Jetting off not for culture or shopping

They were my two most precious possessions from Paris, and I was paranoid they would break.

I wrapped them in the thickest woollen coat I had with me, then stuffed that inside my well-padded computer bag (I hand-carried my laptop instead).

I placed the computer bag in the middle of my suitcase and surrounded it with layers of clothes.

I checked in the bag at the airport – and hoped for the best.

When I reached home, I unlocked the suitcase with some trepidation. But they were safe.

The two bottles of “Speculoos pasta” which I’d bought from a Carrefour store in Paris were intact. The glass hadn’t cracked.

I opened a bottle, dipped a spoon into it and, oh my goodness, this is really, truly, delicious stuff.

The care I’d taken to keep the two bottles safe had been worth it.

According to Wikipedia, Speculoos is a thin, brown and crunchy biscuit that was traditionally baked in Belgium and the Netherlands to celebrate St Nicholas Day in December and northern France around Christmas. It is now found all year round.

It contains spices such as cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger and cloves and tastes like ginger biscuit.

Speculoos is also made into a paste that you spread on bread. It looks like peanut butter but is spicier and creamier. This “cookie butter” is available under various brands and the one I got was from Lotus Bakeries and is called “Speculoos pasta”. It costs less than ‚3 (RM13) a bottle.

I’d discovered Speculoos pasta while in Paris on a work trip two weeks ago.

I was in the hotel feeling jetlagged and decided to Google something serious – like who’s who in French politics – to get me sleepy.

Instead, I got to Googling French restaurants. Then, because there was a Carrefour City store a few doors away from my hotel, I checked out best food souvenirs from French supermarkets.

That was when I discovered Speculoos (which is actually a Belgian product), along with other delights such as hot chocolate sticks which you swirl in cups of steamed milk, tubes of creme de marron (chestnut cream), chocolate-covered madeleines, flavoured bonbons and French marshmallows.

I was drooling and wanted every­thing. I managed to get some at Carrefour next door, including the Speculoos cream which added nearly 1kg to my luggage but who cared. A quick stop at the fantastically stocked Lafayette Gourmet section in Galeries Lafayette got me the rest.

Once upon a time, going on holiday for me meant checking out a country’s famous sights and sounds. When I was in my 20s, I soaked in museums and watched plays.

In my 30s, I grew bored with culture and zoomed in on a city’s shopping, for clothes, knick-knacks and household wares. Going on holiday to the United States meant lugging home queen-size duvets. They’re so much prettier there, even those from chains like Walmart.

In the last decade, I’ve grown tired of even that (how many more Vietnamese tablecloths does my house really need?)

Instead, I am obsessed with a country’s food.

Before I set off on a holiday, I’ll research where to eat, what foodstuff to buy, who the city’s food bloggers are, and their favourite eateries.

My fascination with food is strange because I don’t have very discerning or adventurous tastebuds. I stick to what I’m familiar with. My knowledge of food is also superficial. I can’t rattle off the names of world-famous chefs, and I don’t even know how to cook or like cooking.

You’re just greedy, says H, and he’s right. I am very greedy.

A few years ago, we went to Penang and all I could think about was hunting down a zichar restaurant called Teksen in Georgetown. I’d read that it had terrific fried roast pork (which I don’t even normally like).

We found the restaurant and it was one of the best dishes I’ve ever eaten in my life. The double-cooked pork was chopped into tiny pieces and fried with chilli padi and soya sauce till almost caramelised. It was heavenly with rice. We were in Penang for three nights and had dinner there twice.

We spent three nights in Bangkok recently and had three meals at Nahm at the Metropolitan hotel where we stayed. I just couldn’t get enough of the menu, especially the coconut and turmeric curry of blue swimmer crab and the cendol, or pandanus noodles as they call it.

Bangkok’s famous for its Or Tor Kor market near Chatuchat, which sells the most amazing fruits and vegetables and anything from salted fish to dried bael fruit (I carted both home).

We headed for a stall there (facing the Skytrain station) that sells the most amazing peanut dumplings with Thai green chilli and toasted garlic. I’d tried it during our last visit earlier this year and had been dreaming about it ever since. The dumplings were even more delicious than I’d remembered. I had about 20.

Although H wanted to take a river cruise and maybe catch a muay thai fight, I wasn’t done with Bangkok’s food.

I signed us up for a walking food tour in Bangrak, the old part of the city. Our Thai guide took us to five restaurants including a Muslim restaurant that sold a version of laksa and an old bakery called Panlee where we got piping hot custard filled buns straight from the oven.

I love supermarkets and farmers’ markets, and when we were in Britain earlier this year, we visited farmers’ markets at every stop we made. My mother went crazy over the huge bunches of juicy cherry tomatoes that cost a fraction of what you pay in Singapore.

While museums give hints of a country’s past, its markets and supermarkets are living exhibits of its present-day life.

The stunning Isetan food hall in Tokyo, for example, is a display of the best in Japanese culture – beauty, variety without bulk, creativity and attention to detail.

Whenever I visit a Walmart in middle America, I’m amazed at how super-sized every­thing is, including the country’s junk food, and the space devoted to different types of toothpastes and toothbrushes.

I’m now planning a trip to Kyoto and no prizes for guessing what I’m doing my homework on.

Bliss, I’ve discovered, is eating spoonfuls of Speculoos cream from the jar while Googling the goodies that await me at Nishiki Market.

The views expressed are entirely the writer’s own. 

Jetting off not for culture or shopping