‘Oh! He only started crawling when he was 8 months old? My daughter was all over the place by 7!’

‘She doesn’t even babble? My son was shouting ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’ way before he reached her age!’

Yes, the pesky houseflies that deserve to be viciously swatted to a pulp, simply because they fuel parents’ guilt and/or crumble one’s confidence. Terribly annoying, thankfully not prevalent in my group of friends, but I have witnessed a fair share of face-grabbing, hair-pulling and rib-nudging from ‘em bugs in the parenting race that the devil created.

Then there is the other sort of competition, that I unwittingly got myself into. A competition that I SO NOT want to win.

‘She only wakes up 3 times a night?! What the heck are you complaining about? Mine doesn’t quit until 10!’

The thing is…I am so sleep deprived that anyone who tells me they are too, for anything less than what I am dragging my ass off my bed for, should expect a raised eyebrow from moi.

Oh, and those who are dying to tell me that their lives are over just because their bubbas have gone from sleeping through the night since forever to stirring for a mere couple of nights…don’t even start because I might just punch you in the face. Repeatedly.

Sigh. Can I just suck at this competition, already? Say AYE if you want to be a big, fat loser too.

P/S: I am usually a much more pleasant person to be with. But all I want to do now is whine. Piss off if you want to have a go at me for not creating good sleep habits blah blah blah, or if you want to point out that I could rest whenever I want because I am a SAHM and I can just leave my daughter with someone else in the house. You don’t know what my circumstances are. Go away, even if you just want to tell me that ‘this too shall pass’. Knowing that the situation will improve doesn’t make me feel any better about the lack of rest. Try being positive if you have barely slept for months, even years! But hugs are welcome. Yeah, that, and chocolates. And ice-cream. And AYEs.

I am not a fantastic cook. I would say I am a decent one but I lack the intuition, guts and creativity that my husband has. That is the reason why he looks way more convincing with the chef’s hat on while I look sexier brandishing…an egg whisk.

But there are a few dishes that M would trust me to cook. One of these is the beef pie, which is a full-bodied, savoury beef stew topped with a flaky, buttery puff pastry beret in our household.

Don’t get me wrong. M breathes life into beef stews! But he now snubs frozen ready-to-roll puff pastry for the one I make ever since I fed him with homemade no-fry chicken curry puffs and beautifully flaky Portuguese egg tarts. So naturally, the task of making beef pies has fallen into my hands.

There was much to be excited about as I hadn’t made puff pastry in a looooong time (my last attempt was made in London); I was hoping to nail it in the tropical heat but of course, I had to cheat with air-conditioning. I was also particularly keen on breaking in some of our very cute Le Creuset mini cocottes. I mean, puff pastry berets on colourful mini cocottes?! Wouldn’t YOU hyperventilate at the thought of that, too?

I spent all day in the kitchen to make these pies. It was back-breaking work but I was delighted to see my husband happily tuck into the pies. You see, he always does it with dramatic flair, by hitting the puff pastry beret ever so gently with a spoon to reveals most satisfying ‘crack!’ that hints at its flakiness, before letting a wide grin of approval spread across his face and digging deep into the pot for liquid gold. It is strangely satisfying to watch. Now, your turn.

Beef stew

Makes one 8-inch and two 4-inch (diameter) pots of stew

1kg stewing beef tenderised and cut into 2cm by 2cm by 2cm cubes
4 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, peeled and roughly chopped
3 cloves garlic, peeled and chopped
3 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1.5cm by 1.5cm by 1.5cm cubes
7 sticks celery stalks, leaves removed and cut into 1.5cm by 1.5cm by 1.5cm cubes
2 large potatoes, peeled and cut into 1.5cm by 1.5cm by 1.5cm cubes
450g portobello mushrooms, sliced thickly
Few sprigs of rosemary, leaves picked and finely chopped
Salt to taste
Black pepper to taste
600ml beef stock
2 heaped tablespoons plain flour
5 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
Hot water on standby to add to stew

1. Preheat oven to 170 Celsius.

2. Add olive oil to Dutch oven over medium high heat and sear beef cubes. Once golden brown, remove beef from Dutch oven and set aside.

3. Lower to medium heat and add onions and garlic to Dutch oven. Fry for 10min until onions are soft and very lightly browned.

