Just when I thought I was getting old:

1. A couple of fellow Singapore Day volunteers tell me that they thought I was a final year undergraduate student.
2. I get carded at Waitrose while purchasing a bottle of wine.
3. I thoroughly enjoy myself at the spectacle that is a Basement Jaxx concert, shaking my booty for all it's worth for the almost two-hour long concert. I have so many concerts lined up this year (including Depeche Mode, U2 and Coldplay with Jay-Z), but I already know this is going to be the concert of the year for me.

Caught Tony Manero with CG in a tiny cinema which fits less than 50 people at the ICA yesterday. The only thing I can say about the film is that it's Saturday Night Fever meets American Psycho set in Chile in the '70s. It's depressing, it's disturbing and it's a commentary on Pinochet's rule all at once.

Raul (Alfredo Castro), the 52-year-old aspiring to be Tony Manero, will do anything in order to achieve this goal, whether it's visiting the cinemas every day to watch Saturday Night Fever to installing his own version of a glass dance floor with lights to smashing up a mirror so that he can make his own shiny disco ball (all the way accompanied by random acts of murder). Inexplicably, all the women in his life - his girlfriend, her daughter and the owner of the bar where he works - all love him. I cringed and had to avert my eyes at the scene where he dances and seduces the daughter of his girlfriend right in front of her. She pleads with him not to, but he ignores her and brings her daughter up to his bedroom for what can only be described as appallingly bad sex. In a chilling act of vengeance, she turns her daughter over to the authorities for participating in underground anti-Pinochet activities. Yes, her daughter betrayed her, but did that really warrant that?

I'm not sure I'd recommend this film because it really would depend on whether you have the disposition necessary for watching it. I will say that Castro puts in a strong performance as the dead-eyed, soulless Raul which is chilling to watch.

I had the good fortune to catch two good movies recently: Shifty (which opened in cinemas yesterday) and Les Quatre Cents Coups, a classic French film by Francois Truffaut.

Shifty's about a day in the life of best mates Shifty (Riz Ahmed) and Chris (David Mays). Chris has returned to Dudlowe, a fictional borough on the outskirts of London, for the first time in four years, ostensibly for a party. He'd fled following an incident involving a female friend's death, and we only learn about what happened as the film unfolds. Shifty, once the brightest kid in school, is now a hardcore drug dealer. The film follows him and Chris around as he plies his trade, and has to contend with a hard-up and desperate client, the police, and a double-crossing drug dealer. It's a little like The 25th Hour, and if you enjoyed that (which I did), you'd probably enjoy this, although you may have to struggle to understand the British slang used.

Following the screening, I wasn't overly impressed. I felt the film was average at best. The character of Shifty was excellently portrayed, and the friendship between the two characters was convincingly done, but, overall, it felt a little cliched. I saw the twist coming quite some time back and wasn't too surprised by the ending.

But then, I decided to find out more about the origins of the film. It turned out that this was part of Film London's Microwave project and was Eran Creevey's directorial debut, and Riz Ahmed's acting debut. This film was filmed on a budget of £100,000 and completed in just 18 days. That changed my opinion of the film greatly. It was meant to be an independent, low-budget film. And for a first-time effort, it really wasn't that bad.

Now onto Les Quatre Cents Coups, an iconic film of La Nouvelle Vague (French New Wave) cinema. Directly translated into English, the title means "The 400 Blows". Not only does that sound incredibly dodgy (it could just be my gutter mind, I concede), but it's rather inaccurate. Les Quatre Cents Coups is a phrase that roughly translates into "raising hell" which is what this film is about. Antoine Doinel (played by 14-year-old Jean Pierre Léaud, who goes on to reprise the character in a further three films) is a 12-year-old boy with an equally troubled home life and school life. His teacher has marked him out as a troublemaker, while his mother and stepfather pretty much neglect him. The only time we see his mother paying him any attention is because she wishes to distract Antoine from an indiscretion on her part. Easily influenced by his best friend René, they go on to play truant, run away from home, get expelled from school and commit petty theft. Exasperated, Antoine's stepfather turns him over to the authorities and he ends up in a detention home for juvenile delinquents. It is there that Antoine opens up to a psychiatrist and we learn about his family situation, and come to grips with why he is the way he is. There are several very impressive scenes in the movie, and this is one of them. Instead of a dialogue, the scene is done as a monologue, with Antoine talking directly to the camera. It's very nicely done.

The ending shot of the film - a freeze frame of Antoine staring directly into the camera both pleading and accusatory at once - is legendary. It's a very powerful shot.

