A New Start

BT: Mr Lan Kwa Fong

PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER 29, 2012 Mr Lan Kwai Fong Hong Kong could have been a very different place without Allan Zeman, the man who singlehandedly reinvented the city’s nightlife 30 years ago. By Shu-Ching Jean Chen - PHOTO: ALLAN ZEMAN 'You must be very positive in your life. Be positive in everything you do. If you are a can-do person, you can do everything. I rarely get upset. You never hear me shout or yell at anyone. Any day can be bad. But tomorrow is going to be better.' ALLAN Zeman was born to a Jewish family in Germany to Polish parents after World War Two. His family moved to Canada shortly afterwards. Sixty-four years later, he carries with him a home-return permit, to China.   The permit was issued in 2008 by China's Public Security Bureau. Only Chinese nationals in two self-ruled former colonies, Macau and Hong Kong, can apply for the permit which gives them hassle-free passage through Chinese immigration, and the privilege does not extend to everyone.   Mr Zeman was the second high-profile westerner, and probably the first foreign-born businessman, to acquire Chinese nationality, following Mike Rowse, a former top official promoting Hong Kong to the international business community.   It's a recognition of Mr Zeman's contribution to Hong Kong, his home for 45 years, where people of all stripes - from tycoons to taxi drivers and policemen - not only know him by name, but by heart, and many of them possess two passports. While for them it was automatic, Mr Zeman had to go the extra mile of renouncing his Canadian passport.   "At this stage of my life, I feel more Chinese than western," he says, during our conversation in a VIP suite in Macau Tower. "I know China more than I know the West."   Just a few minutes earlier, he was surrounded by Hong Kong reporters, prodding him for his comments on the government's controversial proposal to enforce "patriotic" national education touting the line of history from the viewpoint of Beijing. "Maybe the government's effort to sell it to people was not done the right way, maybe the devil is in the details," he told them, wrinkles gathering on his youthful-looking face as he raised his eyebrows. "They should withdraw it now. It's too controversial. We can review it a year later, to rewrite a policy everyone would agree on. Its important that you listen to the people."   For most of his career, Mr Zeman has been all-gracious and all-smiling.  He rests his hand on the table. On one wrist he sports a big black leather watch, the other is adorned with bracelets in silver and leather.   Hong Kong could have been a very different place without him.  Known as the father of Lan Kwai Fong, the bustling night entertainment district at the heart of the city's prime business area, Mr Zeman singlehandedly reinvented Hong Kong's nightlife 30 years ago.  He kick-started the sprawling real estate development project by accident, beginning in 1983 when he opened a top-end western restaurant called California on a street teeming with hawkers and marriage arrangers. It was a narrow street called Lan Kwai Fong, then better known informally as "marriage arrangers' lane".   Locals also fondly remember him for his spirited leadership as chairman of Ocean Park, a government-owned theme park.  Nine years into the job, he turned this one-time financial embarrassment into a stunning success, lifting it to become the world's 11th largest theme park by annual guest attendance, which approached seven million last year, and No 1 in greater China, according to consultancy firm AECOM Economics.   Ocean Park has also been shortlisted among the top three finalists for the "Applause Award", organised by Liseberg Amusement Park in Sweden, the equivalent of the Oscars in the global theme park industry.  The winner will be announced in November.    Mr Zeman's home-return permit greatly eases his hectic travel schedule to the mainland. Almost every week, he is on a plane to some second-tier Chinese city (it will be Qingdao the next morning). He has answered calls from local government officials in as many as 15 Chinese cities, all of whom are wooing him to develop another Lan Kwai Fong in their midst. Many top Chinese officials have experienced Lan Kwai Fong at first hand and have obviously been impressed by what they've seen.   "In the second-tier cities, people used to go quiet at night. They went to bed early. But now everyone wants to go out," says Mr Zeman. "China is ready for Lan Kwai Fong. People need entertainment. They work hard; they have houses; they buy a car. The next stage for them is to enjoy life. The thing they lack is entertainment. People have nothing to do before going to bed.  Most people are looking forward to a Lan Kwai Fong."   The expansion of the leisure and entertainment business also fits in well with the changing priorities of the Chinese economy. Consumer spending accounts for only about 33 per cent of China's GDP (less than half of that in the US) and the government wants to increase it, especially given the slowdown in China's exports, which have been the main driver of economic growth.   "The government thinks LKF fits into its planning," Mr Zeman explains. "They cannot control the Western world but they will try to increase domestic demand. They are really serious about it, putting more money into the system, putting more money in people's hands."   Mr Zeman does not have to start from scratch.  In Chengdu, in China's Sichuan province, he was invited to develop a Lan Kwai Fong that the local government had already set up. To tap into the local culture, he has employed a local management team and has personally trained the top manager, who previously worked for a shopping mall. "I really believe in using the locals," he says. "People are people. Everyone is the same. It's really about working with the staff and providing the leadership."   Three years on, the project has been a runaway success. "At first, I thought Chengdu was not for me," says Mr Zeman. "The lifestyle is very laid-back. Even if they have 10 renminbi, they spend 12. Everyone saves elsewhere in China, but not in Chengdu."   The original Lan Kwai Fong was conceived in Hong Kong as a venue for drinking and eating, whereas China's version will be a creative cousin, with trend-setting retail shops. It will also host some of the raucous festivals and carnivals which are held at regular intervals in China, as well as special celebrations such as Halloween and the beer festival, which are mainstays in Hong Kong.   Soon there will be a Lan Kwai Fong in Haikou, off Hainan island's Mission Hills golf resort.  In the next five years, Mr Zeman plans to create others in four cities: Ningbo, Qingdao, Wuhan, and Wuxi, at a total cost of about HK$4 billion. These will be financed by funds raised from investors. And there will be even more after that.   What would an ideal Lan Kwai Fong in China look like?  Mr Zeman envisions it as an area about 25 per cent bigger than Hong Kong's, with an equal mix of food and beverages and retail.  Explaining the business logic of this arrangement, he says: "Retail pays a lot higher rental income than F&B. So, in order to balance out the payback, it would need retail."   Back home in Hong Kong, he will unveil a modern 25-storey tower in the original Lan Kwai Fong early next year after having torn down the old buildings two years ago. Modelled as a lifestyle building, it will house a fitness club, his company headquarters and six floors of restaurants and bars, many making their debut in Hong Kong.   Unlikely locations       "Lifestyle" is hardly a concept one would easily associate with China, or old Hong Kong for that matter.  When Mr Zeman arrived in the then British colony as a teenager in the 1960s, he was greeted by throngs of bicycle riders, topless local men wearing pyjama pants and British expatriates speaking in heavy-accented English that he could barely comprehend. "It was like landing on the moon," he jokes.   China was even more out of the loop.  When he set up his first office 36 years ago in Changsha, in China's Hunan province, nightlife was non-existent. Dinner at hotels was served at 4.30pm or 5pm and there was no food to be found in the fridges after the chefs went home. The electricity was switched off at night, leaving guests to play ping-pong by candlelight.   That office, an outpost of his Hong Kong-based company, Colby International, an apparel and accessories trading company, grew rapidly with China's economic rise. Mr Zeman eventually sold it to Li & Fung, the global supply-chain company.   Steve Wynn, of Las Vegas casino fame, recognised his friend's Chinese insights and enlisted Mr Zeman as an independent board director when construction was under- way at Wynn Macau six years ago. When the company was listed in 2006, he promoted Mr Zeman to vice-chairman, his No 2 in the corporate hierarchy. (Wynn Macau has just opened a new hotel on the newly-developed Cotai Strip, part of a yet-to-be-finished mega resort.)   That is what brings Mr Zeman to Macau regularly these days.  Earlier in the day, he was moderating a panel discussion to promote tourism at Macau's inaugural Global Tourism Economy Forum.  "China is a totally different market. I helped (Mr Wynn) understand the Chinese mentality. Macau is a different world. It's a different culture. The food is different. The expectations of the guests are different. The kind of games they play, baccarat, everything, is different," he says.   Sedate lifestyle       For someone so closely associated with some of Asia's most decadent forms of entertainment, Mr Zeman leads a surprisingly sedate lifestyle himself.  He does not smoke, drink alcohol, or gamble.  Every morning at 6.30, he shows up at the gym, working on a daily regimen for an hour and 20 minutes. He has a personal gym at work, and a big one in his house.     "The most important thing for everyone is to exercise," he says. "You have to have balance your life; you need to take some form of relaxation, to balance the stress in your life."   At times, it seems that Mr Zeman wears too many hats, but he has a simple recipe to help himself cope. "I like to take things a day at a time," he explains. "I have a vision, I have a long-term plan, but every day, you have problems and you solve them on a daily basis.... The most important thing is that you must do things one at a time.   "I always stay ahead of the curve, just one step ahead, he adds. "And we don't put ourselves under pressure. That's why we've always been privately held. I don't like being public."   In promoting a new venture, he can be relentless, sparing no effort. For example, when he promoted Ocean Park he appeared dressed as a frog, a ghost bride, and recently donned Arctic clothing, in the midst of Hong Kong's summer heat, to promote the park's new polar adventure.   He is also meticulous about doing his homework. When he developed Ocean Park, he began by drawing up a list of the strengths of its crosstown rival, Hong Kong Disney, which was strong on castles and fantasy; and another list, of Ocean Park's strengths - concern about the environment and edutainment. "I realised there was a real difference. We could have another identity," he says.   His formula was a winner. This summer, Ocean Park attracted the highest monthly visitor numbers in its 35-year history. Mr Zeman also won a somewhat reluctant nod to extend his tenure for another two years from the new government led by C Y Leung, who won a hotly-contested election against the man Mr Zeman publicly endorsed.   In the public mind, Mr Zeman is viewed as a happy-maker, a creator of enjoyable experiences. An incurable optimist, he also enjoys what he does. "You must be very positive in your life," he counsels. "Be positive in everything you do. If you are a can-do person, you can do everything. I rarely get upset. You never hear me shout or yell at anyone. Any day can be bad. But tomorrow is going to be better."   That spirit has anchored his serial entrepreneurial successes, which began at 19, when he set up his own garment export company in Hong Kong, after working as a travelling salesman in Canada.   Ever since then, there has been no boundary separating his work from his life.  "It's been all enjoyment; I've never worked in my life," he says. "From day one, I've enjoyed my work. I've always been independent, always been free."   His journey has also charted through a dramatic, extraordinary period for China, his adopted country. "It's like I've been living in a history book," he says. "My life has been like a movie."   [email protected]   Allan Zeman Chairman of Lan Kwai Fong Holdings Chairman of Ocean Park Vice-chairman of Wynn Macau Born July 18, 1948 Married with two children and two grandchildren Wife Charmaine Zeman Son Jonathan Zeman Daughter Marisa Zeman Daughter-in-law Melinda Zeman 1965 Moved to Hong Kong 1976 Set up first China office in Changsha, Hunan 1983 Opened his first restaurant, California, in Lan Kwai Fong 2003 Appointed chairman of Hong Kong Ocean Park 2006 Became vice-chairman of Wynn Macau 2008 Became a Chinese national and surrendered Canadian passport

