... well, let's see. First of all, I woke up.
Then I ate the remainder slave-made deviled eggs (fucken delicious, and even at like 160 calories per hiti still completely worth it) while writing a Trilema piece intended as a sort of documentary snapshot of Costa Rica in the days of these days. "May you live interesting times", as ye olde curse goes, right ? Well... I dunno they're that interesting, but they're times alright.
Then I spent an hour or two taking personal calls with various people I know who are stuck in various shitty countries the world over. "But are the supermarkets still supplied ?" "Yeah, as you remember ; of course a yoghurt cup that went for like fiddy cents now is over a dollar, but... what can you do." That sort of thing. Oh, and also picked the bricks of moneyii brought by the money-couriering sluts ; and well, such things.
And then I joined my slave by the poolside, and we watched the kiskadees batheiii, and the great big old tree with the creepers on it, and I watched her stretch and crunch and play with herself like a newborn babe (you know that thing they do where they grab their feet and roll over ?), and I also read Diana's story of my Bitcoin category. This laptop's great by the way -- the battery claims four hours remaining when you unplug it, then after two-three hours by the pool it claims an hour and change remaining when replugged. I fucking hate the bullshit laptops of everyone else, going through an hour+ of falsely claimed autonomy every six to nine minutes, what the shit.
And now I'm about to join some whore for raita (she just made) alongside the leftover lamb curry (another one made). Because d'oh, what the fuck else can I do. Maybe I watch a movie later, or maybe we drive to town, or maybe... Anyways, see you.———
- The girls make upwards of two dozen eggs in one go (not counting the other dozen+ for the mayo). That comes to forty - fifty halves ; add the pound or so of (specially imported) cold cuts, the not inconsiderable olive oil going into said mayo etcetera... We're talking six to nine thousand calories, if you can imagine the madness ongoing. I practically run a ho-tel with a catering business on the side. A very well booked catering business ; though frankly I don't think anyone anywhere eats better.
Nor do I think anyone runs a more satisfying kitchen. Commonly professional / commercial efforts are bogged down by the retarded patrons' pretense to having "their own mind" to make up, and preferences and opinions and shit, which ruins the whole process.
I'm not here discussing genuine preference, actual likes and dislikes. I'm discussing the fake, the ersatz the unadulterated bullshit postmodern
mancomes up with to fill a hole he (rightly) perceives, tiresome yakkity-yak bolstered by "nobody could prove me wrong" because, obviously, "nobody can see right through me" and such self-shenanigans. The idiots who "like Merlot" as if Merlot's a thing to like thus, generally, and all the while they've never heard of say Chablis, nor could explain why Trebbiano d'Abruzzo goes great spritzed with a plate of said eggs. "Oh, you mean Montepulciano d'Abruzzo?" No, I don't. Had I meant that, I'd have said that.
The people with "special diets" and "allergies" and neverending rank fucking nonsense borne of a life wasted in a plastic hole. These spurious extras, they fuck up cooking for every professional cook, because it's not now a matter of doing a good job, but rather a matter of catering to idiots, actualizing their hallucinated self-importance and whatnot. It's basically a lot like cooking for ill brought up nine year old girls, who'll "only eat white things" or such nonsense.
My girls get to cook well and eat well, which is more than both expert cooks and expert eaters get these days. How do you like that! [↩]
- Hey, to live in style you gotta support the style, naimean ? [↩]
- One knew what it was doing ; another was kinda skittish, sorta calling it off at the last minute time and time again. Watching birds bathe in your pool's actually a lot of fun. [↩]