Les Quatre Cents Coups was Truffaut's directorial debut at the young age of 27. He based the character of Antoine on his own life experiences. Remarkably, Léaud even resembles Truffaut.
I'll admit certain parts of it seem a little dated - it was set in the late '50s after all, and it's in black and white - but it's still a powerful film. My enjoyment of it was marred a little by the inconsistent subtitling on the part of either the BFI or the distributor. Some parts of the film weren't subtitled, and, while I understand French, I don't usually manage to get all of it especially if spoken at the speed at which a native French speaker tends to speak at. As a result, I felt I didn't quite understand certain bits of the film, such as when Antoine's mother speaks to the judge and he responds something along the lines of "all the more praise to [Antoine] then" and she says she shouldn't have mentioned that. The only thing is that whatever she told him isn't subtitled, so, even now, one week after the show, I'm still wondering what she could have said.

I've got a couple of other La Nouvelle Vague films on my 'to watch' list such as Jean-Luc Godard's A Bout de Souffle (Breathless), Jacques Demys' The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (even if Peau D'âne disturbed me greatly) and Claude Chabrol's Les jeux de l'amour (The games of love), but a French friend has told me that I need to understand the social revolution which France was undergoing at the time in order to better appreciate the films, so I may need some more time before watching these shows!

Yay! I know many may not view Howard Webb's decision as fair, but given that everything evens out in the grand scheme of things, I'll take what I can get. 5-2! Yet another incredible comeback on the part of Manchester United against Spurs. Considering that five goals were scored between the time I left the pub, rather dismayed at Spurs being 2-0 up at Old Trafford of all places, to when I got home, that was utterly amazing.

On another note, I think the rule against taking your shirt off for goal celebrations is a little absurd; I, like most of womankind out there, enjoy it when Ronaldo takes his shirt off, though perhaps not when the likes of very hairy Giggsy do it! I'm quite sure the cameraman enjoys it too, seeing as the camera tends to linger on Ronaldo at the end of a Champions League game, seemingly just waiting for the moment when he exchanges shirts with the other team! C'mon, FA. Let them celebrate however they want to, as long as it's not inflammatory!

I didn't ever quite envisage myself being in a position very similar to something I was in two years ago. There are some differences of course - two years ago, I was in that position because I actively went out looking for it, whereas, this time around, I was forcibly pushed! I've been running around all week, meeting up with people far more knowledgeable than myself in order to get feedback and comments, and, then, of course, there's Singapore Day tomorrow which I'm volunteering at, so I suspect I'll only be able to consider my options thoroughly and objectively on Sunday. Right now, I know which one I'm leaning towards, but I'm worried that I'm so excited and blinded by enthusiasm that I'm not seeing any of the alarming bits.

I know I'm in an enviable position right now. I just hate that I'll end up potentially screwing over the one which I don't choose, although a lot of people have said not to worry about that because they wouldn't even think about me for a second if they had to do the same to me, as proven by events over the last few months!

One of the few perks which the non-working population gets to enjoy is Ben & Jerry's Free Cone Day, only available at seven participating outlets throughout the whole of London from 1 pm to 5 pm on April 21st.

I made my way to the Leicester Square outlet, half-thinking about going to the Odeon West End outlet right after that, but realised I had quite a few meetings to get to that afternoon, so refrained.

Cow with cowgirls

Tough decisions - selecting from the 'menu'

The queue wasn't too long. I got my cone within ten minutes. I hadn't a clue what I was going to go for, so I did what comes naturally. "What's your favourite flavour?" I asked the girl serving me. "Chocolate Fudge Brownie!" she said. "Phish Food!" the other girl chimed in. A surprising vote for "Strawberry Cheesecake!" came from the lone male server. I wanted something chocolate-y, so my server let me tried both Chocolate Fudge Brownie ("which is the best") and Phish Food and let me decide. I went with her choice (Phish Food was a little too milky; the other girl booed me) and finished it off within ten minutes. I only had a snack bar for lunch after all, having had a rather stressful morning of meetings and assessments. I didn't realise that there was further stress to come later that day, but that's a story for another day. If I had, I'd have gone for a second scoop, no hesitation!

Yum.

I love Ben & Jerry's. They have the coolest events. They really do.

After going through a financial planning session, I've decided to cut down on eating and drinking out for budgetary reasons. I guess it's good that I've got a backlog of posts (including the remainder of the posts from my trip to New York last year!) to catch up on!

That being said, I did find myself at Bea's of Bloomsbury yesterday, having just under three hours to kill after spending a relaxing afternoon in the park just chilling out with CG. As Bea's has now extended their operating hours - they now open until 7 pm or 8 pm during the week, and until 6 pm during the weekend - I thought it was a good place for me to just hole up and catch up on some reading before heading off to my next appointment. I also needed to take a photo of the shopfront, given that I didn't manage to do so the last time I was there as the cafe was closing up.

Bea's of Bloomsbury

My decadent choices for the day were: a chai latte (£2.60) and a brownie (£2.80).

