In the dead of night, my mind is swirling around in madness as I toss and turn, unable to doze off like a normal person should.  Outside, the thunder roaring like a lion, sending vibrations through the four walls of my bedroom and its wooden framed tinted glass window.  The room shook for few seconds each time the thunder rolled and blasted an ear defecting sound, worthy of a cringe.  I thought the glass window would shatter, prompting me to keeping my eyes wide open, to be on the lookout.

It’s been over a week of tired limbs, sore muscles, heavy eyes, and light migraines.  I digested all the pills.  Swallowed countless honeyed-minty throat sprays.  Drank pots of luo-han-guo tea.  Yet, the damn coughs lingered.  And now I have phlegm to deal with.  This sucks.  Big time.  With no energy for anything else, work seems like a relentless chore day in day out.  And my gym routine?  WHAT gym routine?  The thought of sweating it out just makes me want to crash into my bed as soon as I get home, and pass out.

Tonight, like many nights prior, my thoughts run wild.  Thinking things that I should not have at this hour of well pass 1AM.  Mainly, food.  I don’t know why, but whenever I get bored, or distressed, or mellow, or ill, food immediately took over my train of thoughts.  A bad habit that is hard to break.  With me feeling cold, under the cover, sarong covering my bare chest, and the rain keeps pouring down like nobody’s business, I begin to wish for some comfort food.  And the first thing that pops into my head is Hong Kong cha-chaan-teng.

Part of the joy in visiting Hong Kong is the breakfast food.  They have got it down almost to perfection.  A cha-chaan-teng place is an ideal spot to be at for an affordable comfort food.  Starting from its milk-tea, to noodle soups, to egg sandwich, to milk puddings.  I crave them all now.  The way I craved them on my last day in Hong Kong last December, as I sat by the window seat on my return flight to Jakarta, looking out at the sun setting.  As the plane parked on the run-away, awaiting for a take off, a rush of heaviness settled deep within, sending a stir of melancholy thoughts and making me wish to return to the city again.  Soon.

I visited numerous eating establishments during the six-day stay in Hong Kong.  Sharing many finger-licking delicacies with a special someone definitely worth the experience.  From Michelin star restaurants to street side hole-in-the-wall places, many have warmed and replenished my soul to a point that I could actually see myself living there.  But when I have to recall the memorable ones, immediately the cha-chaan-teng varieties that sent my tongue to salivate.

A food blogger, Ladyironchef, once blogged about the top 10 cha-chaan-teng places in Hong Kong.  Of the top ten, I think I have only had a chance to visit three or four.  Many of these establishments are named in Chinese characters, preventing me to recognize or pronounce the name.  I too have been to others outside the listed top 10, but one thing they all have in common is the milk tea.

It’s a must.  I don’t think there is a single cha chaan teng place that doesn’t serve a milk tea.  It is basically the core and basic item to be found on the menu.  Unlike chai, it is a plain black tea mixed with milk.  Unsweetened, it is just as delightfully fragrant as when flavored with some granulated caster sugar that one may find provided on the table.  They do serve coffee as well as plain tea with lemon slice, but somehow Hong Kong breakfast without a cup of milk tea is just not the same.

Moving on to something heftier, you’ll come across several choices for noodle soups.  You may go with the simple macaroni soup with ham slices or instant noodle with beef.  But I’d opt for a true noodle soup, ranging from thin vermicelli with sliced pork and pickled mustard greens, to thick vermicelli with pork chop and shrimp-pork dumplings.  What I truly like about these noodle dishes is the lightness of the broth that comes with them.  All tasting differently, but flavorful without the heaviness that certain noodle soups may have, such as with ramen noodle broth.

This goes beyond a meal of wanton noodle soup or rice porridge that many may associate Hong Kong with.  A legitimate and common association when it comes to Hong Kong food, but a totally different shear of satisfaction in comparison.

