THINGS SINGLE MEN DO

There's something wonderful about having good food places nearby. Around the corner from the apartment is a stellar bakery which does magnificent pastries and cakes, and a little further on is a steak restaurant that looks like the set of a gangster movie from the thirties. Deeply padded banquettes, spotless tablecloths, and old-fashioned drapery.
The meat is really good.
Steak and Cake.
Breakfast of champions.
Or dinner.
Snack.

It's kind of a pity at times that I am such a temperate man.

I have simple tastes, and seldom indulge in luxurious or extravagant dining. At least, not anymore. It seems rather pointless doing so by oneself, and it might even be considered degenerate.
I rather miss it.

My best and worst meals nowadays are the experimental things I cook for myself in the middle of the night.

Such as chorizo with hot sauce, curry paste, bacon grease, and ground peanuts.
Plus ginger, shrimp paste, crumbled cashews, and chopped scallion.
Think of it as Mexican - Thai - Indonesian - Treif.
Four of my favourite cuisines!

Dumped it over stirfried stringbeans and noodles, for a dish that might be described as Chinese gone off the deep end. Mixed with left-field Mexican, Thai, and Indonesian; a multi-cultural mongrel.
It certainly wasn't Dutch, and didn't resemble American food.
I might be the only person who would enjoy it.
Yes, it was utterly delicious.
Passionately good.

I regretted it several hours later, early Sunday morning. The chorizo was the same devil sausage I mentioned a few weeks ago, a thoroughly evil and perverse product. The curry paste had Thai chilies in it. Both of these items released all of their incendiary goodness upon encountering the digestive system. It was a gradual and long drawn out process, which led to some very interesting, even psychedelic, dream visions.
Followed by profound regret.


I also regret not having made enough for lunch today.


There are few places near work with interesting food.



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