“We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.” -David Mamet, Boston Marriage
“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.” -Orson Welles
So today I decided to make lady fingers (Indian-bhindi). Bless my sister in law, who reveals the most basic of recipes for me to try. This is not to say that I cannot cook ( which is my mother's constant belief- I vehemently disagree!), my level of interest to pursue a certain dish to its cooking stage is short lived. Though today's dish proved to be quite therapeutic, because it gave me the calm to feel myself think.
Food and I have a weird relationship, it's almost like a couple first going out. Thing is, we are still on the first date, so theres always a tiff. Now if I start sifting through my thoughts, which are aplenty (alas), the point that dominates most of my thoughts is food. I like thinking about it, it makes me very happy. No seriously, even after a hearty meal, I would be thinking what will I be having for the next meal. This right here wouldn't be my fault, its all the crazy genes Mum's passed me. She loves anyone who feeds her well. With me, its like the person has no choice. I physically disintegrate when I am hungry, I am a sight to see. I think its more for the fear of violating some serious Human Rights that my mates take it upon themselves to feed me....hmmm. Considering how easy it is for me to lose my appetite, I consider food like a well obese person running for the "The fat person" contest. Some picture I am painting here, but scouts honor my dears, it's all true.
So ZP and I consider ourselves novice food connoisseurs. It's a nice warm feeling to relish a plate of a good meal infront of oneself. We are kindred spirits in that respect. Whatever limited financial abilities we at present possess (ahem), we have decided to eat at fancy pants place rather than merely eating out. So whether it is ogling at a massive 16 inch pizza and counting the chicken pieces on it, or relishing garlic butter with oven fresh dough balls, we take our food seriously ( Well I do, ZP is just happy to eat)
One place that does come up in my mind, which recently sent us in a serious food coma zone was Le pain quotidien (http://www.lepainquotidien.us/#/en_US/menu). I had been to the one by the South Bank in London with SMW, and was pleasantly surprised to find one open in this city as well. So come new year's we were plenty psyched to try the new place and the twist and turn of events ( another story for another blog) which finally landed us a table did not disappoint. The relish with which we eyed our meal was reminiscent of the kids ogling at a loaf of bread in Oliver. I know its not the same thing, but you get the picture. I do believe that we did the chef an honor. I mean seriously, how many times would you go to a restaurant and only eye your food and giggle like a fool at your dinner companion, who by the way is doing the same! The ridiculous taxes slapped on us in the bill didn't deter us from going there a second time. Such is the call of good food, served by servile servers.
For the fear of this sounding very much like that episode of Frasier's where they open a restaurant because they feel they are well versed with good cuisine and can run an eatery, I think I would like a tiny restaurant. Hmmm, now what would that be like? One things for sure, it would be an awesome place to laze around. It would have soul music, lots and lots of books, mismatched furniture and servers whose smile muscles are not sprained or strained! It would have lots of small plants, purple orchids, guitars being played by dread locked musicians, foreign film screenings and Sunday afternoon discussions.
Oh how grand!
As adorable at that flight of fancy is, I need to get back to my lady fingers. They-be-a-calling I suppose.:)
“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.” -Orson Welles
So today I decided to make lady fingers (Indian-bhindi). Bless my sister in law, who reveals the most basic of recipes for me to try. This is not to say that I cannot cook ( which is my mother's constant belief- I vehemently disagree!), my level of interest to pursue a certain dish to its cooking stage is short lived. Though today's dish proved to be quite therapeutic, because it gave me the calm to feel myself think.
Food and I have a weird relationship, it's almost like a couple first going out. Thing is, we are still on the first date, so theres always a tiff. Now if I start sifting through my thoughts, which are aplenty (alas), the point that dominates most of my thoughts is food. I like thinking about it, it makes me very happy. No seriously, even after a hearty meal, I would be thinking what will I be having for the next meal. This right here wouldn't be my fault, its all the crazy genes Mum's passed me. She loves anyone who feeds her well. With me, its like the person has no choice. I physically disintegrate when I am hungry, I am a sight to see. I think its more for the fear of violating some serious Human Rights that my mates take it upon themselves to feed me....hmmm. Considering how easy it is for me to lose my appetite, I consider food like a well obese person running for the "The fat person" contest. Some picture I am painting here, but scouts honor my dears, it's all true.
So ZP and I consider ourselves novice food connoisseurs. It's a nice warm feeling to relish a plate of a good meal infront of oneself. We are kindred spirits in that respect. Whatever limited financial abilities we at present possess (ahem), we have decided to eat at fancy pants place rather than merely eating out. So whether it is ogling at a massive 16 inch pizza and counting the chicken pieces on it, or relishing garlic butter with oven fresh dough balls, we take our food seriously ( Well I do, ZP is just happy to eat)
One place that does come up in my mind, which recently sent us in a serious food coma zone was Le pain quotidien (http://www.lepainquotidien.us/#/en_US/menu). I had been to the one by the South Bank in London with SMW, and was pleasantly surprised to find one open in this city as well. So come new year's we were plenty psyched to try the new place and the twist and turn of events ( another story for another blog) which finally landed us a table did not disappoint. The relish with which we eyed our meal was reminiscent of the kids ogling at a loaf of bread in Oliver. I know its not the same thing, but you get the picture. I do believe that we did the chef an honor. I mean seriously, how many times would you go to a restaurant and only eye your food and giggle like a fool at your dinner companion, who by the way is doing the same! The ridiculous taxes slapped on us in the bill didn't deter us from going there a second time. Such is the call of good food, served by servile servers.
For the fear of this sounding very much like that episode of Frasier's where they open a restaurant because they feel they are well versed with good cuisine and can run an eatery, I think I would like a tiny restaurant. Hmmm, now what would that be like? One things for sure, it would be an awesome place to laze around. It would have soul music, lots and lots of books, mismatched furniture and servers whose smile muscles are not sprained or strained! It would have lots of small plants, purple orchids, guitars being played by dread locked musicians, foreign film screenings and Sunday afternoon discussions.
Oh how grand!
As adorable at that flight of fancy is, I need to get back to my lady fingers. They-be-a-calling I suppose.:)
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