For some people pleasure means sleeping in on Sundays, a trip to Alton Towers with the family, fluffy yorkie puds, chocolate ganache, shopping at Westfield, or a tall glass of something with Pimm’s at the beach. For me however, pleasure means watching old reruns of Frasier, nibbling on baking chocolate, the only kind currently lurking in my cupboard, and eating Jus-like-Crab — frozen fritters that need to be deep-fried; inexplicably fake and fishy and yet addictive in a twisted sort of way. Taking a trashy-food-eating break is good for the soul. And the tummy. Trust me. Meanwhile:
– We’re still reeling from a weekend of beef stew and pear salad.
– I have been using my lunch hours at work combing the city for 6V batts to use with my father’s old Yashica Electro 35. It’s high-time someone started experimenting with it.
– I’m planning a birthday-for-Meghna-cum-Oscar night with family friends. I think this calls for my spice-roasted chicken.
– Can’t stop thinking of this buttercream….will have to make some of this very soon before my head explodes.
– I have sneaked out a couple of over-ripe bananas from the funny-looking basket from which we hang our bunches. They’re pleasantly spotted with black and now resting in the freezer waiting for me to get started on some banana bread — something I’ve always wanted to make, and yet have always failed due to my brother’s slavish devotion to the fruit. He can effortlessly inhale a dozen bananas in two days flat, even before I can get my hands on a single one.
– I also don’t think Ghost Rider: Spirit of Whatever is worth a watch. Seriously.
The Subjectivist 