4. Add carrots, celery, potatoes and cook for 5min. Add mushrooms and rosemary, give it a quick stir and then add the beef. Pour in the hot beef stock and add balsamic vinegar. Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in plain flour to thicken gravy.

5. Place Dutch oven into preheated oven, with lid on and leave the stew in there for 1.5 hours. Give it a stir every half hour and top up with some hot water if gravy dries up too much. Always add the water such that the liquid barely covers the ingredients in the stew. Cook for a further 1.5 hours or until beef is tender and bring Dutch oven out onto the stove to further simmer (with lid off) if you would like a thicker gravy. For pies, I would suggest a very thick gravy so that the pies don’t turn out too wet.

6. Spoon out some stew into ovenproof pots or baking dish, and cover the top with the uncooked puff pastry. Make sure that puff pastry isn’t directly in contact with the stew as the pastry will be wet and soggy. Bake at 210 Celsius for 20-25 minutes till pastry is puffed up and golden. Serve with salad or your favourite sides.

Puff pastry

Makes one 8-inch and two 4-inch (diameter) pie berets

250g unsalted butter, very cold, sliced to 2cm by 2cm by 2cm cubes
250g strong white bread flour, sifted, plus extra for dusting
Pinch of salt
125ml ice-cold water
1 egg, beaten for egg wash

1. Freeze butter cubes for half an hour.

2. Pulse butter, flour and salt in food processor for one second. Mix things up in the processor and pulse again. Do this for a few times till mixture is combined and resembles rough cornmeal.

3. Add water and pulse briefly till water is just incorporated. This will not form a ball of dough just yet and will still resemble rough cornmeal.

4. Turn out mixture onto lightly floured work surface, bring mixture together with lightly-floured hands to form a cylinder.

5. Roll cylinder out to form a rectangle with the shorter end facing you. It should look like a letter to you. Fold the dough as you would a business letter (into thirds). Rotate 90 degrees anti-clockwise such that the shorter end is facing you again and flip the dough such that the folded seams are facing downwards. Roll dough out again to a rectangle. Freeze between layers of baking parchment for 15-30min. Repeat such that you roll and fold for a total of four times each. Only very lightly dust work surface and rolling pin when the dough is sticky, although I would avoid this as much as possible.

6. The final rolled-out dough should be fairly elastic, smooth and about 4mm thick. Cut out desired shapes, apply a light layer of egg wash with a pastry brush, place pastry on top of cocottes/baking dish that are already filled with cooked stew and bake at 210 degree Celsius for 20-25 minutes till pastry berets are puffed up and golden brown.

Check out what’s cooking in my kitchen!

Also check out my other food adventures.

When we were planning for a baby, I wanted to be the mother to my child, like my Mama was to me. She took care of us all by herself, had no help and gave everything up for us. In spite of the challenges, she loved us unconditionally and never once vented her frustrations (even if she felt any) on us. My father had to work hard as the sole breadwinner, and my mother managed somehow. I didn’t know how she did it, but she was and still is a strong, selfless, deeply loving woman, and I wanted to be just that. I thought I could be.

I thought wrong.

Weeks into being a new mother, I couldn’t quite keep up. The fragmented sleep, the sudden lack of freedom, the prioritising of my daughter’s needs before mine, these almost did me in. I hated mothering the very being I love most…oh, the painful irony. That quickly gave way to despair, as I realised that I wasn’t cut out to be the parent I wanted to be.

Almost nine months on, I still doubt myself. I can’t go through what I set out to do. I still lose it when I am frustrated. And I get frustrated, too easily, one too many times. I hate myself for that. I didn’t expect to hit the bump on the road and NOT go over it; after all, my can-do personality has helped me emerge largely unscathed from most of the trying times in my life? Why can’t I stop whinging, suck it up and get on with things? Surely I know that parenting is hard work and that there are no two ways about it?

Yet, Faith grows, so beautifully. She is happy, healthy and brings so much joy to everyone around her. Damn, she makes me look good as a mother but you and I know that I haven’t done much to raise such a delightful, loveable bub. She just is. Yes, I cry in frustration when I feel breathless from keeping up with her needs, but oh, she makes me smile through my tears. I suppose I have done something right along the way, amidst tempers lost and harsh words unleashed…to still be here, to still be a mother to her, to be able to say that she is growing well.

