Momofuku seiobo

I don't even remember where or when I heard about the infamous pork bun, but since then Momofuku has been on the bucket list, and we finally had a chance to go to this amazing place.

Course 1: deeply smoky potato puree within a wafer thin tuile, served with a dollop of apple and topped with grated freeze-dried apple.
How could anyone make something so thin, shattering with a neat crunch?
Who would have thought potato and apple would be a good combination?

Course 2: the infamous pork belly bun
The bun is soft like the heart of a marshmallow, and the pork belly so luscious. The optional sriracha lifted this bun to another realm.

Course 3: freshly cooked mud crab with toasted amaranth
The texture of this dish was incredible. The crab was so fresh it felt like it was still wriggling in the bowl (we did discuss whether crabmeat is like muscles - must be how the crabs get around), and the toasted amaranth felt like sparkly popcorn in the mouth. Perfect. I started saying every dish was my favourite at this point.

Course 4: confit potatoes with parson's nose and ocean trout roe.
Chicken arse just doesn't sound as great as parson's nose - it actually tasted like a blob of soft shell crab or other deep fried item fried beyond recognition of its source, for which I guess one should be thankful. Here the confit potatoes have an attractive sticky glaze, pairing well with the salty trout roe and the chicken arse.  I particularly loved how two people would work silently but frantically at plating this dish.

Course 5:  baby octopus, baby turnips and smoked eel jelly on a bed of almond milk.
How I could have eaten a whole bowl of this - the octopus was slippery and impossibly tender, well matched with the crunch of whole microscopic turnips and the strong scent of smoked eel jelly. The bitterness in the turnip leaf complemented the almond milk just perfectly.

Course 6: roasted spice cauliflower, mushroom, and egg yolk perfection 

 Look at that perfectly glistening yolk! I wonder how they made it such that it sat so prettily on the dish, yet the centre was lusciously soft once you poked it apart. The roasted cauliflower in this dish was one of the most amazing elements I ate at Momofuku - I would love to recreate it at home. 

Course 7: Grilled mulloway with baby carrot and seaweed puree (missing picture.. sad)
We remarked upon how the top of the mulloway was grilled to just the right crunch, yet the flesh was soft and so yielding to the slightest touch. The kombu puree could have been overpowering, but with the sweetness of the carrots and the fish, the chemistry was just perfect.

 Course 8: Cowra lamb with baby cucumber, and an anchovy tarragon puree
The execution of this dish was incredible - the lamb was cooked to a glistening even pink, with a thin layer of lamb crackling (who knew?) and a nice tempting layer of fat. No one else seemed to like the cucumbers as much as I did - who knew char grilled cucumbers could be so delicious?

Course 9: goats curd with mint sauce and blackcurrant puree
No way to get around this, the curd was so strong it was like licking a goat. Both the red & green elements brought strong visual elements to the dish, but also offered opposite contrasting flavours. Mixed up together, it gave a new flavour altogether.  

 Course 10: sorrel & pistachio icecream with muntries
This dish was intensely green, and had a rather peculiar grassy flavour which I guess is due to the sorrel. The muntries were small bursts of juicy tartness which offset the grass icecream well. 

Course bonus: canele!
I love canele, and this version was so well caramelised with a just set middle - what a perfect end to the degustation. They were even kind enough to offer one to a friend who had come to meet us (because we had taken over 2hrs for the degustation) which I thought was a generous gesture.

Overall it was an interesting foray into a different world that I don't belong to. The flavours were simple and intense, yet the combinations formed amazingly rich flavour and textural experiences. Obviously a phenomenal amount of effort and thought had gone into the preparation, and it was a pleasure to watch the kitchen team work solo and in teams - like watching a great show.

I was shocked to find out when I got home that many people did not have such an amazing experience at Momofuku - in fact, on urbanspoon it gets a measly 70% which must be a record for a 3hatted restaurant. I would certainly love to return for another gastronomic feat!

Dream: an attempted murder

(The first dream of 2014)

I am standing on the side of a crowded road. The traffic is busy and lots of people are milling around the shops and restaurants lining the road. The shopfronts are adorned with multi coloured lights which twinkle in the darkness.

