Time and Othello

It is excruciatingly difficult to find things to do at work when you have none. Time does stretch on interminably and no matter how many times you go to the coffee machine or the loo, or how long a lunch you indulge in, it’s only 3.42pm.  I could do some stuff, but none of it is critical or client related, so I’m pretty much at why bother. Maybe because I’m bored. I’ve finished cleaning out my drawers and failed to find my ticket for tonights performance of Othello, checked the website and established there are no tickets available for sale online, called Interbrand and dropped Cathie an email in the hope I mistakenly handed all three tickets to Prithi. Naturally, she is at a client pitch and will only be done post 5pm so there’s no way for me to actually check whether I’ve merely manhandled the ticket or actively managed to lose it. You may think my tribulations lame compared to poor Othello, but he simply has to deal with chicanery and treachery from without and not dementia from within! The rain has started and I’m not sure if I’m perturbed or pleased. Apparently the tickets can be used for another days performance if it gets washed out, which would give me a chance to actually speak with Prithi and find out if my $48 was a meager donation to a lost cause….

Mactan - my last day

Poetic justice. My last dive ends with an early sighting of the sardines... this time pretending to be an upside down twister. I had hoped I would see them, but was content even without, so when Ole pointed in their direction, I couldn't help but laugh with joy (not an easy feat when breathing into a regulator I assure you).... I made my 100th dive that morning, and while that was something I was hoping to do at the outset of the trip, my first brush with the sardines made me realize that it really didn't matter how many dives I'd done.... this experience transcended any number of dives I might have done. It's like when we were on safari and saw the leopard or the river crossing.... you can make trip after trip, year after year and never be lucky enough to witness that sort of magnificence. Seems only fitting I take a chance and treat myself to a nice dinner, so I take a stab at the steak. If one isn't fussy about the meat, this turned out to be the best meal of the trip thus far, quite delicious and I'm content with life.... a perfect way to end a perfect day and a perfect trip.

Mactan - another day

Why does it feel like unbeknownest to me, I'm sharing the room with some random stranger? Here I am, all neatly tucked into bed, when the shower squeaks on... hmmmm.... interesting. Naturally, I refuse to get out of bed and skulk towards the shower curtain a la psycho, but I do have to wonder if it's just paper thin walls, an over active imagination or dinner??

The Philippines is not renowned for it's cuisine.... and the "resort" that I'm at, takes great pains in ensuring I have no cause to identify any dissonance on that count. My foray into local cuisine with a pork 'adobo' and rice leaves me uninspired and with a lingering sense of having consumed something a la detergent and I indulge the begging cat at my feet with a chunk. She inspects it for an unnecessarily long few moments before gnawing and gnawing and gnawing away at it. Oddly enough, she doesn't put her paws up on my legs begging for more. I give her another piece regardless. Suffering is best dealt with through sharing. I confine myself to a hamburger doused with ketchup most nights and play Philippino roulette just with lunch. Toasted cheese sandwich turns out to be a viable alternative to an oily American breakfast, and I master the art of picking off the noodles from top of the massive plate of beehoon, with minimal disturbance to the oil layer at the bottom. The fresh juices are good although the banana juice does leave me a tad regretful for having been overly adventurous. On the bright side, this is one good way of losing weight???

Macan - Day something

The diving at Mactan is shockingly gorgeous. I don't really know why I'm so taken aback with the sumptuousness of the reef and the thriving marine life it supports. Maybe because it's just a hop, skip and jump away from both the airport and the city, surrounded by careless locals and non eco friendly Japanese tourists? I'm doing 4 dives a day and each time I hit the water, I'm impressed. I discover something new. My focus has always been the marine life, but this trip has made me appreciate the coral as well, especially during the night dives, where the torchlight makes them glow like jewels adorning a harem. The colours are bold, rich and blend incongruously together. Pinks, reds, greens, blues, yellows, blacks....  I'm entranced by the tiny coral beings that mimic miniature fir trees in shocking hues and that suck into themselves and disappear into the coral if you rush water over them. I start at the sight of coral that looks like a mine  and gape at a starfish with 10 arms! I notice subtleties in the fish species and spend hours post diving poring through the fish book. 

