I'm super late on planting my Grow Box because of all the travels. We're never home!
Jeff is away tonight, which meant I could eat dinner later than we normally would. I left work right at 6, made a quick stop at the Jersey City farmers' market (got a jalapeno & cheese empanada from Made With Love Bakery) and immediately upon arriving home, changed into shorts and pulled out all the Grow Box stuff. And then I realized I need two bags of dirt and I only had one. Dammit.
I had to move the car anyway, so I hightailed it over to Home Depot. Their garden section is finally fully operational, which means I can drive right up to the roof deck and put the dirt directly in my car. I love that.
Upon pulling out of Home Depot, I looked across Grove St. and there was the Buy Rite Jeff and I had heard about in Philly. Yes, a Brooklyn-based importer at a Philly Beer Week event told us about this new(ish) alky store. Well! Let me tell you, the beer selection is PHENOMENAL.
The beer manager is a really nice, young NJ native. He steered me toward an Old Rasputin Bourbon barrel-aged Russian Imperial Stout that he got specially from North Coast and which was not otherwise sold commercially. How could I pass that up? Yes, $21 a bottle and we already have tons of beer, but there was no turning that down.
I can't believe I'm even drinking a beer right now. We have rather a lot of beer on hand right now. But somebody's got to drink it.
After this past weekend, our livers no doubt need a rest. We were in Philly for the end of Philly Beer week. Philly sure does appreciate its beer. Jeff attended a couple of events before I arrived on Saturday (I was off meeting internet friend Jeanne and her adorable family for the first time). At one he ran into a Danish brewer who we'd met in Copenhagen last year.
On Saturday night we went to a guided beer and food pairing dinner at a new restaurant slash beer store called Hawthornes. Apparently this is a thing in Philly. Jeff went to another restaurant slash store on Saturday. It was kind of strange to have people walking through to buy beer during dinner, but otherwise it was a lovely event. We made the store our last stop on our way out of town on Sunday and picked up a mixed six-pack to lug home. You know you're in trouble when you get a mixed six, which is 10% off, and you still spend $40.
After dinner on Saturday, we went to a new bar called the Head House (I think?). As soon as we walked in the door, we realized it was the former Zot. I liked Zot, but this one seems pretty good, too. We were kind of blitzed at that point, and we didn't try the food, so I can't give it a full review.
On our walk from Hawthornes to the Head House, we passed by this amazing mural wall. We could not tell what it was in the dark, but luckily, thanks to Yelp, on Sunday the Philadelphia Magic Gardens came up on the list of nearby attractions. So glad we took the time to check out Zagar's work.
On Sunday we also: had an extreme beer brunch (not guided) at the South Philly Tap Room, stopped in a cafe that sells an extensive array of craft beer and also prides itself on its quality coffee, had snacks and more beers at the Devil's Den, and finally ended our eating and drinking extravaganza at a Vietnamese restaurant in a little Vietnamese enclave we happened upon.
So, yes. My liver needs a break. But like I said: who's going to drink all this beer if not me??
Oh, and the empanada was delicious. A++ would eat again. The NJ blueberries are also my favorite blueberries in the world. I just ate half a box for dessert.
And in the Grow Box I planted a Japanese eggplant, 2 sweet peppers, and 2 fish peppers (not sure what these are; they are heirloom seeds I got last year and the plants didn't make it last year, so I'm trying again with them). There might be more room in the box, but the instructions indicate that's plenty, so I'll see how it goes. I also put 2 basil plants in where the carrots failed. Nothing I've planted in the ground so far has done so hot. The cilantro and dill also never came up. The hot peppers finally did start growing, but they are still teeny tiny, so I'm keeping them inside for now.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Oh bureaucracy
There was no line at the 34th St. and 7th Ave. post office just now, if you can believe that. I thought what the hell, I'll go to a human. I put my packages on the counter and the woman behind the counter looked at me and said, "how can I help you?" Um. You can mail these packages for me?
She put the first one on the scale. The package had media mail written on it. She proceeded to read me every single mailing option, including one that would cost me over a hundred dollars. I guess that one gets there yesterday. I cut her off and said, "whichever is cheapest, presumably media mail." She replied, while pointing at a sign above her computer that was too far away for me to read, "it's the law. I have to read you all your options."
