A couple of you asked me why I started sewing and like I mentioned, I was inspired an antique patchwork baby blanket made for my by my paternal great grandmother. I still keep the blanket till today but because its so old, it’s disintegrated into shreds and I’m so afraid to use it least it turns into dust. Bear in mind that when virtuous housewives of ancient times make patchwork, the fabrics were remnants of old clothings, unlike now where we often buy new materials for a desired pattern. The older folks know a thing or two about recycling.

So I decided to start this restoration project. I cut adequate fabric, hem them, and hand sew the pieces over torn patches. Some say it’s not sustainable because the other fabric would start to tear as well but let’s worry about that later. At least for now, I can hand down a true piece of antique to our beanie who’s about to meet the world.

This was the condition of many of those pieces before.

and after the cover-up is sewn over.

The finished product (sans the ironing sorry)

It’s the name of the place but I also mean it literally. Or shall I shall OUR favourite cafe of the fellow sweatshop slaves. Honestly I had wanted to write about this wicked eatery for the longest time, but you see, we are very protective about our Yong Tau Foo, with special possessiveness towards The Meatballs. We were worried if we told the whole world about The Meatballs, they would run out and we would rot in hell forever. I mean FOREVER!

But luckily only 3 persons read my blog and they all know about this special place already. Oh and let me tell you a legend of this Yong Tau Foo place…

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Once upon a time, not so far away in the craziest shopping district of Singapore lies this magical fortress. On the 6th floor of the fortress there is this mythical cauldron that produces the most spellbinding, wonderfully delicious little crispy meatballs. Anyone that had eaten these meatballs becomes instantly contented, balanced and happy with life again.

Once, a knight and his chariot came upon the cauldron and set a record for eating more than anyone could possible stomach. He was crowned God of the YTF and challenged everyone to eat as much as he did. Many kingsmen (and ladies) came and tried to top his record but were all terribly defeated. It was simply beyond any normal human’s capabilities to eat that much.

True story.

The End.

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I have sworn to protect the secrecy and whereabouts of this wonderful place but if keeps you awake at night, you can email me.

*photos courtesy of AhJune’s Weblog

at the Marina Barrage with team was loads of fun despite the neck craning and slight exhaustion. Would love to do it again sometime soon!

All our kites in action…

This person looks vaguely familiar. I think I remember her when she was not yet whale-sized…

The initial plan was to make a baby sized blanket with a ladybird theme because ladybirds are deemed to bring good luck. But of course the I let my over-zealousness take over and I ended up with a teen sized blanket.

Who is excessive? Not me! Nek!

Pop up hand-sewn appliques are a nightmare to make but extremely gratifying when completed.

A big part of the project was made with recycled fabric remnants…

pieced together in harmony. Her first baby steps to being green! :)

That’s the back of the blanket…

flaunted by these lovely international dollies.

Well at least her birthday presents for 12 years has been sorted out!

I know I haven’t been the most diligent in updating this blog, and I thank you for even coming back here to see what’s happening. You see, I’ve been busy baking something really, really special. Something D-man and I have both looked forward to for ages.

I’ll give you a clue. I made these in preparation.

We are naturally very, very excited and am grateful to all the hand-me-downs received so far. Some of these stuff are so cute I want to keep them for myself.

Thank you, mucho Gracias, Vielen Dank!

A-gal has this uncanny ability to make it look like she prepared this whole table of yummy, Sichuan dishes, while looking perfectly composed and nicely groomed like the ever fabulous party host.

Actually I don’t believe Tommy could have concocted all these by himself either, if I had not been the witnessing, suffocating victim of spicy, tear-inducing cooking fumes.

Well-done Tommy. We’re looking forward to your new restaurant soon! :)

I love birthdays. It’s always a happy occasions and its a great excuse to eat obscenely copious amounts of junk food.

The only exception is my own birthday. Like some incurable disease I dread it every year and wish it’ll never come. I’m sure i’m not the only one though, someone actually made up a name for it. Here’s a funny example of Fragapane Phobia.

But these gals I’ll gladly celebrate birthday for…

and especially so for this little peanut..

I just can’t bring myself to believe she has turned 11. That’s 77 doggie years. That’s ancient. Who would believe she’s 77?

Not me for sure.

This one’s for my pal D. Her dear sister is expecting a precious boy and she wanted something special for her new nephew. D is extremely trusting and brave, for she left it to me to make whatever I want (or rather, could).

I hope she likes this. Because I very much do.

The background is that A-gal bought a super karaoke set which was loaded with like a million Chinese oldies that none of us could sing. So being the savvy shopper she is, the old (but cool) sweatshop gang was invited to her house for a crooning session. So I made some Pico de Gallo and guacamole (if you haven’t tried it yet, the recipe is here. And believe me you’ll want to try it. Its liberating!), loaded a tonne of chips and sour cream in the trunk and off we went to A-gal’s.

Everyone was polite and dainty at first. And we stuffed our faces with chips and dips. Then we found out that the super karaoke set had a grading system.

That was when all hell broke loose. Especially when we found out (unfortunately) that the louder you are, the better your grades were.

So my pals went from singing..

To squeezing every ounce of breathe they had in their pathetically puny lungs.

It was loud. Really really loud.

A-gal’s domestic helper packed her bags and threatened to leave the house for good. A-gal’s dog dug a deep hole in the garden and flung himself inside. It was that scary.

But at least someone was happy with his performance.

You know, they say it never rains but storms… for a blardy good reason.

Life has been crazy these weeks, with company auditors whipping my arse and boxes waiting hungrily at home to be packed. Packing to move I can understand since it’s inevitable but which masochistic person invented this company auditing system anyway?

Back to packing. Oh gosh, where do I start. And I’m not even a hoarder in the first place.  It is a horrible, painful and back-breakingly tiring task. Except that I found some of these pretty crockery which once belonged to Grandma.
……… ok so I AM a hoarder. Happy?

But how can you throw away something as pretty as this?

or this?

or something as airy fairy as her?

I thought these were so cool too, in a kitschy but decent way.

I like old hand me downs because I like to imagine the stories behind them. Who used these before? Did granny throw parties then with these? What had she served in them? Who ate them? When? Where?

Seriously, who needs fine china and exquisite porcelein if you have these oldies that tells you stories as you eat. :)