Tippling Club Tango
*all images are courtesy of http://www.tipplingclub.com
18.04 My feet sore from a whole day walk uncovering the kept secret of Singapore Hawker food tradition. The juice from the oyster omelette I had for lunch still tingled in my mouth – but it was already time to head to tippling club, a molecular gastronomy/mixology concept brought by Australia’s Bax and Clift
19.15 Arrived in Tippling Club, the abstract, ink dyed signboard stand erected in the midst of green lush Dempsey street
19.18 So far so good, the waiter greeted us and I didn’t really feel the superficiality of Asian fine dining concept here. The place looks like how an artist’s den would be like for a chef. A place where the concept of open kitchen is brought to it’s most realizable extent.
19.20 Clift just use an iron to fashion one of his creation.
19.26 Our first kick of the night. Nitro Martini. Tanqueray Ten Gin and Noilly Prat. Sounds like a normal Dry Martini, but here’s the twist: They Nitro chilled the formula – giving a smoky/airy effect just like how dry ice would looked like when it is taken out of the fridge. Sweet. Significant other ordered Clover Club, the cocktail all New York actors drank back in 1910.
19.30 Time for Amouse Bouche, series of small bites prepared just before we dive in into the real action. It’s like trailer of a hit Hollywood movie, providing insight from cutting the twist and the smerks. First come the Soda tasted grape.
19.32 and the Chargrilled green pepper with wasabi soy dip. A near perfection combination of charcoal aroma twisted with umami flavors from the dip
19.34 Then homemade crispy yogurt
19.37 Then the squid ring (which tasted like squid ring) with basil emulsion inserted into a straw-like tube. The idea is to savor the squid and sip the emulsion right the way, giving a bursting flavors in the mouth. Not a bad concept-but seems a bit too gimmicky.
19.42 While waiting for our 5 course tasting menu, I gazed through the open kitchen right in front of the bar where we sit. It’s always a risk running an open kitchen, it can feel like a bank keeping their safe deposit on the entrance, but Tippling Club made it worthwhile. I can see all the circus performed in the kitchen arena, guys busy mixing drinks with questionable formulas, the chef used unconventional sets to prepare the meal, bottle hanging everywhere, and it just made the place alive without the illusion coming from music nor interiors.
19.48 First course from the tasting menu. Small block of smoked tuna sashimi, smeared with.. nothing else but the fluid from tuna’s spinal bone. Sounds a bit like Chinatown at 3 a.m but it was actually enough for us to give a small hail to the maker. We knew that sashimi only tastes real when it’s fresh, when you can still taste a hint of seawater while the fish melt in your mouth. Try combine it with the spinal bone fluid, which gives an extra impact of savory, umami and freshness as it brings out the breeze of the sea into the dish. It’s jellified texture made the melting fish last longer in my mouth, try to mix them with a hint of powdered anise and tarragon, and you got yourself a real treat.
19.50 Need to wash the taste with some more drinks, otherwise it’ll linger in my mouth forever!
19.52 Not the time yet for more drinks, second dish is coming!. I have in front of me, a coffeemaker pot, boiled with coffee-colored something, and next to the pot there’s a tall thermos with some mixed herbs and some crazy mix of mushrooms i’ve never seen before. What’s the plot on this?.
20.05 At least for me, the apparently soup was the best soup I’ve tried so far. The coffee-colored something, that’s the broth of some rare French mushrooms. It was boiled in the coffee brewer with hope that it would yield to a “perfectly brewed mushrooms broth”, just like how coffee is perfectly brewed using the brewer. Some science. The broth then mixed with the fresh herbs, double kicking the savory, wilderness taste. It’s not just that trust me. The soup served as an accompaniment to the great tasting mock gnocchi, that it without flour and potato. I suspect that the mock gnocchi is made from thickened and compacted broth of truffles, and from the taste of it, one small candy sized gnocchi was compressed from maybe cup of truffle broth, so you can imagine the explosion of taste coming out of it!.
20.09 Gazing through the jar of spices, condiments and formulas. Blue cheese powder, Xantan, Gellan, Juniper berry, Trans glutaminase, Sorbitol, some crazy shit here!.
20.15 Third dish just came. A scallop dish!. Thick, fat, Japanese scallop, garnished with Smoked corn puree, coriander jelly and topped with Jamon de bellota. The ingredients says it all, it cannot go wrong. Smart move on combining scallop and corn puree. Mixing the extremely juicy and chewy scallop with the smoky sweet corn just brings out more flavor to the dish. Coriander jelly did not give much except for presentation, not that it’s not good, but it somehow overshadowed by the perfection of the other dish. Topping it with Jamon de Bellota is just like cheese and caviar – the sweet juice were balanced with the aromatic and cheesy belt of cured ham.
20.30 I’ve never knew that pigeon can taste so good. For sure not the one you can find crawling and chirping around Champs Elysees.
20.32 The best thing about the fourth dish, Pigeon, is it does not taste like chicken nor beef, but I can surely taste both in it. It was garnished with jellified carrot and Madras curry foam. Sidenote, Madras curry was the first ever curry recorded in modern history, in France. Guess that globalization had stroke long ago.
20.46 Time for cocktail before dessert. I ordered Mb’s Apple Pie, which was presented inside a tetrapak juice box. It’s a mix of Roast Apple Calvados, Cinnamon, Italian Vermouth, and Apple Liqeurs. They said “Enjoy this spiced apple treat before Ronald’s clown Lawyers closed us down!”
21.08 For dessert, again and again, I have to say that the dessert is amazing!. Green tea paste topped with pistachio and almond puree, and Nitro chilled marzipan sponge and mandarin!. The nitro effect made the sponge turned into an almost merengue without the airy part. It crushes smoothly but it solidify again inside my mouth. How to describe it, it might give the same taste as astronaut’s ice cream. Truly rewarding.
