Do you have a recipe for a happy retirement?

I LIKE Tan Sri Ahmad Fuad Ismail's recipe for retirement. In an interview with this paper last Friday, the outgoing Kuala Lumpur mayor said his most immediate plan was to cook for his family for Ramadan. He will later open a restaurant or cafe, or perhaps write a recipe book.

Having served an extended two-year term to make sure the city is better off than it was three years ago, the former mayor certainly has made a good decision to serve his family now instead.

Many of us forget that we spend a third of our lives in dreamland, and the remainder chasing those dreams and building our careers. To be able to happily retire and pursue one's passion is a blessing indeed.

In between working on our careers and taking care of our family's day-to-day needs,  the years fly by without us realising it.

When all is done and the years have flown, we may realise, sometimes too late, that we should have spent more time with our loved ones or done  the  things that we loved instead of being tied to  the workplace and being consumed by our jobs even when we are away from the office.

No doubt, some of us are happier at the workplace than anywhere else but that's a different  story.

Cooking is a great way to show love and appreciation for the people who mean a great deal to us. Panir, a friend in the food business,  told me that if one cooks with love, even a simple meal will be a feast for the person eating it. I couldn't agree more, although I am no cook.

For all the fancy food I have eaten,  nothing is more satisfying than a  plate of steaming hot rice, a fried egg, cold cucumber slices and some belacan (shrimp paste) for a dip. It is a simple meal that my mother used to prepare for the family when I was growing up.

After I got married, my wife asked why I loved this meal so much. I told her it reminded me of the hardship my family faced post-1969, when my father's grocery business was ruined by racial strife. But the meal does not only remind me of hardships, it also reminds me of our resilience in overcoming difficult times.

My wife, who grew to share my love for the simple repast, would prepare it whenever she sensed that I was having a rough day.

I am sure Fuad's family will be overjoyed when he takes over the kitchen to cook them a buka puasa meal this Ramadan.

According to Fuad, the last time he cooked dinner for his family to buka puasa with was in 2000, when he was serving as the Subang Jaya Municipal Council president. Twelve years is a long time. And what better way to catch up  than over a buka puasa meal?

The former mayor celebrates his 59th birthday today. On top of wishing him a happy birthday, I hope  he will be blessed with the good health to celebrate many birthdays to come, and to cook many more meals for his family and friends.

And when he does open a restaurant or write a recipe book one day, he can count on my patronage.

No stomach for pricey probiotics

A FRIEND who had been grappling with constipation was bursting with joy when we met up for dinner recently. He was all smiles the minute he stepped into the Chinese restaurant at Sentul Raya. He even suggested that we order the Szechuan steamed stingray, a dish he used to avoid because the black pepper would worsen his constipation.

When I asked him what had relieved him from his chronic ill, he said it was probiotics. He found out about the friendly gut bacteria at a health fair in Singapore recently.

Not only is his bowel movement now regular, even his eczema was gone, he said.

Now a probiotics evangelist, my friend actively encourages his family to go on probiotics-rich diet. That evening, he did not only explained the benefits of probiotics to me, he even gave me a list of brands to check out.

I told him that I had been taking probiotics for many years but mine did not come with fancy names nor were they imported. Mine is commonly known by it Indian name -- tairu, the plain yogurt even non-Indians can learn to make in their kitchen.

I learnt how to make yogurt years ago after Indian friends told me that tairu (creamy yogurt) or moru (the liquid counterpart) taken with a dash of salt, was not only good for the gut but also fantastic for dispelling heatiness.

I was also told that yogurt was frequently added to Indian dishes.

However, I learnt about the health benefits of lactobacillus, the good bacteria present in yogurt, way back in the early 1980s. Now I make a kilo every few days for my youngest daughter. She started taking it six months ago when I told her it would help heal mouth ulcers. I had learnt that from a book by Adele Davis, a nutritionist who pioneered the concept of eating right to keep fit.

Four decades ago, who had heard of probiotics? Or used it to keep constipation at bay? Those days, if one is constipated, doctors usually recommended laxatives, one of which is Brooklax. It looks like a small piece of Cadbury chocolate. Take it at bedtime and you will find fast relief in the morning.

Even the commercially-available cultured milk drink had yet to make its appearance back then. I remember how much trouble the salesmen had trying to explain why the lactobacillus bacteria was good for the gut to the less-educated shopper.

Those days, however, most people were already eating healthy traditional foods that contained generous amounts of good bacteria. If you recall, the Chinese have their lum yee (fermented beancurd), hak tau see (fermented black beans), phei tan (century egg) and preserved ginger.

The Malays made tapai (fermented tapioca or glutinous rice) and tempe (fermented soyabean cakes), in addition to pekasam (fermented fish).

Most Indian families made their own yogurt long before commercial ones appeared on the shelves.

Today taking probiotics have become a fad. Those who swear by it, like my friend, tell me that good probiotics should contain live cultures. The capsules have to be kept refrigerated and taken on the long-term before the effects are seen or felt. They also don't come cheap.

The way I see it, if we could just look back at what our forefathers ate and put those "peasant foods" on our table, we certainly don't need to stomach the marketing hype or be constipated paying through our noses for commercial probiotics.

Humble fare no longer small potatoes

HAVE you ever had steamed tapioca (or ubi kayu) for breakfast? It was common fare back in the old days. It was seldom sold at the stalls because it was not as popular as breakfast staples nasi lemak, nasi dagang and kuih , but it was often served at home.

Folk ate it with grated young coconut or dipped in sugar. As a kid, I ate it, too, but with ikan kering (salted fish), usually selar kuning (yellow-tailed scad).

Steamed tapioca was regarded as humble fare for the poor. It was very cheap, at only 10 cents a kati (or 600 grammes). Two katis were enough to provide an ample meal for a family of five.

Tapioca plants grow quite easily, too, and most homes would have a few planted in their backyards to provide shade for the ducks and chicken.

To grow a tapioca plant, you only need to stick a cut stem into the soil. Even with minimal care, it would mature in about 10 months to provide you with three to five tubers, each the size of a corncob. If you regularly feed the plant cow or chicken manure, it would reward you with tubers as big as a man's thigh.

Harvested tubers can keep for a long time if stored in a cool, dry place, away from the rats.

