Anyway. My point was this may be an inopportune time to talk about Arsenal, but quite clearly and as evidenced by the previous paragraph, I do not care. I had crema catalana in Malacca and I'm still thinking about it. And no, that's not a non sequitur.
I didn't even know the French Creme Brulee had a hotter Spanish cousin. I was sadly ignorant, but am now enlightened, and would like to enlighten you as well. People, meet Crema Catalana.
It LOOKS just like Creme Brulee, with the burnt sugar top coating, but once you break the barrier, you get hit with a custard 10 times more fatty than that in Creme Brulee. It's thicker and creamier and heavier and milkier and dang it, those Catalans have outdone themselves, because if I had a dollar for every time I had Creme Brulee and thought 'this is delish but I wish that the custard was so creamy that it would make the proverbial cat that got the cream keel over in a milky coma' I'd be kinda rich right now.
I like both though. Just like I like both the French and Spanish football national teams and can almost never choose between the two, though Spain wins out marginally this year (mainly because they do not consistently disappoint me and break my heart like the French do). And this is related to Arsenal because Arsenal is a combination of the Spanish AND French and the entire time I was eating this I was thinking about Arsenal and wishing I could also have a plate of creme brulee so I could complete the Western Continental Europe football love (cause I've got love for you too, Portuguese national team minus Christiano Ronaldo) but I didn't say anything to goosey because I thought he would have been like wtf, you are weird. So I stored it away and wrote about it instead.
If you really want a non-sequitur because you got excited by the almost-non-sequitur above: I am freaking obsessed with Katy Perry's Hot N Cold (even though it hurts my linguistically snobby heart to type the title of that song in all its abbreviated shortform slang). In fact, I am so freaking obsessed with the song that I've been listening to it on repeat for the past two days and STILL have to fight the urge, whenever I hear it, to get up on the bed/office desk/couch/LRT seat/wherever I may be and throw on a wedding veil (ala the music video, obviously) and shimmy my shoulders and ooze attitude and point at mirrors while simultaneously shaking my booty in a joyful 80's stupor. You can take the girl out of the 80's, but you can't take the 80's out of the girl. It is slightly disturbing that as an almost-24-year-old I am fighting the same urges that I succumbed to as a barely-6-year-old when I used to slink around the couches at home pretending to be Madonna on a gondola in the Like a Virgin video. AND we didn't have MTV then, no no. The brilliant idea and irrepressible desire to shake my booty was completely inherent. Viva la pop music!
