“Emotional truffle salt”, I guess, is what drove me to write this post. My blog persona is about as non-existent as Kristen Stewart’s smile, and like her, I don’t really want to apologise for it.
We all know Lea is moving to several places in the coming year: KL, Australia, the North Pole. She’s like a serial mover. Like a serial killer, except she’s going to ravage each place instead with her appetite and ‘nom nom’ prowess.
And as for me? Well, I’ll still be here in good ol’ Singapore, attempting to find the best least-rated places. It is one of my goals in life to stop going to places that people say are “SO GOOD” and instead venture out to oddball hole-in-the-wall joints and find good palatable food there instead. I think I’ve just described myself as a hipster foodie, but whatever; at least I have the glasses and plaid shirts to match.
After months of pestering – “did you get it yet did you get it yet” – Lea finally got me the truffle salt I’d been begging for. I was all ready to give her money for it until she told me that Bigfoot told her that it should be some sort of consolation for leaving me here half a year earlier than intended.
Salt to the wound indeed!
Plus she hadn’t actually thought of the idea herself! Bigger ouch.
The grand flipside is that I get at least a year’s worth of truffle-flavoured French fries and pasta and corn and fried egg sandwiches. I’m going to run my full second marathon with a belly (bellea?) full of truffle avocado pesto pasta. That’s a pretty sweet deal to me, if I do say so myself.
So, whether we may be separated by a vast expanse of ocean – or the Straits of Johor – as long as we’re hungry, as God is my witness, continue to expect random sporadic posts about brutal dessert-making and street food reviews from around the world.