Apart from being steamed, the tubers can also be grated and baked into tapioca cakes. People also made tapioca flour at a time when cornstarch was a luxury.

Recently, at a coffee shop in Hulu Kelang, I saw plastic packets of steamed tapioca sold at RM1.50 each. Curious, I asked a friend, a regular there, if steamed tapioca was making a comeback.

The chap told me that the steamed tapioca there had found a loyal following, especially among foreign workers. A packet of steamed tapioca was more filling than regular breakfast items and much cheaper, too.

Another poor man's fare, sweet potatoes, are enjoying a revival with city folk, especially the health-conscious.

Rebranded as "wholesome, healthy snacks", roasted potatoes are selling like hot cakes at kiosks in shopping malls, especially at the one near my home. Last Thursday, curiosity and hunger got the better of me after a round of marketing there.

The growling in my stomach turned into piteous pleading at the scent of roasted sweet potatoes.

I headed for the stall, picked a yellow-skinned sweet potato slightly bigger than my fist and asked the foreigner manning the stall for the price. After putting the tuber on the electronic scale, he said, "RM7.50."

When I complained that it was expensive, he told me his sweet potatoes cost RM1.80 per 100g, the reason being they were imported from Japan. My appetite left me, and I, apologising, left the stall.

While roasted sweet potato may be a more salubrious snack than burger and fries, the indulgence would not be healthy for my wallet.

I would be literally paying through the nose if I had succumbed to the scent of nostalgia that evening. On top of that, I would be a "han choo thow" (or potatohead in Hokkien).

For lack of tastier fish to fry

SPOTTED featherbacks (ikan belida) were being sold at the Serdang pasar tani where I was recently. I had not seen this freshwater fish being sold anywhere in the Klang Valley except in aquarium shops and even then, only as pet fish.

The Cantonese call the common featherback "toh yue" or "knifefish" because of its knife-shaped silvery body. The spotted featherback, which has between seven and 10 dark spots on its lower body, is called "chat-sing toh" or seven-star knifefish. The fish can be found in unpolluted rivers, lakes and disused mining pools.

The last time I saw one sold in a wet market was in Pusing, a small town near Ipoh, three years ago. The fish measured an arm's length. I asked the Chinese man who bought the fish if it was good for eating. He said the fish had many fine bones and was best used for making fishballs, which was why some people called it freshwater ikan parang (wolf herring, a marine species traditionally used for making fishballs).

To have seen the spotted featherback in an urban wet market such as in Serdang came as a surprise because, as far as I know, the fish do not belong to the mainstream table fish species such as red tilapia, ikan sepat (Malaysian gourami), patin (river catfish) or keli (common catfish). A thought that came to my mind then was that city folk had developed a taste for exotic freshwater fish species or our fishermen was running out of common table fish species to catch. But don't be surprised if it is both.

Last week, I read that live ikan puyu (climbing perch) are fetching a good RM15 per kilogramme. The hardy fish, which can survive long periods with little or no water, can be found in abundance in padi fields, mining pools, lakes and some rivers.

In the 1970s, the ikan puyu (or ikan betuk as it is sometimes known) was not seen at dinner tables simply because there were other tastier fish. Ikan puyu were only kept in earthen jars or dropped into wells to feed on mosquito larvae.

Sometimes, they are reared in Horlicks jars placed inside the house for protection. According to an old wives' tale, the ikan puyu never sleeps, and this enables it to be able to protect premises from being broken into by burglars using "pukau" or spells. This belief was rife among the Chinese but my Malay friends also said the same of the fish in their households.

But having seen large numbers of live ikan puyu being sold in wet markets, I know it is not superstition that has inflated its price. One ikan puyu lover told me told me that the fish fried in kunyit (turmeric) powder and cili padi will make you drool for more.

If you were in Johor and had been to the fish market there last week, you would have known that the prices of fish had gone up almost 50 per cent.

A shortage of imported marine fish due to declining exports from Sumatera has caused the hike. Indonesian fishermen were not going out to sea due to bad weather and what little they caught made it unprofitable for their exporters to send their fish over here.

Our fishermen, too, failed to find fish because of the haze and this sent ripples through the fish market as consumers grabbed what they saw without worrying if the prices were a little fishy.

In such a situation, is it any wonder that unpopular fish from our inland waterways, like the spotted featherback, are now finding ready buyers in the city?

A cashew acquaintance from the past

I WAS jogging at Lake Titiwangsa in Jalan Kuantan last week when I spotted an elderly chap trying to pluck a fruit from a tree.

Although it was already sunset, the chap, who was dressed in sports attire, paid no heed to the failing daylight. He was trying to reach some fruits on a broad-leafed tree using a bamboo pole.

As I got nearer, I saw that he was trying to hit the ripe fruit of a cashew tree. He finally succeeded but the fruit was reduced to pulp upon hitting the ground. Letting out a sigh, he sought out another fruit.

Curious, I asked the man if he knew what the fruit was. Happily, he replied that he didn't know but it had tasted nice the first time he ate it, and he had been plucking them every time he was at the park since.

Another chap who happened to be around that evening was amused. "City people," he said to me under his breath. "They don't even know a cashew tree when they see one."

"It's not surprising," I replied. "There are not many places in the city these days that you can find cashew trees growing wild."

In the early 1970s, there were quite a number of them in Gombak and Sentul. Today, I can only find one near Kampung Puah. The tree grows in the compound of a Malay house but I don't recall ever seeing it fruit.

If you want to see a cashew tree today, I suppose you will have to go to Lake Titiwangsa's pony riding track.

The cashew trees are planted near the stables, but I doubt you will recognise the tree unless you have previously seen one.

You may have tried the cashew shoots though, as ulam (Malay raw herb and vegetable salad), perhaps. And you may even have mistaken them for something else as cashew shoots exude a sharp, citrusy fragrance when bitten into.

There were plenty of cashew trees in Terengganu where I grew up. The trees grew well along the beach. Folk collected the seeds when the fruits ripened. In fact, it is the only fruit which seeds develop outside the flesh. It is this peculiarity that gave birth to a "pantun teka-teki" (quatrain riddle), which goes like this:

"Anak kera naik keldai
Keldai pula memakai seluar
Kalau tuan bijak pandai,
Buah apa bijinya di luar?"

The riddle asks if you know which fruit bears its seed on the outside. Pupils used to recite the poem to test the general knowledge of their peers during my schooldays.