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Economist: Chronic Diseases

Chronic diseases in developing countries

Growing pains

Poor countries are developing the diseases of the rich, with lethal consequences

Sep 24th 2011 | KAMPALA AND NEW YORK | from the print edition

 

THE Uganda Cancer Institute is on a hilltop with a fine view of the verdant capital, Kampala. But most of its patients are too ill to stand. They have spent their life’s savings for a chance of a cure, but most die within weeks of being admitted. “They come too late,” says Jackson Orem, the clinic’s director.

Of Ugandans who die of cancer, 96% never see a medical practitioner. The country’s health-care system was designed to treat infectious diseases: the institute’s neighbour is a big tuberculosis unit. Non-communicable diseases such as cancer, diabetes, and heart and respiratory ailments have not been priorities. Dr Orem’s institute has the only cancer unit for the country’s 34m people. Kidney failure (a result of diabetes) is a death warrant. Uganda has only seven dialysis machines. The cheapest transplant (in India) costs $40,000.

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Time was when people in poor countries were too hungry and hardworking to be obese, could not afford cigarettes and mostly died before the ailments of ripe middle age kicked in. Non-communicable diseases were a rich-world problem. Not any more. Affluence and urbanisation mean new kinds of unhealthy lifestyles. Developing countries already bear more than 80% of the burden of chronic illnesses. Their share will grow—at a time when older diseases are still ravaging the poor. In India over two-fifths of children under five are malnourished, yet obesity is mushrooming. The leader of the main opposition party, Nitin Gadkari, is the latest public figure to be fitted with a gastric band.