All that one needs for a relaxing afternoon

The brownie was delicious, just the right combination of sticky and sweet. It reminded very strongly of the kladdkaka I had at the Scandinavian Kitchen a few weeks back, except not as sweet. I'd definitely rate this as one of the better brownies I've had in London, although my personal favourite is still Konditor & Cook's Boston brownie.

Brownie

The chai latte, as others have found out, was sensational. This smelt really nice and spicy, and tasted very much of my favourite Indian drink, masala tea. Though it was a latte, it wasn't overly milky, which is a great plus point for me; while I am not lactose-intolerant (I think), I am not overly fond of milk (although, strangely enough, P. is the other way around).

Chai latte

This time around, as I was sitting on the raised level (the same level as the kitchen), I got a better view of the photographs adorning the wall. I really liked the large photo of a city at night as seen from above. There's just something about the streak of lighting which depicts the hustle and bustle of any metropolis. I'm very much a city girl, and I love cities at night, so perhaps that's why this photo grabbed my attention.

Bea's of Bloomsbury (interior)

Don't let the photo fool you though. Bea's was fully occupied up until five minutes before closing time (which is when I took the photo, as I try not to take photos with people in them as not everyone's comfortable with that). It was definitely a heartening sight. More importantly, even thought I was a solo grazer sitting at a rather spacious corner table for up to three people - and a solo grazer reading a book at that - none of the waitstaff even tried to hurry me along.

I didn't see the Cookie Monster cupcakes this time around, so if you're hankering for one, I'd advise calling up and ordering them a day in advance. I've got some girlfriends who'd dearly love to try one, having tried and failed to bake them!

I know, I know, I know. Susan Boyle from Britain's Got Talent has been written up by pretty much every periodical and blog out there. But her rendition of I Dreamed a Dream is certainly not to be missed, much in the same way that Paul Potts' rendition of Nessun Dorna a few years back was.

I was sniffly from the moment she started singing, and just started bawling the instant she nailed that oh-so-difficult part in "as they turn your dream to shame". I used to sing this (and many other songs) while walking home from school when I was much younger, and I could only ever dream of hitting that note. She sounds so similar to the Fantine in the Original London Cast recording of Les Miserables... or possibly better!

And because I mentioned not too long ago that I preferred popping and locking over breakdancing, I thought it would be appropriate to feature another Britain's Got Talent contestant, Flawless, just to illustrate my point.

I would have written something about Kiko Macheda earlier, and about how thankful I am that he exists, except that I was fairly certain Man Utd would go out of the Champions League tonight on away goals and I didn't want to jinx it. So I stayed silent. And, for now, I can breathe again. Yay for the Red Devils! How awesome was Ronaldo's 40 yard screamer?

Sample conversation on Saturday, following Macheda's 2nd game-winning goal in two games (and less than 15 minutes of gameplay in total, I think):
P. (Pool fan): Macheda...
Me: Is a Godsend.
P.: Those weren't the words I was going to use.

Jay Rayner's most recent review (of the restaurant at the Royal Institution) is a joy to read. It's so acidly funny. Here are some choice bits.

He opens with:

I am always intrigued by the way clever people can have really stupid ideas. And so to the Royal Institution.

And describes the food:

The fish cakes were hockey-puck sized, shaped and, in a deft act of consistency, textured. They were dry and dense. I could have hurt a member of staff if I'd lobbed one. I considered it.

And concludes with:

Let's just say I ate that lunch so you wouldn't have to.

I don't know what the equivalent phrase in English, but in Hokkien, I'd call him wonderfully guai lan.

Lindsay House
21 Romilly Street
London W1D 5AF

I'd heard a lot about Richard Corrigan, most notably about how he's trying to bring down the high cost of fine dining because of the economic crisis, and also because he's a farmer's son, and they're an extremely practical lot, these guys are. This was one of the restaurants which MD and I had wanted to go to when we were still a couple, because MD's fine of classy restaurants, and I just like good value-for-money and this seemed to combine both.

Anyway, because of work, and then the weeks of teary confrontations leading up to our eventual break-up, that never happened. So when London Restaurant Week rolled around, and Lindsay House was one of the participating restaurants, I didn't hesitate. I made a booking for lunch on a weekday, and sent a note out to one of my similarly-out-of-work friends because I figured she and I both needed to be pampered. D. didn't hesitate either, given that this restaurant had been on her list for some time too.

So off we went. First off, Lindsay House is not an easy restaurant to find, seeing as it's located in a rather drab unobstrusive building on a road somewhere in Soho which not many people have heard of. I was rather grateful for the GPS on my phone that day, otherwise, I might have walked right past the place without realising it.

Once inside, we were led upstairs to the dining area. It was all rather understated and English country-side posh. The chairs were upholstered just the way you'd imagine an Englishman would have done it.

Even the blinds were so very English.

The serving staff, on the other hand, were very French. I'm not sure why, but the majority of serving staff in good restaurants seem to be French. Just like how, back home, the waiters in fine dining restaurants most likely aren't local.

