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Lately, I’ve been somewhat obsessed with oatmeal.


For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom why.  I mean, I could take the easy route and blame it on my new trainer (from hell) who gives me a list of what to eat for my six meals a day regime.  To understand that, you’ll need to know that he’s a huge oatmeal aficionado, like of epic proportions.  Or I could attribute oatmeal to my desire to regularise certain bodily rhythms and we shall leave it on that ambiguous note.

But in truth, it’s none of the above.

Oatmeal simply reminds me of home.  My home in Kuching, Sarawak, East Malaysia.  It reminds me of growing up as the youngest of two and being utterly spoiled (shhh, brother, let’s not delve into details now).  You see, my Dad loved oatmeal, Quacker Oats to be precise, and he even had a special pot for it.  The cutest most la-la-land looking gizmo ever.  There was a specific ritual to the entire process from weight of oats measured with the precision of a heart surgeon to how long the cooked version needed to chill in the fridge to the milk that was used as a (generous) topping.  Yes, my Dad had my Mum nailing this to a scientific art.

He wanted his oats (or porridge as he would call it at times, spoofing the fodder from Goldilocks and The Three Bears) chilled just so, with that perfect helping of Condensed Milk, mug of Nescafe to the right sporting that blue cap (my Mum had the green cap), and the occasional serving of sliced bananas.

Sesame Street

So anyway, after all that rambling and post the consumption of countless bowls of oatmeal, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am homesick.  Or, more specifically, parent-brother-sick :) it’s been three years since I went back to Malaysia and I think it’s high time to have a bowl of chilled porridge with my Dad.

Love, SG

p/s I promise the next post will be less melancholy

pp/s I promise it will not be another three months to the next post

Living up to the nickname I bestowed upon myself (hey, thanks, Poshmark team), I took a gander and braved the -1 Degree Celcius weather on Thursday afternoon.  Here are a handful of the photos I took while out and about.


Truth be told, I didn’t snap as many as I’d expected nor hoped, and this was because, as I sadly realised, my Digital Camera (while perfect and wonderful for close, cropped shots) is simply not the appropriate tool for outdoor pictures.  It’s just not the right camera for that genre of photographs.


In case you’re wondering, I took a shot of Waverly Place for my daughter who adores Selena Gomez and her TV series, “Wizards of Waverly Place”.

After about 45 minutes of sauntering around, the tummy growled and I decided I fancied of a spot of Asian food (I know, right?).  Morimoto, it certainly wasn’t, but here’s what I had for a very late lunch at the Empire Szechuan Village which is located on 173 7th Ave.


I had a chip with a dip.  That chip with that dip was da bomb.  The latter being a chutney of apple with mango and pineapple and dried plums, all kinds of yums.


But of course it’s Unagi Sashimi, did you really think I wasn’t going to have any?


My massive entré ~ Stir Fried Shrimp with Thai Basil.  Not quite what I was expecting but I ate all the shrimp.  I like shrimp.  Very much.  Very very much.

All things said and done, I did what I could, and I hope to still be able to impart a modicum of what I saw, through these.

Love, SG

p/s I made it out of New York City just before the blizzard hit, phew.  When we were lining up to board the plane out of Newark, a guy offered me $750 for my ticket.  Like woah.

New York, New York, why must you be thus cold?  Do you not feel the tiniest modicum of sympathy for this woman from the tropics (and, these days, from Houston)?  You’ve got her all bundled up like an Asian dumpling.  A travelling Asian dumpling, no less.


Entering the Fashion District and my Egyptian-born cabbie goes to town with the horn.  Only in New York (and Kuching, and Calabria).


Turning the corner into West 28th Street, and you can see remnants of snow from the morning.  It’s all a tad mushy and slippery and grey outside though.


Think what you like, say what you think, but I do firmly believe this is the most important bit/tool of any hotel room.


The wallpaper in my hotel room.  Trippy or what?

First night in NYC and I pig out at Morimoto’s.   In fact, I think the other patrons around me were taking bets on where I was packing it all in.  Oink, oink.  Can you blame me?  When you’re in the same vicinity as the restaurant of an Iron Chef, YOU_JUST_PIG_OUT.  Resistance is futile.  More on that tonight.  I have to start getting ready for IFBCON, super excited and nervous, and hoping I won’t fall asleep (the traffic outside kept me up and woke me at 4.34am, yawn).  That’d be rather awkward.

Talk to you guys from the Altman.

Love, SG

p/s I did dream of Puff The Magic Dragon


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