Smorgasbord Part 2: Paris

Paris In Photos

1. Food.

Not all that was ingested was photographed (taking photographs of everything that moves and stands and exists in general is like, SO mainland Chinese tourist with a fannypack and secret stash of tourist poses, okay), but I did take my fair share of surreptitious food shots while in Paris.

Duck, steak, crepes, macarons, lattes, croissants, cheese, baguettes, hot chocolate, escargot, profiteroles, rum baba, random desserts, oh my! And in no particular order, the shortlist:

Most Delicious: Steak, pasta and green beans in a little cafe in Rue Montorguiel. I realise steak is not very French, but I am very carnivorous, and if it helps to French-ify the meal, it was partook of while watching good-looking Paris hipster types walk past on cobblestone streets.

Most Confusing Location: Picnic of curry chicken baguette and Pierre Herme macarons by the Trocadero. A view of the Eiffel Tower in front, breakdancers from Canada at the back, tourists all around, and a Chinese couple taking wedding photos somewhere to our right.

Most Over-Hyped Dessert: The Mont Blanc from Angelina's. Is so famous that apparently even Coco Chanel, Proust and Lagerfeld love(d) it, and all the guidebooks recommend that you eat the Mont Blanc while drinking the equally famous hot chocolate. Which I did. And went into like sugar shock coma. The Mont Blanc is a gigantic (okay, maybe just large) meringue concoction with sugar inside, sugar on top, sugar on the bottom, and whipped cream all over. And I ate it with super thick hot chocolate. I have learned my lessons and will never trust guidebooks again. I also didn't finish it. It was my Everest (see what I did there?) but one day, I will return and conquer it. Minus the hot chocolate.

Best Breakfast: Goosey is not a morning person, so this would be the croissants I bought at the patisserie while a certain someone was still drooling in bed.

Best Food Thing About Paris, Ever (last-award-of-the-night-type significance): THE BAGUETTES. I have quite the sweet tooth, I like meat, poultry, dairy products, garden gastropods, but the most amazing food in Paris was still the stuff they gave away for free at every cafe we went to. The BREAD. MY GOD. MON DIEU.









2. Indulgence

Books and bags will be my financial ruin.





4. Love

Was also engulfed in a haze of post-proposal high, which caused me to take pictures of everything romantic I could see.

Smorgasbord Part 1: Brunei

Brunei In Photos

1. Pebbles & Bamm Bamm, my sister's kittens

We don't know what sex they are, because my sister says she can't tell (I already told here there should be two pretty obvious hints in the genital area, but she said I was being gross) and no one else can be bothered to check. Pebbles and Bamm Bamm run around the patio all day like they're high on speed, pounce on each other a lot, devise evil schemes to con their way into the living room, where they're not allowed in because they aren't kitty-litter-trained, and are frequently picked up and cuddled by various members of my family, much to the kittens' annoyance. So adorable I want to gobble them up.




2. Fatimah, my cousin's daughter

Has the juiciest chubby little thighs. Like Pebbles and Bamm Bamm, is also picked up and cuddled more than she probably likes. As she is the offspring of my bossiest older cousin, I imagine that this kind of treatment of her as an animated baby doll will cease as soon as she can order people not to pick her up if she doesn't want to be picked up.


3. My sister's butt

Is like, hugely chubby. Good for playing bongos on when bored. Mainly posted this to cause mortification, because what else are sisters for.



4. Hari Raya breakfast

Lamb briyani, and 2 sisters on Skype in the background.

IT HAS HAPPENED.

So. I am affianced. Betrothed! Promised to another! Committed to love, cherish and support my dear Goosey in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, through Manchester United and Arsenal games, for better (Arsenal winning) or worse (Manchester United winning)... after we get through the Planning of the Wedding, of course (which, I suspect, may leave us much more on the poorer and worse for the wear side of richer or poorer, better or worse).

