At a cousin's wedding in August, my grandmother and I were seated at the same table as my cousin's other relatives. These relatives have pretty much known me since forever and I'm still in awe of the fact that their eldest children are about to graduate from college when I still think of them as being little toddlers. Two of kids at our table are brothers with a bit of an age difference, with the younger brother not in his teens yet. The elder brother is quite affectionate towards the younger brother, and is very patient. In fact, my husband and I made a note of how wonderful it was to see that between siblings.
The elder one is about to graduate from college and actually presents himself very well. A very good-looking young man who carries himself very well around others, Joe and I felt very sure that he was going to do well in whatever he wanted to do with the rest of his life. My grandmother also felt the same way and started a conversation with the young man. She asked about his school, what he was studying, and what he wanted to do. She praised him for being so loving and attentive to his younger brother and also praised him for being such a good son. She of course then asked him if he had a girlfriend and if he didn't, to not worry because she knew of a few very available young women back in Singapore and Malaysia. He replied very courteously that he wasn't attached to anyone.
"Well then you shouldn't wear that earring, young man," she declared (maybe a little too loudly), referring to the little stud he had in his earlobe. "Wearing an earring only shows that you're a troublemaker. It shows that you have no respect for other people. You should take that off!"
Mortified, I tried to stop my grandmother from berating the poor young man in front of his parents but it was like trying to stop a runaway locomotive. I quickly apologized to my poor young cousin (because technically, he IS my cousin even if the only way we're related is through our cousin the groom) for the fact that my grandmother speaks without a filter. I then made a mental note to NOT give my grandmother any more wine (she had 1/4 glass of white wine) at parties. By the way, have I mentioned that the happier my grandmother is the louder her voice gets? Rest assured, she was quite the happy great-grandmother who was only made happier with a little bit of alcohol. I definitely caught glances made in our direction by guests seated at other tables several tables away.
It was definitely during that time when I wished I was a part of the Southwest Airlines commercial for "Want to get away?". Where's my "ding", dammit???
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
It's all about presentation...
I have to confess... I love food. I love the smells of food. I love the taste of food. I just love the very look of food. Which makes it all the harder for me to be the kind of foodie I want to be (sigh... I will sadly never be an Iron Chef judge) because of my allergy to certain foods, though this actually makes my husband quite happy on account of him being able to eat more of what I can't and won't eat (I've only lately started eating cilantro again and it's barely... LONG story there!).
I've never quite possessed the taste buds necessary to be a badass chef, nor have I the skills (though I'm very proud that I made little flowers out of carrot slices for a particular clay pot once). Suffice it to say that the food I cook is definitely edible and considering I haven't had much time to really indulge in fine cooking, the fact that I can put anything together at all has been a feat in itself. Fortunately for me, my grandmother being the awesome cook that she is, gave me a great lesson in cooking. I had made dinner one night in an attempt to NOT consume the usual grandmother-fare (see "Hazards of Salad") which was very simple: steamed rice, steamed chinese sausage, steamed eggs, and stir-fried cabbage with dried shrimp. Granted, two out of three were steamed and didn't really require any extra effort on my part but I DID cook the cabbage (stir-fried with some garlic and a little bit of chicken broth)! In fact, my husband and I agreed over dinner that night how nice it was to have a simple dinner and how refreshing it was to eat a plain vegetable dish. I had made quite a bit of it that night and was, in fact, the only thing remaining as leftovers.
The next night, I had come home a bit later than usual and even though I had told my grandmother that I would cook dinner, I had returned to find dinner already made. One of the items I saw cooked and ready to eat was my leftover cabbage, only it wasn't really my leftover cabbage. It resembled my simple stir-fried cabbage dish of the night before except that this one seemed to have huge chunks of chicken in it along with a visible layer of oil coating just about every nook and cranny.
"Grandma, did you recook my cabbage?" I asked rather incredulously.
"Yes, I added some chicken!" She replied happily.
"Why did you add the chicken?"
"So the dish will look prettier!"
So there you have it.
