This simple lunch is quick to put together, easily transportable (v. important for work lunches) and not to mention absolutely delicious!
I chopped up some capsicum I had lying around and left out what I didn’t have (scallions and cilantro). Dried herbs (oregano, basil, thyme, etc.) on fried eggs are a must for me. They take them to the next level, I feel. Some finely minced garlic also would not go amiss here but I skipped it seeing as I was eating it at work.
Yesterday afternoon, I saw it with my own eyes, DS purchased his plane ticket – one-way to London on 12 July. It’s official. My heart broke into smithereens.
We then left the office, grabbed some dinner, and headed to the beach for my second lesson in riding a bike.
True story: I never learned to ride a bike. My dad knows, but he never taught me. I didn’t have that kind of childhood. Coincidentally, there was a secret on PostSecret last week that might as well have been sent by me. I cackled when I saw it.
How bizarre is it, learning to ride a bike at the age of 27 from one’s co-worker from Northern England? It was DS’s idea. When I confessed that I didn’t know how to ride a bike, he offered to teach me. I thought he was joking. Which English guy in his right mind would give up a potential night of getting pissed with his friends to teach his colleague to ride a bike? But DS was serious.
Last Friday after work was my first lesson. Try as I might, I was never able to pedal. I mostly laughed my way through it, out of sheer embarrassment and nervousness. DS’s quips didn’t help either. That guy would have made a brilliant comedian. He said we would come again the following week. Yes, another Friday night sweating in the humidity and swatting gnats and mosquitoes instead of being in the pub (“poob” if said in his accent).
“Tonight’s the night. By the end of these two hours, you are going to be able to ride a bike,” he insisted, nay, warned.
I wasn’t too sure. However, fifteen minutes into the first hour, I was able to lift my left foot off the ground, get it on the pedal, and actually cycle for two seconds. Then two seconds turned to four, four turned to ten, ten turned to a minute, a minute turned into 10 minutes. I couldn’t believe it. I mean I know riding a bike is not rocket science but I never believed in myself to succeed without falling a few times first. But there I was, pedalling, not falling. DS was so proud of me, like a dad would be. It was ridiculous.
I did fall later, when I got too confident and lost control. And again when he tried to teach me to turn. Several times. Ow. From then on, DS’s standard dialogue was: “Pedal, pedal, keep pedalling…good…turn now…go left…brake! Brake! Hit the brakes!”
I woke up today with multiple bruises on my shin and lower calf. They’re quite gorgeous. I have a thing for bruises. I can’t stop looking and I can’t stop pressing. It hurts so good. Totally worth it for now being able to ride a bike semi-confidently and also for getting to spend that time with DS. Heaven knows there’s not much of it left.
A little over a month ago, I heard a song on the radio. I liked it but I was too lazy to Shazam it. I figured the song would play again at some point and I would Shazam it then. Later on, after receiving the news, I found myself recalling the words to the song. I didn’t think I was even actively listening to the lyrics, but there it was, these words, flooding my mind.
Is this my life? Am I breathing underwater?
Exactly, precisely, totally, completely how I felt. Sometimes the right songs just play at the right time.
What was the news?
My colleague DS -
who sits next to me in the office
who “borrows” my stationery all the time and never returns them
who makes me laugh like no other
who makes me angry like no other
who lifts my spirits just by being present
who asks me questions about Islam because he is genuinely curious
who discusses current events and engages me in debate on a daily basis
who likes to tell me about interesting things he encounters on his bus rides and equally loves listening to my commuting tales
who once played the song ‘Mardy Bum‘ by Arctic Monkeys out loud for me when I was being irritable (i.e. mardy)
who leaves his biking shorts to dry on the window frame in the back of the office, much to my chagrin
who farts in my direction every chance he gets
whose toilet destroying habits are legendary
who likes to show me old photos of himself before he lost his hair and says, “Look at how handsome I am.”
who shares my love for Karl Pilkington
who despises Coldplay as much as I do and shouts, “Fuck off, Chris Martin!” every time a Coldplay song comes on the radio
who gets me
who really, really gets me
who is the best fucking person I have ever worked with and who is someone I have come to regard as a friend
- told me that in July, he is going back to the UK. For good.
I swear, it took my breath away.
Is this my life? Am I breathing underwater?
He gave me his reasons. They are very good reasons. If I were him I would leave too. And yet.
Can I tell you a secret? I couldn’t sleep that night. I cried for days. I surprised myself by how badly affected I was about his impending departure. I’ve never had a job I love this much and colleagues I love this much. So for the one I click with the most to be leaving…it’s painful. I never showed any signs of sadness to him though. I only kept joke-begging him not to go, knowing full well it was to no avail.