21.15 Final verdict. The tasting menu is undeniably the best dinner I’ve had ever. Not just for the taste, but for the overall experience, surprise and excitement. A food so good, teamed up with the experience so new inject happiness that after each dish I feel like dancing! (maybe it’s the cocktails). BUT, I did not find the cocktails as amazing as I thought. With the price they offer (average S$23/cocktail), I expected to be served out of this world cocktail I cannot find everywhere. The mixology effect sometimes just a mere novelty, but don’t get me wrong, it is GOOD cocktails, but not the best.
21.30 Decided to head back, remember the experience, and will surely be back for the 10 course tasting menu!.
Vitamin Cyanide
According to a friend, “This writing managed to stomach Palahniuk’s work-phrases, choice of words, yadda yadda”. I was young at the time of writing, so pardon me
If you expect to find a twist in this story—like the kind of story which at the end you’d say “Oooh, I didn’t see it coming at all”–, go read something else. This story will be boring, flat, same old same old predictable; just like your life. Consider this as a test drive of your life; you read the same headlines everyday, you watch the same tv shows everyday, you do the job you hate everyday, bottom line, you bore yourself everyday. You like twists in a story because those are the kind of thing filling its absence in your scheduled life. If you’d expect to wonder around the characters guessing who’s actually the killer, and in the end you’d say “Aah, that simple detail!, I didn’t see it coming at all”, go read something else. In fact, You will know who’s the killer right away. It’s me.
I guess this is the first time that I’ve had a nap on a rainy 3 pm Monday since about ten years ago. My boss had just kicked me out from my super cool job as an auditor. If you can call being a milking cow super cool. Right at this point, all of the guys in my office are cracking their head investigating a local fossil fuel manufacturer’s off balance sheet debt that have successfully created the second Enron, while I’m taking a nap on this damp couch and where the hell is my wife she should’ve brought this to the laundry last Christmas. So there she was, the queen of citrons breast au’ cellulite, disturbing my first Monday nap in ten years by dragging me out from the couch in a most nonchalant way. She sat on my face. Thank you my dear whom willing to be there for me in good
times and bad times. “I wanna watch the first episode of Jejaka Impian, go have your nap in the bedroom, and remember dear, taking a long long nap won’t bring you any money to feed me, so you’d better kiss your boss’s ass and beg him to give your job back.”, she mumbles while not letting her eyes spotted out from the television. An A-class tv star trapped in my 14-inch television, taking a nap in his state of the art mansion. Double
standard.
Most stories started out with an epilogue whatsoever, and here’s mine. From this exact point, my life will be credible enough to be on a television series. Having a wife who made television as her first husband, me second, makes me somehow realize that every pilot episode in a television series usually comes up with something regular, nothing special, just a so so day that will actually change the character’s life forever. Hanging out in a café and met old high school friend in a wedding dress, and wham!, their friendship last ten years in television. Aside from the fact that my wife’s orange skin ass had just literally kiss my face, today is actually just a regular day. The pilot episode of “Me: the wife killer”. Oh, and the mail came in today, delivering this highly toxic chemical compound formally known as Sodium Cyanide. After consuming 100-200 mg of this bitter almond scented substance, consciousness usually lost within ten seconds to one minute. After 45 minutes, the body goes into the state of deep peaceful sleep and if not treated right away, the person may die in two hours. During this period, convulsions may occur. Sodium Cyanide is the substance that (probably) killed Eva Braun, and now I used it to kill my wife. This one is packaged in a tablet that resembles my wife’s daily dose of vitamin c. Thanks to the ebay. Well you know what’s going to happen next. Instead to the bedroom, I went to the kitchen, opened the medicine cabinet, find the vitamin c bottle my wife just bought, put the magic pill inside it, shake it, and now I’m the god of my wife. I set her life limit. I’m sorry dear, you can have a fast painless death tomorrow, the next day, any day not exceeding twenty-three days. I’ve counted and recounted how many tablets left in the bottle, and throw eight tablets. That’s how much I love you, dear, and now I’m going to have a long long nap that won’t bring me any money to feed you.
When I woke up, this whale has just finished taking a shower, showing her breast that almost rest in her lap. Quite a sign to tell that today will be a disastrous day. I remember my first sex with her, her breast won’t even fit in one cup of hand, what a difference ten years make, now, her breast even fit in a gallon of bottled water. She was very insecure about that, and before we did it for the first time, she asked about 600 million times whether I like the way she looks, whether i’m satisfied and everything in between. Girls, why are you still bother asking those “feel good about yourself question”, while us guys, will practically says everything just to get you into bed. Guys, you will regret it ten years later when that girl’s resting-in-her-lap breast is the first thing you see every morning. There is no such thing as win-win solution. My wife’s still alive at dinner, so I guess we’re still married.
I never enjoyed my job as an auditor. I hate it, and I guess that’s the reason why I only got promoted once in the past ten years. That boss who fired me, he was my subordinate five years ago. I’m only going to tell you this once, and I ain’t complaining, I just bare the fact of being an auditor. First, The regular working hour is 24 hour, 7 days a week. Second, The only food you eat for dinner at office is greasy Mc Donald Chicken, and you still dare to eat it, even though you know from your last audit trip that those greasy chicken you
ate has been freezed for a year in a warehouse with constant temperature that have been awarded ISO 9000 (and what exactly the requirements for quality management?), and those Mc Nuggets you ate for snack are actually made from chicken’s byproduct. Those delicious and juicy and tender and all meat, those waste of chicken fat, head, and fecal matter –god forbid–. Third, if you’re lucky enough, you might get a boss who constantly gives you hours and hours of spiritual speech and there’s nothing you can do about it because you still get to charge overtime for that. Talk about efficiency. Point is, you won’t have a life being an auditor, and that’s the only thing I love about my job. Getting paid for hearing our religion’s history, or not getting paid for hearing my wife’s acting as Whitney Houston in her bald days at dinner?. Well, maybe I do love my job. My ex-job.