D. and I opted for the two course £15 set lunch. Granted, for £25, three courses wouldn't have been rather reasonable for a place like this, but, still, both of us balked at paying £10 for dessert. D. opted for a starter of grilled mackerel, rhubarb and celeriac lasagne, horseradish milk while I chose the ham hock croquette, piccalilli, mustard aioli.

Amuse-bouche of celeriac soup

Are you amoooosed? No, but I sure am bushed! Sorry.

Before that, we were served an amuse bouche of celeriac soup. That's twice that's cropped up on our menu, and I still wouldn't recognise it if I came across it in a supermarket. But my unfamiliarity with this particular food aside, it was a nice touch. The soup was delightfully creamy, if over a little too soon.

Grilled mackerel, rhubarb and celeriac lasagne, horseradish milk

The grilled mackerel came nicely balanced on the celeriac and rhubard lasagne. It didn't stay that way for too long, obviously, as it would have been impossible to eat. The mackerel was nice and fresh (clean-tasting, as I like to think, and is usually the best thing I can think about how fish taste, when I haven't opted to slather it in sambal), while the lasagne was... well, I guess, it tasted like normal lasagne noodles but blander.

Ham hock croquette, piccalilli, mustard aioli

The ham hock, on the other hand, had much more flavour. But then again, I'm Chinese, and I love pork. The mustard aioli went very well with the pork.

Irish soda bread

In between courses, the waitstaff would bring us bread. I'd had a cheese roll, while D. had had a wheat roll, and both of them were nicely done. However, the Irish soda bread was out of this world. Crunchy, nutty and slightly sweet... it was utterly divine. If you go to Lindsay House, this would be the one thing I'd recommend you try.

Braised rib of beef, Parmesan gnocchi, snail and garlic

Both D. and I chose the braised rib of beef, Parmesan gnocchi, snail and garlic for our main course, which we both enjoyed very much. The beef was nice and tender, and the gnocchi wasn't as cheesy as one might have thought.

Chocolate truffles

Then it was time to foot the bill, and head off to a nearby coffee place. Much to our surprise, we were served chocolate truffles with the bill, which I promptly gobbled down. Definitely a nice touch. It's all these little things which make elevate a restaurant from good to fantastic.

If you're in the mood for some good British food in a nice, intimate, understatedly classy restaurant and good service, then Lindsay House is definitely one of the restaurants you should try. Of the two London Restaurant Week experiences, I preferred Launceston Place over Lindsay House, but you really can't go wrong dining at either one.

A tale of two hot cross buns

Hot cross buns are a big thing over here in the UK, for hot cross buns to be eaten during Easter. I think they used to be baked and eaten only on Good Friday, but, with the passage of time, they're now sold (and probably eaten) throughout Lent and Easter.

My first experience with hot cross buns was through the nursery rhyme (Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns! / One ha' penny / two ha' penny / Hot cross buns!). Other than that, I don't recall ever having tried them before.

So, this Easter, I figured it was time for me to try one. Y'know. Like one of those things on my list of 100 things to do before I turn 30. Anyway, I thought I'd try one on Easter Sunday, but this proved to be a little more troublesome than expected. For one thing, there weren't too many places selling them at a reasonable price open on Sunday. For another, I didn't want to buy a bag of four or six or whatever as I didn't plan on eating that many. So, after walking through the Slow Food Market thrice, I settled on purchasing a freshly-baked organic maple pecan banana hot cross bun for £1.20 from the Manna Cakes stall. The nice English lady, upon learning that I'd not eaten one before, told me to keep it till I got home, slice it in half, toast it in the oven and spread butter (or margarine, but butter preferably) on it and eat it. This being close to 6 pm, I decided the hot cross bun tasting would only occur on Monday.

According to Slow Food, a good hot cross bun which has been baked in accordance with Slow Food principles should be:

round, 7 – 10cm in diameter, well-risen (not squarish and squashed) and highly glazed, with a cross on top (this is usually made with flour and water paste,
although strips of marzipan or cutting a cross are alternatives). The crumb
should be fairly pale, not too soft or sticky, and have a light flavour of sweet
spices and/or candied peel and dried fruit.

I'm happy to say that the Manna Cakes' hot cross bun seems to fulfill all the criteria. It tasted faintly of banana, and wasn't too sweet overall.

Round, at least 7 cm in diameter, and highly glazed

Well-risen, not too soft or sticky

Fairly pale crumb

Served just as the old lady told me, although I'm clearly still getting to grips with my rarely-used oven

After lunch, it was time to get out of the flat. My first choice neighbourhood coffee shop was closed, so I ended up at Market Coffee House, catching up on business news, and planning out the next couple of steps of my job search. The place being rather bustling, I decided to spring for a hot cross bun (£1.50) on top of my large skinny cappuccino (£2) so as to make up the "rental" for a table. It seemed the right thing to do, although perhaps not from the perspective of my waistline.