That was a month ago, and I thought I had come to terms with it whilst secretly hoping he was kidding, or if not, that he’d changed his mind. Aka, I didn’t really come to terms with it, did I? I had, however, relatively calmed down. But today he informed me the date he’ll be leaving.
12 July. Exactly a month from today. I was dismayed to learn just how little a time we’ve got left. It unnerved me. I had to blink back tears. I had to look away. I imagine it would be quite a challenge to blink away my tears when we are sending him off at the airport. I wonder if I should even bother.
Please can we talk about these banana pancakes without mentioning that Jack Johnson song? I abhor that song. Thanks.
I’ve come a long way from hating bananas in all shapes and sizes (except battered and deep fried into pisang goreng…YUM!) to freezing them for milkshakes, making banana bread (didn’t post about it) and just last week, banoffee pie. This weekend saw me shoving more banana-y things into my mouth in the form of these pancakes. Clearly, I don’t hate bananas anymore.
I combined two different recipes for this – the pancake recipe is from Once Upon A Chef, while the caramelised bananas recipe is from Averie Cooks. While the pancake recipe looked solid, I was surprised to learn that it calls for only one small banana. I didn’t want to go so far as to call them banana pancakes only for a slight hint of banana flavour. I wanted to pack more banana intensity into them. So I decided to use two medium/normal sized bananas. To compensate for the extra banana volume and moisture, I reduced the milk to 3/4 cup. Oh, and I used vanilla-flavoured soy milk, so I skipped the vanilla essence. They turned out so light and fluffy and the banana flavour was unmistakable. Delicious!
Paired with the caramelised bananas though, I thought it was a bit much. I was nauseous after my third bite! I think the pancakes are better off alone or with maple syrup, while the caramelised bananas would probably complement plain pancakes better. You live, you learn!
On the taxi ride home, focusing straight ahead to alleviate my motion sickness, one thought led to another and I inevitably thought about Things, the What Could Have Beens. When my thoughts drift to you, sing Band of Horses. How I came close to attaining it but me being me, of course I didn’t. That’s just my life, isn’t it? Not a fucking bed of roses, it isn’t. I mean, when I was 19 and no one else’s mother died, mine did. Things happen to me that don’t happen to my peers. Hence the opposite is also true. I just thought a break would be nice. And not to mention timely. But no, of course not. It exploded in my face even before it took off, through no fault of my own or anyone’s, really. That’s the way it seems to go for me. I hate to admit it but I would have liked the social status that came with the accomplishment. I would never say it out loud like the other girl, but privately, I would be smug as all hell. I would’ve been good with it though. I wouldn’t abuse it and turn into a complete twat. It would’ve been much more than that for me. Much, much more. But whatever good I would’ve done with it, it didn’t matter. That I would have been smug at all was too much for the universe. For if anyone’s not allowed to be smug, it is me.
I first tried banoffee pie in Malta, exactly two months ago, incidentally, and my world was transformed.
No, it wasn’t. Just kidding. But I did discover yet another pie I like. Woo!
So of course I’ve been thinking about it like it’s my job, etc. I do that with a lot of food until I get to make it/eat it.
There are a lot of banoffee pie recipes out there but eventually I decided to go with one that was straightforward and called for simple ingredients, some of which I already had. I even had some (now hardened) previously melted chocolate! My favourite part is that there is no extra sugar added to the crumb mixture or the whipped cream. Heh. Big surprise, huh? The recipe is from Brooklyn Limestone.
I think that it’s a solid recipe and I almost followed all the steps. Until I saw that my cream (which I used only 1 cup and not 2 as in the recipe) was nearly completely whipped and I realised I forgot to put vanilla essence. So I did just that and what do you think happened? My cream instantly curdled to the point of no return. I guess the trick is to add it to the cream before whipping it? I had to throw it out. Luckily I bought two cartons of whipping cream. Let’s do this again! Screw vanilla essence this time. I let the stand mixer do the work and did the dishes and when I got back to it minutes later…curdled again. SHITE. Less so than before but it was definitely not nicely whipped. That’s what I get for not watching it. I wasn’t confident but still I had to try. You just never know. Four hours of chilling in the fridge later…
The water from the cream went everywhere. Gross! The bits below the cream tastes delicious, very reminiscent of my Maltese experience…but the cream almost tastes bitter? I think I’ll scrape it off. Yuck. If I’m eating 821 calories (apparently) it’d better taste good, amirite?