Old and new diseases compound each other. Diabetics are three times as likely to contract tuberculosis. Burkitt’s lymphoma, a cancer common in equatorial Africa, is linked to malaria. HIV patients on antiretroviral treatment are at a higher risk of developing diabetes and cancer. Two-thirds of Mr Orem’s cancer patients in Uganda also have HIV. “None of the HIV resources went to cancer—a very big mistake,” he says. Julio Frenk, dean of the Harvard School of Public Health, highlights the contradiction between spending thousands of dollars on each patient with AIDS but not offering “pennies” for those with diabetes.

The World Health Organisation expects deaths from non-communicable diseases to rise by 15% between 2010 and 2020, with jumps of over 20% in Africa and South-East Asia. The number of Chinese diabetics is expected to double by 2025. Even in sub-Saharan Africa, chronic illnesses are likely to surpass maternal, child and infectious diseases as the biggest killer by 2030. Most of them stem from sugar, fat, smoke and sedentary lifestyles. But they also include sickle-cell disease, a blood disorder that is the biggest non-communicable killer of Africa’s children. It is easily treatable, but almost always goes undiagnosed.

The countries concerned are woefully unprepared. Their health-care systems are designed for acute problems, not least because that is what foreign donors pay for. Less than 3% of aid for health goes to chronic illnesses. Many patients without health insurance delay treatment until it is too late. Many of the drugs needed are no longer covered by patents, but tariffs, poor distribution and high mark-ups still make them costly and scarce. The demands on health authorities are also greater. The right jab can protect a child for life, but chronic diseases may require lifelong medication. A big cause of diabetes is unhealthy diet—but that stems from a complex overlap between brain chemistry and food-industry practice. Even rich countries find this hard to change.

 

A feeble response ensures that non-communicable diseases kill people earlier in poor countries than in rich ones. This has a grave impact not just on health, but on growth. According to the World Economic Forum, poor and middle-income countries will lose $7.3 trillion in output from heart disease, cancer, diabetes and lung disease by 2025 (see chart)—an annual loss of about 4%.

So far the world’s response has been to have meetings, most recently a UN summit in New York on September 19th-20th. The only other summit devoted to health was on HIV in 2001. A sense of crisis then brought a decade of dramatic progress. Heart disease does not arouse the same passion. The meeting passed a “political declaration”, but could not agree on targets for reducing non-communicable diseases. The declaration’s wording on drugs was opaque, reflecting stalled negotiations.

With no clear global lead, countries muddle along. Mr Orem’s institute in Kampala spends most of its money on drugs. He says a budget rise from $2.5m to $8m would help to train nurses and improve palliative care. But money is scarce and even the simplest tasks are tricky. It can take a month for a patient outside Kampala to get results from a biopsy.

Ala Alwan of the World Heath Organisation suggests that even simple steps can make a difference, such as reducing salt in foods, offering inexpensive drugs and raising tobacco taxes. This last is perhaps the single best way of curbing cancer and diseases of the heart and lungs, as well as raising money for health care. But James Sekajugo of the Ugandan health ministry says it is hard to fight the tobacco industry: “a very rich group here”. His country is trying to stop cancer before it starts. The ministry is considering spending more on vaccines against cervical cancer, one of the most deadly cancers for women.

Some hope to build on arrangements in place for treating HIV (itself now a chronic condition, not a death sentence). A programme in western Kenya called AMPATH once treated only HIV patients. Now it offers care for those with such illnesses as cancer and diabetes. Its door-to-door screening programme for HIV now tests for blood pressure and blood sugar. America’s PEPFAR (the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief), is trying to fight HIV by boosting broader health care.

The most sustainable efforts will be those that provide care and make money, too. In India Dr Mohan’s Diabetes Centres, a business, charges middle-class patients to subsidise care for the poor. Eli Lilly, an American pharmaceutical giant, is testing models for diabetes treatment in countries such as India, South Africa and Brazil (it also provides free insulin to AMPATH in Kenya). Help now, it reckons, and profit later. Novo Nordisk, the world’s biggest insulin manufacturer, is especially ambitious. In China it has given training to doctors and education for diabetics. Last year the firm controlled 63% of China’s insulin market. Now Lars Rebien Sorensen, its chief executive, wants to replicate the programme in Indonesia, Malaysia and Vietnam. Chronic diseases are already a huge market. Sadly, it is also a growing one.

from the print edition | International

FT: Books, Animals and Us

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We see ourselves as standing above the rest of creation, but could animals be shaping us just as we are shaping them?

 

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It is well understood how we have shaped these wolves: our ancestors would have favoured those that were friendly and useful to humans, so eventually creating the domestic dog of today. But less well studied is how this relationship changed us. Shipman argues that those humans who showed the right skills and sensitivity to manage wolves outlived and out-bred those who tried to go it alone; the result is a world of dog-lovers. Domestication runs two ways.

She claims that three giant leaps in human development were all about this animal connection: our mastery of stone tools (to kill or cut up these animals); our development of language and eventually writing (to communicate information about animal habits and habitats); and our domestication of other species. Together these laid the foundation for modern societies.

This is a bold hypothesis, and among the evidence she presents is also a great deal of speculation. But there are at least some cases where the results of these connections are clear – such as our alliance with the cow. DNA profiles suggest that 10,000 years ago, the vast majority of humans were lactose intolerant – genetically incapable of digesting milk beyond infancy. Yet in Europe and those areas colonised by Europeans, 95 per cent of the population now can (and do) happily consume dairy products into their dotage. So in these cow-rearing lands, humans with the ability to digest milk spread at the expense of their fussier cousins. In effect, just as we have bred cows for high milk yield, so they have “bred” us to digest this milk (and therefore to have a reason to care for them). And if we have evolved lactose tolerance through our interaction with the bovine, it is not crazy to think we might also have evolved a fondness for dogs, or a predilection for observing the behaviour of predators.

 

ST: SIngapore and Water

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The Straits Times

www.straitstimes.com

Published on Sep 3, 2011

 

Quenching Singapore's thirst

A water pact with Malaysia upon which Singapore used to depend expired this week. Its end was marked by a cordial handover of a water catchment area in Johor and treatment facilities - a powerful testament of Singapore's progress towards greater self-sufficiency in water. Insight tells the story of that quest.