I realise that I'm standing in front of an old, battered, inconspicuous van. I think to myself that perhaps I should get inside the van, and just as I put my hand on the door a man opens it for me and signals for me to get in. Once inside, I see that there are no seats except for the driver's seat, and I sit on the floor with my back to the door. The man doesn't get in and walks away somewhere, and I am left alone in the van.

Though it's dark, I can see lots of equipment stacked in the corner, and there's a computer screen showing co-ordinates I don't understand. From where I sit, the street light streams in through the window, such that just my arms and hands are illuminated.

The scene cuts to one of near maximal darkness. I am aware of the cold, metallic feeling of a gun in my hands. I hold it poised to the darkness, though momentarily I wonder if it's a real gun. I become aware of someone standing next to me, and I understand that they are my partner. We are edging forward in what feels like a corridor, and we can see the gradation of darkness up ahead signifying a room of some sort.

A shot is fired, the sound so compact and brief that it feels unreal, as if it didn't really happen. Neither my partner nor I move, and I secretly wonder why the shot didn't light up the room so we could see, even for a short moment, where we were going.

After a pregnant pause, heavy gunfire is exchanged, and a strong sense of urgency wells up in my being. Heart pounding madly in my ears, the adrenaline rushes to my hands and I shoot into the darkness. All sound ceases and there is a stillness so heavy that it feels damp. I lower the gun and feel in my pockets, finding a box of matches. Lighting them seems like the most difficult task ever, each minor action taking the most concentrated effort (open the box.. now take out one match.. find where the box is in my other hand.. orient to the side.. strike.. completely miss the box.. strike again...)

Eventually the match is lit, and in its brief orange glow, I see that there are many people standing around the room. I then realise that despite all the shots, there is no smell of blood.

Someone comes up to me and slaps me on the shoulder.
Good work, buddy! He says cheerfully. We are always glad when the tox guys come to help us out!

Tox guys? I think. Since when was I one of the tox guys?

A light switch is flicked, and the room is bathed in an unnaturally strong yellow light. Everyone seems relaxed, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Looking around, there are no bodies on the ground, and I wonder how so much gunfire in such a confined space managed to not hit anyone.. or did it?

We head back along the corridor and up the steps. All up there are about 10 of us, and we head into the kitchen, which is beautifully decorated. In the middle sits a rustic slab of wood serving as the table - the many age rings show that the tree must have been hundreds of years old. Earthenware pots and pans are arranged artistically on the walls, vases of bright flowers are scattered around and bunches of dried herbs give off a deep aroma. What a beautiful kitchen, I think to myself, I would love to have something like this.

The others are gathering ingredients from around the kitchen and starting a fire to cook.

I say out loud, is this not a murder scene? we should be cordoning off the downstairs area.

The man who slapped me on the shoulder comes up to me and says, I am the leader of this expedition, and both the assassin and the murdered man have already been removed. We don't need to do anything else now, other than feed ourselves! With a guffaw he walks away, gulping down cider.

I find it difficult to relax, though the others are chattering amongst themselves happily. The room has lost its chill with the warmth of the cooking fire, and I can smell roasted meat.

I see a woman climbing up to reach one of the higher cupboards, and realise with a start, this is the murderer! we must not let her get away!

That's her, it's Jeannie who murdered the owner of this house! I call out but am drowned out by the cheerful din of my colleagues.

Then I wake up.

Anaesthesia dreams

Well, well. Perhaps sevoflurane has damaged my brain... or perhaps I just have had more sleep since studying less, but I've been dreaming a lot recently.

The one where propofol doesn't work.
I'm in one of the anaesthetic bays at RPA, working with an older consultant who I don't recognise. He's grey and grumpy, constantly muttering under his breath and not talking to me much.

The patient in the bed is a young Chinese woman who doesn't seem to speak English. She has about 10 relatives around the bed, all dressed in white patient gowns with malaligned theatre caps resting comically on their heads. She is talking rubbish in Chinese, and her relatives are trying to talk sense into her "everything will be all right, you are going to have an operation now". Suddenly she sits up, grabs the handrails tightly and tries to jump out of the bed, but her relatives manage to talk her into lying down again.