As far as I know, cashew fruits are seldom eaten because they taste "kelat" - a Malay term which English equivalent I have yet to find.

The sap is believed to cause lip ulcers on sensitive skin.

Only the seeds are sought after, roasted and eaten like nuts.

These days, electric ovens are used to roast the cashew nuts. In the past, we fried them in heated "pasir garam" or fine sand along the beach.

According to an online report I recently read, cashew nuts are rich in fatty acids that can lower the bad and raise the good cholesterol.

They are also good stores of minerals and essential vitamins, including zeaxanthin, an antioxidant that protects the eye.

An old wives' tale, however, has it that eating cashew nuts can cause newly-closed wounds to re-open and existing ones harder to heal.

Follow Chukai's paperless carpark

LOCAL authorities in cities should occasionally visit small towns and take a look at how things are run by their counterparts there. Sometimes, if they are lucky, they may learn something useful.

Many years ago, before the digital countdown traffic lights arrived in the Klang Valley, they were already used in Malacca. From what I was told when I first saw one there, a particular junction in Malacca town had the highest accident rate among motorcyclists before the lights were installed.

Apparently, motorcyclists and some motorists tend to speed past the junction whenever the lights were amber, not knowing that the red light would come on in a split second.

When the digital countdown was installed, car drivers and motorcyclists were then able to estimate whether they could make it past the junction before the lights turned red and before traffic from the other side moved across the junction. This has reduced accidents tremendously.

Last week, when I was in Chukai, Kemaman, I decided to drop by Hai Peng coffee shop for roti paong (local coal oven baked bread) and its famous coffee. There were no parking bays along the road near the shop, so I parked at the open car park across the road.

If you have been to this car park, you will agree that this could be one of the most environment-friendly parking systems that can be adopted by local authorities in the Klang Valley, to add to their green effort.

This car park does not use tickets that often end up being discarded indiscriminately and choking drains.

The parking area is colour-coded. Each parking bay has a number. You only need to locate an empty bay, park, and note the bay number and colour of the section.

Then you walk to the electronic parking terminal that has the same colour code, punch in the duration you need to park and pay into the machine.

The machine does not issue tickets. The parking duration is instead displayed digitally on the terminal.

The parking enforcement officer only needs to check the meter for bays where the parking duration have expired and walk to the illegally-parked car to issue a summons.

I don't know if this system is implemented anywhere else in the country, but I have not seen it in Kuala Lumpur, Petaling Jaya, Klang or even Malacca.

Most parking meters I have come across issue tickets that motorists then had to display openly on the dashboard. Others, like Malacca, use pre-paid coupons that you have to scratch out and display on your dashboard.

Both systems are not environment-friendly since they use paper. Chukai's parking system is paperless and it means less discarded paper get into the drains and fewer trees need to be cut to make the coupons.

I wouldn't be surprised if the Chukai parking system is cheaper to maintain as well.

Be alert always even in seemingly safe areas

LAST week, the Internet was abuzz with a first account posting by Internet marketeer Chin Xin-Ci who related her experience of being abducted at a shopping complex in Mutiara Damansara.

The story, which was posted on Chin's Facebook page, was titled "30 hours ago, I escaped from being kidnapped". Uploaded in the wee hours of May 29, the story went viral with over 45,000 shares over the next few days.

According to the posting, Chin was abducted from the mall's car park by two men after she had paid for her parking ticket and was about to leave. One of her abductors, armed with a meat cleaver, surprised her when she was putting her stuff into the rear seat. Despite having the cleaver pressed against her throat and realising what was happening, Chin did not appear to panic but put herself in a position to escape without raising the suspicion of her abductors.

As the other abductor who drove the car slowed down to exit the mall's parking lot, Chin saw the opportunity to escape.

She opened the car door, fought with her abductor in the rear seat, and made a run for it. Except for scratches and bruises, Chin was safe. She even managed to post her harrowing experience on Facebook to alert others.

Chin was lucky. Few women, even men, can keep calm under such a stressful condition. Not panicking gave her the clarity of mind to think of an escape when opportunity presented itself. Not many people can react with such presence of mind. What she did was extraordinary.

When we visit a shopping complex or any high traffic area, we are unconsciously reassured by the presence of the crowd, security officers, as well as the sight of closed circuit television cameras (CCTVs). Unless you are sceptical, chances are that you will even believe that someone alert is monitoring the area from the security room. You see it in the movies and often you think it is the same in real life.

Only when cases like Chin's come to light, you begin to think again and start to worry for your safety.

If the Canny Ong tragedy has taught society any lesson, it should be to always tread with caution when in public places, especially dimly-lit and secluded areas like underground car parks and alleys. Those that appear safe may not be, despite what people tell you.

Sure, most shopping complexes in the city have CCTVs and you see them most of the time. Some of us even try to park near the pillars where they were mounted so that thieves will not break into your vehicle and steal your valuables.

But in reality, have you ever wondered if the electronic eyes are in good working condition?

Are they able to capture events that transpired within their scope clearly, under the lowest lighting condition?

Are those manning the CCTVs trained to watch out for suspicious characters and be alert enough to identify a crime in progress? And if such event occurred, how fast would the security personnel come to your aid if you are a victim?

These days, very few shopping complexes position ticket cashiers at the exits of their car parks. To cut costs, electronic payment booths are provided. This system reduces a long queue at the gates and saves the complexes manpower costs.

There is usually CCTVs at exit points but I suspect these are to keep an eye on people who may try to exit without paying.

Without human presence at the exit point, the CCTV recordings may be too late when it comes to preventing a tragedy.

The way I see it, you have to be alert always. Forget about how safe you feel in familiar places.

Keep your eyes on your surroundings at all times. Watch out for anything suspicious even if you choose not to park at a low-lit or secluded end of the car park.

By being alert at all times, you would never know when you might save your own life or that of another person even in the seemingly safe areas.

Hunger for knowledge leads one to develop questioning mind

WHEN I entered secondary school in the 1970s, one of the things my form teacher told his students was if we wanted to lead interesting lives, we should try to improve our general knowledge. So serious was he that he dedicated a period each week to a "general knowledge" class.

During the "general knowledge" period, which was held on a Friday, students were divided into teams and pitted against each other in a quiz - with questions set by students themselves. Mostly the questions were about stuff not found in school books.