Four is my favourite number which is one of the reasons why I chose this table

The cappuccino was okay, not spectacular, but not bad either. The hot cross bun didn't seem to fulfill any of the criteria mentioned by Slow Food; it was flat, squarish, and didn't really taste of anything much other than sugar and butter.

Flat, squished, and square

While pouring over my various periodicals, I recalled why Market Coffee House wouldn't ever have been my preferred coffee hangout despite its proximity. It's just so noisy. I don't mean the chatter you get in every other food outlet. It's just that every barista just slams their coffee scoop on the counter before making a cup of coffee, so you get a constant stream of "BAM! BAM! BAM!" going on if you happen to be sitting near there. I haven't had the fortune of sitting on the other side just yet, but as those tables are for four or more, I don't think I'll ever get to see whether that side's any quieter than the side I was at.

It was fun to get into the spirit of things and try out these buns; I doubt I'll be indulging in these over the next few years though. I much prefer other kinds of confectionaries!

I finished reading Natsuo Kirino's Grotesque over the Easter weekend. In fact, I finished reading the 467 page book in two days. It's not that I loved the book. I much preferred Out, her earlier novel, and, the first one of hers to have been translated from Japanese into English.

Warning: Spoilers ahead if you're planning to read Grotesque

Grotesque, like Out, is a commentary on Japanese women and the pressures society exert on them. There are four women in this story: Yuriko, Kazue, Mitsuru and the narrator, whose name is never given and whom the reader knows as Ms. Yuriko's elder sister. Yuriko and Kazue, both prostitutes, have been murdered, and, at the time the story begins, the trial of their murderer, Zhang, is just starting. We are taken through the story from a number of different perspectives: Yuriko's journal, Zhang's written testimony, and Kazue's journal, interspersed with Sis' narration.

All four women attended Q High School for Women. Monstrously beautiful Yuriko strolls through life, not having to work at all as men and women both are fascinated by her beauty. She is a self-proclaimed nymphomaniac, and seduces her uncle, and a family friend before she enters junior high. Her sister is the complete opposite of her, not having her looks, and hates her as a result. To get by, Sis relies on the power of her maliciousness, not just towards Yuriko, but to the world in general, and "polish[es] it everyday." Yuriko's death does nothing to ease Sis' dark nature. Kazue, Sis' classmate, possesses neither beauty nor natural talent and works extremely hard to get what she wants, but doesn't recognise any of her own weaknesses or deficiencies. The only likeable character among the four is Mitsuru, top student of the school, who strives to and succeeds in attending Tokyo Medical University, only to fall under the influence of a cult after she graduates, and, participates in the gassing to death of several civilians.

That last statement should tell you just how likeable the other three women must be.

Yuriko and Kazue are both murdered when they are in their mid-thirties, their murders taking place one year apart. Of the two, it is Kazue's story, based on the 1997 murder of a 39-years-old lady who worked as a reearcher for Tokyo Electric Power Co. by day and as a prostitute by night, which gathers the most attention. After all, she had a respectable job as a researcher in a prestigious engineering corporation. Why would such a woman become a prostitute?

Kirino's response is this: Kazue did so because she was brought up to believe that if she puts in sufficient effort, she can achieve anything she sets her mind to. However, no matter how hard she tries, she never quite seems to get what she wants. She is unable to beat Mitsuru in school, she doesn't ever get invited to skate in competitions even though she's a paying member of the school team (the only reason she's in the team is because her team-mates want access to her notes), the object of her affections never returns her feelings, and, as it turns out, she got her job because her father worked in the company, and not because of any recognition for her calibre. As a result, the only way she can feel some sort of control over her life is to sell herself. She gleefully states that she can make money not only by working in a prestigious company, but also by selling her body, thereby implying that she has both intelligence and beauty, when the truth is that she has neither.

Zhang, being the only non-Japanese in the story, is a stark contrast with his story of hardship when growing up in rural China, and who lost his moral compass when his beloved sister drowned on the way to Japan, where they were planning to make their fortunes. For a brief moment, he appears as the most sympathetic character, telling the judge about how much he loved his sister, and how he killed Yuriko in a moment of madness, when he felt she was defiling his sister's memory. However, we find out later that all is not what it seems, and, let's just say that there's incest involved.

I didn't particularly like Grotesque because all of the main characters are just so unlikeable. With the exception of Mitsuru, who plays a minor part in the story, all the characters are brutally ugly in one way or another. It doesn't help that the translation doesn't quite flow either, as the translator has slipped in some Americanisms which just do not sound right coming from a Japanese, "southpaw" being one which springs to mind. It is a fascinating enough story though. We don't ever know if what we have just read is the truth, as it's clear that one, or perhaps, all of the narrators viewed the same incident differently.

