Kindergarden homework

Do you still remember your days when you were in kindergarden? You were probably 5 or 6 years old then. A kid. Those days should be full of fun and play. ABCs and 123s were learnt in sing-along sessions. The word 'Science' is not part of your vocabulary. The books you flipped have more pictures than words and were no thicker than the the daily newspapers.

Look at what I found when browsing through the local bookstore last weekend.



For scale, compare my thumb size to that book's thickness.

时代真的变得那么快吗？
连上幼稚圆的小孩也有作业吗？
现在的儿童的童年还有玩荡秋千和跳飞机吗？

Dirty rice & Gai Yang

No, it's not a new Hollywood production.

Rather, it was my dinner today.

According to this link, Dirty rice used to be a popular dish in some southern states of US but has lost its appeal due to the ingredients used - chicken gizzards and livers.

Ha, gizzards and livers? Not a problem for Asians like me. It was a must-try for me after reading the recipe. And it certainly didn't disappoint. Savoury and fluffy butter rice interspersed with soft liver bits and chewy gizzards, thoughts about calories and cholesterol was the last thing on my mind.

Gai Yang, the ubiquitous barbecued chicken on the streets of Thailand; loved it the first time I tasted it in Ao Nang, Krabi. However, its recipe has eluded me for a long time since I don't know what it was called. The power of Google is helpless against descriptions like "street-side bbq chicken thighs, Thailand". But I must have accumulated enough good karma lately that I chanced upon the real recipe here.

And now I am fully convinced I have hit the jackpot. Even the chili sauce tastes like the one in Thailand.

Two great recipes to share with mom & dad. A happy and satisfying finish to the weekend.

Cold

Just came back from Kiwiland, camping and bouldering. It is supposed to be summer in NZ now. Ah, summer. The season where the sun shines brightly, days are longer than nights. Supposed to be warm, toasty, maybe even hot.

Yet, the days spent camping at Craigieburn Forest park could still prompt me to write this:

The wood sizzles, a flame flickers,
pink ambers beneath glowers.
The light is feeble,
fire's warmth hardly reaches.
The water stood still, within the pot,
a sip of tea is only a thought.

I rub my hands in earnest,
wtih hope of some friction may bring,
comfort to my fingers,
numbed in the glacial stream.
My knees hug together, the limbs out of sight,
bracing myself, to endure the long cold night.