Complacency

躬自厚而薄責於人, 則遠怨矣(論語．衛靈公篇)
(Strict on yourself yet forgiving on others will keep resentment away - a word of wisdom from Confucius)

Too often in our lives we became complacent at other people's mishaps or when things that simply don't sound right. Remember the time when you had a terrible dish at a restaurant yet when the waiter came by and asked how everything is, you told him everything's good without hesitation, because you didn't want to upset the chef? How about the time when someone in your team screwed up but you held back your criticism because that person happened to be your best friend/the nicest person on the team or you just want to avoid any embarassment to anyone? Then what happened? Well he screwed up yet again, and again, and again, because no one has told him so.

I am sure there are hundreds of reasons why we chose to be so: because we have been taught it's part of our traditional moral values; because it's the political correct thing to do; because we always want to be the peacemaker; because no one likes the awkwardness that may result when someone speak their minds. But it is a dangerous path really when we start settling for less, in big or small ways, whether to yourself or to others - complacency breeds mediocrity. And once we decided to go down to this trap of mediocrity there's no turning back: soon enough you would think it's okay for a fine-dining restaurant to serve ready meals; soon enough you would think Genki Sushi's better than Sushi Shin because they got more smiley faces in openrice (or Spaghetti House really is the best Italian restaurant in town); soon enough you would think that random Australian Pinot you got at Park N Shop can rival your treasured DRC Grands Echezeaux; soon enough you would think functional constituency can be considered as part of universal and equal suffrage. Well, hope you got the idea.

It's time for us to stop following this downward spiral - by this I am not advocating people to be hypercritical or nitpicking; I am merely saying people should just say what they truly feel without hesitation of being seen as "political incorrect", or be afraid to offend somebody. Trying to play Mr Nice Guy in a bad situation doesn't make it goes away, and by tolerating mediocrity we will eventually turn into one, when we start to think it's acceptable to be mediocre, or "average" became a new word for "good".

So let us all start by telling the waiter the food's bad when you think it is so, or letting people know that Spaghetti House is NOT an Italian restaurant; that terroir does count in making good wines, and there's no place for functional constituency in equal suffrage. Please...

Night at Maison Boulud

Other than Peking ducks, it's actually an evening at a French restaurant that made it the highlight of our brief Beijing getaway during Easter long weekend.

Maison Boulud - owned by the famous NY restauranteur Daniel Boulud (of the newly-crowned Michelin 3-star Daniel, Cafe Boulud and a handful other fine and casual restaurants), has been in operation since 2008, and since then received nothing but great reviews and won every best restaurant awards you can find in Beijing. One can't possibly argue this is the perfect setting for a fine-dining establishment - located in the storied former legation quarter of Beijing just southeast of Tiananman Square, the restaurant occupies the main mansion of what used to be the US Embassy built during the late Qing Dynasty period.

Now the Embassy building has been converted into a vast "luxurious lifestyle complex" (named Chi'enmen 23) featuring a contemporary art gallery, a Patek Philippe flagship store and two other restaurants (one managed by Claudio Sadler from Milan and the other by Hong Kong-based ZEN restaurant group) and quickly became a new Beijing landmark. As we walked up the mansion and through the door just after sunset, we were greeted by the maitre d' and the troupe of eagerly waiting staff inside, as if they were just expecting us. We felt like we were stepping into history as we walked by the reception area with long staircases and chandeliers, and then wowed by the vast and minimalistically-designed dining room. We were seated in the middle of the room and almost immediately we discovered a wide range of clientele in there - at one corner there are a couple of what looks like a young Chinese entrepreneurs sharing a bottle of nice Chateau Margaux, then there's a Western couple having a birthday celebration, and behind us, a casually-dressed Cantonese-speaking tourist family enjoying an evening out.

We were offered the menu with a la carte choices and also a 6-course prix fixe menu, and for this month, the prix fixe menu is a selection of Burgundy dishes along with matching wines (from the same region). The wine list consists of two "books" of red and white/rose choices, with a wide range of selections, some usual and some rather not so. I was already having so much fun flipping through the pages, appreciating its selections. At the end, three of us opted for the prix fixed menu while mrs m went a la carte.