I also think I know why I don't write about the diving - because there's just too much to say, to try and share the exquisite beauty. It has to been seen, to be experienced. You can't read about it. Even watching it on film is oddly dissatisfying as the two dimensional view is grossly inadequate to capture the depth of it's richness. 

But, as I'm marveling at the richness of the house reef, my peripheral vision is snagged by something white and as I turn to focus on it, my brain tries to synthesize the information my eyes are relaying... it large, white and not natural. A shipwreck? But it's suspended mid water and not morbidly resting at the bottom as all good wrecks must. As my neurons fire processing the fact that it seems to be getting bigger, my emotions go 'Whoaaaa! It's coming towards me!!' The thing is indeed looming larger and what do you know... it's a submarine. I kid you not, a real submarine with ratty little tourists with cameras peering through the portholes taking photos of the coral. How bizarre! I'm offended at the thought of being part of someones vacation photos, while stifling the urge to giggle at the sheer silliness of it. Certainly got more than I bargained for on this dive...

P.S. - Sadly, the silliness serves only to destroy what nature has given us. The day before my departure, news is that the submarine got to close to the coral and hit it. It's been pulled for now and there's hue and cry from environmentalists and divers about how this should not be allowed..... wonder how long before it's back and uncaring about keeping a safe distance from both the reef and the divers...

Mactan - Day 1

I've always struggled with posting anything about my diving. The experience is too personal and overwhelming to try and put into words. But the cat food seems to have been a turning point and while it will still be impossible to describe the wonder that exists underwater, I'm going to make a few attempts to capture these few days in Mactan. My first visit to the Philippines and my first dive trip alone. It's been an unforgettable experience and one of the best for the sheer surprise of what I found. 

My first evening, I emerge all showered and wondrous for having seen the sardine run and settle down at the bar. The sky is dark except for a orange blaze, shimmering behind strands of cloud. While I'm bemoaning a lost sunset, I realize it's the rising moon... which eventually evolves into a in impossible giant pearl in the sky and I feel like a Miss World contestant all gushing at winning the prize. What a perfect end to a spectacular day. An unforgettable brush with the Gods that are sardine and now this...

I want to call and share the experience with someone and as I debate between CF and my mother, Dr. Velkar pops up. He's the one who pithily reminds me that it's the most base of instincts that makes me think that this is what God might look like and as I'm chatting with him, I'm distracted by the sound of thumpa thumpa and and unexpected 'woack, woack' chant.. pulsing green and red lights wafting across the water as a disco ball makes a valiant effort to compete with the moonlight glancing off the waves.... 'woack, woack.... Hang on a second... I know this sound... 'woack, woack...... Gangam style'. Sheesh! I'm reminded I'm in Karaoke heartland and I abandon myself to the surreal.... this is going to be a fun trip!

What if God was a sardine??

I don't believe in God, but I do believe in a swarm of sardines. Stupid fish to say the least and justly deserving of life in a tin.... that is, until you see them as they were meant to be. Gazabillions of them suddenly appearing like a menacing cloud and then a flash of movement and a guberzillion twinkling stars in their place... a blink of an eye, and it's an ominously dark thundercloud coming towards you before moving out of reach, resembling fairly lights and fireflies. It's like watching Star Trek and Voodoo. The experience is existential and you feel blessed to have been surrounded by the magic, mesmerised and lost. So caught up in the moment that nothing else exists. This is how it feels to be frozen in a moment. This must be God.

I've read about the sardine run and wanted to do it... eventually, and like others, for the goodies that are the fallout i.e. all the predators that chase the sardines. How foolish. The run is the sardines. Pelagics are thrilling without a doubt, and they really push the adrenalin button. Nothing like spying a herd of Hammerheads and being eyeballed by a couple of  beady eyed sentinels or feeling your heart step up into uber gear as five Bull Sharks turn and head straight at you - the first time you've ever seen a shark in anything but profile, but. But, the vision of a million silvery moon flakes in the distance flitting and flirting into waves, clouds, balls and ribbons is indescribable. Dangerously so, as you forget to breath for the sheer wonder of it. 

