Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Kind of kahlua all over the world

In the OTHER language we're so conversant in, it's called der aaye durust aaye. Meaning, um, something like jolly come lately? Something like when it rains, it REALLY rains? I don't know. Even the rough translation is a hiccup.

But, so, okay. I'll go on. This friend of mine, and I know I do this a lot -- pimp one person who means the world to me but no one else sees REALLY how much of the world, exactly.. -- but so, this ONE friend of mine, this keeper of secrets, this fellow conspiracy theorist, this person about whom, I don't know why, but I really don't write much (I might've called her apple bottoms once). Considering we've just downed some three hundred bloody marys and eight pina coladas, you'll forgive typos -- she's been such a constant rock these past four years, and I've spent more time with her than maybe even at er, work.

So anyway, to drone on, this SAME friend of mine, this fabulous cook, this Masterchef India finalist, kitchen diva, and one of my closest, closest, friends has finally, finally started (food/desert) blogging. You will pardon the  preamble. But I'm happy to show off the link. Nothing to do with me, mind you. She did the header and things, amateur though she is, all on her own. She's called her site Cookaroo, herself Hooney Macarooney, and done I think a very neat job with the site. Take a peek. Say hello. Be patient.

For as far as goodness goes, she went ahead and did a random act of kindness. She baked my boss, my BOSS(!!) a coffee Kahlua cake. Why? For the sake of nice. This isn't ass licking. You must understand journo bosses mean different things to people who are not corporate slaves. We have conversations and minimal enforcement of hierarchy. We talk about KINDNESS and the human condition. About what breaks a relationship and what constitutes a friendship. About the choices we make and who we so helplessly and wholly fall in love with. Essentially, we editorial pricks are full of ourselves and our grandiose opinions. Still. She baked him a cake. A CAKE. And he was stumped. Of course he was. Imagine if you were him, and a random chick baked you a brick of gorgeous dark flavourful load of love. Rest assured the ripple effect of that kind of kindness lasts longer than a lifetime supply of, name your weakness. Convoluted but beautiful.


The Unbearable Banishment said...

I've always heard that ass licking costs $10 extra.

I hope this doesn't mean that we'll get one post from you every leap year because I'd prefer not to wait that long.

Gorgeous dark flavorful load of love is how I like my women. It's as though you're peering into my soul.

That recipe over there looks astonishingly complicated. The extent of my culinary skills is having perfected the ideal milk-to-Corn Flakes ratio.

Welcome back from the void.

Anonymous said...

ha ha, cakes again. you must have yeast in your genes.

what it means when a girl bakes cake for a boy, successively every weekend, and yet both deny something is going on?

- k

Nimpipi said...

UB: I missed peering into your soul! :)) God, I haven't blogged in (feels like) so long, they changed the look of this comment section!

I couldn't NOT do a leap year post. Need to derive my cheap kics from SOMEWHERE, right?

Recipe, what recipe?:D The thing with food blogs, for non culinary peeps like us, is to drool at pics. So I'm going to bullshit my friend to get THAT right.

Tell me you don't do hot milk with cornflakes. I'm more a wheatflakes chickie and I need the milk to be either chilled or steaming. Lukewarm is a bit.. mulch.

K: You got me there! :D Cakes. Damn these cakes. I'm happily detoxed of THOSE cakes, though;) But now THESE ones, this woman's ie? Always a weakness. Man, her banana bread, with those fat-fat rum-raisins.. mm.

Oh but, what's this girl boy weekend romance? Sounds adorable! Me, once bitten, twice dead etc, never again. But tell me the lovely puppy love thing you're privy to.

Anonymous said...

happily detoxed eh

i thought adorable and cute too, but it is a bit too much when both parties keep denying; and when taking the morning bus you see the two walking out from girls apartment together, and amusing since they have to take same bus and are turning crimson with embarrassment

keep in mind I am now in an age group having to deal with turning 30. at this age, one is usually secure, (and thus) somewhat forthright about relationships.

you stop thinking cute, and start thinking grow the f* up

- k

Sanchari said...

You are back! Cute stories, cake and all!! :D