I've never quite possessed the taste buds necessary to be a badass chef, nor have I the skills (though I'm very proud that I made little flowers out of carrot slices for a particular clay pot once). Suffice it to say that the food I cook is definitely edible and considering I haven't had much time to really indulge in fine cooking, the fact that I can put anything together at all has been a feat in itself. Fortunately for me, my grandmother being the awesome cook that she is, gave me a great lesson in cooking. I had made dinner one night in an attempt to NOT consume the usual grandmother-fare (see "Hazards of Salad") which was very simple: steamed rice, steamed chinese sausage, steamed eggs, and stir-fried cabbage with dried shrimp. Granted, two out of three were steamed and didn't really require any extra effort on my part but I DID cook the cabbage (stir-fried with some garlic and a little bit of chicken broth)! In fact, my husband and I agreed over dinner that night how nice it was to have a simple dinner and how refreshing it was to eat a plain vegetable dish. I had made quite a bit of it that night and was, in fact, the only thing remaining as leftovers.
The next night, I had come home a bit later than usual and even though I had told my grandmother that I would cook dinner, I had returned to find dinner already made. One of the items I saw cooked and ready to eat was my leftover cabbage, only it wasn't really my leftover cabbage. It resembled my simple stir-fried cabbage dish of the night before except that this one seemed to have huge chunks of chicken in it along with a visible layer of oil coating just about every nook and cranny.
"Grandma, did you recook my cabbage?" I asked rather incredulously.
"Yes, I added some chicken!" She replied happily.
"Why did you add the chicken?"
"So the dish will look prettier!"
So there you have it.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Real Reason for Confiscation
My grandmother has a tendency of trying to bring things, either from or to abroad, that she most likely shouldn't be bringing. For instance, on a trip up through Malaysia and to Thailand, she bought a bunch of fruit in a market in Thailand. Why? Because they don't have that kind of fruit in Singapore. On a trip to Japan with her friends from tai chi, she smuggled in some flowers that she found to be rather pretty and wanted to grow in front of her flat. Most of the time, she actually gets away with this because she pretty much plays that whole "I'm just a poor old lady" bit and the Customs Inspectors will just wave her on. I would even say that prior to 9/11, she got away with that quite often because she didn't speak nor understand English (which isn't 100% true) and she'll just smile and nod and look every bit the "little ol' lady" (which is a bit hard, considering she's still taller than me, and I'm 5' 6").
When my husband and I arrived at SFO to pick up my grandma, we waited by the gate for quite a while. We soon realized that all the people who had arrived two flights after her had already picked up their respective luggages and on their merry way out of the airport. I started hoping and praying that my poor grandmother hadn't fallen ill or was detained. Close to two hours after the arrival of her flight, we soon found her.
It turned out that she had come out through another gate (oops!) but had only just come out and had been waiting for half an hour. So what happened with the first hour and a half? It seems that the little ol' lady had indeed been detained by the inspectors. And what did the inspector confiscate?
- Zong zi (they're like Chinese tamales. Good stuff!)... about 20 of them
- Instant noodles (yes... I know what you're thinking, but the ones from Singapore are apparently better)
- Chicken essence (Chinese herbal chicken stuff that's actually very good for overall health. Think of it as potent chicken soup)
- Some other foodstuffs that I can't remember anymore
My grandmother was quite irate at having lost so much good food, especially since she had been the one to make the zong zi with her own hands. She was trying to do her best to salvage the remainder but was quite unsuccessful.
"She took all my best things!" She complained once we fetched her and were walking back to the truck. "She took all the instant noodles and wanted to throw everything away. I kept telling her 'no no no' but she said that I couldn't bring in."
"Well," I said, laughing. "That's what happens when you try to bring food in, grandma. It'll get confiscated."
"No," she huffed angrily. "It's because she knows that I'm such a good cook and wants to keep my food to herself."
"That's not why your food got confiscated, grandma."
"It's true. She just wanted the food for herself. I know she just put it aside so she can bring it home for dinner later. She must've taken a look at the food and thought 'mmm... looks good!' and decided to just keep it for herself."
So there you have it. Sagacious Grandmother says that if your stuff ever gets confiscated while travelling through airports, it is because the local inspector wants it for him/herself.