Survival - the most basic instinct of all living things. As you watch them move off into the distance, you think you've spied a whale, but then a flash of glitter and it's a sentient being from outer space. Up close, mindless vacuous individuals, swimming frantically. The Collective, a thing of supreme beauty, joy and unnatural peace.

I hate to admit it, but I have been moved by a bunch of sardines.

Friendly advice...

because im that kind of woman....

It's probably not the wisest thing to do - step out of the hosue clad only in a towel to toss the garbage, even if it is just a door away.  On the other hand, it is a rather interesting way to meet neighbours and ensure their children never come by on halloween...

Ask and ye shall receive??

After that plaintive post about the absence of a classic dark chocolate mousse in this uncivilised world, I am struck by the age old argument about life. Is it all mapped out in this great cosmic game or is it merely a series of random occurrences.

Well, my position on the debate has tended towards the randomness theory, but now I'm forced to think order and method. A momentous moment wrought about by Kingfisher airlines when just days after feeling orphaned by chocolate mousse, I am served up the, and I do mean, the best post prandial dark chocolate mousse I have encountered. It made me moan, horrified my co-passengers (perhaps not all...), and beg for another. I asked. I received. I inhaled. I purred. There is a God. 

For the first time ever, I eagerly anticipated my return flight and yet another round of excess (I had planned to ask for seconds right off the bat...). That's when the debate reared it's ugly head again, reinforcing in the most obnoxious manner, that my support of the random was justified. Kingfisher cancelled it's flight, and then nonchalantly headed towards obscurity...... along with that chocolate mousse. 
 

The Continuum

Hmmmmmm. I've just realised that electronia does allow you to collect far more junk that you would have otherwise. I have 41 drafts on my blog. 41 incomplete meanderings, demi thoughts, re-tellings, rhapsodies.... I just read a few, and there are some which make me struggle to remember what the hell I was thinking!! Well, there's no other play for it but to weed out the deletes and restore the rest. Of course, this will completely screw the timeline as I'll be publishing things done in 2011 in 2013, but let's just call it my homage to Gene Roddenberry.

Re-discovering Hong Kong

I've sadly been treating Hong Kong with less than the respect it deserves lost in the age old disdain of a local that's slurped noodles here as a child. 2012 has seen me here twice already and each visit has delighted me with something new and hitherto undiscovered.

The first is courtsey the now Flying Dutchman, who managed to unearth and procure tickets for a performance of the Saturday Night Jazz Club which promised a quirky program with renditions from the era of Swing and a rather more eyebrow raising hip-hop, rap and break dance performance. No idea of what to expect, the swing band set the mood and got us bopping before taking rather a bizarre turn with the Philippino big band leader with his wife ((?) we suspect!) launching into Lady Gaga, but still good fun. But the piece de resistance was without a doubt, the Korean hip hop band - yes, blond haired mops on boys with suspenders et al with cool dance moves a la ghetto but all theirs and the Taiwanese rapper who launched his rap to Take 5! Incredible. I have never seen a fusion of jazz and rap, and not only left me gaping and laughing in awe with the sheer beauty of it, but I have to take my hat off to the genius who even contemplated that this might be a good idea! Just brilliant and while the performance ensured we lost our dinner reservations, I've never been happier to sacrifice my stomach for some undiscovered soul. A bravura performance and a superb evening! 

This weekend saw us in a feeding frenzy of dimsums, first at Maxim's followed by an entirely unnecessary and inappropriate Madarin High Tea at the Mandarin Oriental when my search of chocoalte mousse was thwarted post lunch. Why we thought the dainty fingure sandwiches, petit patesseire and mini quiches were (a) not very much and (b) prelude to teeny scones is beyond me. Naturally, they only breed full size scones and persist and handing out one plain and one fruit to the accompaniment of clotted cream and a most hideous rose jam (or so I hear.... suffice to say I wondered why they'd put ketchup next to the cream, and the brave Ms. M bravely recoiled at it's attarness and waved her hands around for strawberry jam). Naturally, such an incident deserved complaints right up to the UN, and the only way to mollify the situation was to ensure lashings of strawberry jam. Feeling sick, we wound our way up the hill to the hotel to glam up a tad for drinks at Sevva of the magnificent views over Central and hte Harbour. Sadly, the frostbite nipping our butts had us heading indoors to finish our drinks before a lazy scouting of all LKF had to offer topped by strawberries and and chocolate fondant.

