Monday Moods and Mad Men

August 22,2016.


I have just come from lunch, where my stomach has involuntarily been subjected to burnt and undercooked ‘pilau’ and a labyrinthine mixture of french beans, carrots, peas and potatoes. It pains me to the core of my bone marrow, that I have had to pay the Mama from the land of chegets (jackets) and kuthogana, 200 shillings for that misdemeanor of a meal.


While I would like very much to sulk over the fact that that money could have bought me about ten nice (much needed) tops at Gikomba, there is already a giant pile of things fueling my Monday mood swings, so I’d rather not. I simple decide that the sun will have to turn blue before I go back there to eat.


On my way back to the office I have to cross some road, and as I do, some man that must have come straight from the devil’s ass, resolves that his life will crumble if he doesn’t exercise his asininity on me.

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Don’t Play With My Food. My Life Depends On It

Treat food like a joke and I will attack you like it's funny.

Treat food like a joke and I will attack you like it’s funny.

It is no secret that I love food. A lot. And I am very unapologetic about it. I live to eat, while most people eat to live. To me, food is more than just edibles that keep the body systems functioning, and eating is an activity that should be accorded its deserved time. You ought to savour the flavours and enjoy it. Chew through the awesomeness of it and appreciate every taste, figure out what ingredient tastes how and how everything blends in together.

Unfortunately, there are acca yakkers that just won’t let you have your meals in peace. The freaking party poopers that rain on your parade with dumb remarks and ugly stares, causing a fuss about anything and everything-where you’re eating, how you’re eating or the quantity/quality of what your eating. Dumb remarks and ugly stares that make you want to pat them on the back.

With a grilling pan.


Consequently, my patience and the I-will-let-that-slide chorea smiles have run out, so I have made a list of the things you might wanna (not) do when dining with me, or any other true foodie, matter of fact. It is all in good fun, but, in case you catch feelings, well, get diapers and chew on some pepper on your way out.

Shall we?

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