I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not the type to make a big ol’ hoo-hah about pretty.
Flavour? Yes. All the time. And even if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl.
Actually, make that especially if it’s a big sloppy pile of brown in a not-very-chic bowl. Most of my favourite foods can be described just so.
But then! A revelation!
The days, they are getting shorter, and (as my shorts-in-10C-weather-wearing-friend would say) more “fresh”.
I prefer to term it “cold! Oh-so-cold!” myself.
And so it is, in these nippier climates, that thoughts turn to warming soups. Hearty stews. Butter-and-cream mashed potatoes and slow cooked joints of meat. And, of course, that dish that has so ubiquitously become known as “spag bol”.
You’d never believe it looking at me these days, but I was once a temporary citizen of the land of the beautifully primped, posied and fashioned.
Hair styled, face primed, I stomped around in tendonitis-inducing heels and attended soirees. (To be fair, they were more often than not soirees that I’d helped to organise, complete with carting boxes of samples up and down stairs and stuffing gift bags in said heels).
Oh, and I lunched at Toko.
Not tokonoma, mind you, for it wasn’t around then, but a sister-restaurante no less, and the promise of takeaway from it made the chalkboard stains on my far-too-expensive outfit all the less worrisome.
I have learnt many things in this short little life of mine, but none so important as this:
Never, ever, make a man go shopping on an empty stomach.
It is simple rule, but one that is oh-so-easily-forgotten when a girl is faced with the excitement that is warehouse sales and the ability to purchase inexplicable quantities of oil and chocolate.
It is a good thing, then, that men-who-submit-themselves-to-semi-necessary-shopping are also rather good at locating the nearest place to grab a bite afterwards.
It was 7:25am on a not-so-sunny Saturday morning and I had roused the VTB from his sleep with a fervent phone call.
“I’m leaving the house in 5 minutes. If you’re planning on taking a shower, now’s the time.”
It was 7:53am when I pulled up outside the VTB’s place of residence.
“Hop in! It’s about to start! And I have no idea how to get there!”
