Ξ January 22nd, 2010 | → 1 Comments | ∇ Food |
This article caught my eye the other day. The Times Online claimed I wasn’t eating at least 20 great foods. That’s crazy talk.
Exhibit A: Boiled egg
Exhibit B: Frozen berries and oats
Numnumnum. Let the eating challenge begin! How many of these healthy bites are you enjoying regularly? And can Kevin convince me that oily fish can be delicious?
Here’s the list: baked beans, green tea, parsley, apples, grapefruit, tomatoes, pomegranate, new potatoes, oats, poached (or boiled) eggs, frozen peas, prunes, dark chocolate, frozen berries, olives, almonds, chillies, wholewheat pasta, tumeric
Bon appetit!
I spent a long weekend over New Year’s in Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon) with the fun and wonderful Kevin.
As I haven’t any photos from the trip*, I will attempt to paint you a word picture of some highlights and impressions of the trip. We arrived New Year’s Eve with reservations for dinner at the Lonely-Planet-recommended Temple Club restaurant. The meal started with wine and a sampling of salad rolls, spring rolls, fish sauce and peanut sauce. Keep it coming, waiter! Next up we ordered the steamed shrimp in coconut and a second dish I recall only by its mystery ingredient, later to be identified as a banana flower, or young banana. My first bite contained a couple of the little devils, and my mouth promptly went dry. I didn’t think I was allergic to any foods, but for a moment I paid a lot of attention to whether I was still breathing. Yes, yes I was. A moment after Kevin took a bite of the white-ish plant and had the same reaction, my fears of dying of allergic reaction to delicious food my first night in Saigon were allayed. Phew! More food, please!
Indeed, it was a food-filled adventure. We dined on street food prepared on rolling carts, we dined in quaint restaurants tucked away in alleys or in loft-style buildings. One restaurant, Huong Lai (38D Ly Tu Trong), employs children from disadvantaged families or former street children. They receive hospitality training, education and a place to stay. It was at Huong Lai that Kevin fell in love with the taro-potato soup. Fantastic purple, salty and a little sweet, with potato bits. Slurp! Lonely Planet has a dish-by-dish list of Saigon’s greatest (food) hits. We made our way through most of it. Though I think we disagree on the best pho (rice-noodle soup, pronounced like “fir”). Our hotel, Saigon Mini Hotel, served amazing pho beef for breakfast. We slurped down a bowl every morning. Pho 24, the guide’s top pho, wasn’t bad for what feels like a fast-food chain. Indeed, they are soon expanding to Hong Kong.
How could I forget Fanny ice cream? I couldn’t stop myself from ordering what was called something like Bliss or Genius or OMG That’s Amazing. Sort of a chocolate fondue with fresh fruits and 14 mini scoops of ice cream and sorbet. We had young coconut, pistachio, chocolate, dark chocolate, lime, vanilla, peanut, coffee, mocha, banana, sweet rice (?) and more. Not sure I can remember them all correctly, but you get the idea. Yu-um.
We had banh mi sandwiches on the street. Vietnam is home to the best bread in Asia, surely a leftover from the French occupation. But I sure heard more about the American invasion. During our visit to the War Remnants Museum and our tour to the Cu Chi (pronounced koo chee) tunnels, my jaw got sore from being tense and my stomach turned in circles as our tunnel guide let the propaganda fly like the wind. War is evil, yes, but it has more than one side. Enough of that, eh?
More on street food: I think we were outside the Ben Thanh Market when we “mmm’d” and “wow’d” our way through a plate of fried egg in doughy pancakey dreams. Hooray for grease! About those New Year’s resolutions…
Quan An Ngon is a must-visit for street-style food in a restaurant setting. Sit outside or under high ceilings and wander the food stalls surrounding the dining area. Try the molded rice cakes with fish sauce. And the funky dessert cakes and drinks. And I haven’t even mentioned Vietnamese coffee.
You can have a cup at the Highland Coffee chain, or you can sit in the kiddie chairs of street stalls and get the real deal. I think my favorite one was at a cafe with yin-yang sign down an alley near Quan An Ngon. Mind the skeeters though, this place is set in and around an old house with a garden tastefully (though almost overgrown) plantified. Old trees, tiny buddha baby statues. There’s a woman constantly sweeping up the steadily falling leaves. Vietnamese coffee, served black or white, hot or cold, is made sweet with condensed milk. It’s thick, drip coffee sometimes served while it’s brewing. I think it could turn anyone into a coffee drinker.