She kept reading. I cut her off again. "Are you going to have to read these options for all seven of my packages?"
"No!" she said huffily.
"I thought you said it's the law."
"It is, but I don't have to if I don't wanna."
"So, are you going to read me the options on all my packages?"
"Yes!"
Wow. What?
I said, "I thought since there was no line this would be the quicker options since you could enter the info faster than I could on the automated machine. But clearly that is not the case after all." I gathered up my stuff and went to the machine.
I have not gone to a human at that post office in a long time due to the fact that there is always a huge long line. I have no idea why there was no line today, but now I understand why there is usually a huge long line. I wonder when that ridiculous law went into effect?
Oh hey, look! I'm blogging. How about that.
She put the first one on the scale. The package had media mail written on it. She proceeded to read me every single mailing option, including one that would cost me over a hundred dollars. I guess that one gets there yesterday. I cut her off and said, "whichever is cheapest, presumably media mail." She replied, while pointing at a sign above her computer that was too far away for me to read, "it's the law. I have to read you all your options."
She kept reading. I cut her off again. "Are you going to have to read these options for all seven of my packages?"
"No!" she said huffily.
"I thought you said it's the law."
"It is, but I don't have to if I don't wanna."
"So, are you going to read me the options on all my packages?"
"Yes!"
Wow. What?
I said, "I thought since there was no line this would be the quicker options since you could enter the info faster than I could on the automated machine. But clearly that is not the case after all." I gathered up my stuff and went to the machine.
I have not gone to a human at that post office in a long time due to the fact that there is always a huge long line. I have no idea why there was no line today, but now I understand why there is usually a huge long line. I wonder when that ridiculous law went into effect?
Oh hey, look! I'm blogging. How about that.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Back in London
Sam Smith's are definitely my favorite British beers. With Taddy Porter, Nut Brown and Oatmeal Stout to choose from, how can I go wrong?
On Saturday we went to TKTS to see for what play we could get cheap tickets. The line was long at noon, so we went to London's so-called Chinatown (it's 2 blocks) and had a delicious yet ridiculously expensive dim sum lunch and then went back to TKTS where the line was completely gone.
We bought 2nd row seats to The Little Dog Laughed. The ticket agent warned that some might not like being that close to the stage because you have to crane your neck. He said, though, that as an actor he likes being that close. We took our chances and were glad we did.
Our hotel room this trip is spacious and it is stocked daily with 2 new packs of Walkers cookies. "Is your hotel that white concrete monstrosity overlooking Hyde Park?" asked a British colleague in NYC when I told him I had found a good hotel. Um. Maybe.
The term "tabled" means the exact opposite in the UK than it does in the US. Quite confusing really. And you don't say you have bought a house or a condo. You say you are buying it. That is, until you have fully paid it off. Semantics!
Also confusing: I thought my colleague was referring to a conference room called Island. I told others to meet us in the Island room. They were smart enough to realize I must have meant the Ireland room.
Yorkshire pudding is really delicious! All this time I assumed it would have the consistency of, you know, PUDDING. In reality, it has pretty much zero in common with chocolate or banana pudding.
(I wrote this on my phone and posted it from there, which is why I accidentally posted it on my popcorn blog first. Oops.)
On Saturday we went to TKTS to see for what play we could get cheap tickets. The line was long at noon, so we went to London's so-called Chinatown (it's 2 blocks) and had a delicious yet ridiculously expensive dim sum lunch and then went back to TKTS where the line was completely gone.
We bought 2nd row seats to The Little Dog Laughed. The ticket agent warned that some might not like being that close to the stage because you have to crane your neck. He said, though, that as an actor he likes being that close. We took our chances and were glad we did.
Our hotel room this trip is spacious and it is stocked daily with 2 new packs of Walkers cookies. "Is your hotel that white concrete monstrosity overlooking Hyde Park?" asked a British colleague in NYC when I told him I had found a good hotel. Um. Maybe.
The term "tabled" means the exact opposite in the UK than it does in the US. Quite confusing really. And you don't say you have bought a house or a condo. You say you are buying it. That is, until you have fully paid it off. Semantics!
