I realised the other day, that I am not half as experimental an eater as I want/think myself to be. Russian food is bland. It stinks! And not even in the American way of using the term -- well that too, but it smells fouls, is what I mean. I had to swallow the most suspect bline with chicken on one finally paid, long-pending visit to this joint that can at best be described as a czech dhaba. Was the Aeroflot calendar on the one burgundy painted wall supposed to vouch for the place's authenticity? Alright the menu was bilingual -- English and Russian, of course, and there were Russians running the place, and it all seemed very Russian to us natives, but just the fact that the place was located bang opposite a vet, and a squeaky lhasa apso was running around when we placed our order, was enough to sow the seed of doubt regarding the meat source. After all when the dubious ingredients are minced so damn well, and your paranoia levels are dangerously close to climaxing, it does become kind of hard to tell the difference, especially when the "meat" did seem extra chew-y.
Cheese is another issue. I love cheese. It's been ages since I tasted Kraft, but I distinctly remember my brother and I loving it when we were kids. Oh the days of yore -- pre-stock market fiascoes, and the great depression. So anyway, yesterday was a snooty evening, with fancy breads and fancy wine, and cheese, naturally, on a cheese platter; wooden -- of course, la di dah, all the more naturally. Point being I was nervously sure none of those pieces of what looked like deep-ochre shades of dairy refuse would agree with my palate, but ha! wonders DID cease, and I did liked what I tasted ( even though Cheddar is relatively tame, I hear, but the Gouda wasn't all bad either.) I took seconds, and thereafter felt perfectly comforted with my superficial sense of fleetingly superior joy. Meanwhile, experimental eater or not, I know what I like, and the quest for the perfect cheesecake, with the perfectly crumbly base is still very much on, I even carry a camera with me now.
Cheese is another issue. I love cheese. It's been ages since I tasted Kraft, but I distinctly remember my brother and I loving it when we were kids. Oh the days of yore -- pre-stock market fiascoes, and the great depression. So anyway, yesterday was a snooty evening, with fancy breads and fancy wine, and cheese, naturally, on a cheese platter; wooden -- of course, la di dah, all the more naturally. Point being I was nervously sure none of those pieces of what looked like deep-ochre shades of dairy refuse would agree with my palate, but ha! wonders DID cease, and I did liked what I tasted ( even though Cheddar is relatively tame, I hear, but the Gouda wasn't all bad either.) I took seconds, and thereafter felt perfectly comforted with my superficial sense of fleetingly superior joy. Meanwhile, experimental eater or not, I know what I like, and the quest for the perfect cheesecake, with the perfectly crumbly base is still very much on, I even carry a camera with me now.
5 comments:
Oh grrrrosssssssss!
good cheese? In bharat desh hamara? really?
your posts are working well for my vocab building attempts.
good good.
(backwards): vocab building, Sushant? really? in the last post? chalo as long as it works for you, good hai:)
blogo: yep yep, whence u come back to the bharat desh u shall hopefully see the new improved dairy friendly matr bhoomi of ours.
wit: whats gross? u better only mean the dog meat insinuations.. *crackles knuckles*
yes i didnt know la di dah already, now i think i should've known, good hai :)..
and this word verification thing is again asking a knotty word like kuerxdcwaj, come to my blog all it ever asks is red, bag, if, but, yo ..
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