As we all knew (and quite probably ignored), Valentine’s Day came and went last Sunday.
While I’m not a frothing-at-the-mouth anti-Vday lunatic, I do believe that the day was created to take advantage of those blindly in love, laying duty in men’s hearts and desire in women’s, so that gifts are given, plus flowers, plus chocolates, plus a prerequisite card. The blindness of love is a Godsend on this day, because without it, you would see that Hallmark had just yanked the biggest leg of all, pocketing billions upon billions, on this one day.
Having said all that, Valentine’s day does bring happiness to a significant number of people in this world, and no one will question that. Couples are loved up, and singles party on, on what is probably the easiest day of the year to spot fellow singles.
So I don’t hate, not at all.
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I’m pretty sure I have a caveat somewhere in this blog about my utter lack of food knowledge, in particular the anthropology of food. I don’t really think about where food comes from, or its original purpose, or what it is “meant to” taste like. Rather, I consult my very [un]refined tastebuds and if they all nod in unison, then we are in agreement that something tastes good.
Sometimes they get me in trouble for loving all the wrong things. But mostly, we get along just fine, enjoying culinary delights that make me, my buds and my tummy deliriously happy.
Anyway, last week I joined the queues at new take-out joint Viet Baguette on Charlotte Place in London’s West End and ordered me a bánh mì, a Vietnamese style baguette filled with such deliciousness as slices of roast pork, pate, pork floss, shallots and a chilli-mayo sauce.
Oh, pork floss.. {heart}
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what’s talkin?