Other stops along the way: Reunification Palace (I recommend touring this in 20 minutes or less), water puppet theatre (no translation required if you have a vivid imagination. Fun and silly!), old post office (neat building. Stamps and post cards sold here), Notre Dame Cathedral (note the odd opening hours). And there’s a list of other sights and day tours we decided to skip in order to see what we did and eat what we did and sleep when we did. We like sleep.
Another highlight: I had an ao dai (pronounced Ow Yah-ee) tailor made in an afternoon. Photos coming soon. It’s pretty!
I haven’t even mentioned the motorbike culture. Maybe later. To sum it up: there are many, and the only accident we saw happened very close to 0 mph. Amazing how they navigate traffic circles.
Weather? 30-plus, humid and sunny. Pleasant at night.
* A note for travelers, experienced and not: Always be aware of thieves. A motorbike cowboy swooped by and stole our camera one night in an alley around the corner from our hotel. No one was hurt, but it does make for an eerie feeling. The camera strap was wrapped around the wrist instead of around the neck or messenger-bag style against the body. There was a slight jostling and the sound of the lens cap clinking on the pavement. Can’t help but wonder how long they’d been watching, whether we could’ve stopped them, etc. Oh well, huh? The unfortunate event cast a negative cloud over my thoughts of the broad smiles I saw on local people the next day. It didn’t ruin the trip — far from it. But it wasn’t too delicious either.
My Trailwalker team found out today we came in 6th place out of 23 women’s teams. Not bad for a bunch of rookies! We would’ve been 115th in the men’s category out of 560 teams. That’s excellent news, eh? I still plan to write about the hike. It’ll take some time as there’s a lot to say.
For now, here’s the link to our team page. And we’re on facebook. Look on my profile for the page “The Team.” We spent a lot of time talking about team names and came up with the awesome name Team Team. Then on race day we came up with an even cooler name, but I’ve since forgotten it. It’ll come to me… wait for it…
Our fundraising total: HK$9200. Way to go, Team Team and friends!
Well after happening upon this ridiculous display of energy waste, we figured out the display was set up in connection with the start of the East Asia Games. Righto.
There were probably 30 spot lights set up at eye level along the harbor in front of the convention center. They’re on swivel stands and send super bright rays across at Kowloon side. How unsafe is that? To make it even better, there were green lasers pointing across too. Kinda freaked me out. But I didn’t exactly stop walking in front of the pretty bright lights.
My wonderful dinner date and I took some photos…
That's me, bewildered.
Note the green lasers just above eye level.
Calling all iPhones!
Be mindful of fish bones.
Take only the water you’ll need.
Spandex is your friend.
If you need help, ask for it.
Go to Bali.
A 35-kilometer hike in the Vietnam heat can be harder than a 100-kilometer hike in the Hong Kong cold.
Take good care of your mother. She’s important.
Since I last wrote in August, I’ve had a few adventures. Shed some tears. Laughed with my whole belly. Made friends. Conquered challenges. Here are just a few shots of recent adventures. More soon, possibly…
Kids on the beach in Amed, Bali
I spent the good part of a week scootering around Bali, Indonesia in August. I spent three days in the SamaSama guesthouse in Amed, on the northeast side of the island. Then three days in Ubud. Think rice terraces, monkey forest, mountain biking. It was excellent. According to Indonesia immigration, I spent eight days, but it was literally less than seven. That cost me US$25, which was more than I paid for two nights in Sanya’s House in Ubud. Can’t complain.
The kids in the photo above were hawking their wares (necklaces, kites, good-luck boxes) and playing with the ball in the photo when I got home from an outing one day. I asked if they’d like to play Frisbee then fetched mine. We had a blast. Then I bought them Cokes and Fantas and suddenly there were twice as many kids, and they were all so thirsty. And, they figured, if I had enough money to buy them drinks, I surely had enough money to buy their trinkets. Lesson learned. I bought one necklace from the tallest fella in the photo. I don’t remember any of their names, but I remember the one standing at my right introduced himself as Barack Obama. Nice. I had a blast hanging out with them as the day wound down, sitting on the black sand beach outside my hotel.
Have banana, will climb.
After Amed I got a ride to Ubud, which was about 100 times more commercialized and civilization-like. And very cool. Have I mentioned the amazing food in Bali?
My trip after Bali was to Danang, Vietnam. This was supposed to be part of a three-day 100-kilometer adventure race through villages and remote areas near the border with Laos. However, a typhoon wiped out many of the bridges and roads and damaged villages where we were supposed to go. So we ended up in and around Danang. It was hot, and I don’t do well in the heat. But the race was great training for the one-day, 100-kilometer Oxfam Trailwalker I was signed up to do Nov. 20-21. That deserves it’s own post.
