BENGALI CUISINE AND BUDDHADEV BOSU

While I like getting new readers, I find it disturbing that on a weekly basis several of them end up here reading my essays because they are desperate perverts. I sympathise with desperate perverts, I really do, but I look forward to not meeting them. Ever.

Perhaps I should never have named a post "Naked School Girl" several years ago. But at that time it simply seemed the most straightforward title for an effusive paean of praise for Bengali cuisine.
Which is mighty dang fine, oh golly yes.
And relies muchly on ghee.


Still, I shouldn't complain. The curious pervert probably reads that the school girl is nineteen or twenty (and eating chocolate cake), and then promptly loses interest. Because what he was looking for was a younger specimen, and he wanted pictures. Or maybe it was a 'she'.
She wanted pictures.

There are very many pictures on this blog.
NONE of them are nude students.
This is a modest page.


Normally I would not be contemplating this matter at thirty minutes to twelve on a work night, but I just finished eating a meatball sandwich with Sriracha hot sauce on toasted sourdough, and am presently enjoying a shot of Scots Whisky (Laphroaig).

See, my apartment mate -- who used to be a schoolgirl, many years ago, when I first met her (SF State, in her early twenties) -- came home late, and after putting away the cookies and biscotti she had bought, sat on the edge of my bed telling me all about her crazy boyfriend. Who cannot appreciate that the chicken breast she cooked for him was moist and juicy, and just packed with flavour. He said it was too salty (because he's such a sensitive clod), whereas she felt there wasn't nearly enough of anything.

She's very precise about the preparation of food.
He just bungs stuff into the microwave.

Spices upset his tummy.

Hoo hah!

And, speaking of such things, she wondered what the heck Boo-King chicken sandwiches are made out of. Because there is no part of the chicken that's already mealy and uniformly breaded when you slaughter a bird. But remarkably she was not suffering from indigestion.

I remarked that that was probably because it was reconstituted, and therefore its 'deconstituting' took far less effort. Subsequent to that, packages of ketchup were mentioned, as well as strange bread-like substances, along with fried banana with a pinch of cinnamon and gobs of whipped cream, some warm breadpudding on the side.

Then chocolate pudding came up.

At which point, having avidly discussed food past my bedtime for an hour and a half, I felt the need to fix myself a bite to eat. I've finished my snack, and a few moments ago I started looking at my blog stats.
Which is how I discovered that someone found my blog by typing "naked schoolgirl" into his search bar.

Don't know where he is. But he's probably an American.
Almost certainly not interested in college students.
Or the wonder that is Bengali Cuisine.



FYI: The former schoolgirl from San Francisco State is presently in her own room, in bed, reading something which is making her laugh.




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