Wednesday, May 11, 2005


Itadakimasu (finger lickin' good y'all)

I never thought I'd be reduced to stir-frying mouldy broccoli. Hell, I never thought thought I'd be reduced to eating broccoli at all, without my Mother cramming it down my throat. Sadly, I guess I've changed for the worse. Then again...

Gruesome anecdote that pretty much summarises my culinary history:

I got home to number I-suddenly-can't-remember-what, the house I shared with Tim. Number 164? Maybe. I can't remember. Whatever.

I was peckish, and faced with a dilemma. To go to the shop, or to tuck into the onion bhaji which I knew for a fact to be on the floor behind the sofa.

If, like me, you think this was a difficult decision, you might like to consider the following factors:

1. I had plenty of money in my wallet.

2. We lived next-door-but-one to an inexpensive shop with friendly staff.

3. Tim and I, having been unable to finish our monster take-away curry the previous day, had played football with the onion bhaji and it was all covered with hair.

You know how this story ends; I'd hardly be typing it if I'd just decided to go to the shop. And if you can't understand why I did this, you are not alone.

I will say this, though: it tasted a hell of a lot better than yellow-and-purple broccoli.

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