When my husband and I arrived at SFO to pick up my grandma, we waited by the gate for quite a while. We soon realized that all the people who had arrived two flights after her had already picked up their respective luggages and on their merry way out of the airport. I started hoping and praying that my poor grandmother hadn't fallen ill or was detained. Close to two hours after the arrival of her flight, we soon found her.
It turned out that she had come out through another gate (oops!) but had only just come out and had been waiting for half an hour. So what happened with the first hour and a half? It seems that the little ol' lady had indeed been detained by the inspectors. And what did the inspector confiscate?
- Zong zi (they're like Chinese tamales. Good stuff!)... about 20 of them
- Instant noodles (yes... I know what you're thinking, but the ones from Singapore are apparently better)
- Chicken essence (Chinese herbal chicken stuff that's actually very good for overall health. Think of it as potent chicken soup)
- Some other foodstuffs that I can't remember anymore
My grandmother was quite irate at having lost so much good food, especially since she had been the one to make the zong zi with her own hands. She was trying to do her best to salvage the remainder but was quite unsuccessful.
"She took all my best things!" She complained once we fetched her and were walking back to the truck. "She took all the instant noodles and wanted to throw everything away. I kept telling her 'no no no' but she said that I couldn't bring in."
"Well," I said, laughing. "That's what happens when you try to bring food in, grandma. It'll get confiscated."
"No," she huffed angrily. "It's because she knows that I'm such a good cook and wants to keep my food to herself."
"That's not why your food got confiscated, grandma."
"It's true. She just wanted the food for herself. I know she just put it aside so she can bring it home for dinner later. She must've taken a look at the food and thought 'mmm... looks good!' and decided to just keep it for herself."
So there you have it. Sagacious Grandmother says that if your stuff ever gets confiscated while travelling through airports, it is because the local inspector wants it for him/herself.
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Hazards of Salad
I know just about everyone will say this about their grandmothers but MY grandmother is, hands-down, THE BEST cook alive. There really wasn't much in Chinese cooking she didn't know how to cook, which was especially good for us when we moved back to California. It's not as if one could get a bowl of laksa or a plate of chicken rice by walking down to your neighborhood hawker centre so I was definitely at a loss when my grandmother moved back to Singapore (this was when I was in middle school).
Once my grandmother came to stay and had started cooking meals for us, I had come to realize that things just weren't what I had remembered from my childhood. I hadn't quite remembered the food tasting as oily or that there was always a dish with some kind of meat in it (chicken or pork, but no beef on account of my grandmother being a devout Buddhist). I quickly found out what made her food taste so good. It was lots of sugar, salt, oil, and good ol' MSG. In fact, my husband and I had just bought one of those big bottles of extra virgin olive oil from Whole Foods and while one bottle would definitely last us for a few months, that bottle was almost depleted in a little over a month! Needless to say, though grandma's cooking is still number one, my husband and I were repulsed by all the extra ingredients on a daily basis.
In an effort to start eating healthier, Joe and I stopped at Whole Foods and picked up a salad from their refrigerated shelves. We brought the salad home and ate alongside my grandmother, who was eating leftovers (being the old-school Chinese person that she is, she does not eat raw stuff).
"Salad for dinner?" She exclaimed. "There's no vitamins in that! How are you going to be full? You're going to starve your son!"
I quickly pointed out that salads had vegetables, and that the particular one I was eating had a hard-boiled egg, mushrooms, and an avocado. All very healthy ingredients which will definitely give my body enough fuel to do whatever it is I need it to do, including milk production. Of course, this all just fell on deaf ears attached to a stubborn mindset.
"You're starving your son. Eat some of this instead," she says, as she plops down a portion of one of her famous dishes into a bowl with some rice: stewed fatty pork.
Once my grandmother came to stay and had started cooking meals for us, I had come to realize that things just weren't what I had remembered from my childhood. I hadn't quite remembered the food tasting as oily or that there was always a dish with some kind of meat in it (chicken or pork, but no beef on account of my grandmother being a devout Buddhist). I quickly found out what made her food taste so good. It was lots of sugar, salt, oil, and good ol' MSG. In fact, my husband and I had just bought one of those big bottles of extra virgin olive oil from Whole Foods and while one bottle would definitely last us for a few months, that bottle was almost depleted in a little over a month! Needless to say, though grandma's cooking is still number one, my husband and I were repulsed by all the extra ingredients on a daily basis.
