Sticky Toffee Pudding, Ben's KLCC

It's almost Ramadhan!

My stomach has already started to rumble its trademark cavernous roars at random times in anticipation of the coming month, as if it knows that it will soon be deprived of lunch (which breaks the monotony of my working day) and more importantly, caffeine (which allows me to stay awake to experience the monotony of the second half of my working day) (can you tell I like complaining about work?).

And if any of my organs deserve to be anthropomorphized, it would be my stomach. My stomach is the root cause of most of my emotions (like when I get upset because I'm hungry and I have to wait SOOOOO LONGGGGG for Alman to get ready to go out on weekends when I just want to GET OUT the DOOR so I can EAT SOMETHING) and tragedy (like when I get really excited about eating food that I've carefully put away in the fridge the night before, and then I open the fridge after a long hard day only to discover that my food has been PILFERED by a PILFERER) and relationship compromises (like when I get angry because I'm so hungry and take it out on my poor fiance. This is a compromise of sorts because he is a pilferer and so crankiness is his punishment, and also he's already promised to marry me so it's too late buddy, my stomach and I are all yours! But it's not all bad - we love him really, so sometimes we do nice things for him. Like give him the last longan in my ice longan, or the most cookie-ish scoops of ice cream from my Haagen Dazs cookies and cream carton. That is compromise, boys and girls, and that is true love).

So... this is going to be a trying month. The light at the end of the tunnel is Hari Raya, going home, being with my family, and forcing my sister to make our famed sticky date pudding with caramel sauce and cream that we have at our family's open house every year. The baking of the pudding used to be my specialty, until I realized that I would not be fulfilling my role as an older sister unless I bossed my sister around and made her do it. So now she does.

Sticky Toffee Pudding with vanilla ice cream at Ben's, KLCC
(Not as good as mine. Oh alright. Not as good as my sister's. Also I hate Ben's, but that's a story for another day.)

Thoughts on Ramadhan, and an Eclair

Ladies and gentledudes, it is Ramadhan again. Holy month, refrain from food, drink, vices and excesses etc, we all know the drill.

Despite the constant stomach pains, cavernous-sounding tummy rumbles (I don't know how my tummy makes those noises, it sounds like I'm hiding away the Grand Canyon in my abdomen; though I suppose I should be thankful that at least it doesn't LOOK like I'm hiding the Grand Canyon in there), puasa breath (other people's, obviously. I do not have puasa breath. And if you doubt me I can open my mouth in front of your nose and prove it to you), waking up for sahur (forcing one to answer that age-old question... Sleep or eat?), trying to keep my potty mouth (I swear like a sailor) and temper (I WILL tell you to fuck off and die if you are a misogynist who makes noises at me when I walk past you, even if it's Ramadhan, because I am not a object for you hoot at and YOU have zero manners and very probably a tiny dick) in check, pre-buka crankiness (though for some, this is due more to lack of nicotine than food; I'm not going to point any fingers at anyone but I DO know of a goose who is EXTREMELY guilty of this and who REALLY needs to conquer his nicotine addiction and at least TRY to be cheerful right before buka...), constant whingeing and moaning (see this entire paragraph)... I quite enjoy Ramadhan.

I like testing myself, and I get a perverse sense of pleasure from the pains! of STARVATION! because I am a masochist.

I like appreciating my food more than usual, because I can be quite a glutton and Goosey is always prompting me to think of the starving children in Africa when I can't finish my meals, and with Ramadhan, I get to BE a starving child, except not in Africa, and not really a child. Or a very over-grown one.

Most of all, I like feeling that feeling of camaraderie with my fellow Muslim peeps, because, sadly or not, I don't feel any sort of camaraderie with any of the societal groups that most people seem to identify with -- national, religious or ethnic. Don't feel it, don't fit in, don't identify, and in the case of ethnicity and race, don't even subscribe to the idea of it. So even though it's only a fleeting camaraderie, because I don't get particularly more religious in any other way other than just fasting, I feel quite united with the rest of the Muslim world via my stomach. Which makes my stomach feel warm and fuzzy for a month, even though its empty for most of it.

And now, photograph of random eclair I was craving so much I had dribble coming out of my mouth while I was carrying it home (yes, I am a sexy beast). Two hours to go until breaking fast, COME ON!