The "general knowledge" class was so interesting that it became the highlight of our school week, and absenteeism was zero. There were no prizes for "winners" except bragging rights.

The best were affectionately nicknamed "walking encyclopaedias", a titled worn with pride those days.

The weekly drill for things we did not know unconsciously made us hungry for general knowledge and the quest for more cultivated in us a curious, questioning mind. Those who knew most in school those days went on to not only do well academically, but also were successful in later years.

One chap surnamed Lim, whom my classmates and I nicknamed the "professor" because of the wide range of stuff he knew, later went on to become an adviser to a prestigious foreign-based financial organisation.

Although general knowledge did not make it as a subject in schools, like living skills, I recall owning a book written about it. Simply titled General Knowledge, the red book about the size of a desk diary was published by Preston, if I am not mistaken, and cost a princely $9.75 then.

I came across General Knowledge by chance at one of the bookshops in Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman and my bamboo coinbox became the casualty. Although my savings were intended for a shortwave radio I had been eyeing for weeks earlier, the book got the financing first because the copy I found was the last the bookshop had.

One of the reasons I bought the book was to help me write better compositions. The other reason was because I could not afford the better "general knowledge" books my friends owned -- the Encyclopaedia Britannica. They were way out of reach for my father's finances.

But General Knowledge was just as useful in its portability as what it contained. The content was a storehouse of facts and trivia that ranged from general science to astronomy, and geography to world history as well as mathematical formulas to determine stuff like volume, surface area, distance, etc.

I have not seen books like it today and I regret that I have lost mine before my children could read it.

Of course, my children, like yours, are well-versed with the Internet today and they have access to information no encyclopaedia during my time could provide. But sometimes, I wish they had developed the same curiosity and thirst for knowledge my classmates and I had.

Perhaps it was easier those days for people to read meaningful books, newspapers and other periodicals when there was no Internet or entertainment to distract them.

Maybe people from our generation owe it to our teachers - the few rare ones who were highly knowledgeable and who took the trouble to plant seeds of curiosity to make us who we are today.

Do not make light of your child's safety

RECENTLY, on my way to work in the morning, while waiting to make a U-turn at the underpass near the Abdullah Hukum LRT station, I noticed a little girl about 5 years old running along the skirting of the building.

Walking behind her was a woman, probably in her 30s. It could have been the girl's mother since there was no one else at the ground floor of the station.

The woman did not appear concerned over what the little girl was doing. She was so engrossed with something on her handphone that she was not even looking where she was going, let alone pay attention to the little girl who was a leap away from the rush-hour traffic.

The first thought that came to mind was the safety of the child. If something were to happen, there was no way her mother, who was at least 30 metres away, could do anything to save her.

My thoughts were not of the girl being abducted. I was thinking of the obvious dangers on the road that morning.

With the heavy traffic at the time, a dash onto the road could have spelt instant tragedy for the young child and her family. And who would be blamed then?

When a tragedy befalls a child, we read of parents rationalising the incident by accepting it as fate.

Society, in cushioning the impact of the grief and not wishing to add more pain, also absolves itself of the guilt. We should not blame the parents, they have suffered enough, we console them.

But why not, especially in obvious cases of sheer irresponsibility like what I saw that morning?

It was not the first time I had come across such acts of irresponsibility. I had seen many parents take their eyes off their children in shopping complexes and supermarket, areas they presume to be safe just because they had been there countless times.

God knows how many times I have heard the public address system announcing cases of young children who had "lost" their parents. Sometimes, there were several cases within the hour. In most cases, the parents get so engrossed in their shopping, they did not realise their children had wandered off.

Once, I happened to be at the information counter when a crying child was brought to there. Minutes after the announcement was made, a woman with the child's several older siblings in tow came to claim the 5-year-old boy. I asked the mother if she was not worried that the boy would be abducted.

The mother replied that her son was mischievous, and without even thinking, said: "Maybe it will teach him a lesson not to wander off next time."

I was speechless when I saw how she had justified her lack of attention, and irresponsibility. Indeed, if the child had truly gone missing, the lesson would have been hers to learn, and one probably too late to benefit from.

When cleanliness of tableware matters most

A TOURIST, who shared our table at a packed restaurant recently, asked my friend Sham why he was eating using his hands instead of using a fork and spoon. Sham replied that it has been his habit.

Unless he was at a formal function or when situations did not allow him to do so, like partaking in a Japanese dinner where chopsticks are used, he said, he would rather eat with his fingers.

"I feel more comfortable using my fingers," Sham said.

"Food tastes better when you eat with your fingers. If you are eating fish, you can also feel for the tiny bones, which you otherwise could miss if you used fork and spoon."

I agree with Sham. Sometimes you can trust your fingers better than the fork and spoons provided by the eateries. People who eat with their fingers are in control of their hygiene provided they always wash their hands properly.

You can't say for sure the forks and spoons at eateries are clean these days. I have seen my fair share of stained ones, both at the stalls and at the 24-hour restaurants -- even if some of them are nicely wrapped up in colourful serviettes.

Of course, the stained forks and spoons would have easily escaped notice had I not make a habit to give a closer look.

At the stalls, I have been put off by dirty little baskets that gleaming forks and spoons are kept in.

I have seen too many ants and cockroaches crawling out of these containers which have been left overnight in the open.

These days, I make an effort to clean the forks and spoons with plain water first before using them. I also asked my wife and children to do the same, for you can never tell if the owners of the eating places take the trouble to wash the utensils properly before storing them.

I know some food operators who just leave their forks and spoons on the tables when they close at night.

Who can say that the improperly wiped tables and unseen food scraps left there did not attract rats onto the tables where these utensils are and soiled them with their urine or faeces?

Of course, there is no point in getting too paranoid over cleanliness. You might even say that taking the trouble to wash these may not guarantee full protection. But at least, you would have reduced the odds of getting ill, wouldn't you?

When eating at the Chinese stalls where the chopsticks are not properly kept but left standing in open chopstick holders, another friend often looked for preserved green chillies. She often dipped her chopsticks into the vinegar solution used to preserve the chillies.

Apparently she was discreetly using the vinegar to "sterilise" her chopsticks, especially when the stall did not have tap water for washing them.