I may never be the mother that my Mama is to me, or the mother that she is to my daughter. I may be selfish and weak. But I guess, I am what I am and what matters is, I try my best to do whatever I can, to be a mother to Faith, to love her as much as humanly possible. What matters is I am still trying.

…

A very happy Mother’s Day to all mothers, to those who struggle, to those who want to be, to those who let me revel in their joy and cry with them, to those who inspire me in more ways than one, to those who laughed and cried with me…you know who you are.

Most of all, Happy Mother’s Day to my Mama, who already is, who forever will be.

The beauty of making homemade granola is you can mix things up quite a bit without following a recipe to a T. I made this batch after polishing off the previous, with ingredients that are stocked in my pantry. I didn’t have enough honey and there wasn’t any maple syrup or apples at home, so I added more dark brown sugar. It may not be as healthy, but it’s a simple enough substitute to stave off that granola craving. Chuck out almonds if you hate them, and add your favourite nuts. Make it less sweet. Turn the sweetness up a notch. Switch out cranberries for raisins, dates or even figs. Add a little more salt for that savoury hit. Mix in a superfood such as flax seeds, like what I did. The possibilities are endless!

As we speak, this batch is fast disappearing from the granola pot, and my husband is already asking me to make more bars for work as he doesn’t have time to go for or even heat up packed meals during his crazy calls. I can’t think of a more delicious and versatile source of quick energy boost.

Hang on to your granola clusters, everyone, these will have people reaching into your stash more often than you wish for!

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

Almond, Cranberry & Flax Seed Granola Clusters

500g rolled oats
200g golden flax seeds
100g sesame seeds
250g whole unsalted almonds
2 tsp salt
300g dark brown sugar
50g honey
5 tbsp olive oil plus extra for greasing pan
250g dried cranberries

1. Preheat fan-assisted oven to 150 degrees Celsius.

2. Combine oats, flax seeds, sesame seeds, almonds and salt in a large bowl.

3. Warm brown sugar, honey, oil and purée, stirring constantly to combine over medium heat in a non-stick saucepan and slowly drizzle over dry mix whilst stirring the mix constantly to make sure all of the granola is coated.

4. Line jelly roll pan with baking parchment and generously grease the parchment with more olive oil. Be sure to grease things up properly because you wouldn’t want the granola to stick to the parchment. Add granola mix to the pan, spreading to form a layer.

5. Bake for 45 min, stirring every 10 min. Add cranberries at the 40-minute mark.

6. Once baked, let granola cool completely. Break into clusters or cut into bars before storing granola in a clean, airtight container for a month.

Why Botanic Gardens, you ask? This was where we had our first date after we became a couple. Cliché but so very meaningful to us. Hey, at least we didn’t head to the very bench we sat on as we held hands, okaaay?

Right, I shall shut my trap and let the photos do the talking.

I have been thinking a lot lately…about what I want to do.

I love to bake. I am that delirious, mad scientist who is in a very happy place whenever I step into the kitchen. I love stroking my cranberry KitchenAid when nobody is looking, devouring cookbooks, tweaking and making up my own recipes, making bakes look pretty, and I get such a rush from getting the thumbs up from family and friends.

Over the past months, my husband and father have been trying to talk me into selling my bakes. I did accept orders for my lychee chiffon cake not too long ago and I received pretty good feedback. But…I still lack confidence. An awful lot of it. I am terrified of putting myself, or rather, my bakes out there. The defeatist in me doesn’t think that I will ever be good enough to feed the masses, especially with so many stunning homemade treats that are available these days…I don’t think anything positive will come out of this.

But that courageous part of me wants to try. I am not sure if I have what it takes to make it work, or whether that faintest desire would blossom into something more tangible, but there is a tiny voice whispering to me, urging me to take a risk. That voice is so alluring, so persuasive, that I just might.

Just maybe.

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

I rarely have time to eat proper meals. Every morning, I wake up to a new day of same-old-non-stop action that comes with being Mama to Faith. Nurse, bathe, prepare and feed her breakfast, play, put her down for first nap, story time, give her a snack, play, nurse, second nap, prepare and feed her lunch, more play, nurse, third nap, play, give her another snack, play, prepare and feed her dinner, wipe her down, nurse and finally put her to bed. And then, there are the night feeds. I am bushed, even from reciting our daily routine but the point is there isn’t any time for a good meal until Faith is off to bed. Notice I don’t even need to worry about doing household chores and cooking my own meals…!

