Momiji’s Amazing Australian Adventure (Part 2 of 2)

Momiji in Calalla Beach

“We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams.”

-Jeremy Irons-

Part 1 of Momiji’s Amazing Australian Adventure was published on this blog on January 30, 2009.  My husband, who knows me best, is reluctantly aware of my “Last In, First Out” policy when it comes to blogging, and I suppose this explains why Part 2 is only appearing eleven months after the first blog post, and exactly a year after our visit to Australia.

As much as my memory fails me in my old(er) age, I’m thankful for the bits that remain.  Recently, thanks to Facebook, I was reunited with a handful of old classmates from 20 years back, and amazingly, I was still able to remember many of the names.   Like word association, one name brought about another, and before I knew it, I was spewing out names faster than a person speaking in tongues.

Yes, I’d like to think that I am able to retain the good stuff.   Which brings me to the continuation of Momiji’s Amazing Australian Adventure…..

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On their road trip from Gold Coast to Sydney, after enjoying a delicious breakfast of eggs benedict at Byron Bay, Silly Billy’s tummy began to rumble.  “I’m hungry,” she whimpered.  And then she saw a glittering sight, like jewels in a background of emerald green.   “It must be a mirage,” she thought, “my hunger’s gone to my big resin head.”   But it wasn’t an illusion, as she approached the shimmering ocean at Coff’s Harbour, glistening like a blanket of tiny little diamonds.

“Wake up!” she kicked Twinkle in her belly.  Twinkle grunted, “I’ll have a bacon sandwich, hold the lettuce.”   “You’re dreaming, Twinkle,” said a disgusted Silly Billy.   Silly Billy continued driving until she saw a club full of energetic little old people playing lawn bowling.  Silly Billy squealed and came to a halt.   She loved energetic little old people, but Twinkle pulled her aside and reminded her of her priorities.  “Food first,” Twinkle said, “then lawn bowl with energetic little old people.”

Cafe Aqua, located at 57 Ocean Parade, directly across the club, seemed to be a nice welcoming place for a quick bite.  It also meant that Silly Billy could spy on her new friends while enjoying her delicious scallop and bacon salad with asparagus, roasted capsicum and butternut with a saffron dressing that immediately quelled her hunger pangs.   It almost felt like the scallops came from the sea beyond, and the bacon came from a pig in the backyard.  Twinkle skipped mains and went straight to desserts.   Twinkled swam into her glass of chocolate milk shake and licked the chocolate off her body.  “I’m revived,” she declared, “let’s move on and play with the energetic little old people!”   And so they did.

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They reached Sydney in one piece and without any traffic summons.   On New Year’s Eve, Twinkle and Silly Billy decided to celebrate it at Ripples at Milsons Point, an amazing outdoor location near the Olympic Pool at the shadow of the Sydney Harbour Bridge that would be imprinted on their minds forever.   Serving excellent fusion food, they were gasping sighs of happiness as they wolfed down their oysters with a zesty Japanese rice wine dressing, pan seared ocean trout with coriander rice and chilli jam and…and….(momijis are known to have terrible memory thanks to their pea-sized brains)…chocolate cake with….*gasp*…fairy floss!   “Fairies died for me,” thought Silly Billy, that silly little thing.

They were a little inebriated thanks to the two bottles of wine which they had with their meals, and after their meal, they stumbled their way to the wharf, making funny faces at Luna Park along the way, to get on a ferry to the Taronga Zoo.

