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 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.

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.

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.

We saw our container driven away for Marseille yesterday. It was a long day for JL who had been with the movers since morning. Glad we won't be doing this for the next three years at least. I only joined the party after lunch and they sure worked fast! 

The garage had already been half-emptied before the guys went for their lunch break. As most of the boxes (packed in Singapore two years ago) are still in good condition, the guys only had to redo their inventory list using their own labels. 

Nonetheless our three Bulgarian acquaintances came armed with new boxes in assorted sizes. Not too bad, because they've come all the way from Lyon and they'd better not forget nor run short of anything they need. Otherwise it'd be three hours' drive both ways to get it!

So the 101 was on respect for all things paper. What else to prepare yourself with before a week of serious packing? Here are some of my favourites through our moves:

Make a list. I love lists! If you don't, at least make one in your head and hope that you'll remember it. I write them down because my memory fails me when my limps are aching. The list should contain the items you want to pack. You don't have to explicitly spell it all out, just categorize them eg. house linens, books (JL's school texts, comics, my French books, cookbooks, and so on), paintings, winter clothes, the likes. The more you can group them, the better organized you will be when you get down to the actual packing. And the better you can imagine packing your stuff, the more you can identify what is required: custom-built wooden crate for paintings, packs of desiccants, bubble wraps, which sizes for your carton boxes, etc. 

I am a boxer. Oh yes, a very seasoned boxer and in fact, as professional as the ones who earn their keep at it. I hold no punches when it comes to ensuring zero-hairline-breakage to my gratin dishes and precious beer mugs and pint glasses. I wrapped them all up - piece by piece - with clean larger-than-broadsheet-size paper.  I am reluctant to leave them in the hands of professional movers because insurance cover is merely that. Insurance cover can never replace sentimental value.

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.