My Family & Other Animals

Unfortunately, I live with only one member of my family, but the animals in our life are a numerous and often surprising cast.
For example, when I got up at 5.30 this morning, a tiny blinking light high up in the living room proved the be a firefly, the first we've ever had in this house. It was like a star trying to avoid the dawn — so lovely I watched it for about 5 minutes before going on to the lawn and doing my Chi Kung exercises as the sun came up.

As the windows in our house are never closed, and as there are open ventilation panels at the top of the walls, almost anything can (and does) come into the house. Over the years — apart from the everyday insects, moths, grasshoppers, bugs etc — we have had:

* snakes: harmless grass snakes but they do give you a surprise when you're reading on the couch and suddenly realise you're sharing it with a serpent.

* big black scorpions: these I DON'T like, even though they will only give you a very painful sting but won't kill you. They used to be fond of scuttling across the floor in the dead of night — not nice if you're padding barefoot to the bathroom in the dark. Fortunately we haven't seen one inside for several years.

* a Copper-throated Sunbird that was nesting in the jasmine bush against our verandah; she following insects attracted by the light inside and unbeknown to us, spent the night perched on our bedroom ceiling fan (luckily it wasn't on). She survived, the egg hatched and all lived happily ever after.

* a small bat that has been scooting in and out of the living room these past few nights, obviously chasing insects that were invisible to us.

Even though mon capitaine is up north in Kudat for 4 evenings each week, I'm never really alone here.

Triple Treat

We are now in the midst of what the locals call the fruit season. Not that we can't get a huge variety of tropical fruit year round, but that there are certain highly prized fruits that appear just once (or sometimes twice) a year, depending on subtle changes in temperature and rainfall. The entire house is almost vibrating with the smell of durian (on the left of the fruit tray) and tarap, the hedgehog-like brown fruit at the back, although the oblong green soursop (right) doesn't smell.

We both agree that the durian is unsurpassed in terms of overall sensory experience. Its pungent odour (like that of a latrine, according to durian haters) becomes ambrosial once you love the flavour. But it's not just the taste. The sticky creamy flesh clings to your fingers, forcing you to lick them for every last bit of the unique caramel-sherry-onion flavour, and all the while, the fragrance is making your head spin. You don't eat a durian, you have an intense relationship with it.
The soursop is another matter entirely. The sparkling white flesh has an incredible balance of acidity and sweetness, but the multitude of shiny black seeds means it is best to squeeze out the pulp and turn it into a sorbet or jelly. To be eaten with little sighs and murmurs that maybe, just maybe, it's almost as good as durian.

The humble tarap must be eaten with the fingers, the seed-filled white globes of flesh carefully savoured as you try to describe the flavour. Is it a hint of pineapple, or peach, with perhaps an overlay of turps? It's a waste of time trying to describe it. Just go ahead and enjoy!

R.I.P.

My lovely La Rossa has just been murdered. Our evil dog Bisou, who looks like a thoroughbred dingo, grabbed her this morning shortly after she was let out for her daily forage around the garden. Despite having lived amicably with the hen for more than a year, Bisou suddenly grabbed her by the neck and ran around with her. Every time I tried to catch Bisou, she raced under the house with poor La Rossa hanging from her mouth. So now I'm left with a grazed knee and elbow (I slipped on the wet path), and a heavy heart. I really DO NOT LIKE DOGS and keep them only for security reasons.

Poor La Rossa, such a sad end for an unusual companion.

KISS

Some of my favourite recipes just happen to be of the Keep It Simple Stupid variety. As I keep my kitchen well stocked with spices and special flours such as besan or chickpea flour, I can make recipes such as this (based on a recipe by the wonderful Madhur Jaffrey) without having to make a run on the shops.

EASY CHICKEN KEBABS
500-600 g skinless chicken breast or boneless thighs, in 2-3 cm cubes
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons lime or lemon juice
melted butter or vegetable oil for basting
Marinade:
3 tablespoons plain yoghurt
1 tablespoon chickpea flour (besan)
1 teaspoon very finely grated ginger
2 cloves garlic, crushed to a pulp with 1/4 tsp salt
1/2 teaspoon cumin powder, preferably freshly ground
1/2 teaspoon garam masala
1/4 teaspoon turmeric powder
1/4 teaspoon chilli powder

Sprinkle the chicken with the salt and lime juice and set aside while you prepare the marinade.
Put the yoghurt in a bowl and add all other ingredients, mixing well. Put in the chicken pieces, stir to coat thoroughly then set aside for at least 15 minutes. I usually refrigerate the chicken for an hour or so, but it really depends on what happens to be convenient; you could even leave it overnight.
Thread pieces of chicken onto the skewers, brush with melted butter or oil and grill under moderately high heat for about 7-8 minutes, basting a couple of times and turning to cook until golden brown all over. Serve hot with lime wedges.