In an effort to start eating healthier, Joe and I stopped at Whole Foods and picked up a salad from their refrigerated shelves. We brought the salad home and ate alongside my grandmother, who was eating leftovers (being the old-school Chinese person that she is, she does not eat raw stuff).
"Salad for dinner?" She exclaimed. "There's no vitamins in that! How are you going to be full? You're going to starve your son!"
I quickly pointed out that salads had vegetables, and that the particular one I was eating had a hard-boiled egg, mushrooms, and an avocado. All very healthy ingredients which will definitely give my body enough fuel to do whatever it is I need it to do, including milk production. Of course, this all just fell on deaf ears attached to a stubborn mindset.
"You're starving your son. Eat some of this instead," she says, as she plops down a portion of one of her famous dishes into a bowl with some rice: stewed fatty pork.
Monday, November 16, 2009
True Sagacity
There were many times, when I was a little girl, where my grandmother used to lie about her age. Not just to her multitude of friends, but also to her family (which also included me). But unlike most women I know who would lie about their age by lying younger, she would always lie older. For example, for much of her fifties, my grandmother would tell people that she was in her sixties.
When I was really little, her age always screwed up my learning mathematics (so... you were supposed to turn 61 this year, but you still get to stay 60 even though you're really 55???). As I got older, I learned that it wasn't my counting that was screwed up but maybe my grandmother was really special and knew some awesome magic. Then I got to the age where I realized that my grandmother was just weird.
"Grandma," I said one day. "Most women always lie about their age, but they always lie under. Like women who are over 30 but always say that they're 29. Why do you always lie older? Don't you want to be young?"
"My dear," she said. "It's no good to lie younger than you really are."
"Why not? It seems like everyone's doing it."
She laughed. "People are smart. If you tell them that you're younger than you really are, they'll think 'wow, she looks terrible for her age'. But if you tell them that you're older than you really are, they'll think 'WOW! She looks GREAT for her age!'."
Sagacious Grandmother is truly sagacious indeed!
When I was really little, her age always screwed up my learning mathematics (so... you were supposed to turn 61 this year, but you still get to stay 60 even though you're really 55???). As I got older, I learned that it wasn't my counting that was screwed up but maybe my grandmother was really special and knew some awesome magic. Then I got to the age where I realized that my grandmother was just weird.
"Grandma," I said one day. "Most women always lie about their age, but they always lie under. Like women who are over 30 but always say that they're 29. Why do you always lie older? Don't you want to be young?"
"My dear," she said. "It's no good to lie younger than you really are."
"Why not? It seems like everyone's doing it."
She laughed. "People are smart. If you tell them that you're younger than you really are, they'll think 'wow, she looks terrible for her age'. But if you tell them that you're older than you really are, they'll think 'WOW! She looks GREAT for her age!'."
Sagacious Grandmother is truly sagacious indeed!
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Girlish Figure
For a couple months after having delivered Tyler, I was still wearing maternity clothes. In fact, I even went out and bought MORE maternity clothes as it looked like I was still pregnant. But really, it was because I had really only bought two maternity tees that I had pretty much worn to death (will it be the blue one or the gray one?). Plus, if I didn't add to my wardrobe, my husband most likely was going to call one of those makeover shows on me ("What??? She wore the same two tees and sweats for HOW LONG???").
Anyway, I was doing my best to eat right, drink plenty of fluids, and exercise. In fact, I had started doing crunches around my 4th week post-partum. Fortunately, as Tyler's birth was a vaginal delivery, getting back into shape wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. Of course, I think it definitely helped that I:
A) Had a vaginal delivery
B) Breastfeeding (apparently you eat more, but being a dairy producer burns up more calories!)
C) Was tired all the frickin' time (you would be too if you had to wake up every couple hours)
D) Have good genes (hey man, one look at my mom and you'd understand. She's barely thicker than a toothpick!)