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On the ferry ride to Taronga Zoo, they noticed throngs of humans gathering along the Sydney Opera House and the coastline beyond, awaiting the New Year’s Eve fireworks display later that night.   Silly Billy was filled with trepidation as she anticipated being stampeded on, just like her harrowing experience twenty years earlier in Stadium Merdeka where FRU officers literally fished her out from a crowd of enthusiastic Selangor football supporters.   Twinkle held her hand and said, “I’ll protect you, Silly Billy.”  Silly Billy felt safe when she was with Twinkle.   As the ferry docked at the wharf at Taronga, they skipped, hand in hand, all the way up to Bradley’s Head at the Sydney Harbour National Park, a lovely site in a natural bushland setting.   There, they met other momijis and humans, all equally friendly with each other, as they partook of a refreshing Thai salad made by Twinkle’s aunt while waiting for the sun to set.   Families played on the grass, a plane whirred by, skywriting beautiful words in the clear blue sky…a general feeling of warmth pervaded and the momijis smiled at each other.   As the fireworks display began, the humans and momijis clapped and cheered, and a tear trickled down Silly Billy’s face.

“Happy New Year, Twinkle.”

“Happy New Year, Silly Billy.”

It has been a good year.

An amazing year.

A wonderful year.

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Other pictures from Momiji’s Amazing Australian Adventure below:

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Ku-ring-gai Chase National Park, 25km north of Sydney, set on the southern branch of the Hawkesbury River, the park is well known for aboriginal rock engravings

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Delicious, tender, pork ribs at Hurricane’s Grill and Bar at Darling Harbour

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Champagne breakfast with the family in warm balmy weather

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Bun Cha in Hanoi

spices

The internet has liberated a new kind of beast.  In the NST yesterday, it was reported that Ah Longs (loan sharks) used Facebook to humiliate their debtors.  Gone are the days of splashing red paint on the doors.  It does look like the more access you have to public media, be it Facebook or Twitter or blogging, the more susceptible you are to being victimized.  And talking about Facebook, even our Prime Minister has his own Facebook page now.  It’s a little unnerving to learn that he likes Ronan Keating’s When You Say Nothing At All. “In my spare time I focus on Sunday family lunches, watching TV with my kids and going on holidays.” I don’t know about you, but this is as bad as finding out that your parents have sex.  Anyway, back to Ah Longs and the perils of the internet, it got me thinking of all my misdeeds in the past.  About a month back, I was in a car chase with an incorrigibly fractious driver.  I had anger management issues then, and decided to snap photographs of the rodent in question (and petulantly indicated to him that I was doing it).  Well, he got peeved about being caught on my iPhone, so he reciprocated by snapping my picture instead.  A cat and mouse chase ensued and numerous pictures were captured on each other’s cameras.  I reckon that photographs of me and my car are floating around the internet by now.  I hope he at least had the decency to photoshop my mug to tone down my maniacal expression.  (It wouldn’t hurt to make me look slimmer as well.)  I have since addressed my anger issues as I’ve realised that the only person I’m hurting when I get upset in traffic is myself.  This newfound zen is sometimes forgotten, though.  About a week ago, Bald Eagle and I were in Hanoi to celebrate our 9th wedding anniversary.  We had obtained free tickets on a particular airlines early this year to fly to Hanoi on the 10th and back to KL on 11 November.   We were pleased as Punch with our amazing deal.  Lesson learnt post 11 November: A deal is only good when it’s real.  In simple terms, there is no such thing as a free meal.  The airlines cancelled our return flight without informing us, and I was kicking their flimsy door down with my size 7 feet at the Hanoi International Airport.  Other lesson learnt: Size 7 feet don’t create much of a dent.  It’s as good as nudging your boobies against the door expecting the door to fall off the hinge.

It’s just as well that our only negative experience occurred at the end of our holiday.  I’m not good at hiding my feelings.  When I travel, my face lights up in wonderment and I am 21 again, young with wide-eyed naivety.  The joy of discovering a new place and meeting new people envelopes my whole being and I’m literally radiating in a warm aura.  A pity that I lose it the instant that I am back at work.