My wife. Her confidence boost just as fast as her breasts does. I remember slightly that she used to be a very shy girl at college, and now, I’m looking at her, or Mrs. Brown (She forced me to call her that,Mrs.I’m-going-back-and-forth-to-rehab-and-my-career-has declined-since-the-bodyguard-fucking-Brown), lipsync-ing to I’m every woman at 10 am
in the morning. With Ru Paul’s look alike make ups and dress, she stood on our kitchen table using spatula as her microphone and television as her audience. What a difference ten years make. The only line that comes out from my lips, and my heart, is “Honey, have you taken your vitamin c yet?”.
If you think spending the rest of your life with someone you love (or so you thought) as a perfect idea, think again. My wife still got lucky, and so we eat together at dinner. It’s Mr. Primus Yustisio birthday, which by the way her imaginary husband, and she decided to cook something special. Well, as for me, I don’t give a damn even if my wife decided to celebrate the day when the alien spacecraft crash on Roswell as long as I can eat complete set of Sundanese food. “Hey couch potato, you know I’d just watched a very interesting program on tv this afternoon”, said my wife.”It is some sort of medical program which showed scenes on how they do abortion.”, she talk while still chewing a whole chicken gizzard. Okay, so here goes our casual dinner talk. “Do you know that sometimes they take out the dead babies from the mother’s vagina piece by piece?, you know so maybe the doctor will go like “Congratulations! It’s a hand!”. They also comes out like burned or something you know, Oh you got to see it, and since I know that you might want to see it, I taped it, so wanna see it now, hon?”, said my wife while still chewing those chicken gizzard. So here’s the thing about my wife. She has a problem on determining the level of appropriate conversation. Over time, our casual dinner talk involves (a) anal abscess, (b) Animal’s mating behavior, (c) Sexually Transmitted Disease, or occasionally (d) Agnes Monica. I feel like I’ve lost more than five kilos ever since I got fired. Talk about how to ruin your appetite. Three hours later, my wife who is by the way still alive, said politely, pointing at the tv, “Billy, give me Copacabana on C minor.”
When I woke up today, I didn’t see any sign of the queen of the drama queen anywhere in our bedroom. My throat is very sore as a result of chain smoking last night, while listening to my wife’s speech on her ten years development program. Program include Prefrontal Lobotomy, a type of controversial surgery where the prefrontal cortex, a part of your brain which deals with alertness, emotional control and basic sexual responses, is simply destroyed, which often results in major personality changes. Maybe I should’ve just killed the tv for making my wife living a interchangeable Hannibal Lecter-Lindsay Lohan life.
When I found her in the living room, she was all trashy and boo-hooing and I just can’t take it anymore so help me god. Still sobbing, she said, “We’ve been married for like zillion years and we still haven’t got any kids so what wrong with me or what’s wrong with you I know we had our problems you know I’ve been dreaming of us raising our kids and despite all of our problems I know that everything’s going to be alright just by looking at them playing hide and seek in the yard but all we got now is just television for me to watch, couch for you to nap, and no sex no sex no sex!!”. Words are just locked in my mouth and I can’t say a thing. Prefrontal Labotomy now, please. She ran to the medical cabinet and took like a dozen of Xanax and thankfully, the vitamin C. “You know hon, I know that the idea of two people spending their lives together seems so farfetched for you, but when we chose to do that, I hope that we’re going to deal with the challenges together. Of course, we will have to deal with the boring marriage couple routine, but we will also experience things that otherwise we won’t have.”, she said. When she said that, I feel this unidentified feeling as if I can literally see her electron transport blocked, which result in decreased oxidative metabolism and oxygen utilization, then she became more and more ruddy because the incapability of the tissue to use the oxygen in the blood. “You always gain something when you lose something, vice versa, it’s just..”, she suddenly stops and her complexion is becoming ruddier..
..and she went into her deep peaceful sleep.
So my wife died, and somehow I can see how real she is at that exact one minute before she went into coma. Don’t expect to find any conclusion or fairy tale ending, cause life just doesn’t work that way. In the meantime, I’m going to have a long long nap because I don’t ever need to feed anyone anymore
Where Namaste Passes you by: The Universal Kindness of Nepal
There’s a certain inner happiness sparked upon me stumbling in the lodge in Tadapani. It’s the third day of my trek, and the hardly fit room pose no objection on my side. “Finally, the search of Shangrila have started to show it’s presence”, I thought, proud of myself on not having to gruntle about the absence of affordable luxury. For years, people have visited and revisited Nepal in hope of finding their Shangrila, a place offering freedom and spiritual enlightment to those needing it. Me, decided to sign up for that, putting high hopes to Nepal, wish to come back upgraded. How, no idea. I’m putting all my hope to it’s weather, mountains, culture, and pretty much everything that Nepal can offer.