Also confusing: I thought my colleague was referring to a conference room called Island. I told others to meet us in the Island room. They were smart enough to realize I must have meant the Ireland room.
Yorkshire pudding is really delicious! All this time I assumed it would have the consistency of, you know, PUDDING. In reality, it has pretty much zero in common with chocolate or banana pudding.
(I wrote this on my phone and posted it from there, which is why I accidentally posted it on my popcorn blog first. Oops.)
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
An ode to magazines
Magazines are extremely portable and easy to read on the train. There is no complicated folding in fourths involved, meaning you can actually turn the pages while hanging on to a subway pole. You can fold them in half, if you must, to squeeze them into a purse or roll them into a tube and just carry them like that. You don't need to worry about creasing their spines or accidentally ripping pages when you turn them.
They are disposable, although I do feel a little bit of remorse about throwing them away (or recycling), especially if an issue is extra interesting. Maybe someone out there would enjoy that article on the wacky CEO of Whole Foods! (That's definitely not the most interesting article I've ever read, just the most recent. I'm actually only reluctantly subscribing to the NYer this year.)
They show up in my mailbox, all ready to be flipped through*, not necessitating a trip to the store or even powering up my computer.
*Note: I do not actually flip through my magazines. I read them cover to cover, only skipping what bores me and then turning the page to discover another wonderful and short gem. I have considered flipping through them or at least perusing the table of contents and reading the most interesting articles first, but I can't bring myself to do it. It seems wrong! The magazine was carefully laid out in a certain order on purpose, right? It was clearly meant to be read that way. (Do not dispute this method. It is my method. You stick to your methods.)
Magazine pages can be ripped out, dog-eared, cut, spilled on, sat on, wrinkled, rumpled, sweat on, and used to squash bugs, among other things. And yet we can still read on. Long live the magazine, I hope.
Unlike the newspaper, magazines do not go stale the day they arrive. Why, a monthly, in theory, lasts a month! There is so little pressure with magazines, unless you subscribe to multiple magazines. Then there is a little bit of pressure.
They are disposable, although I do feel a little bit of remorse about throwing them away (or recycling), especially if an issue is extra interesting. Maybe someone out there would enjoy that article on the wacky CEO of Whole Foods! (That's definitely not the most interesting article I've ever read, just the most recent. I'm actually only reluctantly subscribing to the NYer this year.)
They show up in my mailbox, all ready to be flipped through*, not necessitating a trip to the store or even powering up my computer.
*Note: I do not actually flip through my magazines. I read them cover to cover, only skipping what bores me and then turning the page to discover another wonderful and short gem. I have considered flipping through them or at least perusing the table of contents and reading the most interesting articles first, but I can't bring myself to do it. It seems wrong! The magazine was carefully laid out in a certain order on purpose, right? It was clearly meant to be read that way. (Do not dispute this method. It is my method. You stick to your methods.)
Magazine pages can be ripped out, dog-eared, cut, spilled on, sat on, wrinkled, rumpled, sweat on, and used to squash bugs, among other things. And yet we can still read on. Long live the magazine, I hope.
Unlike the newspaper, magazines do not go stale the day they arrive. Why, a monthly, in theory, lasts a month! There is so little pressure with magazines, unless you subscribe to multiple magazines. Then there is a little bit of pressure.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Greetings from London
At Newark airport one receives a plastic (metallic colored) knife with a regular metal fork when eating at a sit-down restaurant. On the plane, we received regular metal knives.
The veg/vegan meal on the plane always comes with a cup of water, but the regular meals come with none.
The majority of British beer is not that exciting to me. I do like the London Porter very much, though.
I'm currently at the Cleveland Arms, near our hotel, waiting for Jeff to finish watching Dr. Who. He is SO excited to be seeing it first run on BBC while in England. They have Leffe on tap at this bar. I ordered a pint, which may not have been the wisest choice, considering I could have had a half pint. And considering that I just drank a shot of espresso before this. My tummy hates me. (note: I don't drink coffee normally.)
Our hotel room is very small by American standards, about the same size as the one we had in Kyoto, actually. The bathroom in this one is basically a shower with a toilet and a sink in it. (Things get a bit wet.)