 

By Elgin Toh

A SIMPLE turn of the tap did not guarantee water if you happened to be in Singapore on April 24, 1963.

It was the first day of a water rationing exercise that would last 10 months.

An unusually dry spell both in Singapore and in the Tebrau River area in Johor - a primary water source for the island - caused water stocks to plunge dramatically, leaving the authorities with little choice but to impose restrictions.

For four days a week, depending on which area you lived in, you were either deprived of water between 8am and 2pm or between 2pm and 8pm.

People who did not ordinarily read the newspapers or listen to the radio suddenly found themselves having to scan headlines or turn knobs at least once a week - to stay informed about rationing schedules.

Those who forgot to store water in pails at home during the allocated timings had to stand in queues to use public taps.

The cost of food went up.

A government advisory that called for the washing of cars and watering of gardens to be 'kept to a minimum' clearly did not stop some. A forum letter in The Straits Times on May 3 had one reader wondering 'why the gentleman living opposite me still finds it necessary to water his lawn non-stop for 14 minutes' a day.

Eerily, the spying on neighbours went further than that.

Another letter on May 17 read: 'At a time when the state is facing an acute water shortage, is it proper for a person to bathe three times a day? That is exactly what my neighbour and his six children are doing every day of the week.'

Eventually, the rain returned and the reservoirs filled up. Curbs were finally lifted on Feb 28, 1964 - ironically, on a day when heavy rainfall caused an 11-year- old boy to drown.

Singaporeans who lived through that angsty period learnt a lesson they never forgot: that water, or the lack thereof, was a major source of weakness for the island-state.

This week, a no less momentous milestone in Singapore's aquatic history was crossed, but with far less public interest. A 50-year water agreement signed in 1961 - one of just two between Singapore and Malaysia - drew to a close.

As a result, a catchment area in Johor more than five times the size of Singapore's Central Catchment Nature Reserve ceased to serve Singapore's water needs, but with nary an eyebrow raised.

Public indifference, however, can be seen in a positive light. It is arguably a testament to Singapore's success in overcoming its water vulnerabilities.

What has happened since 1963?

In the words of Dr Joey Long of the S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, 'the tables have turned'.

'While in the initial years Singapore's access to adequate water was viewed through the lens of security and survival, Singapore's present circumstances should be viewed with more optimism,' he said.

In 50 years, a virtuous mix of visionary leadership, meticulous groundwork and scientific advancements has helped Singapore exorcise her hydro-demons.

A tiny island-state ranked 170th out of a list of 190 nations in fresh water availability appears to be leapfrogging its way into water independence.

A matter of life and death

BUT there was a time when the situation was a lot more tense - and not just because people had to line up at public taps and tolerate dirty cars.

In 1970, seven years after that depressing drought, water security continued to keep Singapore's leaders awake at night.

'If these chaps do not observe the agreements, it will be a very serious matter for us,' said then Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, referring to the two Singapore-Malaysia water agreements, in a meeting with Professor S. Jayakumar before he took over as Singapore's permanent representative to the United Nations.

'It is a matter of life and death... it can lead to war,' he added.

Never far from Mr Lee's mind was the threat from Malaysian premier Tunku Abdul Rahman, relayed to him by the British, that 'if Singapore doesn't do what I want, I'll switch off the water supply'.

Coming just days after independence, the threat - though never acted upon - convinced him that 'as long as I was totally dependent on Malaysia's water supply, we would always be a satellite'.

That, combined with the Japanese blowing up water pipes that carried water across the strait from Johor in 1942, was what drove him to seek water self-sufficiency from the get-go, he later revealed.

The cards dealt to Singapore in 1965 were not promising.

The bulk of its water came from Johor. Two agreements signed in 1961 and 1962 allowed Singapore to buy water for 3 sen per 1,000 gallons (4,546 litres), excluding land rental costs in the catchment areas.

The expiry dates of the two water pacts were 2011 and 2061 respectively.

The 1961 agreement gave Singapore full and exclusive rights to draw water from Gunung Pulai, Pontian, Skudai and Tebrau. The 1962 agreement allowed Singapore to collect up to 250 million gallons of water a day from Johor River.

In exchange, treated water was sold back to Johor at the price of 50 sen per 1,000 gallons, which was below cost.

The two agreements were confirmed by both Singapore and Malaysia in their separation agreement and promptly lodged with the UN.

The British also left behind three reservoirs - MacRitchie, Peirce and Seletar.

At once, Mr Lee and his Government swung into action. One of his first initiatives: forming a unit under the Prime Minister's Office to coordinate water policy.

Singapore lacked natural aquifers and groundwater. But it did not lack rainfall, per se, receiving from the heavens 2,400mm annually, comfortably higher than the global average of 1,050mm.

Rather, what could not be found in abundance were water bodies and land that could 'catch' the rain.

In 1969, the capacity of Seletar Reservoir was enlarged and its catchment scope broadened.

The 1970s saw a flurry of activity.

The Government began studying the feasibility of various conventional and not-so-conventional water sources, and published in 1972 the Water Master Plan. This is seen by water experts as the first long-term blueprint for water resource development here.

Upper Peirce Reservoir was completed in 1975. That same year, Kranji River was dammed to separate seawater from freshwater. This created Kranji Reservoir - one of the first of several reservoirs formed this way.

But the Government also took chances with the not-so-likely. It constructed an experimental plant to recycle used water - a predecessor to Newater.

Unfortunately, the requisite technologies, such as reverse osmosis, were still premature. The tests failed to persuade policymakers that the idea was sufficiently economical or reliable and no permanent plant was built.

As the economy grew rapidly, it soon also became clear that Singapore could not simply expand reservoirs indefinitely. Industry was competing for land use.

A concerted effort at promoting conservation began. The first 'Water is precious' campaign, launched in 1971, reduced water consumption by 5 per cent.

Four decades on, the public education drive continues in schools, factories and the media, whether it is exemplifying 'water efficient homes' with toilets that use cistern water-saving bags or mandating self-shutting delayed action taps in buildings. To drive home the message, a water conservation tax was later introduced. It is levied today at a rate of 30 per cent for the first 40 litres per month. Beyond that, the tax rises to 45 per cent. The Government's aim is to cut per capita consumption from 155 litres today to 140 litres by 2030.