When one is craving for a lighter fare and less noodle-like, I’d vote for the always-satisfying egg sandwich.  Most often, you’ll be served with thrillingly-thick buttered toasted sandwich bread accompanied with perfectly wet scrambled eggs.  The shear thickness of the bread provides a false pillow-like texture that we Asians tend to die for.  Perfection comes only when married with the softness and joyous flavor of the eggs.  If that is not enough, you may opt for a sweeter version, the same bread slice topped with crunchy-gooey peanut butter and drizzled with sticky sweet condensed milk.  Heaven on a plate.

Many customers surrender to the optional pork chop in a bun/sandwich concept when they crave for bread.  Though tasty, this doesn’t particularly send me off to a foodgasm.  Oh well, I guess I’m not most people.

If a dessert is all you would want in the early hour of your day, you can settle with some silky smooth milk puddings.  Flavored in a variety of choices that range from regular, to egg, to ginger, to brown sugar.  My favorite has always been the yellow colored egg milk pudding.  It has the lightest flavor, for it lacks that milky heaviness in comparison or the sugary sweetness one may find in the others.

The next best thing is the regular one.  Though it is heavier in flavor than the egg variety, it is what most people preferred, hot, for its true milky aroma.  All puddings available in either hot or cold.  I personally prefer a cold one, as it gives off a subtler flavor and aroma.  Though my preference may change from time to time, especially when eating in the cooler December climate of Hong Kong.

Alas, I still lay awake thinking about what I could stuff my mouth with at a night like this.  Even when it’s close to 2AM.  The soothing and cozy-warmness I feel each time I had some Hong Kong breakfast food truly is bewitching and would forever be memorable.  It would be such a perfection if by some miracle there is a knock on my door and came a room service rolling in a tray of all those mentioned above.  Sigh… I would even settle for a dim sum selection right now.  Guess I just have to toughen it out tonight.  Stomach growling or not.

Here’s me being greedy over a perfectly baked barbeque pork bun at one of the famous breakfast dim sum places in Hong Kong.

I’ve been bad.  Real bad.  Surfing through the internet many a times to get my fix of pen porn.  Yup, it’s official.  I’m obsessed.  Downright spellbound by the many images of brown skinned beauties.  Each with its own distinctive swirls of grain, blotches of eyes, and shades of natural brown, they hit a cord deep within me.

Transfixing my eyes on my MacBook screen, my right middle finger slowly move up and down on the scroll pad, welcoming the many eye candies bombarding my vision.  Just when I thought I have seen the most beautiful creation, then another one appeared right after.  Then another.  Then another.  Then another.  Is it any wonder why I can’t seem to limit my credit card usage when confronted with such temptations?  My weakness for wooden fountain pens pleadingly needs a remedy.

From time to time, like any sane fountain pen enthusiast, I’d be online, surfing through the many sites selling fountain pens, just to get a feel of what’s available, what’s new, and what bargain one may find.  Not necessarily to make another purchase.  And so for many months now, I have been in and out of many sites and found myself eyeing several possible options for my next acquisition or two.

One of those potential purveyors is Fine Writing International (FWI).  A passionate fountain pen maker in Taiwan, who hand-makes stunning-looking wooden fountain pens using many varieties of wood material from around the world.  His creations seem to display his deep appreciation for working with natural materials.  The same approach that I would expect from Japan and the nation’s many arts and crafts.

Ever since I found FWI through Facebook, I couldn’t help but to keep following his many postings on new released products.  He is a stationary seller in Taipei that specializes on fountain pens and the many accessories to go with them.  He has custom-made many wooden fountain pens in various style and material, and the craftsmanship looks like the work of the highest artistry.  I personally have affection for a deeper shade of brown wood, especially those that come with an interesting pattern for its natural grain.  The following are some of his work that became my favorites:

Bocote

Circassia

Cocobolo

Mun Ebony

Shiraz

Taiwan incense burl

My hands are sweating from the itch of wanting to touch one of them fountain pens.  Just to feel the texture of the wood and to see, physically, the true beauty of their grain pattern and color.  I made a promise to myself that when I get a chance to visit Taipei again, I’d be sure to visit his shop and bring back one of these babies home with me.  If there is only one thing I could bring back from the trip, this would be it.  Hands down.  Now I just need to find out HOW MUCH one of these babies would cost me…

Recently, an unexpected gift came my way.  As always, a gift is always welcomed, especially when it is in fact comes in a form of something edible or drinkable.  In this case, a box of Orange Pu-er tea.

