One Month and Kicking

15 September 2003

But hopefully not hard enough to break bones or leave bruises.

I also read some more, wrote some in my blog, responded to some email. You know, general all purpose normal every day activities for me.

We knew last night that we were going to have leftover ratatouille for lunch today, but there wasn’t quite enough for both Fahim and I, so I cooked up a diced potato and a couple of mushrooms and added the leftover ratatouille to it, and it was sufficient unto our needs.

And because we knew we were going to have ratatouille for lunch, Fahim started in about what are we going to do for dinner, dearest? Oh, Fahim, love, do you know what today is? No, he says, with an odd look on his face. Dearest, today is our one month anniversary. He rolls his eyes and gives me this look. I ignore it. Dearest, I say, we could go out for dinner and celebrate. Or we can do take away, he says. Pizza? I say. We finally, after much haggling and discussion regarding having only the seafood soup and nothing else, we settle on the Flower Drum Chinese Restaurant.

Fahim and I are used to eating at different times. The earliest he likes to eat is 7:30, but he’ll eat as late as 9:30 or so. For me, 7:30 is so late, and I’m already gnawing off the cat’s hind leg by then. For me, 6:30 is about the latest I can eat, although sometimes I can stretch it into 7:00, but not often.

Since we mostly eat the same thing at supper as we did at lunch, I serve myself a plate whenever I’m hungry and Fahim does the same a couple of hours later. Yes, I’d prefer to eat dinner together as in at the same time, but, well, we still eat together – he’s usually right beside me when I’m eating, and I’m sometimes right beside him when he’s eating. Although more frequently I’m already in the bedroom under the mozzie net reading a book.

Ah well, you can’t have everything in life.

Back to the Flower Drum Chinese Restaurant. Which, in my own head, I call the Flower Pot. We compromise on going to the restaurant at 7:00. By this time, it’s dark out – sun starts going down around 5:30 to 5:45 – I don’t know exact times, but this is when we close all our windows because of the mozzies.

We walk. It’s late, it’s dark, and this is when I finally clue in that we don’t have street lights here. Well, okay, we do, but not like North America. Down our street, it’s dark. Our front light is burnt out, and Fahim wouldn’t buy light bulbs – couldn’t understand why I’d feel a need to have a well lit front door. Cultural differences, perhaps. More likely just him being cheap.

We order Seafood Combination Soup, Prawn Fried Rice, and Devilled Fish, and Elephant Ginger Beer for drinks, or EGB for short.

The soup arrives, and the waiter serves each of us and then puts the bowl on the table. Fahim also asks for green chilis on the side – they’re pickled and add a hot and sour flavor. We put some in the soup along with that red oily chili pepper stuff you frequently see even in North American Chinese Restaurants. The soup is good. Nah, the soup is excellent.

Fahim had problems with the heat. He kept on burning and burning until he was halfway through the rice. I definitely tolerate spicy food better than he does.

Oh, another note. You can order a small or a large serving of most everything. We order small servings, and the soup alone is enough to almost fill us. Okay, the soup alone IS enough to fill us, but we go for the rice and fish anyway, which is also nummy nummy nummy.

And again, the waiter serves us and puts the dishes on the table. If we waited patiently, when we were done what we’d had, he’d come back and serve us again.

We have a small amount of it, and then ask to have the rest wrapped to go. I think I’ve mentioned before how they wrap it. The devilled fish goes in a plastic bag which is then twisted just above the level of the food to prevent leakage. It’s then put on top of the rice which has been put on a plastic sheet and folded. Both are then put in a small, flat flimsy carboard box. It fits well enough and nothing leaks, so why not?

There are toothpicks on the table and I slip a couple into the bag. I want to take pictures because I’ve never seen lathed toothpicks before. I have a hard time imagining why anybody would think it important to lathe toothpicks. In the grocery store here, it’s the only kind I’ve seen. How odd.

When we’re done, we walk home, again mostly in the dark.

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About LMAshton

Howdy and welcome to my site! I'm Laurie and I'll be your, er, hostess today. :)

I'm a Canadian expat currently living in Singapore. I'm married to a Sri Lankan and lived in Sri Lanka for nearly a decade. We also lived in New Zealand for half a year.

I cook Sri Lankan curries, sambols, and mallungs. I bake bread using wild yeast (sourdough that isn't sour). I bake on the stove. I experiment with Indian / Malaysian / Indonesian / Thai / whatever cuisines interest me. And I experiment wildly.

Life is an adventure. Join me! :)

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