Here’s Danang:
I ran across those bridges pictured way below.
Here’s me finishing day 2 of the race. I decided to sit out day 3. My aching joints got a well-deserved rest.
It was so hot out there!!!
After Vietnam, I had a quick trip home to surprise Dad for his 60th birthday party. It was great — all six siblings were there, too, plus Mom and Non! A quick trip, but a great trip. On our way back to Hong Kong, Mom and I stopped in San Francisco to catch up with Annemarie (aka my very best friend) and the always-awesome Marilyn and Deb. Of course, I don’t think any of us took pictures (again).
That brings me to today, roughly. Yes, I’ve purposefully left out mention of the fishbone incident.
Yesterday Kevin took Mom and I on a tour of Macau. (flickr set begins here) Now I’ll be able to show people around there too (hint, hint, Anthony). We ate. Boy, did we eat. That really is ideal, to plan a daytrip around food. It helps when the food is fantastic.
Kevin and Emily at the old fort
I’m instituting a feature tonight called “That’s Hong Kong.” You might’ve gleaned from my numbering this post that I will continue these quick takes on life in the Kong. That is my brilliant plan.
No. 1
Building security guards. Today I speak of the men who man posts in my office building. After about 8 p.m., they rope off the Office Lift Lobby, directing traffic past a desk with “IN” and “OUT” card sensors. When I approach the desk from either direction, I’m half-heartedly greeted and directed by way of an extended arm to please scan my green building card. Then I’m thanked. If I forget my card, I have to show ID and they write down my information on a pad that’s kept covered at all times “to protect the identity of building occupants.”
There are always at least two men behind the desk, sometimes as many as five standing around. Greeting, directing, thanking. I don’t quite know which one to address so I try to make a quick sweep of all of them, greeting, swiping, thanking. I get a mixture of “hello, lei ho, thank you, mmgoi, ok, byebye.”
A handful of times I’ve rounded the corner after 2a.m. to find both of them asleep. Once I snuck by without waking them, but usually I swipe my card, it beeps and they jump. Revenge is mine!
I don’t mind the routine. Some people do. Sure, it’s a tad excessive. It’s a bit of a pain when I forget my ID (which happens a few times a month). I would prefer to leave the office and walk home without having to greet, swipe, thank two more people.
But, that’s Hong Kong.
There’s a T8 typhoon signal hoisted right now in the Kong. Ole Goni’s upon us. And get this: I just walked home from work, through the always dangerous mist. A warm-ish wind ripped between the buildings along the east-west walkway … wait, no wind. T8 hoisted. Not even a breeze. Hey, what gives? And will I ever stop getting excited at the idea of braving a ridiculous, thrashing, walk-through-me-and-feel-the-pain storm of storms? I suppose the wind must be stronger out over the ocean. The storm could’ve changed course, or maybe it was more intense while I was plodding through stories about Bill Clinton and tiny fish that could help save my hearing one day. Fish!
Speaking of, I bet fish have it a lot worse than I do. Think about it — they’re swimming around in the world’s biggest toilet when a typhoon comes along and pulls the flusher. But the ocean can’t flush, can it? So it stirs. That’s gross.
Have a nice day.
Feeling Frisbee-deprived, I shot a text to my pal Emma yesterday to see if she wanted to come out and play. She shot back with a wild idea: night kayak from Lamma? My response: “hell yeah!” We set out around 9 p.m. from Power Station Beach with one superbly decked-out boat.
We would be seen. Emma, above, with retro boat on Power Station Beach. Power Station in back.
Oh yes, we would be seen. It was a pretty calm night, perfect for a night out in the sea surrounding Lamma Island. We paddled around to Lo So Shing Beach, where we hoped to find a pontoon floating within the shark net. It took a couple passes to maneuver the kayak over the net. You’d think they don’t want outside sea creatures getting in there. Emma laughed at how I say “Boo-ey.”
Thirty strokes later and we were alongside the floating springboard for what would become Midnight Pontoon Madness. Witness:
What timing! Some of us are better jumpers. Some of us are better photographers. Note: no diving. Jumping? Sure.
We had a blast! Good, clean fun. Well, except for my spill that resulted in my left leg under the raft, right leg stuck behind the ladder, scrapes and cuts and bruises galore! Oh, and flipping the boat as we powered back over the shark net and toward P.S.B. Thank goodness for friends with kayaks…and who tie everything down in case of boat-flippage. And don’t forget waterproof cameras!
One of the few shots of mine that got more than Emma's left foot in the frame.
The crane. Aka: The Praying Mantis, floppy wrists, on and on...