My Tadapani night turned to be an endless night of rolling films looped in the back of my head. I’ve been closing my eyes for the past three hours and not succeeding to sulk into my delta state. Images of past occurences flashed randomly. I think about my friends. I think about my loved ones. I think about my family. The laugh. The fight. The past. My brain was tired from rolling the film but it just seems to go on and on. The night was as quiet as it gets, now and then I can hear snuttering of monkeys, I thought, maybe they have films rolling in their head too. I can’t sleep. I tried to open the window, hoping to sleep by overlooking thousands of stars showering the sky. Looking long enough, the constellation of stars formed random objects, so marvelous that it made me thought of sharing the view with my friends. I sunk to the feeling of being alone and sleeping attempt number one failed. Nepal trekking nights can often be melodramatic. It’s a combination of being in such high altitude, the freezing temperature, the quiet night, and the beautiful view of nature celebrating the absence of advanced technology. I guess the connection that has long gone due to the engineered world we’re living in somehow sparked back.
I decided to go outside my room, where dim lights from a far projecting the shadow of a person. I suppose ghosts and spirits might not be able to adapt from this freezing temperature, so I decided to come closer. It’s the only other couple staying in the lodge. A very interesting pair of ex-IT consultant who decided to leave their career behind and embark on a journey round the world. Old news, wondered why I haven’t done that. Life do offer second chance. “Trouble sleeping?”, the woman asked me. “Crazy night, been having trouble sleeping since the first night of trekking.. it just seems that despite travelling alone, my luggage of past just come following wherever I go”, I replied, maybe a bit enthusiastically knowing that someone still up at such short hour. “Get used to it.. been having the same dream for days and days”, said the woman, “I guess this has something to do with the energy, you know, wherever you go you leave some trace of energy behind. The nature pose connection to people, the world has been designed to be sustained through such connection. In cities you cannot feel this anymore, it is blocked with your busy routines, your anger, hatred, stress, and basically everyone’s. In the like of these places, you are more connected to nature, you’re balanced, you’re back to where you’re coming from. You reconnect with you, and this gives you chance to go through what matters and what’s not for you..”, the woman explained her point of view. She might be right, and I certainly hope she is. After some quick chat, I got back to my room, ended up waking up every hour or so, still with random image of my past.
The strange thing is no matter how hard I slept, I always ended up waking up right when the sun shine and felt completely revamped. I tried to compensate the cold weather by sitting right where the sun directed it’s tangerine bath to earth. Everything looks, well, orange. Sitting there, alone, I overlooked the almost endless line of mountains. Made me remember of my previous morning in Poon Hill, a viewpoint just above the village of Ghorepani which offer an incredible view of snowy peaks, including 2 of 3 tallest peaks in the world (yes, Everest excluded). Sitting on the cold grass of Poon Hill, staring at this chunk of miracle, I thought to myself again, sharing this incendiary view would give the experience the icing on the cake. Before I knew it, Harry (which i’m sure is a made up name-just like how Thais have their own “western” name), my guide, called me to get ready for another round of trek. Round up, grab my backpack and eh, was that a marijuana tree that I just passed?, beautifully erected with the background of Macchapucchare mountain?. Well, why bother waste it, I grabbed a handful of it in hope of using it on the way back (I ended up didn’t).
We head down to a village called Ghandruk, which supposed to be the biggest village within the trail of the trek. “So Angga, how many brothers and sisters you have?”, asked Harry just to start off some conversation. It was the third time he popped the question during the four days we met, yet I still answered it with the same, template answer. “One younger brother, but I have a lot of extended family so it pretty much feels like I have dozens of brother and sister, how about you?”, answered me, looping the whole series of conversation all over again. I appreciate this, really. It feels nice when we can just have simple chat, not having to boost each other ego on winning who’s the street smartest, who knows better about world affair and don’t even get me started to talk with numbers. I get so used to people mumbling on books they just read, “oh how smart I am” kind of thing that a change in scenery were so much appreciated. “The woman might be right, it’s a whole different connection here”, I thought. Sometimes simplicity can connects us better with the whole environment. We might have overdo things. We might just have.
I was welcomed to Ghandruk by bunch of buffalos, happily enduring their fecal matters on the rocky steps facing the gate of the village. Despite being not exactly the sacred animal, I grow respect to them simply because the way they look at us. It’s just so intimidating, the way an three star michelin chef would look at big mac. It somehow made me feel that I’m no longer the superior here, that in the end we’re all the same, we just played our games differently
The whole aura of Ghandruk feels like the reminiscence of ancient town waiting for the next big bang to happen. Houses and roads are beautifully crafted with blocks of rocks, people smile whenever you came across them, and I just can’t let my sights off from overlooking lines of snowy mountains shaded by fogs from afar. It’s like knowing a place where you belong to without ever being there before. Nights were odd, it’s too quiet that I thank god of not bringing my partner along – if you get my drift. Morning welcomed me with a freshly made papadam masala and yak cheese spaghetti. Everything is locally grown there, which made me understand on why I cannot find sights of stress on the people’s face. Moment of realization, I’ve been working my ass off for the so called salary, spending it on the likes of gadgets and martinis, yet something always feels, well, incomplete. Over the hows life conversation with the hostel owner, I was intrigued on realizing how eating off of your own crop might delete whatever city life complexities I had on. After all, what’s to worry when you can fulfill your needs just right on your garden?.
I tried to enjoy my way back to Nayapul, the finish point of the trek. The thought of going back to Kathmandu, blending in with the dusty road and traffic fiasco made me not wanting to leave the trek. On the way back, Harry told me his dream of getting his daughters to the best school in Nepal so that she can have her own hotel and live her own happy life. I told him my dream of travelling around the world, and living my own happy life. We had to rush because Harry needed to listened to the radio broadcast which were available on the next village. There was a strike in the city which put life pretty much on hold. If the strike continued, I might need to spend another night in the next village because there will be no transportation allowed during the strike. Maoist in Nepal were known to mobilize strike whenever government disapproved of their needs. The worst thing that could happen to me is to be stuck in the trek’s finish point but I can imagine what loss had it brought to the lives of the people who cannot undergo their business and go to school for days. The basic rule of thumb apparently still applies in world’s shangrila, The small group owning the power always fucked up the live of the masses. When we get to the village, Harry happily announced the strike was over, happy because we can go back on time, but most of all, happy knowing that his daughters can go back to school.
