I'm all over the map today, exhausted from a really busy weekend. I'm going for the fragmented pastiche effect.
We went to Legoland with Paul and Mary Saturday evening. We packed dinner from home and found a table with genuine ambiance overlooking Miniland to enjoy it. It was shaping up to be a virtuous outing, but then we rounded a corner and came face-to-face with my nemesis: Granny's Apple Fries.
Apple matchsticks deep-fried in cinnamon-sugar dough, arranged in a fry carton, with a (no-doubt) patented insert crammed with vanilla cream for dipping. The concept, execution and finished product are a truly evil trifecta. Once you've tried one, you're in it for the duration, and will soon find yourself scraping the bottom with slippery fingers, hoping for one last nugget you can roll wantonly in the last drops of cream. I shudder to remember, yet I am powerless to resist.
Last night I went back to Lei Lounge with a few gals, to send off our friend Jill--who is moving to Chicago--in style. I ordered a Singapore Sling, which contains gin, grenadine, simple syrup, vanilla, lemon and cherry brandy. I know what you're thinking, and I totally agree--a drink with NOTHING bad in it. Just six perfect ingredients whirled into a melange of deliciousness, splashed into a tall, frosty glass, and presented long before any food arrived. I took a sip. I took a bigger sip. I took an unladylike slurp. And that's how I ended up laughing hysterically when no one was talking, grabbing everyone by the arm and screaming, "I KNOW! RIGHT?" and marveling at how blurry the tiki torches were.
It's also how I ended up putting my head down and mowing my way through: tempura sweet potato fries (with caramel dipping sauce) deep-fried cauliflower bites (with cheese dipping sauce), tempura vegetables (with sweet chili dipping sauce) tiny burgers (with spicy pepper dipping sauce), coconut rice (with improvised, mixed dipping sauce) and some spinach salad (which tasted SOOO wrong.) My mouth called out for anything, everything fried, and my fingers answered. In the aftermath, I also decided it would be a good idea to order homemade donut holes (with chocolate, caramel and raspberry dipping sauces) because I was concerned we hadn't eaten enough fried items during the evening. On the way home, I had the distinct sensation that my insides were now, in fact, SAUCED. You could turn me inside out and serve me with umbrella drinks. Today, I told my friend Stephanie, "I thought I might have a hangover from that drink. But I don't."
"You have a food hangover," she suggested.
"That's it. I have a food hangover." I need to detox, stat.
Driving home today:
Jarrah: Mommy, you're not my best friend.
Sam: Oh, that's a shame.
Jarrah: What a shame?
Sam: That I'm not your best friend.
Jarrah: Why it shame?
Sam: Because I want to be your best friend. Are you sure I can't be your best friend?
Jarrah: You can be my best friend after dinner.