PBJ sandwich from Simply Sandwich at 5pm – in lieu of the lunch I didn’t manage to get in time.
I’m not even going to pretend this is not my favourite comfort food for this season.
Soft brioche, creamed peanut, sweet raspberry jam. Smooshed.
This is actually perfect!
It is Friday evening, and most are tired from the week of strife and striving.
How special, then, to arrive in church and sing about a beautiful Saviour. To share in the experiences of others, and to remember the unfinished task He has given us.
Reframe – the final session. It was 10.45pm at the Affogato Bar.
We find here a simple sensation of two stunning flavours, enjoyed not to assuage hunger, but to prolong conversation. It’s a beautiful thing to have good company paired with rich and intense chocolate ice cream. To coat the palette with the deepest of flavours, and to find that it ends the week well.
Good company always ends the week well.
And I am so deeply Thankful.
We are not done with our changes.
We continue to become.
I am not done with this growing confusion. I have not overcome.
I still have questions that don’t have easy answers to. And I’m afraid of making a mess out of everything.
This doesn’t look like much – Salmon on toasted brioche.
Simple late lunch with simply lovely friends on a mucky mid-week afternoon.
What a blessing.
We don’t realise how lovely it is to have generous colleagues until we reach work on a particularly hot and dreary day to find full-fat chocolate muffins and a Ricard pastis in encased in chocolate waiting for us.
And then I know that the day cannot be all bad.
According to David Lebovitz, a good chocolate tart doesn’t need to be fancy, just deep and dark and decadent.
We headed to Sunday Folks for the waffles and soft serve, and enjoyed their dark chocolate tart, which was incredibly rich, potent and delectable.
This was triple layer of crust, a truffle-like interior, and a mirror-shiny glaze, a truly beautiful take on chocolate.
It was a lovely afternoon.
We are almost done here, and my mind has been flying from one meeting to the other- preparations must be in order before Minister arrives. Professionalism is a difficult but necessary ideal to uphold.
I ask the delegation for a quick picture just before our final dinner together, and I order their famed Rosti and Bratwurst with onion sauce to celebrate.
The boss orders a round of red wine, but I’m not sure tiredness and alcohol go together for me, so I’m refusing a glass. The food is delicious; I inform the delegation that Trip Advisor is trustworthy.
Before I call it a night, the journalist sends me the picture from today’s meeting. I am in the corner of the picture, furiously scribbling notes, trying not to appear surprised at ill-advised questions, and keeping calm with the more difficult ones.
Minister handles all with aplomb. He is doing Singapore proud, and this little staffing officer couldn’t be happier. I am ready to go home, soon. I am ready to pick up the pieces of the work I have left behind.
This is the life I chose, the life that was given to me, and as a partaker of the blessings, He has in my infinite weakness, been my strength.
Ladurée or Pierre Hermé?
Neither. These were unique only to Zurich, by Confiserie Sprüngli.
These were my last magical moment from Switzerland.
I met J, regional director of the Swiss hospitality school I had organised a meeting with a few days back, on my flight back (what are the odds!) He found out I had heard about these little precious delicacies, invented in 1957 by confectioner Camille Studer.
He gifted me a precious box he had purchased for his colleagues back in Singapore.
Thrilling the soul with yet another instance of the charms of Swiss hospitality, consuming a piece was like dancing on fine sugar-dust and light cream. My colleagues said as much too.
Yes, Lord, You are magical, and so surprisingly giving.
Tales of Blessedness from the Alps
The cold of morning dances on the stilled pavements around La Terrassa du Beau-Rivage Palace. It is a stunning sight on the 3 May. I breathe deeply, the air is crisp and clear.
I tried to take in the view of the lake over a breakfast bread basket. I love being still while the rest of the delegation swarms around, walks about, or waits. There is a strange glory about the honey comb as it gives up its sweetness to my waiting spoon.
One spoon over pancakes. Another spoon over waffles, and my breakfast is complete.
I told CW, the Minister’s security officer, that breakfast is my favourite time of the day.
I try to pretend I can live like this forever; maybe yogurt on bircher muesli will taste like this in the new earth?