Before heading back to Kathmandu, I spend a couple of days in Pokhara, a beautiful city that woke me up with the view of fish tail mountain, one of the peak in Annapurna range that form a shape of fish tail when seen from afar. The weather was warm enough during the day, and not too cold at night despite the winter. I can boat the crystal clear Phewa Lake in the morning, Paraglide in Sarangkot Hill in the afternoon, and have pints of beer and splurge on the world’s biggest chateaubriand for dinner. I seriously could not ask for more. While doing my budget on the nearby internet center, I list down thing that I’ve done that would make the trip worth it. Poon Hill, Paragliding, Boating over the Phewa lake, and all sort of stuff but in the end it’s just views. I realize that I value more the people that I’ve met during the trip and people back home whom images hastily running over my head whenever I tried to sleep at night.
Before I knew it, the plane I took in Pokhara have safely landed in Kathmandu. I would say it’s quite of an experience, having to ride in a small passenger plane that suddenly stop on the air just before the landing. We know deep inside that it’s just a small flaw, but then we craft the story and tell our friends as if it’s really a near death experience. Everyone needs a drama. I spent the next couple of days doing the usual tourist errands, city trek to to old town, visiting temples and monasteries, took pictures of the 1 hour long queue at the first KFC in Nepal on so on.
At the point of city boredom, I came across this small shop just the heart of Kathmandu backpacker spot; Nepali Musical Instrument and Healing Bowl Shop. From the look of the owner when he saw me getting in, I can see that he doesn’t have that many visitors coming in. The small shop is filled with golden bowls of many size, wrapped carefully with yesterday’s newspaper. There’s also stack of nepali musical instrument, like the bansari flute, and leather and wood drums called damaha. The whole place looks like a small heaven for those experimental musician-as every instruments yield a very unique sound, melodies that not just soothes the ear but amazingly flow right through the soul. “Nepali Musical instrument has a very strong relationship with Nepali culture and religion, we believe that the sound coming out not merely form musical interaction but also generate relaxation and mystical power”, told the shop owner when I asked him about the different sounds coming out from the instruments. “You know that both physical presence and energy form us human; whatever stand on the earth ground has some sort of energy. These instruments yield melodies that aligns to our energy, that’s why you can feel the soothing and relaxing effect whenever you listen to the hums of these instruments”, he continued. Over the next hour, he explained to me on how sounds flow better on liquid than tangible matter, and that’s why sound of the nepali bowl can provide immediate effect because it ease the circulation of blood. Well, he ended up selling of course, but for just things that almost cost nothing, he put a time consuming effort to sell it to me. I guess when passion strikes you tend to do over what’s required.
When the first strike of singing bowl hit me, suddenly the dark I got by closing my eyes turns bright. I felt relaxed, and images of amazing sceneries I have viewed myself the past week flashing slowly. Then the sound changes into hums, a continual hum you get when you listen to the sound of whale quirking underwater. I almost fell asleep, but I don’t want to miss this experience. For 15 minutes the vibration of the sound coming out from the bowl showered me with sooth, and when it ended, me and my soul agreed that it’s one of the best experience I got from Nepal. I was told once that many monks in Nepal and Tibet tried to hide the real use of these singing bowl to foreigners, telling them that it’s sole use is to serve the dish. It remained a mystery for me on the reason why, how such peace was better remained exclusive.
I intended to embark on a trip to Nepal in search of my own Shangrila. It all became clear at one point, that it’s not a place where I can go, it’s not screaming my lungs out on top of a snow peak, it’s not the quiet breeze of sunrise nor the impact singing bowl has on me. I was alone, I had good view, The connection to nature made me think perfectly clear of my priorities and what’s subconsciously matters. My Shangrila is back home. It’s being with people matter most to me. Nepal only helped me realizing that, and if someday I forgot, I’ll come back to you.
Saturday Morning: Spain’s Taste Trip
Saturday morning. 11 am. Moya Spanish Tapas and Bar. Cooking Class. What have I learned? The price of Jamon imported from East Timor is one third of the price of Jamon procured from suppliers in Jakarta. Don’t get me started on the cheese.
Starter: The rather mediocre muhroom soup
Piping hot Paella Rice – They’re using Thai Jasmin Rice instead – not a good start for autheticity
Preparing my albondingas
Local grind beef – apparently the fat better keep consistency of the dough
Winner of the day: Gambas Ajillo
The Main Attraction: Paella Valenciana
Sweet Flan for the Full Tummy
Lou Reed – Perfect Day
The Quest of Strawberry Bibingka: How Miley Cyrus won the Heart of Filipino Fisherman
At first thought, there really is no reason for an Indonesian to hop off to Philippines. In many ways, we’re quite similar; an archipelagic country with beautiful beach and incendiary dive sites, was run by a dictator; one being more apparent than the other, we use languages which among the easiest one to learn, and what more convincing than the fact that we have an identical facial feature – inherited from the time Sriwijaya and Majapahit run both continent.
Among many Southeast Asian traveller, for some reason Philippines can be easily skipped, and I used to be one of them, until one day, a facebook status update of a Filipina acquintance I met in Saigon strucked me. “Spending my birthday swimming with ten whalesharks!”. Whalesharks, I thought, the largest living fish species, can grow up to 12 metres and more than 21.5 tonnes!. Swimming with tens of them – well that’s one of those things they put in the “1000 things you should do before you die” books!. So began my journey, riding on short planning and internet reviews, to conquer my adrenaline at the Philippines. With all of the similarities between Philippines and Indonesia, I set three main travel objective; things that I cannot find-or easily find in Indonesia-just to make it worthwhile, (1) Swimming with whalesharks, (2) Sumptuos feast of Spanish tapas, all the porks and the cheap Mediterranean wines, and (3) A great strawberry bibingka, which we only knew through one of the scene in “Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo”.