As a hopeless romantic (seriously: hopeless, because I actually have tried to be logical and boring about these things, but to no avail; such is the extent of the brainwashing afflicted on my malleable mind by the Disney corporation and their princesses and respective true loves) I've been wondering what My Engagement would be like since I found out engagements existed, and really all for the story, because it becomes a part of your relationship and marriage. It's the story I'm going to tell my kids and grandkids, how carefully Ayah/Atok planned to get Umi/Baba to marry him, how Umi/Baba said yes and almost threw away the ring because she didn't see it, how Ayah/Atok didn't reallyyyy cry but no matter, everyone knows he was crying on the inside (don't try to deny it, I know it's true Goosey).

So. I got proposed to in Paris, on the Pont des Arts bridge on the river Seine, amidst padlocks attached onto the bridge by lovers and families all over the world, with the Notre Dame in front of us, and a lit up Eiffel Tower behind us, drinking from plastic champagne flutes (no champagne but hey! Style is about the clinking of flutes, albeit plastic ones, is it not) and Bon Iver playing on the iPad 2. We were about to affix a padlock on the bridge, with our names and date on it; he was all you know this is a big commitment, right, this means we have to get married; I was all, yeah yeah I know; he was all no, seriously; I was all are you serious; he was all will you make me the happiest man alive, but the irony is right then I was the happiest girl alive. Then I cried (I maintain, however, that he cried on the inside) and was too choked up to articulate the word "yes" so had to nod to indicate agreement (this is interesting because of the verbosity to which I am usually prone) and then we put the padlock on the bridge, the ring from the keychain on my finger, and then went to pee because the combination of the excitement and the plastic champagne flutes was just too much for me to handle. And then of course, we went to celebrate. By ourselves. Because we really don't need anybody else to have fun. So although I LOVE our engagement story, and I LOVE the beautiful ring, and I LOVE the fact that Goosey cried on the inside after he proposed, the BEST THING OF ALL is that I am going to marry my best friend in the entire world, and life is going to be such a fun adventure, because it always is when we're together, and now we're going to be together for the rest of our lives.

Andddd that's the story I'm going to tell my kids. At which point in time I am sure their primary question is going to be "What the hell is an iPad 2?"

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!

Strawberry Cheesecake Cupcake; Bisou

Why do good things come to an end? Why?!

Eating during the day: good thing, coming to an (albeit temporary) end with the coming of Ramadan (which will merit a wholeeee other post, because if you think I can ramble with no point or meaning in sight when I ramble about food, I assure you, I can ramble more when there is a severe lack of food. And brunch! No more brunch! I don't always wake up in time to have breakfast... or brunch, really, but the OPTION to have it: THAT is priceless. And come Monday: no more!).

Grey's Anatomy: good thing, rumoured to be coming to an end with its upcoming eighth season. If I'm going to be honest, I'd have to admit that Grey's jumped the shark around the time that Katherine Heigl was boinking the ghost of her dead but still very yummy ex-husband, but I'd rather be dramatic and mourn its tragic end. No more Cristina Yang! No more Lexie Grey! No more McSteamy!

Amy Winehouse: good singer, now passed. I have been secretly fascinated with Amy Winehouse since I first saw her: that eyeliner! Those tattoos! Those ballet slippers! And that really sexy voice. Such a sad ending.

And (I feel a little awkward segueing from a celebrity passing to a topic that's just a tiny bit more frivolous but it has to be done) Bisou's Cupcake of the Month for July: strawberry cheesecake cupcakes, my new favourite cupcakes in the world ever, coming to an end in August (duh). Why do you have to discontinue your Cupcake of the Month of July 2011, Bisou, why?! And since I'm asking rhetorical questions, why is it called strawberry cheesecake, when it's not really cheesecake?