The 1980s and 1990s

THE 1980s saw both bright spots and dark ones in bilateral ties. From time to time, threats to fiddle with Singapore's water supply, whether serious or not, emanated from Malaysian society or officialdom or both.

In 1986, for instance, the visit of Israeli President Chaim Herzog to Singapore stoked anger across the causeway, prompting some to call for the treaties to be revoked or at least re-negotiated.

There was good reason for optimism in the late 1980s, when the two sides penned an agreement supplementing the 1962 one. Singapore was given the go-ahead to build a dam across Johor River and to buy water over and above the original limit of 250 million gallons a day.

A decade passed. As it considered its long-term water needs, Singapore's leaders decided to negotiate supplementary agreements to extend the supply of water from Johor beyond 2061.

In 1998, in the wake of the Asian financial crisis, the two sides came close to an agreement on a 'water-for-funds' deal, which was later called off.

Another round of talks took place in 2000 but differences remained over the sale price of raw water from Johor. There was initial agreement to raise the price from 3 sen per 1,000 gallons to 45 sen, and later to 60 sen.

Malaysia then said it wanted to unilaterally revise the price to RM6.25 per thousand gallons, a move Singapore insisted was not legally sound. After rounds of strongly worded exchanges in various forms, the matter quietened.

Ambitious new strategy to add two big taps

Four big taps

THE Singapore Government had been hard at work exploring alternative sources of water.

Even as talks with Malaysia ran into an impasse, efforts on another front were headed for a breakthrough that would 'change the whole equation', in the words of Dr Lee Poh Onn, a fellow at the Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.

After the failed 1974 experiment, Singapore decided to give recycled water another shot, sending two engineers to the United States in 1998 for a study trip.

Upon their return, they reported findings that suggested recycling had become viable, thanks to, among other things, advances in membrane technology. Subsequent studies corroborated the findings, prompting the Government to construct the first demo plant in Bedok in 2000.

The three-step process eventually adopted for the production of Newater involved filtration and reverse osmosis, removing particles as small as 0.001 microns before disinfecting the water under ultraviolet light. The water met US and UN standards and was, indeed, purer than tap water.

By May 2002, the Government was finally ready to go public with its bold new water strategy.

It was an ambitious plan to double the different types of water sources Singapore relied upon from two to four by 2011, the year the 1961 agreement with Malaysia expired.

Instead of relying only on water collected in reservoirs here and bought from Johor, there would be 'four big national taps' within 10 years. The two new 'taps' were desalination plants and Newater or water-reclamation plants.

In his speech to Parliament, then Environment Minister Lim Swee Say declared: 'Singapore certainly can become completely self-sufficient after 2061, if need be.'

The year 2061 was significant as it was when the 1962 water agreement with Malaysia would expire.

A toast to the future

FOR Newater to succeed, the public had to be willing to drink water that was previously sewage.

'Public acceptance is not guaranteed at the start. Recycled water has been rejected in Australia, where people term it 'yuck' water,' said Dr Eduardo Araral, assistant dean of the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy at the National University of Singapore.

'Singaporeans accepted it both because they are are pragmatic and because they trust the Government's promise that Newater is safe to drink,' he added.

Some 60,000 'toasted' with bottled Newater during the 2002 National Day Parade, including Mr Goh Chok Tong, who was then Prime Minister. Singapore now has five Newater plants, the largest of which is at Changi. Newater is used both in industries and indirectly for households, after it is mixed into reservoirs.

The next significant breakthrough came in desalination technology, although some call this success story a work in progress.

As the cost of desalting seawater fell by more than half in the decade leading up to 2002, PUB called for and received tenders to build a plant. In 2005, a desalination facility using reverse osmosis membranes was commissioned in Tuas. It was built by SingSpring, a wholly owned subsidiary of Hyflux. A second desalination plant in Tuas should be ready by 2013.

Of the current daily consumption of 380 million gallons, Newater and desalination now make up 40 per cent. PUB aims to raise that to 80 per cent by 2061, when all agreements with Johor expire.

Meanwhile, work on other fronts continue.

The completion of Marina Barrage in 2008 increased Singapore's water catchment area from half of its total land area to more than two-thirds. Studies are under way on the possibility of increasing this in future to 90 per cent through the use of treatment plants that handle both salt water and fresh water. There are now 17 reservoirs - up from three in 1965 - including Marina, Punggol and Serangoon.

Less visible upgrades may not be any less important. PUB has an ongoing programme to replace leaky asbestos cement water pipes with more corrosion-resistant ones. Also, an underground system of pumps and pipes connecting Singapore's reservoirs was completed in 2007 to prevent wastage by transferring water from full reservoirs to less full ones.

Turning weakness to strength

'I NEVER imagined we could progress from a situation of crisis to the situation of opportunity today,' said Dr Lee.

A dramatic turn of events, which he ultimately puts down to political will, means the water issue is now more likely to evoke hope than anxiety.

Research and development projects are creating jobs and expertise that can be exported. The PUB expects the GDP contribution from the water sector to grow from $0.5 billion in 2003 to $1.7 billion in 2015, with the number of jobs doubling to 11,000 by 2015.

To be sure, some latent risks remain.

Dr Araral warns, for instance, that skyrocketing energy prices in the future may yet cause problems for the much-vaunted but relatively fuel-guzzling desalination project, although that may in turn spur the development of other sources of water.

Terrorism, too, could derail the most carefully constructed of systems.

'Security experts note that water reservoirs are attractive targets of terrorists,' he said.

Nevertheless, most agree that whatever happens in the future, the achievements as they stand today already exceed the wildest of expectations - not least among them those of the water rationing generation.

Singaporeans can rest with the firm assurance that their secure access to this life-giving commodity is no longer in the hands of others.

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The Straits Times

www.straitstimes.com

Published on Sep 3, 2011

 

The water story

 

1857: Philanthropist Tan Kim Seng donated $13,000 to construct Singapore's first waterworks and piped water supply.

1867: Singapore's first reservoir, MacRitchie, completed.

1927: Water agreement signed between British-controlled Singapore and Johor Sultan. This agreement is superseded by the 1961 agreement.

1961: First water agreement signed between Singapore and Malaysia. Singapore gets full, exclusive rights to draw water from Gunung Pulai and three other areas for 3 sen per 1,000 gallons.