The night we arrived, we went out to Hampton Court to meet up with a colleague of mine. We went to a cozy pub where a beagly mutty creature lifted his leg on the fake Xmas tree. An old dude with long hair, sitting by the fire, said to the dog's owner, when he came over to clean up the mess, "I'm a puppy!" The dog's owner, who half-heartedly swabbed at the floor beneath the tree, replied, "Well, I'm not housetraining you!" (Note: the dog was no puppy either.)
At a pub this evening an actual puppy made off with Jeff's hat while tahe owner sat back and laughed.
When crossing streets in London, even after reading the signs indicating to look left or right, I cannot help but quickly glance in the direction from which my gut expects a car to appear.
The veg/vegan meal on the plane always comes with a cup of water, but the regular meals come with none.
The majority of British beer is not that exciting to me. I do like the London Porter very much, though.
I'm currently at the Cleveland Arms, near our hotel, waiting for Jeff to finish watching Dr. Who. He is SO excited to be seeing it first run on BBC while in England. They have Leffe on tap at this bar. I ordered a pint, which may not have been the wisest choice, considering I could have had a half pint. And considering that I just drank a shot of espresso before this. My tummy hates me. (note: I don't drink coffee normally.)
Our hotel room is very small by American standards, about the same size as the one we had in Kyoto, actually. The bathroom in this one is basically a shower with a toilet and a sink in it. (Things get a bit wet.)
The night we arrived, we went out to Hampton Court to meet up with a colleague of mine. We went to a cozy pub where a beagly mutty creature lifted his leg on the fake Xmas tree. An old dude with long hair, sitting by the fire, said to the dog's owner, when he came over to clean up the mess, "I'm a puppy!" The dog's owner, who half-heartedly swabbed at the floor beneath the tree, replied, "Well, I'm not housetraining you!" (Note: the dog was no puppy either.)
At a pub this evening an actual puppy made off with Jeff's hat while tahe owner sat back and laughed.
When crossing streets in London, even after reading the signs indicating to look left or right, I cannot help but quickly glance in the direction from which my gut expects a car to appear.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Japan, quickly
Before I pass out from all the delicious sake:
1. Perhaps even better than a hotel room robe is a hotel room kimono, especially if it's green with a dark purple tie.
2. The guide books to Tokyo are all wrong. They should just say this: Look, you will get lost. Take the subway to such and such neighborhood and just walk around. We won't bother suggesting any particular restaurants because you will never ever find them. Nor will any cabbie, so don't bother going that route because you will just embarrass him and frustrate you.
3. I have seen signs for no smoking while walking and no putting on make-up on the train. These are smart people, the Japanese.
4. Restaurants tend not to give out napkins with dinner, although they do give you a heated, warmed towel, which they do not collect. So, I guess you are to keep this on the table and wipe your fingers on it if they get sticky. Laps remain unprotected, however.
5. At the izakaya bar we happened onto after dinner this evening, they offered various grilled things. For less than $2 you could get a couple bites of the following, grilled: onion with cheese, tomatoes with cheese, Kyoto pepper, wheat gluten, rice ball, leek. We tried all those and they were all delicious. I love a bar that offers interesting snacks, especially in inexpensive, small portions.
1. Perhaps even better than a hotel room robe is a hotel room kimono, especially if it's green with a dark purple tie.
2. The guide books to Tokyo are all wrong. They should just say this: Look, you will get lost. Take the subway to such and such neighborhood and just walk around. We won't bother suggesting any particular restaurants because you will never ever find them. Nor will any cabbie, so don't bother going that route because you will just embarrass him and frustrate you.
3. I have seen signs for no smoking while walking and no putting on make-up on the train. These are smart people, the Japanese.
4. Restaurants tend not to give out napkins with dinner, although they do give you a heated, warmed towel, which they do not collect. So, I guess you are to keep this on the table and wipe your fingers on it if they get sticky. Laps remain unprotected, however.
