Patience, Grasshoppers

The Baron requests an entry on my findings in Borneo. Since he has been an important source of information on all things South East Asian, it is my duty to file a public report on my Sabah adventures as soon as possible.

Unfortunately that is not yet possible. Okay, so it is possible, but it is not going to happen tonight. Not at 1:24 a.m. on a sticky Thursday night.

Speaking of stickiness, it was so hot in my room* that the colour was melting off my bread bag. I’m serious. I was opening the bag, getting ready to pop some of those still-soft-thanks-to-the-miracle-of-science slices into the toaster oven and sticky, red goo came off onto my hand. Now the nutrition facts are always on hand! Calorie counting made easy!

Scowl all you want, I am eating packaged bread for breakfast here in land of plentiful, cheap and tasty Asian food. Yes, bread from a package in the tradition of Wonder and Weston. My family would laugh at this statement since I make a fuss about eating such monstrosities at home. Without me crinkling my nose and pouting, my mother has probably stopped consistently supporting the Russian Jews of suburban Toronto and gone back to padding the fat wallet of the Westons by buying this nastiness. Country harvest, my ass. And it goes straight there too! Actually, since I’m an apple-shaped girl, it heads for the belly region.

If you must know, back home, my school day breakfast usually consists of one of these bad boys (a Pita Break Breakfast Pita) smothered in Maranatha almond butter. If I don’t have to shove that thing into my mouth while walking out to the minivan (yes, I drive an ancient minivan complete with rust and a giant dent made by yours truly) , I add a banana (yellow, sometimes with a hint of green, never with dark spots) and wash that puppy down with a glass of skim or 1% m.f. cow’s milk.

Here in Singers, I’m forced to eat some not-so-natural American PB.

Just because you are dying to know, I’ve tried all kinds of horrible dairy here including some pretty nasty reconstituted Australian crap (or should I say piss?) Even the UHT milk fails to please despite my deep love of the European variety from my time in Spain. There are lots of milk impostors here. I am certain that many of those impostors contributed to my stummy troubles that begin with a D that I mentioned a few weeks ago.

I am pleased to announce that I have finally found some real milk that only has one ingredient: fresh milk. Woohoo. Calcium-rich, mucous-inducing party!

The lactose intolerant will be happy to learn that I don’t hate on the soy. I’ve been enjoying some good fresh soy milk here but have to admit that some of the more creative, flavoured varieties leave something to be desired. I’ll admit that while in Kuala Lumpur, I sampled some lovely sweet corn-flavoured soy milk. It was damn tasty. More on the Asian corn obsession at another time. Today, however, I had some jasmine tea soy milk and well, it wasn’t totally nasty, but it wasn’t worth buying a 1 litre carton. I’ll give it another go tomorrow morning.

Aside from a little sugar, I like to keep the soy milk unadulterated. The one exception to this rule is the Honger favourite: Vitasoy. I fancy the honeydew and chocolate varieties. Malt can be okay despite its saltiness.

I’ve gotten way off my original path, so perhaps it is time for bed. Obviously, the Human Rights law essay has not written itself. Bastard. Neither has the criminal law theory paper. Bugger. Any thoughts on the International Criminal Courts are welcome. Profound reflections on strict liability are also appreciated.

I apologize to the lovers of food pr0n for this uninspired description of the worst kind of food. I promise more exciting food tales in the near future. I’m sure some food talk will work itself into the story of Bornsie. Some tasty creatures were consumed there. Fresh frogs, anyone?

But first, a 2:00 a.m. shower and some delicious dreams. Mmmmm.

*Since the Baron inquired, my room remains a Type B. I never went through with the appeal because I am managing fine without the A/C. My acne-prone skin is convinced otherwise, but you’re right: you do kind of get used to it.

6 Responses:

  1. Baron von Husselberg Says:

    As a celebrated Naturalist, I wait with celebrated anticipation on your account of the divers florae and faunae of Borneo. They have called upon me to testify in the “Intelligent Design” trial underway in the southern United States, and your account shall be most useful in my case against that ridiculous theory of “Evolution” that my half-brother Charles keeps bantering on about.

    I humbly apologize for failing to warn you about some of the milk products that have somehow found their way past the Woodlands checkpoint. You must especially be wary of the fruit flavoured Yoghurt drinks that come from Thailand. While delicious, they carry a terrible curse*.

    Yours Sincerely,
    The Baron

    *Extreme flatulence

  2. momolo Says:

    wow, i remember uht milk. it’s the strangest taste with a quality you can’t describe. the idea of drinking milk that doesn’t need to be refridgerated is always frightening.

    here in wisconsin it is very fall-like, so i can’t imagine heat anymore.

  3. mo mang Says:

    Lactose intolerant as I am with 80% of all Chinese worldwide, I hate soy milk. I generally like soy products tho. Soya sauce. Tofu. Etc. I have religiously (HAR! get it?!) avoided Maranatha, since I suspect they have something to do with the religious right in this country: “With a name like Maranatha, it’s gotta be Christian, hallelujah.”

    Jeez, a few drinks and a blog and people won’t let me forget it. I actually haven’t the foggiest clue what violently masturbating even means. I can’t even imagine it. I mean, does one jerk or strum or stuff, as the case may be, with an eye towards ripping or abrading the sucker clean out or off? That doesn’t seem very fun. I keep hearing people allude to it though.

  4. mo mang Says:

    Also, I do feel more focused today than I did yesterday. I’d choke the crap outta any annoying overseas bizzatch. I had to be restrained by my colleagues in Oz usually.

  5. Adrienne Says:

    Sorry for bugging you about the violent masturbation thing. I didn’t fully understand what you meant either. Does it have to be Michael Hutchence dangerous? Before we lay this topic to rest, I have to say that I was more disturbed by the “cum eating” part. I don’t care what people do in the bedroom. As I mentioned before, I argued in my criminal theory that people can consent do to whatever weird shit they want a la Brown. Knitting needles up the urethra? I don’t want to hear about it, but consenting adults, go right ahead! But the idea of consuming your own bodily fluids after “violent” self-pleasure grosses me right out. This discussion has officially gone too far and must die. The end.

    The religious avoidance of Maranatha. Dude. The stuff is kosher so it’s not just for the New Testament-thumping! The Orthodox Union even approves! Woot! Now my whole breakfast is kosher!

    Anyway, it’s organic, sugar-free and without trans fat poision. Let me eat my breakfast in Judeo-Christian God-fearing peace.

    For the record, you are the one who has shopped at Sam’s Club. My almond butter is from Costco. So there.

  6. sin nombre Says:

    What about non-violent self-pleasure. Like a sit-in for instance!
    Wow. Knitting needles in the hooha. That’s a new one.
    I have seen M butters at the Sam’s as well, and still have avoided them. Retro me satannis!

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