A 15-second dip, she said, was enough to kill most germs. So far, she has been free of food poisoning. My only worry is she may get herself into trouble with the stall keepers one of these days.

No free ride for parking-lot hogs

THE rampant hogging of parking bays in space-challenged commercial areas continues to plague local councils, especially those with booming commercial districts under their jurisdiction. Whether it is in Wangsa Maju, Kelana Jaya, Pandan Jaya, Puchong or Klang, the culprits are usually business owners who claim the parking space in front of their premises for their own.

Understandably, some businesses such as motor workshops and car accessories retailers need to keep the space in front of their shops free for customers's vehicles in for service.

Supermarkets, too, sometimes reserve space for suppliers to unload goods.

However, when the proprietors peremptorily cordon off these parking bays without the respective council's consent and without paying rent, they are not only depriving the public of parking facilities, they are also robbing the local authorities of revenue.

Some seal off parking bays with makeshift no-parking signs, cones and chains. The braver ones even paint over the existing parking bays to claim them as private property.

Perhaps, the biggest abusers of public parking space are the operators of eateries. While business is good, the cost of a proper extension or renting bigger premises would eat into the profits; thus these clever businessmen set up more tables and chairs on the five-foot ways and the adjacent parking lots.

Parking space hogs are not a new breed. These spectres have made their rounds in the newsrooms, and risen their heads at many council meetings. How they have eluded capture is anyone's guess.

By law, placing any form of obstruction on a designated public parking lot is illegal. Unless you have rented the space from the local authority, you cannot simply make it your own.

Those who occupy parking space illegally can be slapped with a fine -- but only if the local authorities choose to act.

Most local authorities are relaxed about it -- until the issue is highlighted by the media. Otherwise, those who hog parking space continue to do so blatantly, causing congestion and giving errant motorists the excuse to double park.

Local councils take into consideration population density before they approve the development orders of projects, Can they not consider vehicular traffic density before approving the licences of businesses that are likely to hog parking space?

Visit any new business district and chances are, you will see that the motor workshops, car accessories dealers, vehicle exhaust installers and tinting shops have zoomed in there as quickly as the eateries, there.

Before you know it, the parking bays in front of these business premises have become their private property that they reserve for their clients.

At the very least, those hogging parking space should be made to pay rent. This way, even if the public is deprived of parking space, the local authority is not losing parking revenue.

After all, the facilities need to be maintained, and maintenance needs money. Surely the ratepayer need not pay for the upkeep of facilities that he may not use.

Local authorities, which allow such blatant disregard for the law to continue by not acting against the culprits, are losing the ratepayers' goodwill, and worse, the public's faith in their integrity.

Reaping benefits from organic waste

THREE years ago, I found out how to make garbage enzyme by fermenting kitchen waste. Someone had sent me a link to an online story about a chap who made garbage enzyme from kitchen waste.

According to the story, one of the by-products of making garbage enzyme is ozone.

The enzyme maker said that if all households worldwide were to make garbage enzyme, we would be able to replenish the depleting ozone layer.

However, what attracted me to garbage enzyme at that time was more than ozone production.

I was interested because I had also read that garbage enzyme could be an effective alternative to cleaning detergent, especially for cleaning toilet bowls, the bathroom walls and floors.

I was getting tired of using pricey chemicals that seemed to lose their effectiveness once the products became too popular.

At that time, I had also found out from my neighbour Simon that his wife had been making garbage enzyme for household use.

One evening when I visited them, I had commented about how white their marble floor looked. Simon's wife told me that she had used liquid from fermented pineapple peels.

By fermenting pineapple peels in a solution of brown sugar, the resulting enzyme when used for cleaning the floors, she said, would not only give their marble floor a shine but also make it look whiter.

I was convinced.

My first venture was lime peel enzyme - made by fermenting lime peels I had collected from a drinks stall near the office.

Two kilos of lime peels fermented in 10 litres of brown sugar solution over three months provided me with enough enzyme for over four months.

My cost was less than RM10 for a bag of brown sugar. The enzyme, when diluted with water, not only cleaned the floor of my condo's corridor better than bleaching agents but it left a lovely lime scent.

I also found that there were fewer ants there these days.

Last week, the Subang Jaya Municipal Council (MPSJ) became the first local council in the country to venture into turning market waste into fertiliser and fuel, through vermicomposting and anaerobic digestion processes, respectively.

The project between MPSJ, Universiti Putra Malaysia and traders being undertaken at Taman Sri Serdang market is part of the Serdang Green Town programme launched last month.

Vermicomposting uses earthworms to turn vegetables, meat and other perishable wastes into organic fertiliser while anaerobic digestion uses microorganisms under little or no oxygen conditions to break down wastes and produce energy.

Similar to the making of garbage enzyme, vermicomposting and anaerobic digestion are friendlier means to get rid of organic wastes.

According to the news report, MPSJ's effort will help reduce two tonnes of organic waste at Taman Sri Serdang market daily.

The organic fertiliser generated from the vermicompost will be shared between the council and the traders while the biogas produced from anaerobic digestion will be used to power the market's generator set.

I wish other councils will take the cue from the MPSJ to do their bit for the environment. Market wastes often end up choking the drains, or if dumped at landfills, generate more greenhouse gases that contribute to global warming.

By using vermicompost or anaerobic digestion to deal with such wastes, local councils not only save on having to buy fertilisers for their parks and nurseries, they can also save themselves the headache of looking for landfills and clearing choked drains.

Disabled drivers who endanger themselves

IS there a speed limit for disabled persons riding modified motorcycles? I am asking this because of what I saw on the Middle Ring Road recently while I was on the way to Sri Damansara from Batu Caves.

I was driving at 70kph on the elevated highway when a disabled motorcyclist overtook me on the two-lane road.

I doubt the chap, who was riding a modified cub with a rear three-wheel set-up, was aware of the speed at which he was going. He must have been travelling at no less than 90kph before he disappeared into the distance.

The incident was not the first time I had seen a disabled motorcyclist throwing caution to the wind.

Some months back, I saw one who was following a train of bikers riding up the road shoulders to avoid the traffic jam on the road.

The fact the disabled biker almost lost control of his machine when one of his rear wheels slipped did not appear to frighten him, as he tried to maintain balance on what I thought was a narrow ledge for the modified bike.