I’ve survived five days after having my tonsils yanked. After peeking in the back of my throat several times a day then going to compare notes with others online, I figured I might as well blog a bit. It’s easier than responding to all my well-wishers with, “I’m ok.” I’m not posting any photos. There are more than enough out there already. And it looks freaking disgusting, ok? You wouldn’t be able to converse with me without thinking, “zomg her throat is f-ing sickeningggg!” the entire time. And if you were thinking that, you wouldn’t really be listening to my nonvoice, would you?
Tonsillectomy Tuesday
At 10 a.m. my girl friends Carol and Andrea accompanied me to Hong Kong Sanatorium & Hospital. It was a huge relief to have them there. I checked in and we were shown to room 1308, the biggest hospital room I’d ever seen. About the same size as my apartment. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, so I was considerably grumpy and a bit nervous. The scariest thing for me was wondering how I’d feel when I woke up from the anesthesia. I felt confident in my doctor, so I wasn’t concerned about anything going wrong (besides, I did my part by showing up sans foodage). So, I changed into my stylin’ brown pj pants and blue-plaid frock. Then we let the waiting begin. Around 11 a nurse came in to ask me more Qs. More waiting. A few minutes later and a nurse brought me a wheelchair. Reality check, right? I climbed in, donned a cool little mushroom hat, and off we wheeled. She said that if I’m cold in the operating theater, I should ask for another blanket. Mmmok.
I waved bye-bye to the nurses at the nurses’ station. They “bye-bye”d back. Through a differnt door. Into a different elevator. I asked the nurse her name.
“May.”
“May?”
“Yes.” (she smiled with her eyes)
“Hi, May. I’m Emily.”
“Hi. Don’t worry. You will be ok.” (she rubbed my back)
I think we popped out on the 2nd floor, then took a right toward Operating Theaters 1-5. We stopped in a wide hallway next to a gurney. She came around the side to help me get up and lie down. Another nurse brought me a super warm blanket. Nurse May took off, other nurses and doctors wandered to and fro. Then a kind-seeming fellow named Dr. Kornberg stopped to chat. He’d be my anesthesiologist. He explained everything he’d be doing. Probably more than I wanted to know, but I wasn’t going to complain at that stage in our relationship. Said I’d have a breathing tube, that he’d be keeping me hydrated, that he’d make sure I had alllllll the painkillers I needed. And the IV will stay in until we’re sure I won’t need to be knocked out again. And I’d wake up in the room behind the windows at my left. Yo-k.
I stammered something about him being there the whole time and he said, “Well, somebody’s gotta fly the ship.”
“Cool.” Dr. Kornberg took off and up walked Dr. Lo, my surgeon. Also a cool dude. He went through some of the same things we’d talked about in his office then went to check on the OT. I stayed put until another nurse came over to wheel me in. Game time.
The OT looked pretty normal to me. Adequate. Equipped. There weren’t any windows high above for observation. No, this would be a less significant affair. A red X taped on the ceiling. Machines. Dr. Kornberg was at my left. Dr. Lo perched on a stool to my right, looking relaxed yet focused. Then, for whatever reason, I asked:
“Everyone feeling all right today?”
There were yes’s all around. Music to my ears. I told Dr. Lo I heard he was having a busy day. He said he had a surgery before mine and would have more after. I was glad to be second. And glad he didn’t mind telling me this. Ain’t no thang, Tonsillectomy Tuesday. Then Dr. Kornberg explained that he was going to do a little vein hunting (I don’t recall his exact words). We had some back-and-forth about finding veins. He gave my veins a 3.5 out of 10. Whatev. It’s in, innit?
“You should have a bit of a taste in the back of your throat,” he said.
“Yes, I do…” And I was out like clout.
*Time passes*
I woke up in a reclining position, blurred vision, a tad curious about where I was but figured it out fairly soon. A nurse was at my side, and I wanted to hold her hand. She asked me if my family was here, but I couldn’t answer. She gave me a tissue-box and pen so I could write “friends.” I didn’t yet feel much of anything but sleepy. A short while later, someone wheeled me back to 1308. Carol and Andrea stayed till I was about to zonk out again. Great to have them there. A huge thank-you to all my visitors and well-wishers.
I stayed in the hospital two nights. I was off IV painmeds after the surgery. I had Celebrex capsules, liquid acetaminophen, green gargle that makes my mouth numb and another round white tablet that I believe Dr. Kornberg described as being like ibuprophen. Once on the first night I asked for my medicine early, but otherwise I was fine to wait for the nurses to bring it on schedule. And they were great nurses.
The most helpful thing for me has been reading other people’s experiences day-by-day. So…lemme break it down for ya.
