Colour change for the fire engine (USA)

Michael Boyle was doing his MA in S.E.Asian History at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) when I was doing my BA there.

    We kept in touch (by snail mail) after he graduated and returned to Connecticut.

    He told me one day that he was writing a guide book for Connecticut (with recipes for traditional New England dishes and all that). This entailed driving around to all the different places, looking around, then doing a write-up for each one.

    Travelling around America is not easy without a car, and since he was already driving around the state anyway, I might as well grab the opportunity of catching a lift, so I invited myself over.

    In return, I helped him with taking photos (one of which got used in the guide book), cooking his vegetarian meals (Chinese stir-fry), and typing up his notes (on his IBM electric typewriter) for the publishers to turn into a book -- no self-publishing in those days, or not in the form as we know it today, anyway.

    I started my visit with helping him renovate the apartment upstairs, but that's for another blog.

    It was fantastic timing too, being in New England in autumn with all the harvest (mainly apples, pumpkins and Indian flint corn [multi-coloured kernels]) and the landscape ablaze with colourful trees everywhere.

    Just before my arrival, the authorities (don't know if it was just Connecticut or the whole of America) decided to change the colour of their fire engines from red to bright yellow.

    Apparently, research at the time showed that the yellow colour stands out much more than the red colour, so it'd be quicker for people to spot yellow fire engines dashing to somewhere and give them the right of way.

    I said, "But with all the yellow trees around, a yellow fire engine might not stand out that much! It could be mistaken for a tree."

    Michael's typically-ever-so-quick quip was, "Well, if you were to see a yellow tree coming down the road at you at 100mph, you'd certainly get out of the way FAST!!"

(Connecticut, USA, 1983)

Why can’t we record (nice) smells? (London)

 

I was given a wedge of one of the pumpkins grown on the vegetable allotment that I’d been helping out on with weeding and watering.

    The moment I cut into it to make smaller chunks, I had a “Mmmmmm!” moment.  The smell given off was so gorgeous, making me wish that we could record (nice) smells the same way as we can for visuals and sounds, so that we can go back and relive the experience over and over again.

    About two decades ago, I was doing a bit of freelance interpreting at hospital appointments.  After one of these assignments, I decided to accompany the lady (aged 84) home on the bus, although it wasn’t part of my remit.  (I have a soft spot for old people.  https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2021/02/soft-spot-for-old-people-singapore.html)  

    To thank me for my extra trouble, she fished out, from her kitchen cupboard, a melon called 魚翅瓜 / 鱼翅瓜 / yú chì guā / “fish fin melon”.  Known mostly as shark’s fin melon, it is now common enough, especially in the East, but I’d never seen it in my childhood days in Singapore.

    Its Latin name is Cucurbita Ficifolia, with alternative names of Chilacayote, Cabell d’Àngel, Fig Leaf Gourd and Cayote.

    Its visual impact is striking.  The outside is leopard-spot-fashion blobs of white against a green background, with the occasional white stripe from one end to the other.  The flesh is white with black seeds in the pulp.  

    So, where does the “shark’s fin” bit in the name come from?  When scooped out, the pulp looks like strands of vermicelli, or shark’s fin, similar in looks to spaghetti marrow in that they both have noodle-like strings.

    Soon after I brought it back, in November, I went down with a bad cold (winter flu season), losing my sense of smell and taste in the process.  I wasn’t sure how long the melon would keep, so I decided to use it.  Took it downstairs to my landlord as he had a picture-framing workshop in the basement with the right tools to get through the hard rind.

    The moment he sawed it open, a strong whiff of cool melon sensation hit my nostrils, in spite of my having lost my sense of smell.  It reminded me vividly of the smell of watermelon, especially on a hot day, as you bring it to your mouth: fruity and refreshing.

    This was exactly what I got yesterday when I cut into the pumpkin wedge.  I wish I could’ve recorded that smell, to be replayed to myself or shared with other people.

(London, 2025)