After the delightful amuse bouche of beets with tuna mousse and beef tartare, We set off with the typical dish of Potée Bourguignonne, essentially a vegetable soup with pork. I can't say it's the best I've ever had, but it's nonetheless hearty and flavorful and we certainly appreciated the lightness of the dish as later on we have more filling courses to come. Next up is the rustic Jambon Persille served with country toast, another classic Burgundy fare which we didn't have a chance to enjoy more often prior to this evening. The third course, a ragout of escargot and pigeon, was my favorite dish of the night. The strong flavors and unique textures of escargot, pigeon and crayfish came together for a wonderful symphony of tastes, and nicely presented on a bed of potato mash along with soft-boiled egg and garlic emulsion on top.

Mr Boulud has been known for his different ways to prepare foie gras dishes - including the mouth-watering DB Burger which he created at his NYC bistro that started off the whole gourmet burger frenzy some years ago. This evening, our foie gras was served with roasted young hen with garlic confit as the fourth course. Boeuf Bourguignon is perhaps the most famous Burgundy dish and the one we had almost countless times, but tonight I think we had the best of it all. Beef - looked like it's from the shoulder cut - was cooked just right and in generous portion, and simply couldn't go wrong with onion confit, mushrooms, and lots of bacon lardon - in my opinion the key ingredient for the best boeuf bourguignon. That's a classic. We concluded our evening with the cheese course.

Each course came with its own matching wine, and they were as impressive as the dishes. Not only that, you can really tell they put the effort in designing the menu as both the dish and the wine brought the best of one another. And in no time did we find our wine glasses empty throughout the evening - the wait staff quickly refilled as soon as we put down our glasses. I particularly enjoyed a sip of the big and rich Meursault that came with my ragout dish and the rounded, lingering Vosne Romanee at the end with my cheeses. And service was as best as we have experienced in all of China - attentive, well-trained and well-mannered. We also liked the comfortable settings of the dining room with big couches, easy-listening music, simplistic decor - never felt as uptight as many other fine-dining French restaurants.

We certainly enjoyed our night away from roast ducks, dumplings and buns and indulged ourselves in such beautiful and historical setting with wonderful food, top-notch service and intriguing dining experience. How satisfying.

details:
when? april 4 2010
where? maison boulud, chi'en men 23, beijing
occasion? Easter holiday
menu highlights? Fricassee D' Escargot au Pigeon
drinks?
(Menu with matching wine selections)
Domaine Michel Gros Bourgogne Hautes Cotes de Nuits Blanc 2005
Domaine Stephane Aladame Montagny 1er Cru Cuvee Selection 2006
Domaine Yves Boyer Martenot Meurseult "Les Narvaux" 2007
Domaine Jean Chartron, Bourgogne Aligote Clos de la Combe 2006
Domaine Pierre Amiot, Morey St Denis 2005
Domaine Christian Clerget Vosne Romanee "Les Violettes" 2006

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CNNGo

Just a sharing about our dining experience at Tam Keung's Speakeasy a few months back - originally it's in chinese but i re-wrote one in english for them. Surprised they actually picked that and put it on the site. Yay!

(Click on the picture above will get you to the article itself)

a sunday dinner menu

Just a dinner at home that i enjoyed making this past sunday. no pictures though - I will leave that for your imagination. =)

amuse bouche: pan-seared scallops served on a bed of morel and porcini mushrooms

first course: slow-cooked salmon with green pea puree and lemon sabayon

second course: beef bourguignon with potato mousseline and dijon cream sauce

quartet of cheeses

sweets: mascarpone icecream; mixed berries compote; cabernet sauvignon reduction

wines:
Meursault 2005, Domaine Jean-Philippe Fichet
Jordan Cobblers Hill 2004, Jordan Winery, Stellenbosch, South Africa
Sauternes 2005, Chateau Suduirut (Berry Bros & Rudd's own selection)

Always on the side of the egg...

This is coming from a speech by my favorite novelist Haruki Murakami, on his acceptance of a literacy prize in Jerusalem last year in the midst of conflicts in Middle East.