And hail to Jesus and all of his followers, I got more than what I wanted.
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On our last night in Donsol, Julietta entertained us with complimentary shots of Tanduay rhums. We just had our best dinner in the restaurant she owned. She served so fast she almost fly. Her dark, muscly feature of her made her white top shine through. Her strong complexion and the apparent dark spot below her eyes somehow flashed the many struggling years she has gone through until she settled down and open Barracuda bar, THE restaurant of Donsol. “It is my hometown in the end, I grew up here, and those 14 years I spent in Berlin, running my own restaurant did not made me forget where I come from”, she started the conversation, without any trace of Filipino accent left. She does not need to tell her life story, but her gesture made it clear on how mix of experience she had throughout the years has shaped such independent and strong woman.
“You have to try our squid salad, I guarantee that you cannot find contender somewhere else. Our squid is boiled to perfection it melts in your mouth! It’s even Julian’s favorite food!”, she said with utmost confident, convincing us that the best food on earth must be her son’s favorite food. Without any hesitation we ordered the salad, despite being full from the amazing grilled lapu lapu, freshly grilled tiger prawns and the best value for money mango daiquiri. Julian came with Julietta upon her serving us the salad. We had our first bite while continuing the conversation. It was indeed the best squid I’ve had in many many years. “So this is Julian, he can be shy at times and he’s now learning English and Spanish, and how can I not be proud of my boy?”, said Julietta while introducing us to Julian, her two years old son. I guess connection clicked and he right away sat next to us. I can see how she might have raised Julian just from his looks. Cheered happily despite the clock showing 11pm, his long hair were fashioned like those 70’s looking days. “I wanted him to control his own life starting from his early age, never tell him what to do and let him experience all the juice of life!, Hell he might turned into another me!”, said Julietta, laughing lightly. I begun to show respect to her, not wanting to miss her view of life, but I guess that was as much information that she can share to strangers like us. She stopped talking, and asked about our experience in Donsol.
We did not see ten, but nine whalesharks earlier that morning. We shared our boat with another guy, and after a short 10 minutes of sailing, our Butanding (Whaleshark in Tagalog) Interaction Officer screamed at the presence of Whaleshark, commanded us to rush swimming in the murky water of Donsol sea. We quickly put on our mask and our fin, backrolling to the sea and start to swim as fast as possible. Upon drowning myself in the warm murky water on Donsol Sea, it’s hard to spot any creature as the visibility was only as far as the reach of my hand. It was expected that the sea would be all murky, it is the very reason why Donsol is the whaleshark capital of the world: Planktons. Then suddenly, within the blink of an eye, a creature coming out of the blue, its mouth almost as wide as my body. I’ve never seen such big creature only 3 metres from my presence, but there’s no fear, only adorement. It came so close to me then suddenly manouver passing just below me. I turned my back, start swimming as fast as I could to chase the creature. At one point, I realize that I don’t have to move my fins and hands at all, the pressure such big creature created while passing the sea yield me to drift, almost felt like flying (not that I’ve ever tried one!). I was then just right above it, letting it’s move to drift me, giving me time to observe the white spots and stripes covering it’s grey skin like a checkerboard. What we knew later that it’s spots was actually a unique feature of each whalesharks, it’s like it’s own unique DNA. Then I said hi, to this one chap, and to other eight that I saw that day. When it comes to wild animal interaction, nothing has beat this yet. It was indeed the experience of a lifetime.
It was time to go back from Barracuda, it’s already too late and we’re sure that we no longer can find tricycle anywhere. Julietta did not really seem to bother on our whaleshark stories, anyways, it’s a story which everyone claims every single day of her serving in Barracuda. She asked one of her employee to take us back home, before gulping to another shot of Tanduay. Time to say goodbye to Barracuda, as the memories of them would be retained along with swimming with whalesharks, shrimp catching with the fishermen, and cruising the river overlooking thousands of firefly blinking it’s light in the dark of the night.
The next day, Bohol welcomed us with roams of tricycle driver wanting to take us to the beach.
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On one of those after dive in the strong current of Panglao Island, Bohol, we rest on one of the fisherman village, having a can of coke which I suspected to be Filipino’s national drink. It was raining hard, a thing we least expected upon our trip to this white sandy beach island. Walking around the island despite the rain, we cannot help overheard the music banging on each household along the side of the sandy road. On the first house we passed, it was Miley Cyrus’ “Party in the U.S.A”, the next house, some hip hop thumping, probably lil’ this or lil’ that, and at the end of the road (to begin with, there was no road at all, it was just lines of sands and fossils covering the path), there’s this girl, probably on her 14s, was humming to Black Eyed Peas “Boom Boom Pow”. It was one of those surreal moment when modern culture has been injected deeply to the root of the people. From then on, my quest on understanding this awkwardness arose. How Miley Cyrus won the heart of Filipino fisherman, how on every inch of Philippines I can strongly feel the absence of traditional culture, replaced by lines of videokes and ay caramba!. Please don’t get me wrong, I’m not in the position to criticize knowing that there are people taking their Masters specializing on that. My curiosity sparked solely due to the fact that there are many common traits and history shared by many Southeast Asian countries, yet Philippines seems to be the least to share those commonalities at this point of time. There’s a reason on why people often refer Philippines as a misplaced South American country.