And, as a woman, I do agree that it can be difficult to accept that you can't actually do everything you set your mind to, although I don't necessarily agree with how Kazue dealt with it. I did certainly feel that pressure when I was working, fully recognising the negative impact that having a family would have on my career, particularly given the driven work environment of my industry, but it was more to do with the myth that all females who have been brought up in a Western environment have been fed: that it is, in fact, possible to have it all - the successful career and to also be a loving mother who will always be present at her 2.4 children's significant moments.

But that's a whole 'nother topic, and doesn't have anything to do with Grotesque, so I'll just end off here.

Related link:
Theme Magazine's interview with Natsuo Kirino

I have gone a little overboard on the vintage purchases in the past month or so, having somehow managed to purchase 18 items of vintage clothing. Yes. 18. 16 dresses, one playsuit, and one shawl. Fortunately for me, they average out at less than £16 per piece, which is so much cheaper than what I would have had to pay in Singapore. Of course, once you factor in the vintage-inspired See by Chloe skirt (which I just had to have when I saw it at a sample sale because it's sooooo cute), then it's not as cheap, although it still comes in at a respectable £21 per item.

Still, I think I'll put myself on a vintage clothing, shoes and accessories fast for the next few months or so!

Part of the reason for the vintage extravagaza is because I fell head-over-heels-hard for electric blue dresses. Electric blue, royal blue, International Klein Blue, however you call it, it's always been my favourite colour. It's the same colour of that dream dress I allowed to get away last summer. I now own four electric blue dresses: a cute, cheerleader-like mini dress, a shimmery mini dress which looked absolutely stunning when I tried it on (an absolute steal at £10, even if it needs minor repairs), a dress by Alfred Shaheen, and a long Tadashi evening gown with mesh cut-outs.

The other reason is because my love for Catherine Ogust came back with a vengeance. Prior to this, I had four dresses (two with matching belts, two without). I now have another four (all with belts) purchased from four different stores in the US, including one which was on sale for less than $5. I may have to alter some of them as a few of them are too long for me, but they do look beautiful, and, best of all, are incredibly comfortable to wear.

Apparently, the popularity of Ogust dresses come and go in cycles; there've been times when I've seen them struggling to sell on eBay for more than $10 (in contrast to Singapore, where a complete set will sell for S$130). However, for the past week or so, every single dress I've seen has sold for close to $30, even those without the matching belts. One mini dress even sold for more than $100, meaning that if I were to shorten one of the dresses I purchased and re-sold it, I could potentially make a 100% return on that dress. But I won't, because I love them too much. Colour-block op art shirt dresses will never go out of style... Not for me, at least. I've been wearing shirt dresses since I was a teenager!

The remaining dresses consist of:

• Four dresses from the Affordable Vintage Fashion Fair (including a C&A multi-coloured multi-peplum'd dress with shoulder pads from the '80s which I swear I will never wear unless I'm going to a 'bad taste' dress-up party) from Glass Onion's £15 for a kilo stall,
• A '60s or '70s polyester colourful printed dress from Jeanne Lanvin (!!!!) which I got for £15 from the Sunday Upmarket on Brick Lane,
• A gorgeous eye-catching '70s shirt dress from Leonard of Paris (usually described a little unfairly as the French Pucci),
• A '70s belted shirt dress which was just the right length for me, and
• A light blue dress with scarf overlay.

And then, yes, I succumbed. I bought a playsuit. It wasn't too bad wearing it, although I'll just say that it does make going to the restroom more troublesome. And finally, a beautiful black shawl, for those days or nights, when I'm wearing something strappy and don't wish to bring a jacket or cardi out with me.

As with every binge or splurge, it's now time to return to far more frugal ways, even if I could argue that vintage shopping helps to save the environment (seeing as I am participating in the recycling of other people's unwanted clothing) and is cheaper than buying from the high street.

One thing's for certain. You can expect to see a write-up on the vintage shops on Brick Lane over the next few weeks or so!

How I celebrated Easter Sunday

I started it off by going to Mass (but, of course). This year, I went to Mass four straight days in a row. That's a record for me. And, yet, it didn't feel as burdensome as I expected it to feel. It was rather enjoyable getting the chance to sing my heart out, as well as to experience a Latin Mass.

Easter eggs handed out by the priest after Sunday Mass

Shortly after that, I got the feeling that not everyone understood the true meaning of Easter. Certainly not this store:

A slightly disturbing decoration of a Whistles shop window located near the church

After lunch, it was off to catch b.supreme, a festival celebrating females in hip hop, at the Royal Festival Hall. And it was a fascinating sight to behold. Everyone was dancing, from the little ones...

to the older folk...

Even the wheelchair-bound!

