New Years Day. The clock strikes midday and the world is asleep. Well, not everyone’s asleep I suppose given that our planet revolves on an axis that bends the time continuum (it hasn’t quite mastered space yet, unlike Hiro Nakamura). Someone, somewhere, is awake.
For someone like me, someone who happens to know a lot of people who live on the other side of the planet, the bending of the time continuum is a right pain in the behind. This is especially so for me, because I have a handful of friends who don’t seem to grasp the concept of timezones.
Time. Zones. That 4pm in the afternoon for you, is not 4pm in the afternoon for me. Not even close.
*silent vent*
But I digress. It’s midday on New Years Day, a new decade, 2010. The world London is asleep and I’m hungry.
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I have been really really slack with my posting. I can’t help it, I get so excited about my recent baking adventures that they are like my favourite children, my fingers stumble over each other trying to post them straight away and every-thing else falls by the wayside.
Favouritism. It exists. Deal with it.
Anyway, I’ve been pre-occupied with I-don’t-know-what, but I do know that I’ve been so pre-occupied with stuff that I totally forgot our Girls Gone Wild (keep dreamin’) In Alicante trip is this weekend. It’s been two months since the planning began, right along side those Harwood Arms scotched eggs, and while there’s been many a date night since to drill into the finer details of our trip (amongst them Buddha Bar, which was just dark and expensive and I didn’t love it anywhere near enough to post about it), my favourite girls-weekend-planning-lunch has been at Royal China on Baker Street.
Good ol’ dim sum.
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Tw-eat-ups! Twee-eat-ups. Tweet. Eat. Up. No matter how you spell it out, tw-eat-ups are paving way for friendships of the 21st century. Well, in my world anyway. Despite the glaring dangers of meeting up with near strangers for the sake of a decent meal, my primal necessity to seek out good food with gooder company triumphs time and time again, challenging me to take on risky rendezvous with fellow foodies from twitterverse.
And I never turn down a challenge.
All right, so Yum Cha is not exactly risky. But it was up Camden High Street.
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There is something to be said about returning to a restaurant after repeatedly bad service. Not bad like ick, but bad like they-once-basically-accused-me-of-lying kind of bad. And I don’t know, maybe this is a question about my pride, my self worth, my self love, but do you think that despite public humiliation, returning to the same restaurant time and time again just because they serve good great food is a little lame? Or maybe it just means (in case you hadn’t realised it by now) that I really, really love my food.
Apparently more than I love myself.
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