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Our first meal in Hanoi, at a restaurant located just 20 metres away from our hotel, was bun cha that came highly recommended by Paprika and Sze.  Bun cha is generally eaten at lunchtime, and popular restaurants or stalls get filled up pretty fast.  Not knowing what to expect, we were ushered upstairs where even more tables were available.  Before we could even start with our sign language (English is hardly spoken in Hanoi), several types of receptacles were placed before us.

bun cha ingredients

We merely stared at the array of delicious looking food.  A mountainous plate of rice vermicelli, clumped together in a sticky mess, a bowl of pork patties that had just been grilled, evidence of hardened charred bits floating in a soup that tasted of rice wine and fish sauce, a large mound of herbs and greens, some tasting very much like our local ulam, a bowl of thinly sliced young papaya in the same soupy liquid as the pork patties, some coarsely chopped chilli and garlic for more punch, and a plate of nem, crispy fried spring rolls bursting with minced pork.

“So,” I looked to my husband, “how does one eat this?”

Bun Cha

Seeing our puzzled look, one of the servers came over and proceeded to pile in the ingredients into our bowls, starting with some noodles, followed by some of the tart sweet savoury nuoc cham sauce to flavour the noodles, then the grilled pork, a portion of spring rolls, some sliced papaya, garlic and chilli and finally topped with the greens.  The resultant dish, so quickly assembled, resembled a noodle salad.  We ate up everything in sight.

I still have memories of that first meal.  We ate a lot more after that; in fact, it was two days of non-stop eating from typical street food to the finest french restaurants.  We drank copious amounts of Vietnamese coffee flavoured with sweetened condensed milk.  But that first meal hit the mark on my gastronomic quest.

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I wonder if one day, there will be an online voting for our favourite Ah Long on Facebook?  And whether our Prime Minister will be voting since he has his own Facebook account?

Bun Cha
Hang Manh Street (Old Quarters)
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From Sambal Belacan to Jamón Ibérico – Spain, Part 2 – On the Pintxos Trail in San Sebastian

Map of Spain

I used to think that Pintxos was a proper noun. That was about the same time that I thought Madrid was a coastal city. However, within a week prior to departure, I had read so much literature on Spain that I suddenly felt like a walking Wikipedia. Notice nobody talks about encyclopedias these days? Remember the good old days when a set of gleaming gold fringed leather-bound encyclopedias took pride of place in the family library? I loved the smell of the glossy sheets that were filled with National Geographic-like photographs and line illustrations. I only wish I had put the Madrid section to good use, but I got stuck in the section on Llamas (I was a huge fan of Tintin comics in the old days).

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In Part 1, I mentioned that we had decided to visit San Sebastian primarily for the food. San Sebastian as a destination isn’t only for snobs who enjoy hobnobbing with society’s finest at the top restaurants in town. Some of the best food that we ate were at tiny eateries which had just a couple of tables, where people stood at the bar to eat, and where trust was the currency for admission into these places.

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Pintxos originated in Basque country, and so we were hardly surprised to see that every other bar in Parte Vieja (where we stayed) served pintxos. Whilst I did extensive research (or at least, what can be called extensive in a span of one week!) on eateries, carrying a list everywhere I went, I was not sufficiently prepared to deal with my absolute and total lack of mastery of the Spanish language and customs.

Me: Hola!

José: Hola!

Me: Can you tell me where Parte Vieja is?

José: *quizzical look*

Me: *arms doing the breast stroke* P.a.r.t.e…V.i.e.j.a….

José: No soy el dueño de este burro, lo rente. (I don’t own that donkey, it’s a rental)

Me: *doing flying turtle jumping cow move* P.a.r.t.e…V.i.e.j.a….w.h.e.r.e…?

José: Eres la chica más bonita en este bar aunque eres travestí. (You’re the prettiest girl in this bar, even though you’re a transvestite) *nodding appreciatively*

Me: *sensing flirtation and winking back while doing backstroke move* H.o.w…t.o….g.o…….?