Another encounter I had was near Sentul Pasar one morning. A makcik with a disability was riding a special motorcycle with a signboard mounted in the rear. The signboard that read orang kurang upaya (or OKU referring to person with disability) was written in a font large enough to be legible from at least 10m.

I thought that was how all bikes for the disabled should be set up. Seeing the makcik riding slowly on the left lane, I also thought that she was a fine example for other disabled bikers to emulate until I noticed that she was not even wearing a helmet. The only covering on her head was a red headscarf.

The traffic policeman, who was busy manning traffic at a zebra crossing there, must have missed it or he would have given her a summons for riding without a helmet.

Once, while travelling from Malacca to Kuala Lumpur along the North-South Expressway, I found myself behind a very slow moving MPV. I thought the driver must have been catching forty winks when I noticed the OKU sticker on the rear windscreen.

But as I was overtaking the MPV, I saw a middle-aged man driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other, a mobile phone. He was either surfing the Net or he was trying to text someone. When he saw me staring at him, he didn't look surprised, and he continued with what he was doing.

I get angry whenever I see able-bodied motorists depriving the disabled of the OKU parking lots or when they do not give way to the latter when on the road. But when disabled bikers or motorists do not show concern for their safety or that of others by riding or driving recklessly, it drives me up the wall.

All fired up about grilled burgers

LAST month, my wife told me about a burger stall near home that had been attracting long queues, so much so that the customers had to wait up to two hours to have their orders fulfilled. I thought she was joking.

Then curiosity got the better of me last week, so I decided to check the stall out. It is in Desa Setapak, by the only access road into Wangsa Maju Section 2.

Usually, I would not drive into the area unless necessary because of the jams created by inconsiderate people who park - and double park - their cars and bikes along the two-lane road. That evening, with my wife, I decided I had to find out for myself if the stall was really as popular as she said.

When I arrived in the area, my appetite was dampened - not by the bumper-to-bumper crawl on the road but by the back-to-back queue at the burger stall she showed me.

One chap in the queue told me that I could take a number and return later to collect the burger when it was ready. Otherwise, we could join the queue and soak in the free smells first while we waited for our orders.

Since the end of the line was nowhere in sight where I stood, I decided not to wait. So I suggested to my wife that we go for chapatti at the Punjabi stall in a less crowded neighbourhood.

Later, my wife complained that I didn't know what I was missing. She said her colleagues had been singing praises about the grilled burgers at the stall, simply known as Kaw Kaw. They even helped to promote the lava-rock flame-grilled burgers on their blogs and Facebook.

A few days later, when I read about the same burger stall in a local daily, I regretted not finding out how good the burgers were. According to the report, the stall's loyal customers did not mind waiting up to three hours for their orders.

A colleague who had tried the grilled burger told me that once it took him over two hours to collect his order but he did not mind because the bite was well worth the wait.

"The patties are large and delicious," he said.

"You can even order the 'tower burger' if you have a big appetite," he added, referring to burgers with a stack of patties, made famous by Dagwood Bumstead, the comic strip character in the 1970s, if you recall.

According to the report, the stall sells an average of 250 burgers daily, at prices ranging from RM7.50 to RM18.50 each, and up to RM55 for a tower burger.

Judging by the queue, the operators must be laughing all the way to the bank. I am sure you will too if you do the maths.

Just when I thought the street burger business was getting saturated, the success of this stall surprised me. Although grilled burgers are not new - Burger King had been offering flame-grilled burgers since the late 1990s - I don't recall having seen any street stall offering one until now.

Now you know why this stall's grilled burgers is hot with fast-food lovers. Humbled by the discovery, I shall now look at street burger businesses in new light.

But if you are thinking of going into steamed burger business, forget it - someone has already beaten you to it.

Let us drink to health...

DO you know what a Milo Volcano is? I didn't until I saw a chap order it at a stall I frequent a few days ago.

It is simply iced Milo in a tall glass, except that the drink is topped with several scoops of the chocolate-y powder heaped into a mound resembling a mini volcano. That gives the drink its name, I think.

How the 40-something chap could down it all in one sitting alarmed me, but my wife was not surprised. She said the man could have a high metabolic rate and the extra sugar probably did him no harm.

That incident reminded me of my first encounter with the three-layered tea.

I had seen the drink advertised at stalls and restaurants two years ago and decided to order it one hot afternoon. It was the first and last time I was to do so.

The iced tea, milk and gula apong (nipah palm sugar from Sarawak) presented in three layers in a tall glass turned out to be too sweet for me. Even after the ice cubes had melted, I had to pour half of it away and add water to dilute the remaining tea. In the end, I abandoned it. Seeing anyone order the drink these days gives me the jitters.

Another popular drink at the stalls is the teh lychee. Don't ask me who joined together this odd-couple of a beverage.

I suspect that taking it on regular basis, especially after a heavy lunch, will not only kill you, but also your employer. I cannot imagine anyone being able to stay awake after a washing down lunch with the teh lychee.

The tea usually comes with several lychee out of the can. To add the fragrance to the drink, lychee syrup from the can is added - in addition to the heaps of sugar that had already gone into the tea.

I once asked a beverage maker what had inspired this strange combination because lychees are traditionally rarely taken with tea. The man said he had seen it at a stall one day and decided to offer it at his as well. The response from his customers, he added, was sweetly encouraging.

Today, not only do you have teh lychee, there is also the Ribena lychee, and other mutations of the original.

The makers of these drinks have jumped on the bandwagon of offering a dizzying range of dangerously-sweet concoctions that are so popular that at some places, you have to take a number and queue up - just like in hospitals - for your sugar-laden treat.

If we are to eradicate lifestyle diseases, I think we might just stand a chance if we were to focus on the drinks as well as the food. Most of us can avoid oily, fat-saturated food, but how many of us can cut down on our drinks at the mandatory tea-times?

If the local authorities can grade food premises according to cleanliness, the health authorities can grade them based on the nutritional content of their offerings.

As for the drinks that are sold off the shelves, I think they should also carry health warnings - just like the cigarettes.

Eating off supermarket shelves and not paying

LAST week, while shopping for cheese at a supermarket's cold storage section, a shopper attracted my attention.

The man, who was in his 60s and dressed in sports attire, was browsing through bunches of grapes across from the section where I was standing.