Skepticism shadowed the joy of this gift receiving.  Not for the reason behind the act of the gift giving, for the gift giver is a genuinely nice person, but for the impossible enjoyment of the gift itself by yours truly.

Anyone who have spent enough tea drinking sessions with me knows that I am not a big fan of a full-on fermented tea, such as the many black/red teas one may find.  Only because I have never truly enjoyed that strong tannin-earthy flavor that usually comes with black/red tea, unless it is mulled with something equally strong in flavor, such as bergamot, cinnamon, mint, or vanilla.

I have mentioned once, in my past blog on tea, that pu-er will never be a choice of mine.  I could easily pass this on to someone else to enjoy.  However, a gift is a gift, and a gift is only fully appreciated when it is had and tested.  And so I put a blind eye on the matter and decided to respect and prize the kindness of the gift giver, by testing it out at least once.

The tea is packaged in a bright persimmon-orange square box, adorned with a single sketched picture of a citrus fruit.  English and Chinese descriptions at the back of the box detailed an explanation on its content, an ‘Aged’ Orange Pu-er tea.  This is a product from China, but due to my lack of understanding in Chinese language, I can’t decipher its many Chinese characters to understand where in China this tea comes from.

Upon opening the lid of the box, I found a singular flat ball of an object wrapped in white paper and sealed with a dark red printed label sticker.  Inside this wrapping is a cracked and flaky whole skin of a dried charred tangerine, filled with pu-er tea.  The tea itself looks like what to be expected of any pu-er tea, blackened dried strips of tea leaves resulted from a long fermentation and aging, with a dark copper tint on the surface to reflect its predictable earthiness in essence.

It is said on the description on the box that these pu-er tealeaves have been aged inside the dried tangerine for many years, to fully absorb the sweet citrus aroma of the skin.  One that I was eager to find out soon.  And so I took out my white ceramic tea set, a gift I recently received from one of my uncles in Taiwan.  I think it is only fitting to test one gift together with another gift, both for the first time.

I took a couple of generous pinches of the said tea into the tiny teapot.  I filled it with boiling water, and watched as the liquid turned its bland regular self into a deep primal brick-brown in color.  A color, I reckoned, suitable enough as an ink color for my many fountain pens.  The tealeaves quickly collapsed to the bottom of the pot, while the few pieces of the dried tangerine skin floated still on the surface, slowly absorbing heat and moisture.  Couldn’t hold back my curiosity any longer, I poured some of the still-hot tea liquid into a cup and carefully picked it up to take a much anticipated sip.

In an instant, I was disappointed.  Expecting a rush of citrus aroma entering my nostrils, it never did.  I was confronted, instead, with what I was dreading to revisit.  That gush of scent resembling the earth and all its glory.  To its defense, I’m being bias, for I’m more used to the gentler flavor of green tea.  This particular pu-er is actually not as heavy in its earthiness as those other pu-er teas I have tested in the past.  I’m guessing its extreme subtleness in citrus flavor has steeped deep into the overall aroma, enough to mask the usual earthy boldness to make it seem mellower.  This mellow quality, for those who used to the flavor of pu-er, would be considered as the sweeter and gentler quality of pu-er tea, allowing the drinkers to detect the mild aromatic citrus aspect of this particular product, differentiating it from a regular pu-er, and making it a highly prized and unique type of pu-er tea that is uncommon and special.

So what’s my verdict?  This tea is NOT for me.  As they say, a rose by any other name, is still a rose.  This aged orange pu-er tea is still a pu-er tea.  Despite its distinctive quality and costly value, I’d still stick to my regular choice of oolong tea.  Once one is smitten, it is hard to untie the bind that one has with the one he is smitten with.  And in my case, I would happily be stuck with my oolong collection.