So a little over two months after Tyler's birth, I finally managed to squeeze myself back into my pre-pregnancy jeans AND shirts without the obvious "muffin-top". I was so proud of myself that I had to show my grandmother.
"Look, grandma!" I proudly exclaimed. "I can fit in my old clothes again!"
"That's nice," she replied, giving me the once-over. "But you really should bandage up your mid-section. If you don't, your belly's just going to pop out and having a big belly doesn't look attractive on a woman."
Not to be deterred, I continued: "But I exercise! I don't look like I have a big belly!"
Silence...
And then: "You should bandage up your mid-section. You'll look much prettier because you'll have a nicer figure."
Needless to say, I lost that argument.
Anyway, I was doing my best to eat right, drink plenty of fluids, and exercise. In fact, I had started doing crunches around my 4th week post-partum. Fortunately, as Tyler's birth was a vaginal delivery, getting back into shape wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. Of course, I think it definitely helped that I:
A) Had a vaginal delivery
B) Breastfeeding (apparently you eat more, but being a dairy producer burns up more calories!)
C) Was tired all the frickin' time (you would be too if you had to wake up every couple hours)
D) Have good genes (hey man, one look at my mom and you'd understand. She's barely thicker than a toothpick!)
So a little over two months after Tyler's birth, I finally managed to squeeze myself back into my pre-pregnancy jeans AND shirts without the obvious "muffin-top". I was so proud of myself that I had to show my grandmother.
"Look, grandma!" I proudly exclaimed. "I can fit in my old clothes again!"
"That's nice," she replied, giving me the once-over. "But you really should bandage up your mid-section. If you don't, your belly's just going to pop out and having a big belly doesn't look attractive on a woman."
Not to be deterred, I continued: "But I exercise! I don't look like I have a big belly!"
Silence...
And then: "You should bandage up your mid-section. You'll look much prettier because you'll have a nicer figure."
Needless to say, I lost that argument.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sex Change (Part II)
Though he's much more tolerant of it now, Tyler was absolutely incapable of being in a dirty diaper for more than a minute for the first three months of his young life. This applied to both Number One and Number Two. He would get really fussy and nothing could get him to calm down until we had changed his diaper, at which point all would be well again. In fact, his record of number of diapers used in one day is 26. 26! Thank goodness for cloth diapers!
My husband and I originally thought this fussiness about being in a dirty diaper was only in cloth diapers only to find out quickly that it also extended to disposables. Just ask my lactation consultant and some of my mommy girlfriends. Tyler once went through three disposables in less than two hours. Only after he was clean and changed could he resume nursing and being his little baby self again.
My grandmother had tried on a number of occasions to get us to not change his diaper so frequently, all of which resulted in uncontrollable crying and fussiness for about 10 minutes before she would give up and tell us to change his diaper. At first, she teased Tyler about his cleanliness by saying that only girls are fussy about having a clean diaper and that it is okay for boys to sit in a dirty diaper all day long. After a few weeks of this, my grandmother loudly proclaimed (while I was changing Tyler's diaper):
"Your son must really be a girl because seriously speaking, only girls are that fussy about being in a clean diaper. You really shouldn't change his diaper so often."
Yeah... I just didn't know how to respond to that one...
My husband and I originally thought this fussiness about being in a dirty diaper was only in cloth diapers only to find out quickly that it also extended to disposables. Just ask my lactation consultant and some of my mommy girlfriends. Tyler once went through three disposables in less than two hours. Only after he was clean and changed could he resume nursing and being his little baby self again.
My grandmother had tried on a number of occasions to get us to not change his diaper so frequently, all of which resulted in uncontrollable crying and fussiness for about 10 minutes before she would give up and tell us to change his diaper. At first, she teased Tyler about his cleanliness by saying that only girls are fussy about having a clean diaper and that it is okay for boys to sit in a dirty diaper all day long. After a few weeks of this, my grandmother loudly proclaimed (while I was changing Tyler's diaper):
"Your son must really be a girl because seriously speaking, only girls are that fussy about being in a clean diaper. You really shouldn't change his diaper so often."
Yeah... I just didn't know how to respond to that one...
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