The importance of good store layout and math!

Dear readers,
following the sad news we received last week I have been off line as I did not have the strength to find humour and light in my days. However I would not be doing justice to and honouring a beautiful, brave and generous girl we were fortunate to know but now lost by feeling sad and empty so I decided to come back today.

Last Saturday Max and I decided to go looking for plants to decorate our flat and the closest garden centre I could find was about 10 minutes away by bus. So, full of expectations, we hopped on n.15 bus towards Marine Parade, the avenue closest to the beach where most expats live and where the big, swanky condos are. The beach however is not really usable due to the presence of stinging fish and jellies and transport is a bit iffy if one does not have a car which is why Max and I have found our flat in a different part of town. The garden centre is just at the end of the street and we were greeted by luscious palms and massive orchids, cheap as chips but I was a bit disappointed by the lack of variety. In reality in the UK you have a choice between garden plants and house plants and also conservatory plants so you can almost cover any possibility but here there is one choice, tropical semi shade or tropical full sun which really reduces the offer. We only wanted to get an idea of what was available so after 20 minutes we thanked the owner and walked to Parkway Parade, a nice shopping mall just perfect at 12pm with 35 degrees and 90% humidity out in the open.
Max wanted to check out a DVD reader and a table fan before lunch so we crawled upstairs to the 3rd floor to visit Best Denki, a rather big appliances store. We aimed for the electric fan section and walked right in front of a cooking demonstration. The chef was promoting a new teflon covered pan and gently frying sliced garlic. Clearly the consequences of such operation had not been assessed properly and as the cooking area was right in front of the fans area, which, to our delight were ALL working, within seconds we were cloaked in burnt garlic fumes. Teary eyed and a bit intoxicated we left in a hurry and came to rest in front of a big supermarket on the same floor. For reasons unknown to god and men said supermarket carries durian fruit so we actually went from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. We ran to the escalators and finally found some respite within the arms of a Dim Sum restaurant where we managed to get into even more trouble.
To all math detractors, please remember than numbers are important and actually essential to life. Numbers are unique and universally recognised, a language in its own right. Numbers are there to count items and also to identify them like barcodes do or the numbers that appear on multi language menus in a Dim Sum restaurant close to the name of the dish.
Having scrolled down the whole menu in seconds I dutifully wrote n. 14 on the slip of paper provided for such use. N. 14 identifies roast duck and those who know me also know what a sucker I am for duck. Max went back and forth through the menu changing his mind constantly until the waitress appeared and in a hurry jotted down n.16 = roasted char siew and Manchurian pork, a delicately roasted belly of pork with juicy crackling .
After our rice order a strange looking dish with grayish, tubular, diagonally sliced boiled grub appeared and we both looked at each other a bit miffed. It certainly did not look like roast duck or pork and we immediately started having a go at the photos on the menu and the way the real thing always looks a million times worse than the picture you use to choose your order. Then my roasted duck appeared and we agreed the abnormal dish was actually the pork Max had ordered. Vaguely piqued we decided to eat it anyhow as by now we were hungry but at the end of the meal I could not help but ask the waitress if she really thought the dish she had served was roasted pork. She looked at me strangely and said that in fact it was boiled pig intestines. Fuming I sternly told her we did not order pig intestines but roasted pork n.16 on the menu. She then produced the order slip and funnily enough the number written by my deranged hubby was 15 equal to ...pig intestines. In his hurry he had gotten it wrong and confused the whole thing. So once again, to all those who despise math please be aware of how numbers can deeply affect your life and foodie happiness.

The Durian experience

Well, as promised some time ago, now that I have my own home I decided to try a Durian fruit. Luckily for me (not!) there is a little stall that sells the offensively smelling fruit just round the corner so Max and I decided to buy a small packet of freshly peeled fruit from the vendor who was trying to sells us 5 packs for the price of 3....wonder why!
The knobbly and spiky fruit is cracked open to reveal creamy coloured segments, like those of an orange about 15cm long. The segments are covered in a very thin membrane. I thought the smell would vanish once the fruit was peeled but when we entered the lift the smell managed to saturate the air within seconds and we had to hold our breath until the 5th floor.
We were feeling very guilty when we got out of the lift and hoped nobody would use it straight away.
I immediately took the packet to the maid's room (might as well use it for something if only to store Durians) and we went back to the lounge to decide our strategy.
Not much of one as Max was still reeling from his tummy ache (see previous entry) so he decided I would try it and let him know what it was like.
I took the wrap off and prodded one segment with a knife. The texture was like soft butter or cream cheese and cannot really be cut off as it become mush when sliced. So I took a little piece with my fingers opened my mouth and.....ate.
Well, the smell of vomit and sewage is not representative of the flavour so this is an improvement however the texture is a cross between cream cheese and curdled milk and it sticks to one's mouth in a rather unpleasant way. There is a hint of sweetness and a sickly vanilla flavour, you know which one right? The artificial vanilla that just tries too hard to be like the real thing and it's just not good!
But apart from that it really is tasteless and nothing to shout about. The smell however lingers in the mouth and you must drink something strong to cleanse the palate.
Max clearly supported me during my culinary adventure by making faces and telling me I was smelling like rotten meat and inching a little further away on our sofa bed which is not that large to start with meaning he ended crouching on one end and giving me dirty looks.
Needless to say the rest of the packet was duly disposed of down the rubbish chute.
And.....I am inclined to say that my Durian days are over.