I can only think of the alternative scenario had Magellan did not arrived in Philippines back in the 16th century. Whereas it’s about the same period of time when many Southeast Asian countries started their era of colonialization, Spanish colonialization in Philippines brought a different aroma to the country which never changed ever since. Dutch, British, and French to a lot of extent put significantly greater emphasis on the resource exploiting aspect of colonialization. There’s a clear distinction between the colony and the inlanders, the natives – thus, colonialization only served as a means of exploitation. As a result, cultural inheritance remained due to the segregation. Spaniards, in the other sense, also put a great emphasis on missionary value of colonilization. This prove to be the most successful since Philippines is the only country in Southeast Asia which Catholic population are more than 80% in number. We all understand that in the end religion relates a lot with culture, well, religion is culture itself. The strong emphasis on missionary value brought more integration between colony and the inlanders – which can be seen on the roaring mestizos population in Philippines even until now. Such integration might trigger easier amalgamation of culture, or in this case, convertion of culture. To a lot of extent, legacy left by Spaniard trigger Filipinos to have a tendecy of allying with colony, I mean, what greater evidence of this than the fact that during the Japanese occupation of Philippines in 1940’s, the only sparked of hope Filipino share to claim their independence is through General MacArthur, U.S general acknowledged to be the “liberators” post Battle of Manila in 1944. Other than that, I guess having 11% of its total population as immigrant/balikbayans, many of them acknowledged internationally would somehow trigger streamlining of culture. So it’s fairly understandable on how Philippines can be the leading English speaking country in Southeast Asia, it’s governmental system significantly mimic United States, it’s overall cultural inheritance is very much influenced by Spanish culture and of course, how Miley Cyrus can won the heart of Filipino fishermen.I finished my journey of assumption here, someone else must be better on explaining this, or hell, it might not need any explanation at all.
While witnessing the cultural surprise Philippines bring, we decided to roam around the province knowing it’s reputation to be nature sightseeing haven. We had enjoyed the beach, the seafood and the dive, and now it’s time to enjoy the greens!. The van we rode took us to to Chocolate hills, one of the contender for the new seven wonders of the world, and we were just too excited to see what the fuss is all about!. At the first glance, It felt like entering the world of Mario Bros, where spread of hills lining like an upside down bowl, conical and almost perfectly symmetrical. The sky was almost too clear that I secretly hope to see Mario and Luigi hopping from one hill to another, shooting the fire balls to the turtle armies. The name Chocolate Hills was derived from the fact that on dry season, the color of the hill turn chocolate when the sun direct its light upon. If we look long enough, the symmetrical shape and the color was indeed looked like giant pieces of Toblerone spread around mother earth. It was another surreal experience, one of many I have been through then. While driving to the river where we headed for lunch, I counted the number of new experience I had gone through so far. The magic of Donsol, the funny looking tarsiers we saw before we got hooked with postcard scenery of Chocolate Hills, the green sea horse I spotted on last night’s dive – slowly moving along the green plateau on the surface of the sea and the of course, people we met along the path.
I cannot wait to see what come next, and before we know it, we’re already queueing to board on one of those boats served as floating restaurants in the Loboc river. Being one of the tourist attraction in the island, the river was insanely clean, might be the cleanest river I’ve seen in South East Asia so far. I can clearly see small fishes swimming around the boat, waiting for lunch just like we were. The lush green landscape between the river hooked my eyes, made me indifferent to the long lines of people queueing for the mediocre lunch buffet. I was amazed with the cleanliness of the river, and was wondering the reason behind that. I mean, River as a tourist spot and living area is always known to be the center for garbage as well!, at least in the case of many places i’ve been in Indonesia before. Apparently a joint effort was made between government and some independent venture to keep this river clean, making it sustainable for tourist attraction. Nevertheless that variable will not work without some form of effort from the people living in the area, and that’s where tackling garbage problem are often turned into waste. Here’s what I think. There are so many organization tried to tackle garbage problems. They expect effort from people living in the area affected through the means of education. Frankly speaking, although it might work for developed nation where such awareness exist, how do we expect the clean message to go through population where some 70% of them lives with less than $2 a day?!. It’s about time people learn from Africa, the AIDS problem there is a lost cause because it’s already hard enough for the people to go through the day, and why would they think about what will happen tomorrow?!. Education will hardly work in countries where people still struggle to get through the day, and this is where the case of Loboc river can be a good study. They made it necessary of the people living around the area to keep clean because it will affect their livelihood – they made their living from keeping things clean. Here’s how it works, along the path of the “cruise”, there were huts with women and children living in the area performing musical entertainment. They sing and dance, giving a truly entertaining experience to the tourist passing them by. Hence, they made their living from performing. This is where education of hygiene has worked – they were educated with means and language that are relevant to them.
After a whole day of enjoying the greens of Bohol, we decide that it’s about time to conquer the other objective of Philippine holiday, hence we direct our next destination to the capital city Manila, where the impossible dream are (supposedly) made possible. The illusion of capital cities.
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We were lucky that the antidote of visiting capital cities – roams of traffic jam – were almost non existent in Manila. It was the holy week, and I guess all Manilenos we’re enjoying their time back in their hometown. It’s like visiting Jakarta during Idul Fitri, where (unfortunately) many places are closed (That’s including the National and Cultural Museum of Philippines!), but (fortunately) we could easily roam the city without being stuck for hours in pollution. We decided to made the most of the remaining open establishment, walking around the old town (which made me feel like visiting Spain already) and running freely around the business district of Makati. The city almost felt like a ghost town, stacks of skyscrapers were dimly lit, streets are empty of cars and people. It’s one of the rare experience that you get from big cities.
