I wish my cousin would warn me before she was dumped by her current boyfriend. Or at least wait till I have extracted all possible mileage and then proceed to get dumped. There was this one guy who worked at Mercedes who had promised me a company shirt (needless to say, I did not get it) and there was this other fellow who used to be video game tester (hath there be-ith a more awesome-ith job?)
I mean, c’mon the least I can expect is some sort of warning e-mail or something. “Quick, jump before the sink ships.” I get frikkin nothing. No fair me thinks. No fair at all.
I am constantly surprised by how warmly I feel towards people who feed me. It really is most strange. I send out these positive vibes to the feeder, of that I am sure. I think I send out positive vibes whenever I eat good food.
I think restaurant owners should invite me to their joints simply because of the abovementioned good vibes. I could be like the guru of restaurant inaugurations. (Uggh, I never noticed that “u” after the “g” in that word).
They would invite on opening night (or the previous day) and I would sit there and hog and hog and stuff my face and emit these awesome vibes. (no vibes is not equal to farts you immature bastard!)
Then, when the place would be thrown open to the public, there would be this sexy atmosphere in the place and people would be like “Can you feel the positive energy? It is amazing” and the restaurant critics would fill the next day’s paper with “…the place was humming..” and “….there was this crazy energy in the air….” and “……at once, the atmosphere beguiles and calms….” or some shit like that.
Man, I would be uber famous then. (It is amazing how many paths there can be to the promised fifteen minutes)
Though (and this must be said) some of the best food I have eaten is at places which could not give a roaches’ dick about atmosphere or vibes or anything of that sort. Eat, order, stuff face, leave. Do not stare at floor/walls/plate washing mechanism etc. Comprende?
I was just thinking of a rather stupid joke I heard on the radio and it roughly went like this:
“Why did the paneer start squirming and dancing and in the kadhai”
“Because someone sprinkled some green powder on it”
Anyway, I was thinking of food and the holi festival and how the colours jump and dance every time you cook. This cooking thing is something that is definitely worth exploring. Turn the pages of the cook books and pull out the spoons and the pots and the pans and sprinkle the oil here and dash the vinegar there and cut the lettuce and crush the pepper and do this and do that.
This utterly cool friend of mine promised to take me to one of the shadiest joints in the city, called Police Canteen. Apparently it serves some of the best kheema pav in the city.