I ask the consultant if I should ask the relatives to leave, and he snaps can't you see she's terribly encephalopathic! if you ask them to leave she will fall out of bed.

We get ready to anaesthetise her, but he gestures we should not approach with the oxygen mask for fear of making her go mad and get out of bed again. He injects the entire syringe of propofol (at which point I think.. that's a lot of propofol) and we wait for her to fall asleep. Nothing happens, and her relatives look at us anxiously while the patient continues to babble in Chinese. I check the drip and it's running well. The consultant asks for more propofol and I draw up another ampoule, which he gives promptly. I feel nervous that we have given this woman so much propofol, but she continues to grab the handrails, pulling herself up and trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

By this point the relatives are looking quite nervous and start talking amongst themselves. The boss shouts at me for more propofol, and I draw up the other 3 ampoules in the box. He injects all 3... and thus the patient has had a whole box of propofol. I start trying to figure out how many milligrams that is... 1g! 

As the woman thrashes on the bed, one of the transplant surgeons (MC) walks in and he immediately starts complaining: you morons! how am I supposed to do this liver transplant? under local anaesthesia??

Liver transplant.. liver transplant...  I think in the dream, all the pieces falling into place. I say to the boss - she must have a veno-occlusive disorder which has caused liver failure and also blocked the SVC, so the propofol can't get into her circulation no matter how much we give. We need to do an inhalational induction..

He gets very angry and says - inhalational induction for a transplant! that's ridiculous!! and MC says wait a minute, maybe we can just thrombolyse her and not have to worry about the transplant..

Then I wake up. 


The one where the world is at war
In this dream, I am standing at a busy harbour port, where there are hundreds of ships small and large. All around me there are people milling around, organising themselves, luggage and crates of stuff. Huge cranes loom in the distance, loading huge warships with containers.

It's night time, the sky is a peculiar inky dark blue and the atmosphere is surreal. Briefly I wonder where I am supposed to be, but I am swept up in a crowd and carried onto one of the giant ships. It looks so impossibly big that I wonder what it's for. I stand on the deck and watch the activity on the port from the other side, filled with this ominous feeling.

And then we pull away to sea, and soon we are in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by complete darkness. I stand for some time, listening to the waves crash up against the sides of the ship. Soon I see lights in the distance, and realise with a start that is the front line of the war. I don't know where this war is, or who the participants are, but I know that is the war.

People run out onto the deck, and organise themselves into groups. I try to anonymously blend into one, and am carried along with my group into a smaller raft like a lifeboat. There are about 10 of us, and we sit solemnly in our raft as we are lowered to the surface of the ocean. We hit the water with a splash, and the waves immediately start rocking our raft with a vicious violence.

We are carried closer and closer to the lights in the distance, and we see that they are huge warships engaged in heavy artillery fire. No one speaks, but we feel absolutely dwarved by these ships, being in such a flimsy little raft. We get so close to one that we are almost about to touch it, and finally a man asks is everyone ready?

Ready for what? I think. Then there is a massive explosion of light and noise, and everything is a white out.

When I wake up from the explosion, I realise I have survived a suicide bombing and I am lying in a hospital bed. I move my limbs and feel that I have no pain. No one is around so I gingerly sit up and feel my face, which feels intact. I swing my legs down and touch the cool tile floor, everything feels fine so I stand up. I feel intrinsically that something is wrong with me but I can't tell what it is.

I walk away from my bed, and as I walk into the corridor outside I am struck by the nauseating smell of rotting flesh and the strong disinfectant that attempts to cover the smell. I sink to my knees, gag and try to vomit, but nothing comes up. I stand up again and walk further down the corridor. At the end of the corridor there is an operating theatre, where a nurse is opening trays of equipment.

Thank god, someone is finally here. She says, and grabs me by the hand.


I'm a patient, I'm not here to work. I protest, trying to get away from her.

She turns around and looks me straight in the eye. Listen love, this is the war. All the anaesthetists in this hospital are no longer with us. We need you to anaesthetise this next patient, or the surgeon will have to do it.... and you don't want that, do you?