I was far too shy to go for the popping workshop, but stayed to catch the UK vs. Europe vs. US bgirl crew battle (or as the MC annoyingly put it, "UK vs. the rest of the world." Hello? I think you missed out four rather significant parts of the world?). I'm not a big fan of breaking (I much prefer popping and locking), but I wanted to see a battle for myself up close and personal, just so that I could finally understand how it works. I didn't manage to achieve that goal, but it was rather entertaining, as well as gratifying to see that B-girls can be every bit as good as B-boys.

UK (backs facing camera) vs. Europe battle

Of the three crews, I felt that Europe performed the best. While it was clear that the UK and the US crews had one or two exceptional breakers (US team captain and B-girl pioneer Rokafella being one of them), I thought that all of the European breakers (led by team captain B-Girl Aruna) were excellent, and demonstrated more unity, and certainly more attitude.

It was good to find out that these great dancers are, well, older than I am. I am far from being a professional dancer, and will never ever get to that stage, I'm sure, but, at the very least, it means there're a few good years for me yet!

I then wandered off to the exit only to see a crowd of people clearly watching some other performance involving a guy peeling several bananas and plunking them into a blender.

Make mine extra thick, please

A cooking demonstration at the RFH? That's rather unusual, isn't it? Indeed it was. It turned out to be Ujino and the Rotators' performance art piece. It involved Ujino, the musician, making a banana smoothie while mixing music, or maybe using the music, and the principle behind the connections between all the different switches on the mixes and the everyday household appliances to make the blender function (the thingamajig in the photo below, aka The Rotators), thereby resulting in the smoothie. Something like that!

When he was finished with the first tune, he served the smoothie to members of the audience. He ran out of cups midway and had to dash off to the bar to get some more, causing one person behind me to ask, "Is this like Trigger Happy TV or something? Oh, he's just gone to get cups!"

Ujino is also responsible for Sherbet Dab Swivel, the black cab art installation that can be found outside the RFH, namely, this piece:

Rather bemused, I set off to check out the Slow Food Festival, and saw Choc Star there. I told Petra I didn't want any chocolate, because I was all choc'd out. That wasn't technically true, but I knew I would be after dinner tonight, so decided to opt for a healthier option of blackcurrant sorbet.

Choc Star's blackcurrant sorbet

It was utterly divine, and full of blackcurrent goodness. It felt a little like drinking pure Ribena syrup, but in a good way.

Then it was time to walk off the calories and return home. Easter certainly never quite felt like this back in Singapore. Maybe it's because tomorrow's a bank holiday, so everyone's just feeling really relaxed. It's not everyday that one gets two four-day work weeks in a row, after all.

Nico's Cafe-Diner
299 Cambridge Heath Rd
London E2 0EL

On my way to the Affordable Vintage Fashion Fair in Bethnal Green, I passed by a cafe called Nico's, wondering why on earth it sounded so similar. After 10 minutes or so, it hit me; this greasy spoon was Blake Pudding's (of the London Review of Breakfasts) pick for The Guardian's feature on London's alternative tourist spots as selected by London bloggers.

I'd be wondering where I was going to have lunch after the fair, so I figured I might as well given this a shot.

The cafe was pretty much empty when I went in, but, at 3 pm on a sunny Saturday, that was to be expected. I was later proven wrong when a number of customers came in to get takeaway sandwiches, although I did recognise one or two as coming from the fair as well.

I quite liked the layout of Nico's. It seemed just like a proper English caff, but more brightly lit. There were quirky little ornaments and assorted newspaper articles decorating the walls. The clock adorning the wall where I sat was clearly a nautical clock of some kind, though shaped like a violin.

I opted for an English classic: a salt beef sandwich (£2.50). One reason why Nico's was chosen by Blake was because of the sheer size of the servings, but I certainly wasn't expected to be served proper English chips with my sandwich.

Just look at how thick they are!


The salt beef was nice and tender. It wasn't too salty and I enjoyed slathering each individual piece of beef with a different condiment, ranging from tomato ketchup to mustard to brown sauce. What can I say? I'm a saucy girl.

The only thing wrong with the sandwich was that the bread wasn't toasted. In retrospect, I should have asked for it to be toasted, rather than assuming that it would be. Net result was soggy bread, as the juices from the beef soaked into the white bread.

There was also the nice friendly vibe about the place. Midway through my meal, two white-haired customers, clearly regulars, caught up on each other's lives, with one telling the other that he'd finished writing his book which was due to be published in the summer. The owner also chatted amiably with them about the results of the Grand National. It just felt very neighbourly and homely.

As I got up to leave, the owner called out a friendly thanks and farewell; I turned around and thanked him for the chips. I mean, that's got to be one of the best value meals I've had in London, even if it's not particularly balanced, nutritionally-speaking!

On Wednesday, I went for a vegetarian Japanese dinner at The Secret Ingredient, an underground restaurant set in chef Horton Jupiter's home in Hackney. I've been to so-called hidden kitchens before, but this was definitely the first time I would be going to one in someone's home.