5. At the izakaya bar we happened onto after dinner this evening, they offered various grilled things. For less than $2 you could get a couple bites of the following, grilled: onion with cheese, tomatoes with cheese, Kyoto pepper, wheat gluten, rice ball, leek. We tried all those and they were all delicious. I love a bar that offers interesting snacks, especially in inexpensive, small portions.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Notes from Penang, Malaysia
I arrived in Penang on a Friday evening and checked into my $35/night hotel (the Sunway). The hotel gave me a free map, which gives a very vague idea of the layout of the downtown. It seemed only the main streets were listed. The street my hotel was located on was not listed. The concierge aka server in the dining area circled a spot on the map and said the hotel was roughly located in that spot.
With my sense of direction being as bad as it is, I was a bit trepidatious about setting off on a walk just before dark, armed only with a mediocre map. But on a 48 hour trip, one does not hang out in the hotel room.
Not too far from my hotel I happened upon a temple of some sort. A big sign said WELCOME over the door, so I wandered in. A man in a turban sitting by the door said, "go in, go in!" A couple of women told me to go ahead and go upstairs. The motherly one of the group showed me where to find a loaner scarf and where to leave my shoes. I went and had a look. Honestly, there was not much to see and I felt strange being trusted to be in their worship area all by myself.
Back downstairs, the motherly woman said they were going to a festival and asked if I'd like to come. I said, "thank you, no," and headed back in the direction of my hotel on foot. A few minutes later, a car slowed beside me and beeped. It was the 3 women. "Are you coming?" the one said. What the hell, I thought. An adventure.
They took me to another temple, where they were celebrating the birthday of the prophet Guru. Shoes off, head scarf borrowed from the communal pile, upstairs to pray. I held back, but she beckoned me over. An old woman sat on the floor, doling out small portions of some sort of sweet, mushy grain. I ate the portion offered me. A man on a dais was reading from a holy book. The four of us women retreated to the back of the room where we sat on the floor and ate the snack.
Back on the first floor, they insisted I join them for a vegetarian Indian meal. It was nothing special, but I felt compelled to eat it all. My appetite was then ruined for other Penang delicacies. But I rallied and went to the Red Garden hawker center after taking my leave of the Sikhs.
One of the Sikh women ate soupy lentils with her fingers and then used a spoon to eat custard. I think custard would have made for easier finger food. There were no napkins, only sinks.
On Saturday I took a taxi to Penang Hill. It seemed extravagent to take taxis everywhere, but they were cheap according to US standards: $14 for a 35 min. taxi ride. There are two funiculars to reach the summit of the hill. Each one goes halfway. There are several cars with one bench per car. Everyone else squishes in and stands. It's a little excrutiating, but I think the walk back down would have been even more so. It takes nearly a half hour to reach the summit.
I was extremely disappointed to discover that the capopy walk is indefinitely closed for repairs. I was really looking forward to that. To make up for it, I wandered off of the well-marked paths, but did not see anything particularly interesting.
After Penang Hill, I went to Kek Lok Si, a large Chinese Buddhist temple complex, also containing a small funicular to reach the top level housing the 50-foot Buddha. I think this was the highlight of my trip. The temple was so striking.
I felt I had to see the beach. A drive-by would have been more than sufficient. Instead I spent 2 hours on the dirty beach, waiting for the night market to open at 7pm. Turned out the night market sells mostly the same stuff they sell in Chinatown in NYC.
Sunday a.m. was a bit of a wash. I failed to budget my time appropriately to explore more of the downtown, but did see the so-called floating mosque and the snake temple (underwhelming as well) and had one more delicious meal from a hawker market. Due to a lack of clear communication, I got a taxi at 10am to take me to those 2 places and arrive at the airport at 3pm. I should have realized I was leaving waaaay too much time for this excursion and wandered around the downtown before getting a taxi. Oh well. Lesson learned. The driver suggested taking me to the Pinang Peranakan Mansion museum, which was not a bad choice. And I still did quite a bit with my half day.
Note to self: when buying a can of iced tea in Asia, first check that it doesn't contain aloe bits. YUCK.
Penang photos here.
With my sense of direction being as bad as it is, I was a bit trepidatious about setting off on a walk just before dark, armed only with a mediocre map. But on a 48 hour trip, one does not hang out in the hotel room.
