Day 22 - New York

Sitting in my favourite coffeehouse in New York, we were eating breakfast while reading. The sun wa still low and was pouring in at our seat, enticing us to return outdoors. This being Father's Day, it was fitting to read a piece about Y-chromosomes and paternity in The Atlantic.

Lately, I've been intrigued by the DNA testing services that provide detailed reports of lineage, including whether you were descended from Genghis Khan. Being from Asia and after reading teh statistics estimated 15-30 million men are his descendants, I did some research into which service to explore. The most reliable in Oxford, England was about $325 (this prior to teh pound sterling breaching the $2 mark); but Steve the Atlantic's Steve Olson points out that volunteer DNA testers are being sought by the folks at the Personal Genome Project at Harvard.

Since we are expecting a baby boy in about ten days, I thought it would be timely to know more about our past as our son is (so far/or as far as we know) the only descendant of my paternal grandfather with his Y-chromosome.

By the way, the delicious bagel was from Balthazar and the coffee, deserving of this accolade:

Day 21 - Singapore (in New York) - The brilliant government of Singapore held a Singapore Day for Singaporeans living abroad. It was held in Central Park and featured some of the best food from the actual hawker stand vendors who were flown in courtesy of Singapore Airlines. The event was brilliant with 26 degree celsius sun, great music, and of course, the awesome food.

Char Kway Teow is the seafood noodle dish shown to the right and
Nasi Lemak, below it, is my father's personal favourite. Nasi Lemak is “Rich Rice” cooked in coconut milk with the classic toppings of deep fried fish, sunny side up eggs, cucumbers, fried crispy anchovies or ikan bilis and a lemony sweet chilli sambal. Fried chicken wings and spicy grilled fish paste or otah is also added.

Can't say enough of how well the government of Singapore has done to make Singaporeans abroad feel connected, via their craving for their unique street food.

Day 20 – Brooklyn. We’re on something of a Brooklyn run right now, having been or planning to go there for five of six weekends. A study in the diversity of what Brooklyn has to offer can perhaps be inferred from our reasons to visit:

• A “dinner event” hosted by a bookclub mate of mine that is half cozy restaurant where you know the owner and half dinner party.
• A baby boy’s first birthday party in Cobble Hill
• An invitation to hang out with friends from Massachusetts who were visiting his parents’ home off Ditmas
• A single woman’s big birthday bash replete with Williamsburgites who have turned casual slack hipster into a studied art form
• Moving extraneous stuff from our cramped Manhattan closets into its own special space in a storage unit in DUMBO
  

Day 19 - (dreaming of) Dublin. Prior to our babymoon, I spent a critical hour browsing the Web and the Barnes & Noble Union Square buying books. While I expected that I might buy one or maybe two, I surprised even myself by selecting four off the shelves. There was no way I would take them all; I left the thickest hardcover behind and it still remains unopened. On the beach I breezed through the first, A Changed Man by Francine Prose, a well-plotted, witty satire set in New York with a great premise and crisp, intelligent writing. The second, The Summer Guest was a small gem of a book, the type I usually don’t buy. But the author Justin Cronin surprised me with the story’s quiet elegance. But the charmer of the lot was the third book which I just finished, weeks after the trip. An Evening of Long Goodbyes by Paul Murray is set in Dublin circa 1999 amidst the city’s economic transformation. I’ll save the book review editorial for another time and instead focus on the city itself. The last time I visited Dublin was during was around 1997 so it just preceded the emergence of the Celtic Tiger as the darling of the EU. The city was certainly on the upswing as was witnessed by the redevelopment taking place in the wealthier South Dublin and in the central core but it didn’t quite have the earmarks of the makeover that caught the imagination of Murray. So where is it now? By all counts, the property prices have shot up, retail prices are higher than most of the eurozone, and the general standard of living has virtually overnight flipflopped from being a country where emigration has made way for immigration. The famine is over; long live the IDA, tax breaks, Eurobenefits, and offshoring. Come to Ireland, or at least offshore your non-critical business processes. Heck, shift your IT, manufacturing, development to Dublin: you won’t regret it. And the message to the 50%+ of Americans who claim some Irish heritage: if you’re looking for a fresh start in a familiar place, come home.

This is marketing of the highest order. We’re talking Apple levels here. And Ireland has backed it up by following through on the expectations and actually becoming a vibrant city. It’s writing tradition is undisputed and with authors like Paul Murray (born in 1975) emerging, the arts scene should complement nicely the economic miracle making Dublin one of the most desirable places to live.

It’s about time I went back.

Day 18 - Todos Santos, Mexico. This town, whose name you may not know, actually has a place that you have heard of, the pictured hotel, memorialized forever by a song which serves as an anthem for the elusive near-past. Booming with a property craze fuelled by nirvana-seekers, Todos Santos is now clearly on the map and may one day lose the very quality that made this backwater so special, so permeating, a place “you can never leave.” But for the time we were around, it did a decent job of showing its appeal. We sampled the mix of galleries, some of which where atrociously bad, some of which were passable. The food, served in an unpretentious bodega was done with panache even though the place was semi-packed with gringo tourists. The hotel itself was kitsch and capitalistic and managed to still retain its rock star status. Finally, the place slowed down and emptied out after the last day tour bus left and we found ourselves alone or at least just surrounded by the city’s real inhabitants, which was really quite nice. If I really wanted to unwind and buy a villa in the town’s environs, I’m sure we would find it idyllic. Nonetheless, TS has all the charm of going to an Eagles reunion concert: you’ll have a great time but you know that you’re seeing something repackaged, dated, and yet classic.