I saw a commentary earlier linking this speech to some recent local news events, and I think it's so true. We can always argue whether any actions taken are too naive, whether they are sensible, or justifiable, or effective, but "between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg." (在一堵堅硬的高牆和一隻撞向它的蛋之間，我會永遠站在蛋這一邊。) As long as it's for a noble cause, this is the right thing to do. As a matter of fact, in situation like this, merely standing on their side is the least thing one must do.

Government is that high, solid wall, and we as individuals are the eggs. Who's right? Who's wrong? No one knows. But futile as it might be, stupid as it sounds, we, as fellow "eggs", as individual minds which have every right to express ourselves and voice out against what we've seen as injustice, ought to stay together and stand on the right side.

What a simple statement, yet so powerful and resonant.

Anyway, here's what he said in full:


I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.

Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies. Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and military men tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders. The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling lies. Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics. Why should that be?

My answer would be this: Namely, that by telling skillful lies -- which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true -- the novelist can bring a truth out to a new location and shine a new light on it. In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately. This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form. In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth lies within us. This is an important qualification for making up good lies.

Today, however, I have no intention of lying. I will try to be as honest as I can. There are a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.

So let me tell you the truth. In Japan a fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize. Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came. The reason for this, of course, was the fierce battle that was raging in Gaza. The U.N. reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded Gaza City, many of them unarmed citizens -- children and old people.　

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power. This is an impression, of course, that I would not wish to give. I do not approve of any war, and I do not support any nation. Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.

Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here. One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it. Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told. If people are telling me -- and especially if they are warning me -- "Don't go there," "Don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that." It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist. Novelists are a special breed. They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.

And that is why I am here. I chose to come here rather than stay away. I chose to see for myself rather than not to see. I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

Please do allow me to deliver one very personal message. It is something that I always keep in mind while I am writing fiction. I have never gone so far as to write it on a piece of paper and paste it to the wall: rather, it is carved into the wall of my mind, and it goes something like this:

"Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg."

Yes, no matter how right the wall may be and how wrong the egg, I will stand with the egg. Someone else will have to decide what is right and what is wrong; perhaps time or history will decide. If there were a novelist who, for whatever reason, wrote works standing with the wall, of what value would such works be?

What is the meaning of this metaphor? In some cases, it is all too simple and clear. Bombers and tanks and rockets and white phosphorus shells are that high, solid wall. The eggs are the unarmed civilians who are crushed and burned and shot by them.

This is not all, though. It carries a deeper meaning. Think of it this way. Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: it is "the System." The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others -- coldly, efficiently, systematically.

I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on the System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them. I fully believe it is the novelist's job to keep trying to clarify the uniqueness of each individual soul by writing stories -- stories of life and death, stories of love, stories that make people cry and quake with fear and shake with laughter. This is why we go on, day after day, concocting fictions with utter seriousness.

My father died last year at the age of 90. He was a retired teacher and a part-time Buddhist priest. When he was in graduate school, he was drafted into the army and sent to fight in China. As a child born after the war, I used to see him every morning before breakfast offering up long, deeply felt prayers at the Buddhist altar in our house. One time I asked him why he did this, and he told me he was praying for the people who had died in the battlefield. He was praying for all the people who died, he said, both ally and enemy alike. Staring at his back as he knelt at the altar, I seemed to feel the shadow of death hovering around him.

My father died, and with him he took his memories, memories that I can never know. But the presence of death that lurked about him remains in my own memory. It is one of the few things I carry on from him, and one of the most important.

I have only one thing I hope to convey to you today. We are all human beings, individuals transcending nationality and race and religion, fragile eggs faced with a solid wall called the System. To all appearances, we have no hope of winning. The wall is too high, too strong -- and too cold. If we have any hope of victory at all, it will have to come from our believing in the utter uniqueness and irreplaceability of our own and others' souls and from the warmth we gain by joining souls together.

Take a moment to think about this. Each of us possesses a tangible, living soul. The System has no such thing. We must not allow the System to exploit us. We must not allow the System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: We made the System. That is all I have to say to you.