I love everything in it. The generous dollops of strawberry, the generous swirls of cream cheese (one mustn't be stingy with strawberry dollops and cream cheese swirls, this is like the golden rule of desserts); the Digestive biscuit sprinkles, the fact that it's sweet in the middle (because of the strawberry) but rich on top (because of the cream cheese) but still light overall (because of the vanilla batter), why, why Bisou must you tease me with such perfection and then take it away just because it's no longer July? What is a month anyway, but an arbitrary collection of dates? (Wait, what? Lunar phase what? I'm ignoring you.)


So bring it on, August. A month that will lack coffee, brunches, and the inexplicably-named but magical strawberry cheesecake cupcake. I am inconsolable. In fact possibly the only thing that can console me is the onslaught of pasar ramadhans. And batik cake, if I can find it at said pasar ramadhans. And buka puasa buffets? Also the chocolate cake at the Taman Tun pasar ramadhan. I'm still inconsolable though. Really.

Mid Year Review

Sometimes I feel like Time and I are in one of those estranged divorced-couple-living-together-for-the-children-think-of-the-children-won't-you relationships where we co-exist peacefully, each knowing the other is off doing their own thing, and where one only realizes the full extent of what the other has been doing when one allows oneself to pause and consider it. For example, I exist, usually blissfully unaware of exactly what mischief Time is up to, and Time exists and tick tocks along with no regard whatsoever to my feelings (he is a bit of an a-hole evidently, which should explain why we are estranged) and then when I pause, I suddenly realize, in no particular order and with varying degrees of panic: I'm 26?! When did that happen? I have friends who are MARRIED? But we're ki- oh wait I'm 26. My little sister is MARRIED?! (Actually this one isn't so shocking, because she has been quite the Mrs Monogamy for most of her dating life.) It's already July?! It's already 2011?! WHEN DID I BECOME A GROWN-UP AND HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP?!

The day I find wrinkles on my neck I am totally breaking up with Time, except I can't really because in this very awkward and not really fitting at all analogy, Time and I are in a Catholic relationship that does not recognize divorce. Or domestic abuse in the form of wrinkles.


As it is now July (excuse me again while I freak out about HOW IS IT ALREADY JULY?!) I shall attempt to take stock of 2011, this 26th year of my life, look deep into and ruminate gravely upon my adult soul, and undertake the all-important task of reviewing all the steaks I have eaten this year. Or at least all the steaks of which I have taken photos.


1. Dish
Goosey's birthday steak Part One. Dish has the best steak ever. Period. The reasons I don't go there exclusively for my steak fixes are: a) eating there burns an ugly, RM500 shaped hole in my wallet; and b) if Goosey and I ate there all the time, we'd have nowhere else to go on Special Occasions. As you might imagine, reason (a) takes precedence over reason (b), because if we really wanted to, we could be totally ironic and go to mamak stalls for birthdays and anniversaries. Theoretically.


2. Jake's
Goosey's birthday steak Part Two. (Yes, I am totally unimaginative and just ply my significant other with steak and various pieces of meat on his birthdays.) Burns a less ugly hole in my wallet, still very tasty, and best of all, their placemats have trivia questions on them! Clearly I am such a savvy foodie that I only deign to eat at establishments that have entertaining placemats.


3. Las Vacas
Formerly cute little hole-in-the-wall butcher's shop in Kelana Jaya; now overpriced and overhyped brand with its own twitter account and a restaurant in Mont Kiara. I DO NOT LIKE GOING HERE. Anymore. Like a true hipster steakster, I liked Las Vacas BEFORE it became mainstream, thank you very much. I mean, Mont Kiara? Really? You sold out, man.


4. Angus Steakhouse
Goosey liked this, and I don't really. I like my steak charred and charcoal-y, and Japanese-style steak just feels too healthy. Which is really the exact opposite of the feeling I am trying to achieve when I eat steak, because I could have just eaten sushi or sucked on a salad instead of ingesting hunks of meat.


5. The Fullerton Bay Hotel
Wagyu steak. I wasn't impressed. I thought wagyu steak was supposed to blow my tastebuds, but after this meal, they still remained very much unblown. Of course, this could be because I am secretly an un-epicurean, because the wagyu that I DID like is below, and decidedly unfancy compared to the FBH's.


