Thursday, November 27, 2008

Merk

That evil sucking sound coming from behind the bookshelf can mean a number of things, each more dastardly than the other- I suspect it is either one of the giant beetle creatures that haunt the study or the lizard who eats said beetle creatures behind the books. Either way, I do not appreciate the evil sucking, clicky sounds late at night when there's no mother and brother to protect me by wielding slippers and bugspray. 

I realise that the bastards only come out at night, like after 12 am, and my nocturnal habits as of late have made them my nighttime companions, what with the copious amounts of food I bring into the study, ala the ants and assorted shits who clamour around cake crumbs and drops of honeyed water. I wish I could say I've been staying up late studying and stuff, but it's fat hope by any measure. Facebook, youtube and google images will kill my CAP for my first ever sem at school.

It all stems from my increasing appreciation for broadway musical soundtracks- I'm listening to the OST from 'The Last Five Years' by Jason Robert Brown right now, it's an off-broadway musical but has the most wonderfully witty lyrics and beautiful accompanying score ever. I love broadway musicals, the singing is consistently fantastic, and there's always a song for the whole spectrum of shitty life moments. 

Gah, I am tired, and shall go to sleep now.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Late nights

I hate staying up late at night, and at the same time I think sleep is so repressive.

Late at night, you feel uninhibited so you discuss things a lot more candidly, but at the same time you know at the back of your head that being drunk on night dilutes reason, and the hangover isn't something you can shake off with sleep and whining. 

I hate late nights. You wake up in the morning realising how unspecial the twinkle was. 

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Je suis perdant spectaculaire

FWARGH. Je connais bien cette émotion, elle est l'impuissance. 

J'ai essayé de faire mes devoirs aujourd'hui, mais tout ce que j'ai completé un topique de sociologie. Merde, je suis complètement con. Pour l'entier jour, j'ai assis sur ma chais et regarder ces ordinateur, surfer sur l'internet, le Wikipedia, le FACEBOOK... je deteste ça mais je ne pouvoir pas vivre sans ça, c'est une relation tres drôle.

Ah, je manque mes cours français. Vraiment, je dois completer beaucoup d'affaires, ce sont plus important que faire du 'emo'. 

Mon dieu, pour ecrire ce paragraphe court, j'ai prendu 15 minutes. 


 

C'est parfait!




In Chatterbox, last night, Chong Ming was waxing most lyrical about French Onion Soup which, until today, I had never made before. I was so inspired that I decided most decidedly to make some today. I shall now attempt to write SOME bits of this post in French, since it is about France's greatest contribution to the world of simple cooking: French Onion Soup.

J'aime beaucoup la soupe à l'oignon française! Ma expérience premier de cette soupe a été à Le Bistro Au Petit Salut dans la rue Chip Bee pres de Holland Village. Elle a été pas mal, mais ça n'a pas mémorable. Tout ce que je me rappelle elle a été tres cher.

En typique, la soupe a l'oignon française est préparé avec les oignons caraméliser, le consomme de boeuf, des émincés de baguette et beaucoup de fromage (en typique, il est gruyére). Le Wikipedia dire le fromage est juste pour embellissement, mais je pense il est tres important (vous pouvez voir l'image au-dessus!).

En Anglais:

I LOVE French Onion Soup, oh my god. My first experience with it was at Le Bistro Au Petit Salut at Chip Bee road near Holland V. It wasn't bad, though it wasn't memorable, and all I can remember is that it was very expensive. 

French Onion Soup is typically made with caramelised onions, beef stock, slices of baguette and lots of cheese (usually gruyére). Wikipedia says that the cheese is mainly for embellishment, but I think it's very important (and you can see for yourself in the picture above!). 

That took me way longer to write in French. 

This is a dish that, I figure, if you want to enjoy thoroughly, you have to approach with a certain French sensibility of obsessive compulsion. Not that it's complicated, but you have to be patient and insist on getting things right. For one, the onions have to be caramelised until dark mahogany like bejeweled, sickly-sweet toffees or sticky Christmas yams. Any lighter and French obsessive compulsion will take over and make you stick the onions back over the heat. 

The best way to do this, as my laziness drove me to discover, is to abandon the French sensibility of doing things like Escoffier would have (which is with back-breaking stirring of onions in a sweaty kitchen), and to use the slow cooker. The slow cooker gives you the right amount of heat over a fiendishly long period of time to reduce the sharp, tear-jerking onions from pearly white to luscious brown, sweet, sweet spheres of jam. It is also infinitely less hands-on and fussy than being enslaved to a frying pan of onions for 1-2 hours on end. 

To do this, simply throw 6-8 (8 for largish local varieties) yellow onions into the slow cooker with 125g of butter and about 280 ml of stock (any will do, but beef works very well). Set on low, cover and wait for 14-16 hours. Toward the end, lift one onion out to check the colour. It should look like one of these:



I cannot stress the importance of wrapping these up and chucking them in the freezer immediately after they are drained (cover the liquid in a bowl with clingfilm and plunge into an iced-water bath) because the warmth attracts bacteria. I stupidly forgot to cover the cooking liquid when I was cooling it in a bowl of iced water, and subsequently got a really bad tummy ache from drinking the soup later. Count yourself warned. You should also skim the butter off the cooking liquid and save it for other useful things. 