José: i me queda la zapatilla, me puedes llamar Cenicienta. (If the shoe fits, you can call me Cinderella)

I wish I had recorded my wild flaying limbs and crazy-woman gestures as I attempted to obtain directions from the locals who did not speak a word of English. There was this one time that we couldn’t work the safe in our room and asked for help. The man at the desk tried to help, couldn’t fix it, so another man in a chef’s uniform appeared at our room. After a conversation between four parties that was fit for the Tower of Babel, we left in search of lunch and chanced upon a traditional looking restaurant called Bernardo’s which served an amazing array of pintxos and seafood. Imagine our surprise when the man in the chef’s uniform appeared before us – lo and behold, he was none other than Bernardo himself, a man of great reputation for running one of the best seafood restaurants in the tiny seaside town. As it turned out, he also owned the Pension where we were staying at. He kissed my hand (Swooon! So 19th century….I like!) and gave us free drinks.

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Bernardo’s was our first introduction to the world of traditional pintxos. Pintxos is generally a slice of bread with anything thrown on top, although the more common ones have anchovies, cod, mozarella, capsicum etc. The dining culture for pintxos eating is interesting. The pintxos is laid out on the bar counter and the first thing you will notice is a crowd standing at the counter, txikito (red wine) or beer in hand, while helping themselves to individual portions of pintxos straight from the counter. At the end of the session, the diner tells the barman how many pieces he’s eaten, and he is presented with the bill. Not all bars work on this trust system. In some places, plates are given to the diner, who proceeds to pick out the pintxos of his choice and places them on his plate; the barman keeps tab on the items taken. Bar/Pintxos hopping is popular in San Sebastian – many eat just a couple of pieces and have a tipple before moving on to the next bar and the bar after that.

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The humble pintxos has evolved over the centuries. Now, instead of just plain old sliced bread set on top of a wine glass to prevent flies from having a fiesta in a pool of alcohol, restaurants and bars in San Sebastian compete for top honours. Take Bar Alona Berri in Zona Gros district, for example. The restaurant has won regional and national competitions with its highly inventive offerings. The txipiron at Bar Alona is a piece of grilled squid stuffed with onion confit and held over a glass of martini with a skewer. Caramelised sugar and a tiny portion of squid ink rice complete what will be merely a mouthful, two at the most, of absolute brilliance. Another innovative pintxos (see photo of pintxos on serving spoon, red background) has 9 different ingredients in one offering including salt cod, purple potato and eggplant.

A Fuego Negro

A Fuego Negro specialises in modern pintxos with its cute little espresso cups containing mushroom dips, adorable mini burgers and a handsome Chilean barman. The mood is casual and trendy, while the decor is chic and stark reflecting the owners’ global hip-hop culture. The bar comes highly recommended among the elite at San Sebastian.

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Our experience at Bar Ibai in Getaria was a little more cult-like. Firstly, there was no signboard at the beautiful bamboo-paneled entrance. When we walked in, all eyes turned to us. I looked at the sole barman who was busy topping glasses of wine. “Ibai?” I asked him, while showing him a piece of paper with the name written on it. “Si, si!” he replied with a smile. Now, the thing about the good people of Spain is that they’re all so friendly and assuring even though they don’t understand a thing that you’ve said. So, until today, I’m not entirely sure that I was at Ibai that day, but I can vouch for the delicious pintxos at that no-name beautifully panelled bar.

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If I had to choose one bar that was the favourite, it had to be La Cuchara de San Telmo which specialised in modern pintxos. The highly talented chef (who had apparently worked at El Bulli before) dished out plate after plate of the most climax-inducing food. We had initially planned on eating just a couple of things before hopping on to the next bar, but we stayed for 6 full courses consisting of foie gras with apple compote, grilled ever so lightly with a melting texture, glazed Iberico pork ribs – beautiful tender perfection, cod tempura in beer batter, duck confit with balsamic and honey glaze, grilled octopus and veal cheeks cooked in red wine in all its gelatinous splendour.

Bernardo Etxea
Calle del Puerto 7, Parte Vieja.

Bar Alona Berri
C/ Bermingham 24, Zona Gros.

Bar Bergara
C/ General Arteche 8, Zona Gros.

A Fuego Negro
C/ 31 de Agosto, Parte Vieja.

Bar Ibai
Getaria 15

La Cuchara de San Telmo
C/ 31 de Agosto, 28 Trasera, Parte Vieja.