A MAN OF CULTURE

I may have mentioned that I seldom cook anymore, seeing as cooking for just one person isn't exactly the most thrilling activity in the world. In fact, I've become rather casual about dining. Snacky things, little trips to eateries in Chinatown where the food is tasty and the people-watching fine, and such like. As well as an experience involving habaneros, which gave me wonderful golden-orange dreams. Before I woke up in distress.

So you'll be pleased to know that I had something healthy.
Quite recently, in fact.

Chunked honey-dew melon whizzed to smithers in the blender, with yoghurt, vitamin fortified fruit juice, and milk.
A nutritious and refreshing shake, in lieu of dinner.
Oh yes, just bursting with goodness.
Saintly food.


I made it ten minutes after I had finished off the remains of a bag of sour cream and cheddar potato chips. Think of it as a sequential presentation of (two) courses in a dairy meal.

Yoghurt, apparently, is good for you.
Intestinal flora and fauna.
It's cultural.



I don't think I've ever dreamed of habanero chilies before; it's really beautiful.
A bush full of glorious glowing orange goodness, shaped like little Chinese lanterns. Exceptionally festive.
I must try not to do that again.



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