1962: Second Singapore-Malaysia water agreement signed, allowing Singapore to buy water from Johor River at the same price.

1963: Public Utilities Board (PUB) set up to take charge of water supply. Also, start of 10-month-long water rationing due to drought.

1965: Singapore separated from Malaysia. Both countries agree to abide by 1961 and 1962 agreements.

1971: First water conservation campaign launched.

1977: Start of 10-year-long Clean Singapore River campaign.

1990: Signing of supplement to 1962 agreement, allowing Singapore to build a dam across Johor River and to buy water over and above original quota of 250 million gallons a day.

2000: The beginning of Singapore- Malaysia water talks that end in stalemate in 2003. The two sides could not agree on price.

2001: Restructuring of PUB so it took charge of not only water supply, but also drainage, water reclamation plants and sewerage systems.

2002: Launch of Newater - or recycled water - technology, which decisively paves the way towards water independence for Singapore.

2005: First desalination plant completed in Tuas. A second plant, also in Tuas, is expected by 2013.

2008: Inaugural International Water Week, which became an annual conference on water solutions. Also, Marina Barrage was completed, the first reservoir here in the heart of the city.

2011: 1961 water agreement with Malaysia lapsed. Singapore returns all land and facilities, saying handover does not affect adequacy of water supply.

ELGIN TOH

Copyright © 2011 Singapore Press Holdings. All rights reserved.

ST: A wobbly slice of melon

Lifestyle

Home > Lifestyle > Taste > Story

Jul 31, 2011

A wobbly slice of melon

A best-selling agar agar creation that looks like watermelon took Stella Lam over 10 years to perfect

By Eunice Quek, Singapore Cooks

The cool 'watermelon' dessert created by Madam Stella Lam has a crunchy, savoury bite and a fluffy texture. -- ST PHOTO: CAROLINE CHIA

 

Retiree Stella Lam's 'watermelon' agar agar looks deceiving, but the proof of it is in the eating.

Madam Lam, 61, has had to convert many sceptics who cannot understand why she would make jelly masquerading as a watermelon.

Last year, she sold the agar agar to raise funds for a mission trip to Vietnam in the Church of St Teresa which she attends.

But it proved a challenge, as her fellow parishioners had to be convinced to even taste the agar agar.

Says the former cashier: 'I had to persuade them to try it and they were surprised at its fluffy texture. So, I ended up selling all the 10 pieces I made.'

Unlike the usual agar agar sold here, this cool dessert - perfect for beating the heat - has a crunchy bite. The use of whisked egg whites gives it a spongy texture.

Sesame seeds give the jelly a savoury bite, and stand in as watermelon seeds to complete the look.

On some occasions, she uses black sesame seeds and even grass jelly pieces for the 'seeds'. Such experiments have had mixed responses from her food tasters: The primary and secondary school students of her younger daughter Diana Lim, a tutor.

Her elder daughter Lena is a housewife. Both sisters are in their 30s.

Madam Lam explains: 'The black sesame seeds, which tasted a bit bitter, did not go well with the coconut flavours of the agar agar. They did not like the grass jelly pieces either, so I decided to stick to the white sesame seeds.'

This home-made delight has taken Madam Lam more than 10 years to get just right.

She recalls first trying the agar agar in the 1970s, when she attended a church function. The next time she tasted it was in the 1980s, when her niece brought a version of the same jelly to another event.

The recipe, handwritten on a pink piece of paper, is neatly filed with other recipes clipped from newspaper or obtained from other members of her church group, Golden Years.

The group sees 12 women from her church getting together for prayer meetings or cooking sessions.

At home, her husband, Mr Robert Lim, 63, is the main cook and whips up simple dishes, such as steamed fish and stir-fried beef. Madam Lam can cook other dishes such as fried rice.

In her five-room HDB flat's simple kitchen, with traditional steamers and a wooden rice pot, she prepares her watermelon agar agar with no fancy plating nor elaborate garnish.

When it comes time to cool the agar agar mixture, she grabs a plastic fan and fans it with the gusto of a satay man.

The younger Ms Lim, who first tried the agar agar when she was eight years old, is probably the biggest fan of her mother's whimsical dessert.

She says: 'My mum would never fail to make the agar agar for my school teachers on Teachers' Day each year. She would ask me which teachers I want to give the agar agar to and I made sure I gave them only to the ones I liked.'

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---

MAKE IT YOURSELF: 'WATERMELON' AGAR AGAR

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

INGREDIENTS

2 packets agar agar powder (white, 12g each)

8 Tbs fine white sugar

3 bowls of water, room temperature

5 eggs

6 to 8 Tbs fine white sugar

1 packet fresh coconut milk (250g)

2 Tbs sesame seeds

1 Tbs red food colouring

1 Tbs green food colouring

METHOD

1. Separate five egg whites from egg yolks. Put the egg whites in a big mixing bowl.

2. Whisk the egg whites till fluffy and add the 8 Tbs of fine white sugar. Continue beating for a few minutes till they form stiff peaks. Set aside.

3. In a pot, mix the water, agar agar powder, 6 to 8 Tbs of fine white sugar and coconut milk. Bring it to a boil, stirring constantly.

4. Once it boils, remove from the heat and let the mixture cool for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, till the steam has dissipated.

5. Add the mixture to the whisked egg whites and beat till evenly mixed.

6. Scoop the mixture into five serving bowls, preferably with a round base. As it cools, the agar agar will start to set in the bowl.

7. Drop about five drops of the red food colouring in the centre of the agar agar mixture.

8. Add about half a teaspoon of sesame seeds (above, left). Carefully stir in the colouring and sesame seeds from the middle of the bowl without touching its base (above, centre). Leave a border of the white agar agar mixture without the colouring. This forms the 'rind' of the watermelon while the red part with sesame seeds is the watermelon's 'flesh'.

9. Repeat steps 7 and 8 for the next four bowls.

10. Refrigerate the bowls of agar agar for about 10 minutes.

11. Once the agar agar has set completely and is firm, remove from the bowls. Wear a pair of gloves and gently rub the green food colouring on the outer surface of the agar agar (above, right) and place back in the bowls.