Not too far from my hotel I happened upon a temple of some sort. A big sign said WELCOME over the door, so I wandered in. A man in a turban sitting by the door said, "go in, go in!" A couple of women told me to go ahead and go upstairs. The motherly one of the group showed me where to find a loaner scarf and where to leave my shoes. I went and had a look. Honestly, there was not much to see and I felt strange being trusted to be in their worship area all by myself.
Back downstairs, the motherly woman said they were going to a festival and asked if I'd like to come. I said, "thank you, no," and headed back in the direction of my hotel on foot. A few minutes later, a car slowed beside me and beeped. It was the 3 women. "Are you coming?" the one said. What the hell, I thought. An adventure.
They took me to another temple, where they were celebrating the birthday of the prophet Guru. Shoes off, head scarf borrowed from the communal pile, upstairs to pray. I held back, but she beckoned me over. An old woman sat on the floor, doling out small portions of some sort of sweet, mushy grain. I ate the portion offered me. A man on a dais was reading from a holy book. The four of us women retreated to the back of the room where we sat on the floor and ate the snack.
Back on the first floor, they insisted I join them for a vegetarian Indian meal. It was nothing special, but I felt compelled to eat it all. My appetite was then ruined for other Penang delicacies. But I rallied and went to the Red Garden hawker center after taking my leave of the Sikhs.
One of the Sikh women ate soupy lentils with her fingers and then used a spoon to eat custard. I think custard would have made for easier finger food. There were no napkins, only sinks.
On Saturday I took a taxi to Penang Hill. It seemed extravagent to take taxis everywhere, but they were cheap according to US standards: $14 for a 35 min. taxi ride. There are two funiculars to reach the summit of the hill. Each one goes halfway. There are several cars with one bench per car. Everyone else squishes in and stands. It's a little excrutiating, but I think the walk back down would have been even more so. It takes nearly a half hour to reach the summit.
I was extremely disappointed to discover that the capopy walk is indefinitely closed for repairs. I was really looking forward to that. To make up for it, I wandered off of the well-marked paths, but did not see anything particularly interesting.
After Penang Hill, I went to Kek Lok Si, a large Chinese Buddhist temple complex, also containing a small funicular to reach the top level housing the 50-foot Buddha. I think this was the highlight of my trip. The temple was so striking.
I felt I had to see the beach. A drive-by would have been more than sufficient. Instead I spent 2 hours on the dirty beach, waiting for the night market to open at 7pm. Turned out the night market sells mostly the same stuff they sell in Chinatown in NYC.
Sunday a.m. was a bit of a wash. I failed to budget my time appropriately to explore more of the downtown, but did see the so-called floating mosque and the snake temple (underwhelming as well) and had one more delicious meal from a hawker market. Due to a lack of clear communication, I got a taxi at 10am to take me to those 2 places and arrive at the airport at 3pm. I should have realized I was leaving waaaay too much time for this excursion and wandered around the downtown before getting a taxi. Oh well. Lesson learned. The driver suggested taking me to the Pinang Peranakan Mansion museum, which was not a bad choice. And I still did quite a bit with my half day.
Note to self: when buying a can of iced tea in Asia, first check that it doesn't contain aloe bits. YUCK.
Penang photos here.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
In which I talk about something completely different
You may get a pair of chopsticks or you may get a fork and spoon with your meal, but I have yet to get a knife with a meal.
Food is cut with the spoon. Presumably nothing is so tough that it needs to be sawed. And if it is uncuttable, you stab the entire piece with the fork and bite off of it, perhaps holding the spoon underneath it, in case it falls. Imagine doing this with a chicken wing.
I thought in Asia people picked up their bowls of noodles and slurped them into their mouths. It is possible that that is the case, but when it comes to a lunch dish that consists of a plate of noodles topped with slices of pork, it is not to slurped. I *think* you are supposed to pick up the noodles with your chopsticks and place them in the soup spoon and then put this in your mouth.
Or, I'm doing it all wrong and there will soon be another international incident.
I suspect that people have their work manners on when I'm dining with them at lunchtime. It was mentioned when I was taken for fish head curry that if my colleagues were not worried about getting messy, they'd be picking at the bones with their hands. I have to hope that they use their hands *sometimes.* I really can't imagine eating a whole chili crab speared on a fork.
