just me and my cluckiness… and a Hare and a Tortoise

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vegetarian duck rolls

My friend Khrystyne just had a baby. She had a baby! I mean, after the endless hours of contractions, anguish, pain and sweat, she made a baby, and they let her take it home. Little baby Emmerson, and OMG is it legal to be that cute? She gurgles and coos and gurgles some more, and forms that little ‘o’ shape with her mouth, as if she’s suckling on thin air, but probably searching for a nipple. Not mine though, bubba, you’d be left high and dry with that one.

I’ve just come home from meeting little Emmerson for the first time, and holy tabouleh my cluckiness has kicked into overdrive. I don’t even know what to do with myself. I already attend Freaks Anonymous for my uncontrollable staring at fat, dumpy babies on public transport ~ my eyes glaze over and I’m so completely mesmerised that it actually scares me a little. Now I just look like I want to gobble one up, right there on the spot. It’s definitely an urge not unlike hunger. Like I’m gonna go ape-shit insane if I don’t eat right now.

At least I can satiate my hunger with relative ease.

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old friends and new salads: avocado & spring onion salad with toasted almonds

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avocado and almond salad

A very weird thing happened yesterday. I was just plodding along minding my own business in Twitterverse when someone asked me for my opinion on something (read: Snog Soho) and I told them how I felt (read: I wouldn’t go there) and to my utter surprise, she didn’t go! Because of what I said! I was a little bit, what the hell someone actually listened to me, but not just like oh hey ok thanks bugger off, but she valued my opinion and changed her plans because of me.

Phwoar.

… Doesn’t she know that I know the total sum of nothing about anything?

Anyway, whatever, there was a glitch in the universe. All should be well again and really, don’t take my advice for anything.

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Loyalty 101: how not to be a food slut ~ Kiasu trumps Satay House

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kari ayam; ice kachang

Through my numerous monologues on the awesomeness of Kiasu, one would assume that I was loyal to my little Malaysian friend. However, this is far from the case. While I am fiercely loyal to my family and friends, I’m stupendously slutty when it comes to good food and I would totally drop Kiasu like a hot potato if something else were to trump it. But nothing has. Yet.

What there has been is ample recommendation. Recommendations for various Malaysian joints, none of which stood out more than those for  Satay House; I even recall someone saying something about Malaysian royalty dining there. Hmmm, seriously? Anyway, I brought with me my nasi lemak connoisseur buddy and looked forward to an evening of culinary delights.

Disappointingly, after all the hype for Satay House, I’m sorry y’all, but… I thought it was purrrrty darn average.

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dinner at Tamarai: much about “meh-ness”

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Pan Fried Pork Belly, golden lotus root, honey hoisin sauce; Coconut and Palm Sugar Brûlée, elderflower sorbet

It is so weird for me to not have an opinion about something. Usually everything; whatever the thing may be – a restaurant, a movie, a service or even just my new L’Occitane Red Rice mattifying moisturiser – everything leaves me with some form of an opinion. I love it, I rave about it. But if I hate it, wow, I run around the internetz bagging it all over Twitterverse, much akin to social media murder (’tis a good thing I don’t hate very much. Or have any influence).

Drawing an opinion from me (either good or bad) is really not very hard. What’s a more difficult achievement is balancing so precisely on the thread between leading me to like or dislike something that I am left speechless (which is an unfathomable feat in itself) and without an ability to form any opinion.

My dinner at Tamarai left me with one such conundrum. I went, I ate, and I really don’t have much of an opinion about it.

Well, ok, I lie, the pan fried pork belly made my tummy dance in glee, but other than that it really didn’t leave an impression. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t bad, it was just meh. Oh wait, was that an opinion right there?

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lamb cutlets: better than Tom Cruise any day

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lamb cutlets and roast vegies

I’m gonna ask you to do something really hard. Really really hard, but bear with me ok? Because there once was a time when I was young, and the world was a very different place, and I want you to go with me there, just for one moment.

So sit still, close your eyes and breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt at yoga, is that that way of breathing is how a person should always breath (because god help me I thought my party trick of in one nostril and out the other was just the coolest thing since Fido Dido). Anyway, breathe, and concentrate… and push your mind way back to the depths of your adolecense.

Back to a time of scrunchies and crimped hair. A time of leg warmers (oh wait, that’s like now).

Back to a time when Tom Cruise was hot.

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cupcakes with vanilla butter cream: my hug proxy

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cupcakes with vanilla butter cream

My boyfriend’s been away in Finland all week and I’ve been on my lonesome at home. You know what, I have to stop calling him “my boyfriend”. Much like you and I and that cute puppy I wanted to kidnap today, he has a name. His name is Panu. Equal emphasis on both syllables ~ Pah-noo, not P’noo, like so many people insist.

Panu and I, we are quite the opposites. He’s tall, I’m a midget. He’s… not really quiet, but I make a lot of noise. He likes rock, I like breaks. He’s a sci-fi fan (yuck), I like everything but. He loathes karaoke, and me… *coughmikehogcough*. And he’s healthy and well, I eat a lot.

But what keeps us together is that secretly, under his crazy health-nut exterior, Panu also loves to eat. Oh, and we also really like each other.

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