I have taken to shoving down food as quickly as I can and this isn’t exactly how I would like to chill. I end up feeling wound up from all that action, and munch on one too many chocolates to take the edge off. Besides, it’s an unbelievably efficient way to fill myself up. Just hold the baby in one arm and nom on chocolate with the other hand. This clearly isn’t healthy, and I would like to wean myself off the sugar, even if I don’t get enough time for a meal that lasts longer than three minutes!

What better way to do this, than to make myself a truckload of granola? Fortified with golden flax seeds, this granola is a superb source of vitamins, minerals, Omega-3 fatty acids and fiber. I have also very lightly sweetened it with honey, brown sugar and apple purée, and added some whole almonds and sesame seeds for that nutty kick, as well as dried cranberries for a tart lift in all that sweet-saltiness. I picked clusters right off the baking sheets, sprinkled them on yogurt with a healthy serving of berries, and even added tiny shards of dark chocolate whenever I craved for cocoa. Homemade granola is so very addictive and much healthier than the sugar-y treats I was constantly snacking on. I feel ‘cleaner’ already! Granola is also a quick and easy bite, perfect for busy folks who haven’t got the time to eat!

Now, my husband and I have hoovered the last of this batch. I am looking to tweak my recipe below to bake up granola bars next, which are perfect for when you don’t have any cutlery or serveware! Can’t wait!

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

Homemade Granola

450g rolled oats (I bought the wrong type so what you see in the pictures aren’t rolled oats, but either type will work! I just prefer the texture of rolled oats, that’s all.)
200g golden flax seeds
100g sesame seeds
250g whole unsalted almonds
2 tsp salt
120g dark brown sugar
200g honey
2 tbsp sunflower oil
100g apple purée (just blitz apples in a food processor)
250g dried cranberries

1. Preheat fan-assisted oven to 150 degrees Celsius.

2. Combine oats, flax seeds, sesame seeds, almonds and salt in a large bowl.

3. Warm brown sugar, honey, oil and purée, stirring constantly to combine over medium heat in a non-stick saucepan and slowly drizzle over dry mix whilst stirring the mix constantly to make sure all of the granola is coated.

4. Line jelly roll pan with baking parchment and lightly grease the parchment with oil. Add granola to the pan, spreading to form a layer.

5. Bake for 45 min, stirring every 10 min. Add cranberries at the 40-minute mark.

6. Once baked, let granola cool completely and store in a clean, airtight container for a month. The granola probably wouldn’t last that long.

Parents endeavour to give their children the very best, and I am no exception. As a new mother to baby Faith, I am always on the lookout for quality clothes, toys, books, foods and other knick-knacks.

In the series ‘I Have My Eye On’, I share my favourite finds for my little girl.

—

Hands up, those of you who often receive a load of bull unsolicited advice from stupid cows friends, family, strangers even, on your parenting skills.

MEMEME!

And hands up, those of you who often feel like you can’t say shit to these people, either because you’re too befuddled by the lack of sleep/your reaction time is so unworthy of the Olympics/you’re too much of a chicken to offend them.

MEMEME!*

Look no further than this heat-pressed onesie from FrenchSilver on Etsy to saywhatyouwantwhatyoureallyreallywant.

No need to thank me!

*Used to be a chicken in my early days as a parent, but try telling me things that make absolute cow sense in that nosey/know-it-all/bossy tone of yours, I assure you my complete wrath. There’s no need to respect you, if you don’t respect me AND boundaries. Look, even my baby disapproves of you. HA!

]]> http://thepleasuremonger.wordpress.com/2013/04/23/i-have-my-eye-on-an-outspoken-onesie-from-frenchsilver/feed/ 4 The Pleasure Monger 201302 I Have My Eye On 201304 Onesie http://thepleasuremonger.wordpress.com/2013/04/16/what-the-man-wants-the-man-gets/ http://thepleasuremonger.wordpress.com/2013/04/16/what-the-man-wants-the-man-gets/#comments Tue, 16 Apr 2013 15:04:32 +0000 The Pleasure Monger http://thepleasuremonger.wordpress.com/?p=4710 ]]>

‘Red Velvet, please. And I want it tall.’