I swallow hard as I go into the bay and am faced with a mangled victim, guts hanging out by his side. I am wondering if he's still alive, but he groans weakly and I can see he's still breathing, though shallowly and rapidly. I check my equipment and give him some drugs. As I put the laryngoscope into his mouth, I realise I know who he is, and I'm so shocked that I am temporarily paralysed, unable to move.

The surgeon walks in and says, why have you stopped? he must be dead.

Then I wake up.

Dream: driving to work through the sea, and giant purple macaroons

In this dream I am driving to work. I'm dressed in my usual casual clothes so I must be going to do anaesthetics, and I'm driving alone in my little car.

It could almost be a scene from real life, but I quickly notice the differences. There's nothing on the side of the road at all - a landscape completely devoid of features. As such I can't tell where I am or where I'm going. There are also no cars on the road, and no lane markings on the road. It seems to go on forever, just a smooth grey skinny strip of gravel.

Just as I start to feel vaguely bored of this, a foamy wave catches the corner of my vision. I look over to the right but there is nothing there - I feel like I must have imagined it, and continue to drive. Soon it happens again, and again until I start to see little waves washing up on the side of the road. They look so small and unthreatening though, that I am not disturbed by this at all.

As I continue to drive, the waves seem to come a little closer, and soon I can see the sea, a shimmering mass of blue on both sides of the road. I marvel at the genius engineering of this road which allows me to drive through the sea.

Soon the waves start encroaching on the road and I think, hold on! this is not supposed to happen! This is the road, where cars drive. Waves are supposed to stay just where they belong, in the sea. The waves seem to be getting larger with each tide onto the road, and soon I am driving through patches of water, which don't seem to have any pull to them. Though the car doesn't seem to be moving away into the sea, I am alarmed and look up ahead.

I can see only the sea, a tall homogenous blue stillness that I cannot comprehend. I decide to go back home, but as I start doing a 3-point turn, I realise how silly it is to do a 3-point turn in the sea.

I am shifted in the next scene to a country town I do not recognise, but I think it may be in New Zealand. As I wander around I see an old fashioned butcher, a fruit &veg shop and a paper shop. I come to a shop with a sign "Everything is $5!" and decide to poke around inside. It's full of junk like a $2 shop, and I wonder how the price has gone up to $5 so quickly. I pick up a few kitchen utensils but put them back when I realise they are made of brittle plastic. There are a few American soft drinks like Dr Pepper, and bags of snacks I don't recognise. In the bakery section I see these macaroons which look nice, so I pick some up for a closer look. On closer inspection this pair of purple macaroons are positively huge, each the size of a discus and as tall as a big mac. They look grotesque, as if they were macaroon models that have gone wrong.

How do you fit your mouth around these? I think, and then am transported to the next scene within my own ICU. It's 7:30pm and I am trying to handover to the night registrar. We are standing in front of a ventilated patient hooked up to a bunch of things, obviously a complex patient as I am describing whatever it is that's wrong with the patient. After a few minutes I realise there is a look of utter incomprehension in this guy's eyes. I wonder if maybe he doesn't speak English, so I try to speak to him in Chinese, but all the words come out like pidgin.

This man no good, he die soon. Is the equivalent of my words. Then I wake up. 

Dream: seeking a mountain for a Tibetan sunset

I'm travelling in Tibet. The temperature is cool and I am in the mountains, but it's not somewhere I recognise. I'm at the bus station where people seem to be milling around, like they do in bus stations all over the world. There are lots of monks dressed in the traditional deep maroon robes, travelling solo or in groups.

I start talking to a few people who strangely all speak English. They tell me that there has been a massive revolt recently and that the roads are not safe. People are being pulled off the buses and shot randomly by the police. It's not safe to hitchhike, and as a foreigner taking the bus is not really an option.

I walk out of the bus station compound. Outside there is a straight long highway, reaching into the distance as far as one can see, into the fluffy white clouds. The sun is bright and fierce. I decide to walk because that is an option not involving taking a bus or hitchhiking.

As I walk along the highway I am struck by the barrenness of the Tibetan landscape. Hardly any vegetation survives up here, the ground is rubbly and brown. The air feels thin and I can hear my laboured breathing, the only sound in the stillness of my surroundings. No vehicles come up the road, no animals graze on the side of the road, and I am amazed I don't see any pilgrims.

