Redscale tattoo by Assassin Tattoo, NT, Taiwan

 

I am not actually a tattoo enthusiastic. I don’t know what counts as one. But shortly after I got my first tattoo, I realized that it’s a procedure to help me face certain parts of myself, that I’d been trying to convince myself that there wasn’t, parts from the past, possibilities from the future, and something that has always been there.

At first, I only wanted one medium on my forearm where I could hide under sleeve when needed. I chose red because I like the color and I thought it might age better with Asian skin tone. I chose peony because it’s a kingly flower and I like the legend how one winter night it refused to bloom for Empress Wu and got banished from her court.

The next morning, I woke up with a startle as if finally realizing that I simply couldn’t go back.

And there is no going back. I went back to get one more, yet another, yet another, now I got seven peonies and still I want more. I’m now planning to get my arms full. But it costs money. I would have to wait.

I am probably not a very good customer. I feel so guilty that I haven’t given the artist any space to do what he wants. I haven’t even asked him what he likes to do. But it’s so hard to yield, and I can’t help but being selfish.

It’s a sickening thrill, to know you have something so beautiful on your skin, under your clothes. All you need to do is to look, and then you’ll find yourself. You’ll never get lost.

That, of course, it’s not real. But we are not talking about statistic here.

A staggering ride

In New Taipei City, unless you are blessed with the ability to afford accommodation that grants you access to convenient public transportation, it’s hard to get around town. For someone like me, a scooter is very much necessary. However, unlike a motorbike, there’s nothing even remotely macho and rebellious about it. There’s the heavy shower and in typhoon season and the cold in winter, and apparently people who are rich enough to own a car are not smart enough to know how to drive it, so it’s comparatively dangerous for a scooter commuter to share the road with, let’s say, a Mercedes car owner, whereas he can always go like ‘oops, didn’t see this guy coming’ while the scooter rider might just lying dead under the wheels (fine, this image might be slightly too dark. But it happened.)

A second-handed scooter might cost you NT$15,000. If there’s a thirty minute ride to and back from work, in Taiwan, it will cost approximately NT$800 for gar per month. And bear in mind, for a used scooter, constant maintenance is necessary and costly. For example, I just had the transmitter replace, which cost NT$900 for a used, possibly stolen, one, and three NT$200 taxi ride and NT$1,000 when I failed to get to work on time the day the scooter broke. Alas.

You see? That’s what I’m talking about, vicious circle. There you are, stuck with a scooter in the first place, but then it cost you almighty God to keep it going (I might be exaggerating here a little bit, but at the moment, it really made you feel like all your money are spent on that piece of crap.) How are you going to get out of it?

I have a name for my scooter. But first I should tell you the story behind it. I was living in Hualien City at the time. The day was so bright that it’s a shame to spend it indoors, so I got on the scooter and rode south-west into the mountain. The thing about Hualien is that it’s so close to the mountain and The Great Pacific, sometimes, one forgets that it’s still semi-wilderness and just goes thinking it’s just like a trip to the park. Anyhow, I parked my just then bought scooter on the side of the road. And went for a mountain walk. The day was really fine. And the scent of the Nature just set me right at ease. However, when I decided that it’s enough adventure for me, I found myself lost. It may sound incredibly stupid, but I really felt that I might not see the light of day ever again. Just when I was on full panic, there it is, my proven faithful scooter, parked on the road, tilted a little bit, firm on the ground, as if saying ‘alright, you had your fun, time to go, you rat.’ I nearly burst into tears. I named my second hand scooter Grandma, for she’s old, and everything is broken. But she’s reliable and loves me unconditionally.

The garage didn’t have the parts. So I had to leave the scooter and take a taxi to work. I paid for the transmitter, and left the key to the mechanic. He said he would park my scooter outside my apartment building, and hide my key under the mat. With no apparent reason, the idea just simply struck me as disrespectful. I asked him to take the key to my landlord. And then I went to the landlord, and asked him to throw the key to my mailbox. I got home past midnight. There’s an additional twenty dollar for my taxi fare at night. I got the key and immediately went and turned my scooter on. It’s running again. I guess it does seem like a grandma, well, maybe not exactly like her, but at least some sort of a relative: it’s such a pain in the ass to get stuck with her, such a fuss to keep her. But after a costly surgery, I’m really glad that she’s fine.

3 o'clock croissant

I couldn’t fall back to sleep after waking up at three in the morning. Since it’s a waste of time and efforts after tossing around for some time, I got up and made breakfast. I have to admit that it has been a while, such elaboration.

First thing concerning croissant, is to put it directly to the freezer after you get it from the baker, before a certain somebody (meaning me) crushes it. As long as you have a nice bread knife, you’re set. Always preheat the oven, and pay attention whenever you put anything in there. Get it out immediately when the color just turns right (never wait!). Put everything together in a blink of the eye, and take one big bite when it’s still warm and crisp. Such a delicious conquest should always be deemed a bless.

But of course, to get that mouthful of pure content, you have to do it right.

I rinsed the alfalfa sprout, and sliced the tomato already last night. I added a spoonful of water to the egg (much better with milk), got the ham and cheese then put things I wouldn’t need back to the fridge.

I heated the frying pan with olive oil and put the ham in when it’s hot. You don’t need to fuss too much over it. It’s already eatable. So get it out when you get a beautiful color of slightly burnt brown.

Then it’s the omelet egg*. Now this is the biggest deal I learned back at Brunner. If you want to use the same frying pan for it, make sure you wash it, or at least scrub it with a soft scouring pad. Other wise, the egg will burn. As for the taste, there’s no other way than to grease it with butter. That’s right. It’s gonna be FAT. But it’s just like rednecks at a drinking binge, you know it’s so wrong, but it just feels so right.

Now, everything’s in its right place. Toss the croissant in the oven, and ta-ta! Get moving.

Watch the butter, for it’s easily burnt, with this stove, I used medium heat with a fresh rinsed pan. When the water was just about to get evaporated completely, I added in the butter. But I removed the skillet from the stove and melted the butter with the remaining heat. I tilled it sideways and made sure I got the brink as well, so the egg wouldn’t stick. You can use higher heat for omelet egg. I beat the egg thoroughly before pouring it in, and quickly let it cover the skillet evenly. Give it a little knock with your spatula where it bubbles and let the not yet cooked egg seeps through it. You can turn the heat off when it’s mostly cooked but still a little moist on top. Fold it how you want it, place the cheese on top, then the ham, and just let the cheese melt.

Now turn to the oven. What did I tell you? Just look at that elegant, carving-like golden light brown on top. You can almost hear the crumbling sound when you take a bite by just looking at it. But don’t pass out just yet. Spread the mayonnaise on the sliced sides. Place the sprout, tomato, omelet egg/melted cheese/ham accordingly, and put the top on. Holy cow, just look at the cheese melts. Stop what you’re doing. What should be back to the fridge, back to the fridge. What should be washed, don’t worry about it now. Just sit down and enjoy it.

I should warn you. If you want it to look right, try not to press it when you put it together. Just put one layer on top of the other and fast secure it all with a stick. One more thing, it really isn’t for the Victorian I-eat-three-grapes-a-day type of guest if you’re having any. Microwaved beans might work better for her royal highness. This is not for fine-dinning. For this is bound to get messy (so don’t forget to wash your hand before you dig in). And that’s the way croissant crumbles.  

* Omelet egg is not exactly omelet. I think Moss Burger from Japan started it. It’s basically omelet without the fillings. It’s easier to manage than poached egg, but smoother than your sunny side up.