Horton and Rachel

I arrived five minutes early, having managed to find Horton's council flat without too many problems. Horton greeted me by name the moment I stepped through the door, much to my surprise (but I later realised that, being the only Oriental, it was actually pretty obvious which of the guests I had to be). He and waitress Rachel were a little harried as they were running behind on food preparation.

Horton in action

Being the first arrival, I lingered by the kitchen entrance and started asking Horton about how The Secret Ingredient started. The idea of this restaurant began as a result of Horton's having read Benvik's This Diary will Change your Life, a book which an old friend recommended a couple of years back as being a good laugh. The menu hadn't changed since he started at the beginning of the year; apparently, the menu's proven to be so popular that he hasn't been able to change it. Still, Horton felt that Japanese food was ideal for this kind of restaurant, as there are usually several courses, which enables him to make a presentation of it as well. Wasn't he worried about opening up his home to potential psychos? Horton just laughed and mentioned excitedly that this would be the second week that everyone who was coming to have dinner was a complete stranger to him.

I also asked another question I'd been dying to ask since I first came across his name, and, yes, Horton Jupiter is indeed his real name. (What? I did grow up reading Dr. Seuss, you know.)

The kitchen

Preparations for the evening clearly underway

I then made my way back to the dining room to take a few snaps before the other guests arrived. There were three tables made up: one set for five, one for four and one for two, all decorated with white-and-red Japanese-inspired tablemats, candles and a little dish of Japanese rice crackers. The exceptionally generous glass of wine Rachel poured out for me, and, indeed for every guest, can be seen in the bottom right photo.

Dining room

Serving commenced around 7.30 pm with a serving of raw onion salad, fish flakes and pickled umemoshi vinegarette.

Raw onion salad with fish flakes and pickled umemboshi (Japanese plum) vinegarette

Next up was a beautifully-presented platter of sushi, followed by a serving of potato and red pepper salad with seaweed.

Clockwise from top left: Sweet carrots and green beans wrapped in seaweed with teriyaki sauce, apple with wasabi dressing, radish with lemon dressing and chinese cabbage rolls, all served on a beautiful mirrored tile

Potato and red pepper salad with seaweed

The fourth course of seared broccoli, gamnodoki (fried tofu fritters) and braised shiitake mushrooms was the highlight of the meal for me. I loved the mushrooms, which strongly reminded me of my mother's cooking, and the gamnodoki was incredibly delicious.

Clockwise from top right: Seared broccoli, gammodoki (fried tofu fritters) and braised shiitake musrooms, and then repeated

The fifth course of rice, miso soup and pickles presented a few minor problems for Horton. It turned out he'd run out of rice, so one of the 11 guests would have to do without, although he did offer compensation in the way of potatoes. It didn't really matter as, by then, I suspect quite a few of us were feeling rather full. I did have a minor quibble with the pickles which came with the rice, as I thought they tasted more like kimchi, as opposed to Japanese pickles, but Horton did mention that he'd run out of time and had to make do with store-bought ones.

Clockwise from top left: Miso soup, pickles and boiled rice with seaweed

In between courses, I would make conversation with the other guests at the table. It's practically impossible with the restaurant set-up not to. A number of guests had read about this place in The Metro some time back, some in Le Cool, while another had heard about this when she attended The Underground Restaurant in Kilburn a few weeks ago. Just going by the guests at my table, what we all had in common was that we were all not from England, loved London, and were willing to try new experiences, as evidenced by the fact that we were here, and by the amount of travelling we'd done collectively.

Finally, it was time for dessert. The sweetness of the chocolate and the berries went well with the saltiness of the white miso dressing. Then, a cup or two of nice warm Hakutsuru sake to round off the meal.

Fruit and chocolate with white miso dressing, and a cup of warm sake

By the time we'd finished, it was 9.30 pm, time for the second sitting to begin. We decided not to delay them any further, and make our way home. As I left, Horton didn't look tired at all. He'd been a bundle of energy all night long, which was absolutely amazing given the amount of work and effort that must have gone into this. And he still had another two hours to go!

I suppose this goes hand-in-hand with the fact that Horton also plays in rock-and-roll band They Came from the Stars (I Saw Them). Is there anything he can't do?

All in all, it was a wonderful, relaxed meal in an informal environment with friendly diners. By the end of the night, I'd almost forgotten the meal had been entirely vegetarian. And coming from a natural-born carnivore like me, that's high praise indeed!

The Secret Ingredient runs every Wednesday and has two sittings, one from 7 pm to 9 pm, and another from 9.30 pm to 11.30 pm. More information can be found here. Minimum suggested donation of £15 at the time I went. BYOB.

They Came from the Stars (I Saw Them) will be performing at Bar Music Hall on April 17th, and Cargo on May 23rd.