La Rossa & The Chicklets

No, it isn't the name of an all-girl band but the residents of our Istana Ayam (Chicken Palace). La Rossa has been with us more than 3 years, the sole survivor of barnyard accidents, dog attacks etc. She was once injured by a falling frame (entirely her own stupid fault for trying to perch on it) so I took her to our vet then hand-fed her pain killers til she recovered.

So I'm sure you can understand (even though the pragmatic locals can't) why we haven't consigned her to the pot even though she's passed her egg-laying phase. She struts about, free-range except at night, like a Chelsea Pensioner, resplendent in red coat and living on the past.

The Chicklets represent the egg-laying future: three little hens past their cute fluffy stage but kind of appealing in a gangly, brainless, adolescent way. We're hoping by the time we return from our NZ holiday in January, they'll be laying their first eggs. The difference in flavour and texture of organic, free-range eggs makes it all worthwhile. And to be honest, we've rather come to like our feathered friends, and even our two dogs have come to accept La Rossa — provided she doesn't help herself to their food until they decide they've had enough.

Pins & Needles

It may seem somewhat strange that even though I've lived among the Chinese in Southeast Asia for 40 years, until now, I've never tried Traditional Chinese Medicine, or more specifically, acupuncture. The reason is that I have been blessed with good health and never needed it, but about a month ago, an X-ray showed I have "mild to moderate" spinal degeneration with bone growths on a couple of vertebrae pressing on a nerve and causing leg pain.

Through a series of incredible good luck and coincidences, we were introduced to a TCM doctor from northern China, who has a "clinic" here. He and his wife don't speak any English or Malay (despite 4-5 years in Kota Kinabalu) but we've been lucky to be introduced to a very kind woman who not only speaks Mandarin and English, but Malay and a few Chinese dialects. she acts as our go-between with Dr Wong.

Today is day #10 for both JF and I. Amazingly, my leg pains diminished after the first treatment and only once have I had to resort to pain-killers since starting the course of acupuncture. JF is feeling less shoulder pain and starting to have relief from his chronic insomnia, so we're both delighted.

The "clinic" inspires less confidence than the doctor himself, trained at a Beijing university, 30 years experience, understands Western medicine and asks you to bring in X-rays and MRIs. He has a strong northern accent, which makes me giggle as it reminds me of someone from Somerset. The clinic is room 6021 in the Ruby Hotel, on the edge of the old Kampung Air (Water Village) district. It consists of 1 double bed (the conjugal bed after hours); 1 single bed; 1 proper massage table and 2 armchairs, all separated by curtains. However, one day I found myself sharing the double bed with an elderly lady having treatment for a stroke! At least a pillow was placed in the middle to mark a separation!

Although I hate needles and injections, the insertion of the acupuncture needles (we have our own set, sterilised after each use) isn't painful. They only just pierce the skin, then are connected to electricity for light impulses over a 20-minute period. The only discomfort — no, dammit, it was pain — was a couple of times when the needle must have been touching a nerve and when the power went on, I felt I was being electrocuted. I realised that I would have been a lousy member of the Resistance — no way I could have withstood torture, especially if it involved electric shocks!

As well as the acupuncture and acupressure massage, I've embarked on Chi Kung, the ancient art of energy management which can be very effective for degenerative disease (such as my back problem). So after four decades, I'm fully embracing the Chinese approach. But regretably, I'm still not speaking Mandarin.

Shrimp In a Bottle

The mantis shrimp is fairly common in Sabah’s seafood restaurants, but instead of swimming live in an aerated tank like other prawns and shellfish, each mantis shrimp - normally about 20 cm in length — occupies its own small plastic bottle filled with seawater. Obviously, the tiny shrimp are popped in the bottle which is partially closed until they’re too big to force their way out, so the unfortunate creatures sit there growing until someone chooses them for dinner. Stir-fried with salt and black pepper is the recommended cooking style here.

Until a couple of days ago, I’d never seen mantis shrimp in the fish markets, so when I spotted fresh (but not live) ones at a remarkably reasonable price yesterday, I bought them. They weren’t very big or fat, but I figured that once they’d been steamed, the flesh would be good with pasta for lunch.

I don’t know if it was a question of their age or freshness (they looked and smelled fresh), but it was impossible to remove the flesh in one piece, as with a prawn. It was a really fiddly business to scrape out every morsel of the soft flesh, which I put into a pan with finely chopped garlic sautéed in olive oil, and a dash of chilli flakes. I boiled the empty shells with water and used this to cook the linguine, extricating as much flavour as possible. The result was very tasty, but I just wish there’d been more shrimp meat.

When we saw a mantis shrimp doing acrobatics off a coral reef during a dive trip a few years back, my dive buddy remarked they were “so sweet” she wouldn’t eat them. Being a foodie almost as much as a conservationist, I replied that I eat them precisely because they are sweet. Would I buy them again and go through the hassle of digging out the flesh? Probably not. I’ll save mantis shrimps for the next time I see them in a bottle at a seafood restaurant.