12. After refrigerating for another 10 minutes, remove the agar agar from the bowls. Slice into wedges and serve cold.

Serves five to 10

FT: Global menu: Kicking up a stink

Global menu: Kicking up a stink

By Fuchsia Dunlop

Published: May 20 2011 17:49 | Last updated: May 20 2011 17:49

Cheese-tasting in Shaoxing; stinking beancurd on sale in the market; a beancurd vendor

It was lunchtime, in a private room at the Xianheng Tavern, the most famous restaurant in the ancient Chinese city of Shaoxing.

I opened the plastic boxes that I’d carried, sealed, all the way from London, and the stench of farmhouse cheeses began to waft across the room. The Chinese chefs and waiting staff seated around the table eyed them warily. Only two of the younger chefs had any cheese-related experience. None of the others, including the manager and executive chef of the Xianheng, Mao Tianyao, had tasted it in any form.

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Some like it haute: Vacherin pudding - May-06

Cheese is not a favourite food in China, to put it mildly. Traditionally, dairy products were associated with the nomadic people who lived on the fringes of China and who were regarded as fearful barbarians. The Han Chinese, with a few notable exceptions, avoided eating dairy foods altogether: many were, and still are, lactose-intolerant. In recent years, influenced by western lifestyles, Chinese parents have begun to feed milk to their children, and their purchasing power has contributed to soaring worldwide milk prices. Cheese, however, is still generally regarded as beyond the pale. A few sophisticated Shanghainese might eat Stilton just as sophisticated Londoners eat tripe and chitterlings, but many people, especially in the provinces, have never tasted it.

But if the Chinese disdain the cheeses enjoyed by Europeans, they themselves adore some stinky foods that would appal many foreigners. Shaoxing, an hour’s drive from the Zhejiang provincial capital Hangzhou, is best known for its rice wines, but it is also the Chinese headquarters of “stinking and fermented” (chou mei) delicacies. Although I first went to Shaoxing to taste the wine, over several visits I became fascinated by its odorous foods, including the relatively well-known stinking beancurd, and also “fermented thousand layers” (made from beancurd skin), and various semi-rotted vegetables. All were shocking at first taste, with their earthy, old underwear aromas, but strangely addictive. “Fermented thousand layers” reminded me of the part of a high old Stilton that is closest to the rind, that yellow, sandy bit that gets right up your nose, dirty and delicious.

Over several visits to Shaoxing, I wondered what the locals, such ardent lovers of rotted soymilk and vegetable stalks, would make of rotted cow’s milk, otherwise known as cheese. Finally, I returned to Shaoxing with a boxful of artisanal cheeses from Neal’s Yard Dairy in London, including the smelliest I could find in the shop. I had selected one mild hard cheese, Isle of Mull, to serve as a kind of toe-in-the-water; Stichelton, which is an unpasteurised version of Stilton; pale, veined Harbourne Blue; Ardrahan, a fairly whiffy washed-rind cheese that I adore; Milleens, another washed-rind variety with a punchy, farmyardy aroma that acquires a hint of ammonia as it ripens; and a wildly smelly Brie de Meaux. By the time I reached Shaoxing after a week on the road, the cheeses had all ripened nicely, and some were beginning to ooze.

At the Xianheng, a waitress cut the cheeses into pieces, and the assembled tasters began to pick them up with their chopsticks, sniffing and tasting. And where I had been impressed by what cheese and stinky soya products had in common, these culinary professionals were immediately struck by their differences. “Although in some ways you could say the flavours of cheese and fermented beancurd are similar,” said Mao, “vegetable stinky foods are very clean and clear in the mouth (qing kou), and they disperse quickly, while milky foods are greasy in the mouth (ni kou), they coat your tongue and palate, and they have a long, lingering aftertaste.”

Two other chefs said the cheeses had a heavy shan wei (muttony odour), an ancient term used by southern Chinese to describe the slightly unsavoury tastes associated with the northern nomads. Another said that the selection “smells like Russians”. “The difference,” he added, “is that the stinky things Chinese people eat give them smelly breath, while stinky dairy things affect the sweat that comes out of your skin.”

Chinese fermented beancurd, an intense-tasting relish, had always reminded me of a ripe blue cheese, but the Shaoxing tasters, faced with a Stichelton, disagreed. “It does have a rich umami taste,” said chef Chen Judi, “but there’s also a bitter aftertaste that people in this region wouldn’t like at all.” Several of the tasters were repelled by the sourness and astringent aftertaste of the Isle of Mull, which I’d thought was the most innocuous. “Our rotted thousand layers just doesn’t have that sour taste,” said Mao.

The cheeses they found most palatable were the Harbourne Blue (“this is quite close to Shaoxing tastes,” said Mao, “neither bitter nor sour, and quite clean in the mouth”) and, surprisingly, the very strong Milleens, with its ammoniac whiff. “I think people here would be able to tolerate this,” he added. The only cheese that provoked real consternation was the Brie. “It has this animal stench that assaults your nose,” said Dai Jianjun. “Definitely the stinkiest,” said Mao, “I really can’t bear it.” Most of the others agreed. Only one chef, Sun Guoliang, actually liked it. “It has such a complex flavour, like stinking beancurd, rotted thousand sheets and fermented beancurd, all mixed together.”

After our first course of cheeses, we tasted some stinky local dishes for comparative purposes. And I had to agree with the assembled company that, despite the formidable aromas of the steamed stinking beancurd and the rotted amaranth stalks, their flavours were clean, dispersing quickly in the mouth, without the creamy clinginess of cheese. The cubes of fermented beancurd, too, had a magnificent creaminess, but it didn’t hang around: quickly vanishing to leave room for appreciation of the delicate soups and stews that came afterwards.

Much as I love cheese myself, by the end of the meal I was beginning to understand why a Shaoxing local might turn up her nose at Brie, while enjoying the stinking beancurd that perfumes entire neighbourhoods. I was, however, fascinated by how well the mellow tastes of Shaoxing’s amber-coloured wines matched the local stinking delicacies, a marriage as perfect as port and Stilton. The next tasting, perhaps, should be a gathering of European oenophiles around a table of Shaoxing wines and cheese.

‘Shark’s Fin & Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China’ by Fuchsia Dunlop, is published in paperback by Ebury Press on June 2

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2011.