After what feels like a long, long time, I come to a solitary wooden sign announcing the next village. Soon I come to another weather worn sign with a rudimentary map, which I study carefully. I know I want to get to a mountain to watch the sunset, but I'm not sure how far it is. The map shows the road diverging up ahead, with the left side going up to the mountain.

I look at my watch and it's 5pm, the sun is slung lowly on the horizon and I feel strangely energised, like I'm going to make it to watch the sunset! I walk ahead through the village, a collection of mud huts painted bright white with colourful window frames, like many Tibetan villages I have been through.

Further along the road, I see a collection of trees. Trees? I wonder, why are there trees in Tibet? Suddenly I'm amongst the trees, a densely wooded forest. The canopy is so thick that I am surrounded, overwhelmed by the fresh green scent of the forest and completely enveloped by darkness. I can barely make out the road.

After a few more steps, I look at my watch and the time is 8pm. I wonder how I could have taken so long to get to the forest, and acknowledge to myself that the sun has already set and I must go back to the village which I passed.

I come out of the forest and walk back along the barren road, this time in the darkness. In the distance I see the village with a few fires emitting thin trails of smoke, a homely comforting scene. Yet as I get closer, I hear the sound of excited voices. All of a sudden I am worried about a demonstration in the village, or perhaps the police have come to execute people?

I walk into the village and the first few houses seem to be deserted. Then I see a collection of several dozen people crowded around a makeshift platform, on which several people stand clutching microphones.

They call out: Welcome! Try Fanta's new flavour - cherry flavoured Fanta makes your day brighter! They are throwing cans of cherry Fanta into the crowd, and people scramble to catch the cans.

It's a trick, don't do it! I shout silently, and wake up.

Ramen club: Ramen Zundo

The first rule of Ramen club is: one shall eat ramen and only ramen.

Ramen Zundo in World Square is a small space in one of the side alleyways, the shopfront decorated with lanterns that are often seen in Japan. I had the Mount Chashu ramen - couldn't go past the cheesy name! It comes with a choice of base soups, this was the white (original tonkotsu). Black (with garlic oil), red (with chilli miso), soy and double (half tonkotsu with half chicken soup base) are also available.

The roast pork here is quiveringly divine with long strips of jellied fat that slide down well. The ramen base is thick but not as sticky as Gumshara's, stronger in flavour than the average tonkotsu. Though not quite traditional, I really liked how sprouts and cabbage injected some vegetables into the dish.

I like this one. Round one: success.

Dream: OJ in microwave = exploding broad beans

It is early morning in this dream, it is just becoming light outside. I'm heating up some orange juice in the microwave, except it's contained within a saline bag.

I contemplate the thought of vitamin C absorption by the bag once it's been microwaved, as it spins around.

Ding! it goes, followed by a whining shhhhhhh... noise. I open the door and the bag explodes.

My housemate is standing next to me and the top of his hair is completely blasted off, leaving the sides untouched. I can't help but laugh because it is so hilarious. Then I apologise profusely..

Then we are in the next scene, where we are sitting in a lecture theatre, listening to a talk comparing oral and IV contrast in cardiac surgery.

And I think - since when did they use contrast in cardiac surgery anyway?

Then we are walking home and the time is late afternoon. It has just rained and a pleasant scent of fresh grass is in the air. As we come to a corner, I realise that the house we live in is the house on this very corner.

It's a huge old wooden house with peeling weatherboards and chipped paint. Set slightly back from the street, there is a heavy hedge at the front which is made of broad beans. I marvel at these broad beans which are ripe and plump, almost like they are ready to burst out of their pods.

I can't resisting picking a pod and popping the beans in my mouth. It explodes in a sweet juicy mess and I exclaim to my housemate how delicious the broad beans are.

The police are coming! He says, nervously looking down the street. How will we explain the explosion this morning and all those broken windows? Panic grips his voice.

I think for a moment, and say maybe we can just tell them, that the broad beans got too ripe and we didn't have time to pick them, so they exploded!

Then I woke up.