For the soup, individual portions are, according to Rose Levy Beranbaum, 1/2 a cup each of the caramelised onion (sliced, of course, that's about 1 onion), cooking liquid and beef broth. Combine in a small pot, bring to the boil, pour into a bowl and throw in 2-3 slices of toasted baguette. Place over the preparation a few thin slices of gruyére and grate some more over to completely cover the soup. Place under a hot grill (like that in your oven) until melted, golden and making pock-pock sounds. 

The soup I made today was prepared with lousy Gardenia Country Loaf, which tasted bland and uninteresting. As Rose writes (see above link), the best soupes a l'oignons are made with the best bread and cheese. I am baking a sourdough loaf tomorrow, which I think will make an excellent addition to this dish. My sense with this is that the blend of perfectly caramelised onions and broth will make an excellent soup to go by even without the calorie-laden cheese and bread, though the latter is filling enough to have constituted my dinner. 

I confess that I am not terribly fond of gruyére cheese, though, because it smells to me like a very unpleasant bodily substance (if you don't know what I'm referring to, you're better off not knowing). It works very well with the dish, though, the tartness of the cheese seems to complement the sweetness of the onions very well, holding its own amidst the assault on the taste-buds. Anyway, one can't really go wrong with caramelised onions- the flavour of the soup is incomparable, sweet, savoury, cheesy, wholesome, elle est parfait. So happy happy if you're trying this out!

Amusez-vous bien!



Monday, November 17, 2008

School is evil

Oh my lord, I have resigned myself to failure of the most depressing and unglamorous sort this semester. I have a continent of readings to complete, and one week to do it- one stupid week is not enough to make up for my semester's worth of not-reading, they really should make it reading month.

Today was my first serious attempt to actually study for my impending exams (they arrive next week, so maybe impending isn't a very accurate adverb), and I spent it in school with Charmaine, Shereen and Bernard at the arts canteen trying to make sense of a really dry sociology reading about declining rates of marriage in Asia. I really detest sociology so much, its flouncy claims and theories trying to dress up things we already know as theoretical frameworks for understanding society- I mean, seriously: if a particular society has parents actively arrange marriages, there will be more marriages in said society? 

What transpired from today, as I'm sure anyone who's spent more than 5 minutes with girls before will know, was 3 hours of complete unproductiveness, the only thing even remotely sociological emerging from it being long discussions of who we would marry/shoot/shag and why, and ogling of cute boys on facebook. We then proceeded to Chatterbox to chat with Leonard and other seniors, and I discovered that not only are many of them food lovers, they love to COOK, and with such aplomb too! I have found nirvana in USP, seeing as to how the only other response to my kitchen-love from some damned fool at FASS was: "eh, you like cooking ah? That's not normal leh, guys don't normally like cooking what." Oh my god, these people are the bedrock of good grades in FASS, thank goodness for the bell curve. 

FWARGH, this was precisely why I didn't study in groups back in JC. I can't wait for these damned examinations to be over so I can focus (more legitimately) on Christmas baking, novels and other happy things. 

If only gossip counted towards grades. It really should, seeing as how gossip, and not love or sex or religion, is the one thing that unites all humanity. Gossip helps you make friends by slathing on dirt about old friends and people nobody likes, it is a crucial life skill and one that deserves far more academic attention and instruction than is currently accorded by our educational institutions. 

Anyway, this being school-less reading week and all, I shall hole myself up at home and bake sourdough bread amidst frantic reading of boring readings. I really really realllllyyy regret taking the intro module to political science- it is dry and technical beyond belief, and the study of politics just convicts you as to the general stupidity of Man and his never-ending search for power over others. Politics helps you understand God and why he doesn't exist- God is the invention of people too innately powerless to exert power over others, God is the original example du jour of bullshit that worked, and we invoke God every time we shit out essays and get As anyway. I cannot stand political science and will never understand what force of hubris made me declare with such vigour to everyone who asked that I intend to major in the damned subject. I can't wait to start on my lit modules and will meantime spend myself in self-flagellation for not having taken the intro this semester.

Ah, Joel, such stupidity. 

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Bwargh

Having been galvanised to much gushiness at watching Highschool Musical 3 (musicals make me teary-eyed), I was struck by my inability to understand the largely fairytale teenage romance thrust unto us from Hollywood in the form of Zac Efron's amazingly blue eyes and ripped body and Vanessa Hudgens' sweet little do-re-mi giggles. Perhaps it is because I, myself, have never had a grand romance to call part of my slapdash existence so far, less so a teenage romance. God forbid, I was moved beyond comprehension by the sweetness of it all, the idealism of it all.. all to which I offered a smug "aww", knowing inside that such a romance was doomed to failure. The thing is, I couldn't have been "aww"ing from experience, or knowingness- from where does my cynicism spring?

I think it's just my bitterness at not having (had) something similarly saccharine to pop into my mouth. In the same way people force themselves to sit through horror movies for the kicks, I sit through love stories pissbad and glorious to jump-start that little part of the brain we all have that responds to tearjerky chocolate & flower romances, or to convict myself with the cattiness of my life (ie. doomed to a life alone in a house with many cats). It scares me that I am having such a teeny moment at this, the supposed prime of my life, but watching HSM3 helped me see that teenhood is largely lost in Singapore, and it is in university that the diversity of personalities and sounds and activities resembles anything the singing, rocking, dancing kids of HSM so steep themselves in. 

Call it a quarter-life crisis, but I know there's something I'm not doing right :(