6. Kissaten
Wagyu teriyaki burger, aka my true love. I know, I know, it speaks volumes (of the bad kind) that I prefer food court wagyu meat to the 5-star hotel kind. OR does it speak volumes of the kind that indicate this wagyu teriyaki burger is the shiznit? Let's go with the latter.


7. Alexis
If you, like me (before I did, I mean) have never ordered the steak at Alexis, I urge you to do so immediately. Do not let the fact that it is not a steak place bias you. It was lovely and tender and delicious, and if it had one middle finger, I would point it in Las Vacas' direction, because that there below, my friends, is how you do steak.


Right. So now I have gotten all that off my chest, I will continue to freak out about HOLY SHIT IT'S ALREADY JULY. It can't be just me who constantly thinks it's still 1992 and that I'm still 16 years old, can it? (The math does not correspond, I was not 16 in 1992. Subconscious Me, like Conscious Me, is not great at mental arithmetic.)

Chili Crab and Mantao; No Signboard

Things that have happened since my last blog post:
1. Work
2. Massive food poisoning at a certain hotel that shall remain unnamed where the company had a weeklong training session for work
3. Work
4. Singapore for work
5. Good news at work
6. Ran my first 5km (Yay! This is a Big Fucking Deal for someone who was (past tense!) as averse to exercise as I was.)
7. Work
8. Singapore for work
9. Work

Things that I have learned since my last blog post:
1. Food poisoning will strip you of all your dignity and remind you that food, particularly bad food, can make your body feel things that you cannot begin to fathom. Have you ever burst into tears on the toilet because of a molotov cocktail of pain: combination diarrhoea, stomach cramps, fever and headache, and then passed out on your way out of the bathroom because your stomach was trying to explode and your pain thresholds just didn't want to take that shit (pun intended) anymore and preferred unconsciousness? I have. Before I descend into TMI levels (yes, there is actually More Information to this story, and you should be glad I am not telling it), I shall summarize by saying those were a very undignified few days for me. And also Goosey, when he somehow got food poisoning too (copycat syndrome or sympathy pains? I still don't know).
2. The Singapore-KL MAS flights after 6pm all stink of body odour. But curiously, the Silkair flights smell daisy fresh.
3. That's it. (I haven't learned much.)

Best
Things About Flying to Singapore So Often
1. Hotel gyms. Why yes please, I would like my treadmill served with ice cold water, ice cold aircon, fluffy face towels and personal TV, thank you.
2. Deep fried buns! Accompanied by chili crab of course (I am not as insane as to just eat the buns without the crab. Though I totally would if I knew no one would judge me), but the buns are the underappreciated supporting actor star of the No Signboard show. Why can I not seem to find this in KL? Does Singapore trump KL, or have I not been hanging around in the right mantao appreciating circles? I am a shameless fan of unhealthy, deep fried golden balls of dough to dip into various sauces. Like KFC biscuits... Mmmm KFC biscuits. Someone recently asked me what I missed the most about the US and I said KFC biscuits, because Asia is lame and only has soft buns (just deep fry it, goddammit) and he thought I was joking. I wasn't.

3. That's it. I am on my way to Singapore right now (see, lest you think I am exaggerating when I say work and Singapore have taken over my life (what, me exaggerate and grandiloquize? Never!) I am so totally not that I am proving my own point right now) and it's just getting tiring.

Whipped cream and a side of apple cake; Antipodean

Apparently Antipodean, new cute little cafe in Bangsar, has amazing coffee. I wouldn't know, similar to the way in which I don't know how to properly pronounce Antipodean (because of this, Goosey and I put different em-PHA-ses on the different syl-LA-bles at alternate times when pronouncing Antipodean, because, law of averages, we must be getting it right at least one of the times: "Do you want to eat at AN-tipodean?" "Hmm An-TI-podean, what would I have there?" "The Anti-PO-dean breakfast set?" "That sounds promising, Antipo-DE-an it is." "Jom, Antipode-AN!").

