bel

Even though Amazon sells books for pretty darn cheap and offers free delivery, I'd still rather buy used books; the total price for used books including shipping totals up to more than buying it straight from Amazon. I adore poring through slightly yellowed paper knowing that somewhere someone else has shared the same emotions that I am about to experience while reading the same novel. I think it binds humanity in an odd sort of way.

Heart Attack Sandwich

Deep Fried Cupcake with Chocolate Sauce and Sprinkles

One word: OATMEAL.

So, my equally spastic friend and I decided to go on this 11 day diet. I was enthusiastic last night, almost scarily motivated. But, as you know, summoning willpower is no easy task. Don't even bother asking why I'm attempting to do this. I think I'm bored.

I feel like being re-born with musical aptitude just so I can play the guitar and sing and jump around like them. Awesomes.

Ripped from thestar.com.my as 2nd most viewed article of the day.

Sample question (out of a possible hundred) from a driver's license test in China.

If someone’s intestines are protruding from an open abdominal wound, should you:
A. Put them back in place.
B. Do nothing.
C. Cover them with some kind of container and fasten it around the body.

I would've picked A, but apparently the answer is C.

I'm surprised there wasn't a D:

D. Hastily slice away a good portion, stash it in a large black garbage bag so that no one can see what you're doing and then go make pig human intestine soup with pepper.

Reaaaalllyy cannnottt. 

Was reading an article. First line that pops up in front of my face was this: "What do women want?"

I pray for a blue sky for you, too.

- It snows. Pretty heavily. Like now. 

Watched 'Rachel Getting Married'. Anne Hathaway is winning that Oscar because she looks dead terrible (recall: Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman and Halle Berry in Monster, The Hours and Monster's Ball respectively). Moreover, the movie is an incredibly low budget indie film that creeps out 3/5 senses. Kym (Anne Hathaway) in black Ray Ban Wayfarers, XXXL forest green hoodie and skinny jeans with blond tiger highlights? Check. The incessant shrill violin coupled with the twang of a badly played guitar to represent the cacophony of said character's mental torture playing in the background? Check. The verdant green and warmth of Kym's childhood home juxtaposed with said character's constant cigarette smoking? Check. The one tight bitchslap across the face every child deserves? Check.

I've been listening to plenty of Cher. Her songs are bloody awesome and nobody else can wear fishnet stockings the way she does. She's my new role model. She invented Reinvention waaay before Madonna did. 

2008 was by no means altogether shit; it was, in fact, a year of many unexpected surprises. Like a box of chocolates or whatever it is that Forrest Gump says. 

Want: new bags, new shoes, new kitchen sink, new coat, new American Apparel dress, new pet rabbit, new belt, new fur-trimmed bolero, new purple giraffe, new sneakers, snazzy Ralph Lauren blazer, Chanel earrings, new laptop, new Internet connection, new loaf tin, new leggings, new eyebrows, new Topshop accessories, new French Soles, new gym shoes, new dinosaur model, new ....me?

Need: Absolutely nothing - except maybe washboard abs and Bundchenian legs.

The true spirit of Christmas is in the giving, kids. Santa knows it when you try to earn brownie points. Heigh ho!

Fairly eventful weekend. Am not particularly fond of blogging about what I've done because I don't believe my life is worth going into excessive detail about- but, well, this weekend was slightly different.

Saturday morning - went to Borough Market to eat more food. I have a newfound love for wild boar sausages. I delight in its remarkable crunchy chewiness. So much better than regular pork sausages, to be honest.

One steps foot into the Dorchester expecting nothing less than the sycophantic doorman and an all-too-keen bellboy. Not that I would know; it was all in the imagination from reading novels about dining at the Ritz and watching Bond films. Well, it really is like that in reality. One asks for Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester and is politely shown to a restaurant at the end of the corridor, past The Promenade, The Grill and The Bar. The room is spacious and alight with a soft glow that lulls the senses into a dreamy state. Yet, one can't help but talk about the finer things in life when dining in this place. Call it a lack of exposure on my part - a jakun if you will - but it's true :-)

The pompous maître d' greets us, asks us whether we'd like champagne with lunch. Bubbly in the afternoon? Thanks, but that would be far too decadent, sir. He then brings us a cute bowl of bread and cheese balls, each one dotted carefully with either paprika or black pepper.

These little babies are quite delectable. I am a carb junkie; what can I say?

Thereafter, we are presented with the chef's first delectable delight: the amuse-bouche - literally translated from the French as 'mouth amuser'. The chef knows no bounds with the amuse-bouche, as it is meant to whet the guest's appetite in anticipation of the coming meal. Well, it works! Today's amuse-bouche comes to us in the form of creamed broccoli with black olives garnished sparingly with slices of various raw vegetable. I gush at the taste of black olive combined with the broccoli cream and scoop every last drop pitifully. My bouche is now tres amused.



For starters, I order the 'Slightly Sauteed Shrimp'. It is an esoteric palette of tastes. The shrimp, together with some regular broccoli, peppers and finely cut carrot, is sitting on a bed of seemingly solidified (and quite salty) stock. It tickles my curious tastebuds and I am actually quite confused as what to make of it, so I dismiss it as 'fairly forgettable', if not a little overwhelming in texture and saltiness. The solidified salty jelly stuff does not do the shrimp justice.

By this point, the three of us are pleasantly surprised. We have satisfied our Tesco saturated tastebuds! But, oh, what's zis? More food! Ze other snotty French maître d' (hereafter known simply as Pompous) trots along and presents us with our main courses. I picked the 'Roast Veal with Creamy Spinach' because, you know, gym rats like me need my daily hit of protein and fat all at once.

One of us remarked that, yes, it does indeed resemble 'siew yoke'. It even tastes a bit like it, but after five mouthfuls, I am up to my neck in richness. The meat is delightfully plump and tender and when eaten with the correct sliver of fat, it can actually cause shivers of sheer pleasure. What I do not fancy, though, is how much the sauce tastes like it has a lot of Knorr's Beef Stock Concentrate in it i.e. the stuff I use for my gravy. Either the chef had a slip-up or Knorr really know their stuff.

And then comes the most favouritest part of the meal: dessert! After a rich main, I look forward to calming myself down with a tangy dessert. I get exactly that in this wonderful and most awesomest Vacherin served in the most cutest dessert bowl (I gotta get me one of these).


The colours are far more exciting than they look; it really resembles a mini Hawaiian luau. Underneath the mini meringue crusts, mango sorbet and coconut, lime and banana sorbet (which Pompous snidely dismisses as vanilla when I ask him what flavour it is and then comes back apologetically telling me it really is coconut, banana and lime. Tous est, eh, what you call it...c'est stupide??) is a titillatingly zingy passion fruit compote. I adore passion fruit with a zealous passion - no pun intended :) This is, by far, the pièce de résistance of the meal. We are not exactly stuffed, but it's okay. Food makes people happy. Food makes me happy, anyway.

'To the good life that we shall afford next time'.