For a couple of days there, we only wait for the clock ticked to lunch and dinner time, where we can start the hunting of good Spanish tapas and cheap Meditteranean wines. All my days are filled up with Spanish food lining; Paellas, Jamon Serrano, Chorizo, Gambas A La Plancha, Croquetas, Albondingas, Calamares, Nuestras Tortillas, and many more!. Don’t get me wrong, not that I don’t want to savor the real Filipino food (which we did also anyways!); all those Kare Kare, Gising Gising, Balut, Longganisa, and Pork Binagoongan, but I reckon that the taste is not so much different than other Southeast Asian culinary thus we aim to go for experience not easily available in Indonesia, and for a culinary enthusiast like me, a relaxing lunch with Jamon Iberico; cured ham made from black pig, melts in my mouth and rich of savory flavors should be enough. It’s mouth watering cured aroma is best enjoyed with a glass of Tinto de Verano. When it’s not enough, we can still order an authentic plate of Paella Valencia; balanced in it’s dryness and wetness, the dish combined many flavors into one that marries very well. Expect a load of shrimps, chorizos, chicken, fish and squid bursting into one flavor!. From then on begin my day sipping on wines (which can be two or three times cheaper than in Indonesia, by the way) and splurge my appetite for Spanish food, along with Cuban food (Ah, the taste of black bean-hummus like dip still lingers in my mouth!) and of course Greek food, which by the way is impossible to be found in Jakarta!. What happened to the Grilled Kurobota Pork served with Tsatziki?!.
Apparently we manage to enjoy Manila for it’s culinary aspect, despite the overall conviction of mediocre culinary-Filipino food that is too bland and dessert that are always too sweet (heck it must be the American influence!). Good thing the Mediterranean food manage to turn the overall mediocrity into an experience!. But Mediterranean food is not Manila’s solely culinary treasure. To savor the best culinary experience offered by Manila, we have to go all the way to Quezon City, almost got lost until we manage to find this place (without a panel, of course) called Van Gogh is Bipolar. Recommended by a friend and through an article in Springwise, Van Gogh is Bipolar claim to serve only all natural, “happy hormones producing” foods, set to lift consumers’ mood. The owner, Jetro, said that the food is loaded with serotonin and dopamine, which helps to alleviate depression. Talk about Prozac Nation. At first it sounded too good to be true, but amazingly, on our way back, we were filled with joy and happiness that I started to wonder whether the food we ate really did trigger that or maybe Jetro secretly smear little doses of weeds in our food!. I guess the truth is, he managed to unveil the secret of creating an exceptional dining experience, it is a product of combination between the taste, the eye, the feel, and the interaction.
Taste. Apart from the serotonin and dopamine, the food is actually damn good, yet guilt free. We ordered a plate of thanksgiving meal, consisting of organic black mountain rice
with olive oil/soy sauce based wrapped in cabbage, Norwegian Salmon Belly, and Roast Turkey served inside an Orange. The order comes with a tall glass of Courtney Love’s drink of the day – a special cold liquid concoction with a fresh twist. Made from the purest and most fresh fruit extracts, served straight up with wild but mild Palawan Honey. We close the night with a cup of Sir Isaac Newton’s Fresh Lithium Concoction – A blend of Jasmine, Chamomile, Lavender, Fresh Herbs (which might just be weeds???), and St. John’s Wort, and boy, that did close out night well!.
Eye. It felt like visiting a friend’s house. Well, to begin with, it is Jetro’s house, which is only open publicly for dinner everyday. A typical artist house, there’s an area painted in red where customer can jot down their thoughts on the wall or on the table (screwdriver and pens provided). The table only fit for ten, which made the whole aura more personal.
Feel. The fun is triggered by the feel starting from the very moment we enter the place. It is a self served place, where we just write what we want in a piece of paper and ding the bell on the kitchen. Then we can serve our own tea from a table filled with teacups of different sizes and design. Jethro’s brother would kindly explain to us the effect on each type of tea available. While waiting, the homey feel did not bore us, we can scan through the house, visiting Jethro’s dark room and interact with everyone inside. Well this is the part where most restauranteur failed to focus on, the interaction.
Interaction. This is not just merely the waiter asking how’s the food is. The regular chat is obviously there, Jethro explaining the impact of food we savor (only when we feel like it though – there’s many science behind it), how things work in the restaurant, but at the same time he also make time sharing us his photos-from his nude photo work to his collection of photos he shot during his Southeast Asia backpacking trip combined into a postcard book. We also chatted on each traveling journey, and also his plan to do the go on a walking trip from St Jean Pied-du-Port bordering France and Spain to Santiago de Compostella, stretching 780 km in distance.
The combination of taste-eye-feel-interaction is what I believe made the most of our experience in Van Gogh is Bipolar. It’s the kind of thing where you have to try it yourself to believe, and I highly recommend this place to travelers getting lost in the bore of Manila.
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Until our last day in Philippines, we have managed to conquer two out of three objectives and gain so much more that we didn’t expect before. Strawberry Bibingka is somehow still M.I.A and we were led to believe that it’s only a figure of script from that B class movie. We decided to lower our expectation and while walking across the bay of Manila, we came across this small stall selling not strawberry, but savory bibingka!. Putting things concise, it was nowhere near our expectation. I’m sorry bibingka, but you look nicer in motion picture. We came back with heaps of stories to tell, trace of memories that surely hard to be erased, and stacks of Sionil Jose’s book-I believe the equivalent of Pramoedya Ananta Toer which series of book might be good on explaining the history and culture of Philippines post Spanish Colonialization.
Maybe I still can’t get enough – most of the times good times come when you least expected it.
tripping.roaming.mingle 