Day 17 - San Diego. I found a little place that serves fish tacos in town that redefines what you normally think Mexican food should be. Pacific style fish tacos are crispy and tart and have very little spice. They are Baja's great delicacy, transported up North to be enjoyed by Californians of all types. I won't blog about the place because I don't want anyone to visit and to ruin it but the adventure of discovering a place like this is half the fun.

Day 16 - Philadelphia. I was speaking on a panel, talking about user-generated content at a Wharton Technology Conference. The night before the session, I had a free hour in Philadelphia around dinner time and decided to go to the very spot where I proposed to my wife. The Striped Bass is a posh fish restaurant on 15th and Walnut in the heart of the swankiest part of Center City, not too far from where we lived when she was at Wharton. The big evening four years ago involved an early seating, Opera tickets to Carmen later that night, a vase of orchids, a story, a Chinese character (double happiness), and a ring. It was obviously a magical evening and to reminisce without my wife seemed hollow. But the signature black bass was, as usual, to die for.

Day 15 - Cannes. The fish soup called "bouillabaiise" is one of my favourite foods. The region where it was invented is the Cote d'Azur in the South of France. It has, hands down, the best bouillabaisse on the planet. After having truied pale imitations in places like Minneapolis (at the Sofitel), Singapore, and even my hometown of Montreal, nothing can compare to Gaston et Gastounette, the little Cannes favourite not far from the Palais des Congres. Treated by ex-colleagues, the meal was so satisfying and yet so large that the waiter was aghast that I had made such a small dent in my soup bowl. Quel horreur! He was right; I should have done better; but oh, the silky feeling of that saffron-laced broth as it was savoured by my palate on that first sip will stay with me until the next time I'm in Cannes.

Day 14 - Montreal. The queue seemed to be infinitely long. Schwartz's deli in Montreal is an institution. It's so well known now that at least half the customers are tourists. It's better than New York pastrami. Smoked meat. The culinary delight of Jewish Montreal? No. The culinary delight of all of Montreal. When you read a guidebook about the city, the one listing labeled "montrealaise" was Schwartz's. The only way to blog smoked meat is to add smells, but I haven't figured out how to do that yet.

Day 13 - Montreal. I sat at the outdoor cafe that had just opened for the season, this being the 27th of May. The weather was beautiful; crisp and warm, and almost everyone was sporting a teeshirt, an undershirt, or a skimpy top. It felt like Rome; the sunglasses, dark skin, European style, and lightly-accented English. The music was barely audible, people were playing backgammon and cards, the most popular drink was the Cuban mojito, the most popular greeting, "Cherie!"

Only on la Main in Montreal. St. Laurent.

Day 12 - Norway.

A Poem.


Grey

Oh look!
An idyllic glacial lake
In Norway, amidst ice.
Its grey colour is beautiful
In a million different ways:
The brushed steel of a sportscar,
The cool look of dreamy eyes,
The silvery glint of a coin,
A bit of charcoal spread fine o'er paper.
Lake Ustaoset bends in front of our eyes.

Day 11 - Norway. "There isn't much to see in Myrdal. There isn't much to do in Myrdal," a railway official told me. Where is Myrdal? It's at the end of the Flam railway line. It's about 3608 feet above sea level. It's a hamlet of (about) seven houses. It sits on the Bergen-Oslo railway line, one of the most scenic in all of Europe. It's the home of Martin, who runs a pretty little B&B that is just due to open for the short summer season. My friend Daniel and I were changing trains and had some time to explore but were dissuaded from leaving the platform by the railway official. "This," he said pointing to the railway station, "is Myrdal."




How wrong he was. We're glad we stepped across the tracks, down the steps, and onto the footbridge where we met Martin and heard his story. One day, I will come back and visit him and take him up on his suggestion to walk four hours down the hill to the fjords.

Day 10 - China. It's amazing what passes for Chinese food outside of China. Undeniably, there are some outstanding culinary accomplishments by chefs in the diaspora; but too often the food is suited to the particular tastes of the host country. Sometimes, the resulting fusion isn't all that bad. In India, the entire country seems to be fascinated by hakka Chinese which emerged from the combination of chili and traditional Chinese recipes. In Southeast Asia, the blend of spices and influences has altered the old world dishes beyond recognition. But on one day not long ago in New York, we were seated at a Chinese restaurant in midtown Midhattan that did injustice to the country at large. The food was both sweet and tasteless. The noodles: slurpy and rubbery. The brown sauce: a combination of salt, soy, vinegar, salt, MSG, and salt. And the vegetables were limp and overcooked, with the texture of a plastic sandal. Without mentioning the name of the establishment, suffice it to say that Ee Ching's rule holds, "Try to avoid a restaurant with a two-word English name where one word is "dragon", "moon", "jade", "China", "panda", or most egregiously, any combination of two thereof. (This is a clue.) Ironically, she translated the Chinese sign next to the English name, "A multitude of lanterns by the night sky," and admitted, "Hmmph. Quite poetic."

Day 9 - China. In the embassy district in Beijing, I stopped in for lunch at a restaurant that lacked a certain something that was easy to find in town: people. So empty was it that I had four waiters exclusively at my service and the chef himself came by to practice his English and offer suggestions that would suit my spicier palate. He was from Guangdong which is why the restaurant, even though it was in a posh location on Ritan Lu, was not not faring well. The meal strted with a delightful appetizer and two main courses that played off of each other. One was a green vegetable cai, with a lovely texture and a delicate sauce, the other a hearty but tender spicy beef with an aroma to die for. It was quite overwhelming to experience such a warm-weather delight on a -8 degree Celsius day. I had a miserable camera phone otherwise a pic of the feast would be included but I'll let your sensory imagination run wild. The meal was that good.