FT: MArmalade

 

Kitchen stories: Oranges are the only fruit

By Sybil Kapoor

Published: January 7 2011 22:01 | Last updated: January 7 2011 22:01

Testers at the Marmalade Awards in Cumbria

 

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Like most avid marmalade makers, Dr Yen-Chung Chong’s methods are very particular. The retired biochemist, based in Brighton first squeezes the juice from Sicilian blush oranges and some lemons. Then he filters the liquid overnight through a jelly bag, reboils the debris with water and adds hand-cut rind. The liquids and zest are boiled with white cane sugar and home-made Seville orange pectin; finally, he pours in campari.

This quirky recipe won Dr Chong the “double-gold” laurels at last year’s World’s Original Marmalade Awards, held annually in Cumbria. Established in 2006 by Jane Hasell-McCosh, this sticky celebration has shown that home cooks and small artisan makers are doing much to change a delicacy that has been made in Britain for more than 300 years, but has made little progress save for switching from a dinner-table treat to a breakfast toast staple.

“I love marmalade and I really wanted to do something to try and improve its quality,” Hasell-McCosh says. “Amazingly, it’s taken on a life all of its own. Last year we had over 800 entries.” British shops sell Seville oranges in the last three weeks of January, so the festival is held over a weekend in mid-February at Hasell-McCosh’s stately home, Dalemain Mansion, crammed for two days with tables laden with amber- and russet-coloured jars.

Hasell-McCosh receives entries from all over the world, including a yuzu marmalade from Japan, which is “definitely an acquired taste”. To meet demand, she has added three new categories to the competition – International, Inventive and Family Affair. All of which might sound a little eccentric, until you realise that Hasell-McCosh is a natural marmalade marketing genius. Amateurs can enter myriad groups, from Military and Clergy to Bed and Breakfast. The entry money goes to charity.

Everyone from Michael Bond (author of the Paddington Bear books) to manufacturers such as Thursday Cottage are involved. As Pam Corbin, judge and author of The River Cottage Handbook No 2: Preserves, says: “it’s a marvellous meeting place for marmalade makers, and it’s gaining momentum year on year.”

A competing marmalade

Jonathan Miller, a buyer at Fortnum & Mason, is also interested. “Fortnum’s wants to encourage small niche makers who use small-batch, open-pan methods,” he says. “Last year, the festival’s artisan category had some brilliant marmalades including a kumquat marmalade from Museu de la Confitura in Spain and a Wake-Up Marmalade made with a little chilli from Wild & Fruitful in Cumbria.” The latter is now sold in Fortnum’s, alongside Ludlow Food Centre’s dark Lady Windsor’s Marmalade, made with molasses.

Everyone who enters gets feedback. Lord Henley, who entered the Peers & Political category, managed to improve his marmalade to such a degree that last year he won his group prize, beating a Scottish MP. Victor Gubbins, ex-Royal Dragoons and winner of last year’s best Military marmalade, is not afraid of the strong competition involved, even within his own household: “As my wife also enters the festival, I make my marmalade after she’s gone to bed.”

The range of methods is extraordinary, from the traditional formula of cooking whole Seville oranges to simmering the cut peel in an Aga oven. “I still find it amazing that just by cooking citrus fruit and sugar in a pan you get such variety and complexity,” Miller says. Clearly, this is just the start of a British marmalade renaissance.

The 2011 festival runs February 12-13 (entries must be in by February 7); www.marmaladeawards.com
 

Paddington Bear's favourite marmalade buns

Published: July 19 2008 03:00 | Last updated: July 19 2008 03:00

Paddington is one of an illustrious line of hungry bears in children's literature and many youngsters are first introduced to marmalade by his passion for it. One of the joys of coming to London from Darkest Peru, where marmalade is scarce and regarded as a special treat, is that he is allowed by the generous Brown family to have marmalade every day (and honey on Sundays). So Paddington is able to buy his favourite marmalade buns with his pocket money, take marmalade sandwiches to the theatre and bring a jar of marmalade to the seaside.

While marmalade sandwiches may be too much of a good thing for younger palates, marmalade buns are more gently orangey. So here is a recipe for marmalade buns that would appeal to Paddington. The kind of bun he might enjoy for elevenses with his good friend Mr Gruber, who keeps an antique shop on Portobello Road in London: "Mr Gruber usually had a bun and a cup of cocoa in the morning for what he called 'elevenses', and he had taken to sharing it with Paddington. 'There's nothing like a chat over a bun and cocoa,' he used to say, and Paddington, who liked all three, agreed with him even though the cocoa did make his whiskers go a funny colour."

How wonderfully cosy sounding and utterly irresistible.

RECIPE

This recipe is very flexible and can be made as buns (small sponge cakes) or a single cake in a loaf tin. I ice my buns/cake with icing sugar and fresh orange juice but they are also delicious without icing - and make far less mess in suitcases. It's worth reinstating elevenses simply as an excuse to eat them. It makes one large cake or 12 small buns. You need a 12-bun tray and 12 paper cases or a large (25x11x7cm) loaf tin, greased with butter and lined with baking parchment.

Ingredients 175g butter

175g soft brown sugar

3 eggs

Grated zest of 1 orange (unwaxed)

Juice of ½ orange

2 rounded tbs thin-cut marmalade

175g self-raising flour

For the icing

200g icing sugar

Juice of 1 orange

Orange food-colouring paste (optional)

Method

*Preheat the oven to 180°C/Gas Mark 4. Place the paper cases, if using, in the bun tin.

*In a mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one by one until fully incorporated into the mix. Add the orange zest, juice and marmalade and stir in thoroughly.

*Add the flour and fold in gently with a metal spoon.

*Divide the mix equally between the paper cases and place them in the bun tray or spoon it into the loaf tin.

*If you are making one cake, bake for 40-50 minutes but check after 35 minutes. Use a metal skewer or sharp knife to test if it's ready. Insert it in the cake and if any trace of uncooked mixture comes out on the skewer or knife the cake is not fully cooked. Return it to the oven and bake until the knife or skewer comes out clean. If you find your cake is browning a little too quickly, place a sheet of foil on top to prevent it burning.

*If you are making a dozen small buns, bake for approximately 20 minutes.

*Transfer the tin(s) to a wire rack and leave the buns/cake to cool. Do not begin to ice them until they are completely cold.

*To make the icing, sift the icing sugar into a bowl and add half the orange juice and a tiny amount of orange food-colouring paste, if using, and mix. Add as much juice as it takes to make the icing thick and glossy and spread the icing over the buns/cake.

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2011.