Day 1-2 post-op were the easiest so far. I took drugs, ate ice cream, drank water, rinsed with the green stuff, slept. Day 1 I mostly stayed in bed watching movies. I fell asleep to the MJ memorial that night. Day 2 I walked around the room some, stared out the window at the beautiful blue sky. As soon as I regained feeling in my mouth, I noticed my tongue was numb on the sides. Dr. Lo said it was likely the device used to keep my mouth open pinched a nerve and it’s nothing to worry about. He visited several times each day, said my throat looks normal. No bleeding. The white patches back there are good. Means I’m healing. I didn’t have much voice.
Prereq to heading home was eating soft foods. I ate congee then had buttered noodles with shredded chicken and tiny bits of carrot and peas with Magnus.
Day 3 Oatmeal for breakfast. The food progression satisfied Dr. Lo enough to discharge me. I was glad to stay two nights…reading about tonsillectomy as an outpatient surgery seemed like unnecessary solo torture.
I went home from the hospital with the liquid acetaminophen, Celebrex and antibiotics. The trip home was less than 2-km, and frickin tiring. Lots more sleeping, drugs, water, Mango Wonder Bars (awesome), and sleeping. I would wake up a tad before it was time for more medicine (every 8 hours) in serious pain. It hi-zurt to be al-iz-ive. Throat, tongue, ears. I didn’t speak for the entire day. Gah.
I tried to keep to the 8-hour med schedule as much as possible. I set alarms if I thought I might be sleeping at the right times.
Day 4 More pain, dude. I woke up cursing tonsils and mouths and ears and liquids and solids and swallowing and breathing and sleeping, etc. Popped my drugs, passed out. I went to the supermarket for all things soft. Yogurts, nonchunky soups, cheesey noodley mushroomy bowl (dream BIG!), vitamin water, mango juice, watermelon and a cream-filled pastry. Score. I had to take a timeout after paying to remember what I should do next. Go up the spiral escalator. Left out the door. Through the fish market. Past the waffle stand. Round the VW dealer. Go home. Righto. Arrived home. Passed out. I woke in pain again and decided this sucks a lot. Was getting really frustrated. But, ya know, gotsta get better.
At about 10:30 p.m. I decided I wanted mac n’ cheez, so I set out for Park n’ shop. Also scored some instant mashed potatoes (rawk!) and a can of hot ‘n sour soup. You can get lots of things with ‘n at Park ‘n Shop, evidently. Home again. Dripping with sweat. Tuckered. I was so excited about the potatoes, only to find it hurt like a b*y@t*h to eat the soggy lil tater flakes. Hells bells. Made the mac. Great success=eating half serving of noodles coated in fake cheez. More not talking today. I did whine a little.
Day 5 Not as much pain in the a.m. Decided to go to work (starting at 3:30 p.m.). Ate the potatoes left from Friday (yay!), napped, packed snacks and drugs for the office. Ended up staying till 10:30 or so. Didn’t feel a lot of pain, but it hurt to talk very loud. My voice is really tiny. It feels pretty strange to talk, and my throat gets a bit dry or something quite uncomfortable. A drink of water helps. And I use the green gargle shtuff every few hours. Really nice before eating. The idea that the solid-ish food I’m eating is dwelling in the holes in my throat is gross. So I use to the green stuff to keep from feeling it all dwelling around back there. Bleh.
Brushing my teeth is difficult because my mouth doesn’t want to open all the way. So I go super slow. My tongue is still cycling through stages of numbness. At the moment, the left side feels swollen and numb, like an insect bite. The right side doesn’t feel numb at all. Freaking tongue.
Day 6 Sleeping more than a couple hours at a time means my throat dries out and waking up is painful. I told the doc this during my check-up today and he confirmed this would probably happen. Sooo funny. Only I remedied it with drugs — he recommended a couple glasses of water. Right. Will try that next time.
Also did too much talking today at work, so at about 10 I had to go silent. Felt like a sharp, stinging cramp in my vocal chords every time I moved. Pleasant, no? Still not eating a lot, but drinking like it’s my job.
Oh, and my neighbors upstairs are renovating during the day this week. So that means there’s pulsing drill noises starting at 9 a.m.
Day 7 Slept again. Pain again. Woke at 9 again to drilling. I think I’ll pen a letter to my neighbors. A really nice letter. To express my thankfulness that they can sleep through the night because no one’s renovating our brand-new building at that time. What could they be doing? All that pulsing? Give me the drill. I’ll get the job done in an afternoon. Then I’ll go all Michael-Bolton-and-Samir-Nagheenanajar on your freaking drills.
I went here, and it was nice.
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