Sunday, saw us trek over to Kowloon and a rather well kept Michelin secret. A tiny, hole in the wall dimsum restaurant, cleverly called One Dim Sum that snagged the coveted Michel start last year. You can find it through the queues outside and the neighbourhood populace cannot be overly thrilled with the influx of foreigners to their local diner. As we waited and planned our meal checking with panic far too often if our number had been called, they handed out take away parcels in copious quantities to cars and people that would pull up and patiiently wait till their doggie bag was announced with a flourish. All the tables are the same size and are re-configured with the greatest efficiency to seat tables of 1 to 8 and what can I say except it was worth the wait. The best baked bbq pork buns I've ever eaten (and I'm not a fan) along with the best steamed Chiew Chow dumplings (the same ones at Maxium had the texture, but this one had flavour exploding in your mouth with hte first bite!). Naturally, we had to order seconds, and for the princely sum of HKD 135 (that's about 10 quid), stumbled out looking like overstuffed dumplings.

Plan B was to attempt to reduce the resembles to a dumpling so we elected to walk to the next station, and stumbled upon the goldfish market which had some of the coolest fish I've seen in any tanks including one with an oversized braniac forehead (that just looked so wrong!), hordes of turtles, plastic easter island statues (clearly something fish are fond of?!), albino frogs, kelp and underwater greens in plastic bags and artifically coloured fish that looked like they got into a fight with a box of Faber Castell crayons and lost. From that to Wan Chai and the spanking new Convention Centre sat on the bay overlooking Kowloon, Causeway Bay and Central (rudely interrupted by a softee), pretending to be Yann Arthus Bertrand as we watched batches of dough buns being fried, then getting distracted by a signboard for a dive shop on the 2nd floor.... A manicure, pedicure and massage later, I was prepared to call this a rather successful weekend.

Miiiiind the Gap

The English pride themselves for their eccentricities and stiff upper lip. But let's face it, they give sentimentality a whole new meaning. In most countries, the department of transport would be reviled by the common folk that have no choice but to use what is on offer. The TfL on the other hand, is like a favourite grandfather indulging his pet progeny's brat. Oswald Laurence's widow, was devastated when she no longer heard his voice booming the stentorian "Miiiiiind the Gap" at Embankment station. For 40 years, it was Oswald's voice that warned the jaded travelers of the London tube pitfall, and after his death, Dr. Margaret McCollum would take the tube to still be able to hear his voice. If that doesn't kill you with it's "awwwwww" quotient, then brace yourself.

Dr. McCollum who would wait for the next train just to be able to hear her beloved's voice, inquired as to it's disappearance and was told the new digital system couldn't get his voice on it. So, as all good English do, she wrote to TfL and asked if she might have a copy of the recording of her husband's announcement. I will not digress into what might happen if such a request was made to the BEST in triplicate, but just state that the TfL authorities not only gave instructions to the staff to track down the recording and send her a CD of the it, but now they're working on restoring the Oswald's announcement at Embankment Station.  

And they say the English are unromantic!!! 


http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-21719848

Back in the saddle again..

LOL - it's been so long since I've been on the blog, I no longer recognise the dashboard. Can't say I'm overly impressed by it, but hey. She who doesn't trawl shouldn't complain.

I have nothing to write about really, except the "chea chiiing" moment over the weekend makes me want to clear the cobwebs from my head and exercise my fingers. So, a token post if you will (I've done worse, with those inexplicably useless non-factoids in the past - for which I sincerely apologise).

La Colombe, Constantia Uitsig, Cape Town

It’s been a while, but my recent experience at La Colombe makes me want to indulge in some serious gastronomic bragging. If being Cape Town’s oldest wine estates (founded in 1685) wasn’t enough by way of claim to fame, Constantia Uitsig has outdone itself having La Colombe as it’s ghar jamai. The setting is picturesquely pretty, but what else can you expect from a vineyard?! The menu on the other hand….. oh my, oh my, oh my!