Coffee is a drug, and I treat it as such, by only having it when I need it, and not for pleasure. (I didn't say coffee was a RECREATIONAL drug. Those, you would have for pleasure, when you most certainly do NOT need it.)

I know a lot about coffee because I am not a morning person, and require hot, bitter, liquid caffeine to wake my brain up in the a.m. I am also not an after-lunch person, because not being a morning person means you're a night person, which thus means that you probably stayed up late the night before, didn't get enough sleep, and will start to wilt by lunch. This past week has required me to wake up at 7am every morning (thanks a lot, training) and I've been more dependent than usual on coffee.

I also know a lot about drugs because the Goose has finally managed to persuade me to start watching The Wire which is a gritty police show about the war on drugs, or, as Goosey calls it, The Greatest TV Show Ever. My taste in TV shows tends to run towards the more humorous (Community!) or entertaining yet emotional (Grey's Anatomy) or materialistic but dealing with issues I can identify with (Sex and the City, always a classic, even though I started watching it when I was neither having sex nor in a city nor mature enough to identify with any of the issues), and it was difficult to get into at first (I do not understand gang slang at ALL) and shockingly real (total lack of stereotypically good looking Hollywood stars, everyone is normal looking. Which is ironically not normal at all for an American TV show) but... I kinda like it. Also I am now sort of an expert on inner city drug trade gang dynamics.






To cut a superfluous story short, I didn't have coffee at Antipodean, and had apple cake with a generous serving of my recreational drug of choice, whipped cream. Gives me intense pleasure and I definitely don't need it, but you can (metaphorically) pry my love for whipped cream from my cold dead heart after you gun me down in a drug related The Wire-type shooting.

Spicy Beef Macaroni; Fat Spoon

After being afflicted, for the better part of 10 days (yes, you read right, count it and weep... On my behalf, because that is how truly ineffective my immune system is) with a cough, cold and fever, which manifested itself in the form of neverending phlegm (in my nose AND my throat! In various colours and consistencies! My blog doesn't know the MEANING of TMI!) I have finally, thankfully recovered (somewhat. Enough, anyway).

I hate being sick. Schlepping about the apartment in my jammies and not being at work was fun for about three hours until I went through an entire box of tissues in those three hours, trying to expel all the phlegm from my various (facial, I should clarify) orifices (orifii?). It blows (pun intended) not being able to taste food and, my personal pet peeve, being told not to do this or that "because you're sick!" (Goosey is a prime offender of this. He also called me a masochist because I wanted to have fun and have a life despite being sick. I'm not a masochist! I'm a champion man), because I hateeee not being able to do things and then having those restrictions pointed out to me (I haz authority issues).







Goosey Offender trying not to look offensive

So this past week has rendered me somewhat of a soup expert: oxtail, mushroom, a unique (euphemism) version of chicken soup from the mamak downstairs, but I have to say the winner, hands down, was the spicy beef macaroni soup from Fat Spoon. So spicy it both cleared out my nose, and was able to evoke a reaction from my sick, deadened taste buds. YUM. The picture does not do it justice, for it just looks like a bowl of tabasco sauce (also spicy but not as yummy).







I also had cucur udang. I could not taste a thing, of course, but I still ate all of it. What did I tell you? CHAMPION.

I Love Baking

Hooray! Hooray! My gloriously feminine and shockingly pink baking apron arrived in the mail today!

Little bit suppressed 1950's housewife, little bit Barbie Stepford wife, little bit Bree from Desperate Housewives (who is, by the way, my favourite character on the show for the entire two seasons that I could be bothered to follow their increasingly absurd storylines), and a whole lot more interesting than baking in my regular clothes which inevitably get soaked and splashed and stained... I present to you my new kitchen armour. Sadly, there is no baking accessory that can keep me from getting flour in my ears and batter on my hair, which always happens when I bake, for the same inexplicable reasons I get food all over my clothes when I eat, but I think it would be a lot more bearable having flour ears and batter hair if I were wearing this.