From the way he was rummaging through the unwrapped fruits, I figured that he must be a meticulous buyer - until I saw him surreptitiously popping some grapes into his mouth.

He did it several times until one of the supermarket staff spotted him. When the man realised that two pairs of eyes were trained on him, he quickly made his escape, but not before plucking another fruit and popping it into his mouth.

If you have been to the supermarket often enough, you may have seen similar incidents.

Just hang around the tidbit counters and I am sure you will see greedy shoppers dipping their hands into the cookie jars, despite the "No Sampling" signs.

Last week's incident with the grape stealer was not my first encounter with a greedy shopper. I would not have been surprised if the man was shabbily dressed. I might even have forgiven him if he was, for he could be too poor to afford grapes.

But from his attire -- he was wearing an Adidas T-shirts and track pants, a pair of Nike shoes, and had a Suunto watch strapped to his left wrist - he looked like he could afford more than a bunch. God knows why he treated himself to the fruits as if they were samples.

The worst case I have seen of a food thief was at a supermarket where a man and his wife had four kids in tow.

One of his daughters had been throwing a tantrum and he wanted to pacify her.

So, he reached for a pack of Vitagen drinks, took a bottle and gave it to his daughter, before returning the package, one bottle less, to the shelf.

When I saw the man again at the checkout counter, he and his family were walking through one of the empty lanes as if they had only been window-shopping. Obviously, he had no intention of paying for the bottle of Vitagen he took.

I once asked a supermarket supervisor how her employers dealt with shoppers who helped themselves to foodstuff and did not pay for them.

She said it was difficult to act because by the time the floor staff sprang into action, the evidence would be gone. The food would have been eaten and the containers thrown away.

"But, if we catch them in the act, like drinking packet drinks or eating ice-cream, we will politely ask them to pay for the food first.

"Some of us have been accused of being rude to our customers, especially when they have successfully got rid of the evidence. The more educated ones may even threaten us with legal action if we fail to show proof of their wrongdoing."

What do you think of supermarket goers who help themselves to food that are not for sampling? I consider it shoplifting.

How would you describe taking something from a supermarket and not paying for it?

Treat living with kindness and respect

THE Chinese are celebrating Qingming on April 4 this year. Also known as "Tomb Sweeping" Day, the annual festival honours the departed. It the time when families turn up at cemeteries to clean the graves of loved ones and offer prayers, food and other items deemed useful to the dead.

Decades ago when the Qingming was less commercialised, prayer offerings comprised simple stuff such as paper houses, figurines, horses, and clothes. The most important items were paper "gold" and "silver" ingots (known as kim and geen respectively in Hokkien ) which were considered currency for the Netherworld, to be burned as offerings at the graves.

During the run-up to the festival, which is celebrated 10 days before and after the actual date, families got together to fold the paper ingots with sheets of gold and silver joss paper. The art was dutifully handed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter, although boys also got to learn it.

Depending on the wealth of the kin, usually at least a gunny sack each of the "gold" and "silver" ingots had to be offered to the dead annually.

The act of folding the ingots not only allowed family members to strengthen ties with one another but it also symbolised filial piety for departed family members.

These days, I am not sure how many people know how to fold paper gold and silver ingots. These prayer items are seldom sold because Hell Bank notes of various denominations have taken over the role of legal tender in the Netherworld.

The convenience of modern living has also opened up a whole new world for the dead. Manufacturers have come up with every imaginable product for the dead that have been inspired by real life stuff and it is big business, come Qingming and the Hungry Ghosts festival.

Last year, paper iPhones and iPads were very much sought after, just as replicas of LCD television sets and satellite dishes were the previous.

This year, umbrellas are popular. One vendor of prayer items said, because of the wet spells here of late, the kith and kin of the departed are sending over paper umbrellas in case the weather over there is equally bad.

At the creative extreme, flattering replicas of luxury cars of famous German marques have been spotted. Superbikes, too, have found buyers, and so have mountain bikes.

And, if local products are not good enough for the dead, vendors here look overseas.

Last week, a news report featured a shop in Penang selling imported paper bicycles costing over RM100 each for Qingming. Apparently locally made ones were of poor quality, hence the vendor had to import them from China.

How the vendor knew which bicycles were suitable for the Netherworld, I am not sure. But according to the report, there were buyers for the imported bicycles. This goes to show how much some people were prepared to pay in the name of filial piety.

Many years ago when my grandmother was still alive, I asked her opinion of people who burn truckloads of replica items for their departed during Qingming.

She said something that we can all reflect on: "Treat the living with kindness and respect, for when they are gone, no amount of tears or generosity will make any difference to them."

Sweet memories of candies of yesteryear

THREE decades ago, few imported candies were sold in the village sundry store or kedai runcit.

Only locally-made brands like Hudson, Hacks, and Trebor were available.

The cherry-red Hudson and the black Hacks were considered sweets for grown-ups, taken as cough relievers or breath fresheners by smokers, while the minty Trebor found a following in children where Spearmint gums were not available.

In Terengganu, where I grew up, a child's daily life was made sweeter with the traditional sagun, which was a mix of fried coconut shavings mixed with white sugar.

Wrapped in coloured paper cones, they were sold for five or 10 cents.

A crunchy substitute for candies, sagun had to be munched slowly or one risked choking on the bits because the dry stuff had the tendency to make its way into the windpipe.

In the 1970s, when my family moved to KL, I was introduced to the Khok-Khok Th'ng or white molasses candy with bits of peanuts and sesame seeds.

Its name came from the clanking of two metal chisels used to chip off bits of the candy from a granite-like slab in a tray mounted on the seller's tricycle.

These candy pieces were hard as a rock, not very sweet, and were cheap.

Ten cents could get you 10 to 12 pieces, each the size of an adult's thumb and took a long time to finish even if you chewed on them.

Another popular candy was the Beh Geh Koh or malt candy in Hokkien. Unlike the Khok-Khok Th'ng, the Beh Geh Koh was translucent, yellowish, and sticky.

The candy could be found during religious festivals. They were mounted on satay sticks for five cents a piece.

The sticks of candy were works of art. Experienced sellers could shape the pliable Beh Geh Koh into almost any form, be it a fish, bird, figurine or even a rose with its petals in full bloom.

More common at that time, however, was the cotton candy.