Chalmar beef tartare in shiitake mushroom dressing, topped with an avocado puree, pickled shiitake mushrooms, fresh radish and sesame with a nori seaweed puff

*******

Uitsig cocktail: Constantia Uitsig Sauvignon Blanc granite, shaken rose geranium, lime and candied rose petals

*******

Lemon verbena cured trout, compressed apple, kalamansi gel, lemon verbena espuma and hazelnuts

********

Umami rockpool, miso-cured scallop, soy caviar, langoustine, pickled shitake, samphire, fennel and corn salad

*******

Foie gras and caramaelised fennel terrine, pan-fried escalope of foie gas, macadamia and lavender crumble, sous vide smoked quail breast, rhubarb butter and lavender brioche

*******

Ostrich tataki and tartare, pickled daikon, salsa verde, sesame dressing, pickled ginger, avocado and nori puffs

*******

Medallions of pan-seared springbok loin on wilted baby spinach, crisp apple and turnip springrolls on smoked pomme puree with pan-fried Shimeji mushrooms and cherry wood jus

*******

Poached stone fruit on honey, vanilla & lemon, beurre noisette & honey cake, blood orange puree yoghurt foam rolled in puffed rice, oatmeal ice cream, granola crisps

*******

It may well be the happy coincidence of an unexpected easing up of work right after this trip, but honestly, the first taste of the amuse bouche had me salivating for more and by the time I got to the Umami spectacle, I was moaning with pleasure and wanting to share…. My favourites, the Umami Rockpool and the Ostrich Tartare. 

The former, was a production worthy of a MJ video, complete with samphire draped over mysteriously smoking dry ice, a glass globe daintily littered with succulent marine morsels – tantalizing bit of langoustine, slivers of scallop, mini marbles of caviar garnished like a painting. Once the oohing and aaahing pauses, the Umami rockpool broth is poured into the globes, a warm, jeweled toned topaz liquid that makes you hold your breath at your first sip. The taste is unique, and beautiful and makes you think of a Japanese Haiku. Since I don’t do Haiku’s or poetry of any description, I lapse into gastrorgasm mode and moan my way through the rockpool with utter pleasure. I have never tasted anything this delicate, complex and refreshing in a single mouthful and think of the Chef’s shock if I were to ask for a bucket of it to take away and freeze. What’s odd, that it’s a very sophisticated dish, but somehow manages to convey a sense of comfort food in a oddly bizarre manner.

The latter, was an uplifting shock. While I enjoy the flappy ostrich running around as much as the next person, I find their flesh singularly insipid and rather stupid. But having already asked the Chef to replace the pork loin with the Springbok (cheetah’s et al clearly have exquisite palates!), I resigned myself to whatever bland offering was to be the ostrich. The tataki, I cannot remember, but the tartare! Like a slap on the face, the first bite made me sit up with wide eyes and respectfully give my undivided attention to the offering in front of me. Piquant and bursting with flavour the ostrich tartare was vibrant and felt like a celebration in your mouth. Unreservedly delicious, I struggled to choose between this and the umami rockpool, and I think in a paroxysm of bliss, admitted that this was number one.

While these two overshadowed the rest of the meal, I cannot leave without mention of the amuse bouche of beef tartare with shiitake and avocado which really set the anticipation of the meal at stratospheric levels, and the cured trout which was quite exquisite (eliciting the comment that we’d need to go for a cheeseburger after this meal!). I could have eaten these four several times over and then taken a doggie bag to last me for the next six months and died happy.

Dessert unfortunately was deconstructed and disappointing and the less said the better. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the staff.  The restaurant only employees super enthusiastic staff that love food and drink and say ‘my plaayshar’ with panache, covering tables so that you’re never ignored even when the restaurant is full. Amy, (our server and unholy fodder for a Bollywood blockbuster as Archana’s long lost twin sister!!) stirred our imagination with her vivid descriptions and the kitchen didn’t let her down.

We ate our body weight in good food in and around Cape Town, but it’s after a long, long time that I’ve enjoyed an evening of superb cuisine and service and would say that any visit to the city by aficionados of food would be grossly incomplete without experiencing La Colombe.