I do bake on and off and when I feel the rare urge to get domestic, but I've decided (Umi, you would be so proud) to make a concerted effort to cook more. Also, I found these amaaaaazing things which may or not have fueled my decision to onward my quest to domestic goddessism.

1. iPodch recipe apps. They are GENIUS. GENIUS! So simple to use, to easy to scroll through the millions upon bajillions of recipes, with ratings and fellow cooking buddy reviews (call me an elitist, but I don't use any recipes with less than 100 reviews and less than a 4-star rating) and the AllRecipe app even has a recipe spinner! That you can shake and that will reveal what magical food item you should make! Like an 8-ball, for your tummy.


2. Robot Salt & Pepper Shakers: all the shaking fun of regular salt and pepper shakers (if you're the kind of person who finds fun in shaking out salt and pepper; I don't judge, whatever floats your boat man) but in robot form! I don't particularly like robots, but I DO like animating and giving personalities and names to otherwise inanimate objects. Saltrino 5000 and Robotimus 6000. At. Your. Flavouring. Service. *robot voice*

http://www.thinkgeek.com/homeoffice/kitchen/cf87/

3. Ninjabread Men Cookie Cutters! A cookie cutter so cute, not even the resident Ninja Man in my life could fail to appreciate it (although he doesn't like cookies, and even ninja-shaped cookies may not entice him to develop a sweet tooth. So... hmmm. In any case, these are awesome. I could even burn my cookies black and it wouldn't look like a mistake. It would look like a ninja suit. [I don't know what ninja outfits are called, but I'm sure there's a name for them.])

http://www.thinkgeek.com/homeoffice/kitchen/e55a/

4. Not Boring Toaster. With capacity to produce toast bearing messages, like "Bite Me", that may prove useful to bleary-eyed zombies waking up in the morning with giant hangovers and too little sleep. You know, in case brain of the bleary-eyed zombie has not started functioning and bleary-eyed zombie doesn't know what else to do with his or her toast. I haven't quite deciphered what secret message the crazy-eyed toast face is trying to convey, but I can imagine trying to decipher said message would be quite entertaining while one sips coffee and generally tries to wake up. Existentialist message: "We're ALL Crazy Like Toast Face"? Ode to Laziness: "You Are Loco Like Your Toast Face For Waking Up So Early This Morning"? Sympathetic Understanding for the over-worked corporate drone: "You Think YOUR Job Drives You Crazy? Toast Face Looks Like This ALL The Time!"? The possibilities, and secret messages, are endless.


http://www.thinkgeek.com/homeoffice/kitchen/e76f/images/

5. Virginia Woolf Tea Towel. Though my kitchen makes do with a regular, non-literary inspired kain buruk, one could always use a bit of pizzazz by way of bookishness in one's kitchen. It would also be ironic that a key feminist text is emblazoned on a teatowel which belongs in a kitchen. Much like a woman would be expected to belong, if you weren't a feminist and still held such outdated beliefs. Trippy.

http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/virginia-woolf-a-room-of-ones-own-teatowel-1355-p.asp

6. I totally saved the best for last. I will be getting my hands on these suckers one day (hopefully soon, but not in the next few weeks, for I have gone overboard with the internet purchases and must rest my credit card and the weary company mailman who keeps delivering boxes of random internet purchases to my desk at work). YUMBOT CUPCAKE HOLDERS! Regular paper cupcake liners are a thing of the PAST. The robots have come to take over my baked goods, and I, for one, welcome our new cupcake overlords. Could be quite distressing eating their little cupcake brains, unless you are robot savvy like me and know that robots don't have brains and therefore eating the cupcakes in their heads won't actually hurt them. Would also not be distressing at all if you weren't like me and didn't try to anthropomorphize anything that is cute.
http://www.thinkgeek.com/homeoffice/kitchen/e559/