For about $2.15, I can get a big cup of freshly juiced juice. I'm a novice at this juice thing. I never get it at home since it's so expensive. I've been wanting a juicer, though. It seems that not all fruits are good mixes. Today I got pineapple and kiwi. It tasted good, but it kept separating.
I thought I was going to be getting bubble tea every day, but juice it is.
Food is cut with the spoon. Presumably nothing is so tough that it needs to be sawed. And if it is uncuttable, you stab the entire piece with the fork and bite off of it, perhaps holding the spoon underneath it, in case it falls. Imagine doing this with a chicken wing.
I thought in Asia people picked up their bowls of noodles and slurped them into their mouths. It is possible that that is the case, but when it comes to a lunch dish that consists of a plate of noodles topped with slices of pork, it is not to slurped. I *think* you are supposed to pick up the noodles with your chopsticks and place them in the soup spoon and then put this in your mouth.
Or, I'm doing it all wrong and there will soon be another international incident.
I suspect that people have their work manners on when I'm dining with them at lunchtime. It was mentioned when I was taken for fish head curry that if my colleagues were not worried about getting messy, they'd be picking at the bones with their hands. I have to hope that they use their hands *sometimes.* I really can't imagine eating a whole chili crab speared on a fork.
For about $2.15, I can get a big cup of freshly juiced juice. I'm a novice at this juice thing. I never get it at home since it's so expensive. I've been wanting a juicer, though. It seems that not all fruits are good mixes. Today I got pineapple and kiwi. It tasted good, but it kept separating.
I thought I was going to be getting bubble tea every day, but juice it is.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
In which the bumbling American makes a faux pas
I knew about the business card culture in Asia. Rather, I thought I knew about the business card culture in Asia. I knew about how you are supposed to hand over your card using both hands, print facing the recipient. When you receive the card, you are to look it over and then carefully put it in your breast pocket. I'm not sure where it's appropriate for women to put them.
What I did NOT know is that in Asia, business cards are handed out like relief supplies after a flood (said one of my Asian colleagues). My colleagues in the Singapore office said they go through boxes and boxes of cards every year.
I have barely made a dent in my own box of cards, which I received nearly five years ago. I carry around maybe 10 cards at most at any given time and those 10 cards tend to remain in my wallet for months at a time. As a web editor I don't encounter too many people with whom I exchange cards.
Last night, some colleagues invited me along to some industry parties. I should preface this by also adding that last week when I arrived, the office manager asked if I needed her to order me any cards. At the time I thought that a strange question and I replied that no, I was good. (I had many in my wallet. Ten or twelve even!)
So, I go to these two parties and my colleagues are exchanging cards with contacts left and right and they introduce me as a person working on the web and these people are handing me their cards and I am saying: "Thank you, but I'm not actually in the industry. Please keep your card to give to someone else so that you don't run out of them." Neither of the people I'm with (both Singapore natives) is telling me this is the wrong thing to say, I might add.
Apparently what is even worse than refusing a proferred card is implying that you are too good to take the person's card.
The Singapore office found my actions extremely amusing and they laughed heartily at me. I protested that they ought to have warned me! This made them laugh even harder. If they weren't being so welcoming in every other regard, I would have to hold a grudge.
What I did NOT know is that in Asia, business cards are handed out like relief supplies after a flood (said one of my Asian colleagues). My colleagues in the Singapore office said they go through boxes and boxes of cards every year.
I have barely made a dent in my own box of cards, which I received nearly five years ago. I carry around maybe 10 cards at most at any given time and those 10 cards tend to remain in my wallet for months at a time. As a web editor I don't encounter too many people with whom I exchange cards.
Last night, some colleagues invited me along to some industry parties. I should preface this by also adding that last week when I arrived, the office manager asked if I needed her to order me any cards. At the time I thought that a strange question and I replied that no, I was good. (I had many in my wallet. Ten or twelve even!)
So, I go to these two parties and my colleagues are exchanging cards with contacts left and right and they introduce me as a person working on the web and these people are handing me their cards and I am saying: "Thank you, but I'm not actually in the industry. Please keep your card to give to someone else so that you don't run out of them." Neither of the people I'm with (both Singapore natives) is telling me this is the wrong thing to say, I might add.
