action - how you swirl the pan to spread the batter evenly without any hole. After that, how thin can you get? When do you turn the crêpe over? How? Don't forget to savour that split-second when you slide the crêpe onto the plate. 

I came to realize that my true enjoyment of crêpes lies in the process of making them, and not so much in the eating. I like that the entire process has been well thought through -- my RO (reporting officer) would have been impressed if this were my KRA (key result area) -- and that it is simple to the point of being primitive. But more importantly, I love watching how the husband turns into that boy all over again, sprinkling sugar before rolling it up like a cigar. Just the way he likes it.  

Every few weeks, JL and I make a trip down to Singapore for many reasons: catching up with old friends, meeting people regarding work, dropping by the hairdresser's (hey I've been seeing him since the turn of the century!) and running errands (banks, post office). 

In between these, we also try to plan our meals revisiting our old haunts -- good old Singapore-style Hainanese chicken rice and dry beef horfun at Chin Chin; the sole mio pizza at Mario's; tandoori chicken and curry at Samy's; nachos and Asian grilled chicken wings washed down with golden ale at Brewerkz; rojak and sliced fish beehoon soup (with milk!) at Wisma's Food Republic; xiaolongbao, braised beef noodles soup and shrimp wanton noodles soup at Din Tai Fung (the one in KL Pavilion just couldn't cut it)... A long list which is limited only by the number of nights allocated for each trip.

We are such creatures of habit that we almost always order the same items at these places. Hence our broken hearts when we walked to our regular Japanese manga store cum home-cooked food café, only to be shocked by slabs of bare concrete walls through glass panels, not even the tiniest hint of what was previously there. I'd dare say for that few minutes, hunger was taken over by sadness.

It's been three days and memories of Bon Goût at Robertson Quay still linger on. The motherly Japanese lady boss and her younger hippy-chic assistant, the odd duo (one tiny Ah Pek and the other his exact opposite) working in the kitchen who'd sneak a peek at the diners when they were less busy, the sight of Japanese families quietly reading their mangas or magazines after a meal, the rice cookers and slow cookers sitting along the wall behind the service counter, and the unpredictable genres of music playing on the blue portable player near the cashier. 

Yes, it was so regular that we had even gone there both lunch and dinner on the same day. And I regret having only ever taken two photos there.  

It was through Bon Goût that I realized how a good home-cooked meal can be as simple as it is satisfying. It was the hippy-chic lady who said to use California-grown sushi rice (Kokuho, which eventually became our staple in Cambridge). It was the portable player that convinced me Céline Dion sounds only as great as the audio system through which her voice is amplified. 

I suppose the coffee table we have for our living room will always remind me of the tables and counter by which we used to sit at Bon Goût, as they are all of the same shade of wood. And the simplicity of a home-cooked Japanese meal inspired by their menu: udon with cod, naruto maki, and fresh greens in miso soup.  

We'll remember your pan-fried beef steak rice set with creamy carrot-potato salad; your curry rice where half the plate is covered with curry containing potato, carrot and onion, while the other half just white rice with neatly sliced tonkatsu resting on top, served with the most delightful salad of pickled cabbage and onion I've ever tasted; your fried chicken with negi sauce rice set; your stir-fried miso chicken with eggplant. 

And not forgetting your shoyu ramen, which had become our own little joke, as JL would say "I'll shoyu ramen" when he really means "I'll show you". So thanks for the good-tasting memories and inspiration, and I secretly hope that one day, my collection of pretty little stoneware dishes will be as widely assorted as yours. One day.