My husband, M, certainly wasn’t standing on ceremony when I asked him what cake he would like for his birthday.

Well, I love him very much, so much so that I attempted to bake my very first four-layer cake which weighed at least five kilograms when it was finally dressed in a decadent, slightly tart cream cheese frosting.

It took two days of back-breaking work to create this, the most professionally-finished cake that I’ve ever made, even if it didn’t look like it hit the gold standards of established bakeries out there. What mattered most was M loved it. He declared it my best act, and that was well-worth the effort.

Happy Birthday, love!

Check out what I have been baking in my own kitchen.

Also check out my other food adventures.

Today marks all of eight years we have had with each other.

Eight years ago, you stealthily grabbed my hand as we crossed the road after our dinner date, under the pretense that you wanted to make sure I was safe from the non-existent traffic. With my hand in yours, unbeknownst to me, I was fooled into committing the very first day of our lives together to you. And then, somehow, you managed to hoodwink me into becoming your wife about three and a half years ago. You must have had plenty of tricks up your sleeve, for the world knows that we are different as chalk and cheese, and the world wonders how we are still very much in love in spite of that. I wonder too.

You and I know that we love each other in starkly contrasting ways. We have had eight long years to realise, fight over, and accept this. If anything, the difference in how we love was THE point of contention in our years together. It still is. You practise tough love. And I, ever the fragile, sheltered half, isn’t always strong enough for that. You see, I grew up knowing only tenderness and sometimes, I can’t quite grasp the affection for me that actually lurks in your nonchalance and harsh words. And my oh my, are we the worst sort of tempers put together. I am quick to anger at the slightest while you are quite the terror if you should ever blow your top. I am surprised that we are still together. But maybe, I shouldn’t be.

After all, we have given a lot to make a recalcitrant, heated, passionate relationship such as ours work. We had two honeymoon-ish years together, and we naively thought, hey it’s pretty easy to fall AND stay in love, then BAM! London hit us and well, we fought bad and almost threw in the towel before realising that WE are worth fighting for. So, we fought even harder, but this time, we fought to make it work. After getting married, I thought we had learnt what needed to be learnt about each other, that we had accepted what needed to be accepted. I mean, haven’t we gone through enough tears already? And surely, the storms would have blown over by now after so much drama during our time in London? I thought wrong.

The past 8 months have been INSANE. I remember lamenting that it was going to be tough the minute we knew we were expecting a baby. We had done everything backwards – you know, getting married while working on our second degrees, planning for a kid when we were fresh out of grad school. Friends questioned the way we lived. Strangers raised their eyebrows when they heard our stories. It was challenging to walk the path of the less travelled, but geez, I didn’t realise what ‘tough’ meant until we became parents.

The usual parenting challenges, the lack of sleep, the moments when we feel like fish out of water, the resentment that grows as we hardly see each other with your unforgiving schedule at work and my relentless mothering gig, the stress and constant criticism that comes with living with others, the scrutiny we are put under as new parents, the lack of time for a social life and how much we are getting dissed by our friends for not keeping in touch…these are really doing us in. Where do I start to dissect the pressures on our marriage, when we don’t even have the time to see, let alone talk to each other?

But we soldier on. We fight, we throw our heads back and laugh without a care in the world, we long to punch the living daylights out of each other, we hug each other and cry, we cry because we fight, we kiss and make up, and we love again. We walk on, my hand in yours, across the road as we dodge a more dangerous sort of traffic this time.

I don’t know how we do it. I honestly don’t know how we survived the past 8 months. There were moments when I was convinced that we were done for. But I am glad we are alive, and that we love each other more and more, even as we find more and more things to hate about each other. It is all very odd indeed.

You told me that you were afraid that I will forget all about you once I become a mother. I never had a chance to tell you this, but the truth is, I think about you more and more after I became one. My heart has grown to love you and our beautiful daughter to my very best, so much so that I have nothing left for myself. You have to know this.

You must know this too. For better, for worse, it has been eight years.

For better, for worse, it has been the most trying eight months of our lives together.

For better, for worse, with my hand still in yours, I pray that there will be more fights, laughter, tears and kisses to come just because it is you whom I share these moments with.

For better, for worse, as long as I am with you, trying as the times ahead will surely be, I say…come what may.

Love,
Me