Apparently what is even worse than refusing a proferred card is implying that you are too good to take the person's card.
The Singapore office found my actions extremely amusing and they laughed heartily at me. I protested that they ought to have warned me! This made them laugh even harder. If they weren't being so welcoming in every other regard, I would have to hold a grudge.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Chinatown, etc.
There is absolutely no tipping in Singapore, except maybe to round up to the next dollar when taking a taxi. It makes it easier to pay, but it feels so wrong to me.
Men in Singapore must serve in the military for 2 years when they turn 18. So, they don't begin university until they are 20 or 21. For the next 10 years, every year they have to go for yearly service, which can last from 1-14 days. They find out when they must report at least 6 months in advance so they can arrange for it with their jobs. The government pays their companies for their time. Women don't have to do any of this, but they can join the military and serve as officers if they so choose. I wonder if this means that women begin university 2 years before men do.
I'm not really minding living out of a hotel room. It's kind of nice having a maid! Although the price I pay is that every day I move the comfy chair by the desk (where the ethernet cable is) and every day the maid moves it back.
The malls are jam packed on Friday and Saturday nights. Good thing I decided to eat dinner early last night. The wait to get in to the sushi place was only about 15 minutes at 6pm. I was seated at the sushi counter, which is partly why going out for sushi alone is not at all awkward. The sushi chefs kept smiling at me and making small talk. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear them very well so I just smiled and nodded a lot. God knows what I agreed to.
I have been trying various iced desserts, of course. It seems that when I see a flavored soft serve listed on a menu, it's not the soft serve itself that is flavored, but rather a syrup that is poured over a vanilla one. I have had the sesame one and a hojiki (I think that's what it was) one, which was a Japanese tea. Both were really good. I might get the soft serve in a cup in the future, though, because I wind up having to lick off all the syrup.
I finally saw some black people today: fellow tourists in Chinatown. Chinatown was not as exciting as I remember it being on my last trip here with my former company. I think maybe the reason I went to Chinatown so often on that trip is because that office was right on the border of Chinatown.
I will have to go back to Chinatown near the end of my stay, however, to go to Dr. Fish Spa. I don't want the fish to eat off my pedicure, but I definitely want to give them a tasty meal of my dead feet skin.
Men in Singapore must serve in the military for 2 years when they turn 18. So, they don't begin university until they are 20 or 21. For the next 10 years, every year they have to go for yearly service, which can last from 1-14 days. They find out when they must report at least 6 months in advance so they can arrange for it with their jobs. The government pays their companies for their time. Women don't have to do any of this, but they can join the military and serve as officers if they so choose. I wonder if this means that women begin university 2 years before men do.
I'm not really minding living out of a hotel room. It's kind of nice having a maid! Although the price I pay is that every day I move the comfy chair by the desk (where the ethernet cable is) and every day the maid moves it back.
The malls are jam packed on Friday and Saturday nights. Good thing I decided to eat dinner early last night. The wait to get in to the sushi place was only about 15 minutes at 6pm. I was seated at the sushi counter, which is partly why going out for sushi alone is not at all awkward. The sushi chefs kept smiling at me and making small talk. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear them very well so I just smiled and nodded a lot. God knows what I agreed to.
I have been trying various iced desserts, of course. It seems that when I see a flavored soft serve listed on a menu, it's not the soft serve itself that is flavored, but rather a syrup that is poured over a vanilla one. I have had the sesame one and a hojiki (I think that's what it was) one, which was a Japanese tea. Both were really good. I might get the soft serve in a cup in the future, though, because I wind up having to lick off all the syrup.
I finally saw some black people today: fellow tourists in Chinatown. Chinatown was not as exciting as I remember it being on my last trip here with my former company. I think maybe the reason I went to Chinatown so often on that trip is because that office was right on the border of Chinatown.
I will have to go back to Chinatown near the end of my stay, however, to go to Dr. Fish Spa. I don't want the fish to eat off my pedicure, but I definitely want to give them a tasty meal of my dead feet skin.
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