Whenever a fun fair or circus came to town, you could bet that the cotton candy peddler was not far away. In the villages, sometimes, a peddler on bicycle would drop by once a fortnight.

Carrying a hand-cranked cotton candy machine at the back of his bicycle, he would announced his arrival with the noisy ring of his bicycle's bell.

Cotton candies were originally white, later pink dye was used to make the candy more appealing.

The candy was extremely sweet and could give you a toothache if the bits got into a cavity in your tooth.

Eating it was not as interesting as watching the candy peddler weave the sugar strands into a cocoon the size of a rugby ball, which would melt with a lick.

Homemade candies too were common, usually prepared for occasions like weddings and festivals, as well as for snacks.

Most families knew how to make coconut and ginger candies. Ginger candy, I remember, was used as a home remedy to relieve stomach gas after an oily meal.

You can still find some of these traditional sweets in smaller towns.

With changing times and the call for less sugar in our diet, some of the traditional candies are no longer available and modern sugar-free candies have replaced them, although not necessarily a healthier alternative.

Recently, the Consumers Association of Penang (CAP) called for the ban on luminous lollipops that were widely sold on the island.

The fluorescent candies were believed to contain toxic chemicals which made them glow.

CAP was worried about the health hazard.

Although I have yet to find luminous lollipops in Klang Valley, I was surprised to see popping candies at a shop in a shopping centre recently.

These crackling sweets first arrived on our shores in the 1980s.

The candy grains pop like mini firecrackers when put in the mouth as they come into contact with saliva.

Parents at the time had also expressed their concerns about little children choking on them.

But it seems that the popping candies survived two decades to crackle another day.

Cunning fish caught by dozens

SOMETHING fishy is going on in the depths of Lake Titiwangsa. A foreign species of fish is fast populating the lake. I found out about it a few weeks ago while visiting the park.

At that time, a fishing event organised by a group of lure casting anglers was in progress. I thought nothing of the event until I saw what most anglers were reeling up. A foreign species of fish, known as the peacock bass, or ikan raja in Malay (Wong Tai Yue in Cantonese), were hitting the lures by the dozens.

During another fishing competition held the same lake five years ago, I did not remember seeing this fish being hooked up. At that time, however, I have also read reports of the peacock bass having been released into the wild.

Peacock basses became popular during the Flowerhorn cichlid craze about a decade ago and were kept as ornamental aquarium fish. However, their popularity did not last and owners were soon dumping them into the wild. The species had swamped the disused mining pools and lakes in Perak, particularly in Gopeng.

Local anglers had, at that time, raised their concerns over the release of this fast breeding South American gamefish into our waterways. Heated debates were exchanged in online fishing forums as to whether the predatory peacock bass would decimate the population of local species.

The number of peacock bass I saw being landed at Lake Titiwangsa recently gave me the impression that their population in Lake Titiwangsa is growing. One angler I met that morning told me he was landing a peacock bass at every alternate cast made just after sunrise.

Although I have read that this fish is a very cunning and not easily caught on rod and line, what I saw in the collection tank that day spelt worry.

Either there were too many peacock bass around or the anglers were bass experts. I hope it is not the former, and pray that the tilapia, grass carps, sepat (spotted gourami) and puyu (climbing perch) which were abundant in the 1970s and 80s in the lake have not been wiped out.

The fear of foreign fish decimating indigenous species is not unfounded. If you recall, some years back in North America, the appearance of giant snakehead (toman) sparked fears that the fish would lead to the extinction of local species there.

A chance discovery of the species sparked nationwide fears and even inspired a Hollywood horror movie. Notices were put up by game authorities to kill the fish on sight.

Some waterways had to be poisoned to remove the snakehead population.

While it is unlikely that the peacock bass in our waters (especially in urban lakes) will suffer a similar fate, its population here has to be kept under control, a fish lover tells me.

One way, he says, is to keep the peacock bass's natural predators (one of which is the toman) in respectable numbers. The other is by culling through game fishing.

The mysteries of brand worship

THERE is a craze for vinyl bags with leather trimmings among the womenfolk. School girls and college-going ones are smitten over colourful bags, I was told, but I did not find out about it until I heard teenagers talking passionately about their latest acquisitions. I could not make out what type of bag they meant but it sounded something like "Long Cheng".

When my wife told me that it was a hot favourite among teenagers, including my daughter and her schoolmates, I decided to find out more.

When I was at a shopping complex recently, and had time on my hands, I popped into a bag shop and asked for a Long Cheng. The 70-something Ah Pek who was keeping watch at the shop at lunch time was as perplexed as I was. He said the shop sold all sorts of bags from China but he had never heard of a Long Cheng.

The mystery was solved when the Filipina shop assistant came back from lunch. The name struck a chord with her. The mysterious Long Cheng, it turns out, is actually the Longchamp. Since they did not carry the brand she directed me to another shop.

According to the Wikipedia, Longchamp was set up by Frenchman Jean Cassegrain in 1948. The company produced leather coverings for pipes and other products for smokers.

In the 1950s, its business expanded to include small leather goods.

Two decades later, Longchamp opened boutiques in Hong Kong and Japan, and won fame for its lightweight travel goods. In the mid-90s, Longchamp introduced its Le Pliage line of foldable travel bags made of vinyl and leather trim which became a hit with women worldwide.

Today, Longchamp is known for its designs and has a loyal following. As to how it came to our shores, your guess is as good as mine, but the blogs of Longchamp diehards will give you some idea why this foldable bag is hugely popular.

I remember a time when we had a similar love affair with another French brand - Louis Vuitton. In the 1970s and mid-1980s ownership of the dark brown designer leather bags, wallets and travel luggage imprinted with the golden LV insignia meant you had arrived.

Those who could only afford across-the-border excursions made do with LV wannabes.

I recall finding a very genuine-looking wannabe LV bag once. It could have fooled anyone if not for the LW imprint. When I asked the chap who sold the stuff in Petaling Street what the imprint LW stood for, he said: "Looi Wui-tong -- from Seri Kembangan."

In the case of the Longchamp, an authentic bag costs anything from RM300 upwards. Even wannabes don't come cheap.

I am no expert in Longchamps but the look-alikes I have seen appear to be convincing enough to fool just about anybody but devoted brand worshippers.

I hope those totting the fake ones do not attract more than just brand-envy.