Me about me.
Of a self- titled gourmet
- I sniff my food. The nose is the most important organ of the body. I have no clue why Pakistanis don’t use it more. Actually considering the overflow of gutters nowadays, I’m kind of glad they don’t.
- I cook because I like the process of creation. I like how seven eight separate things combine to form something that’s completely different from all of them. Sort of like chemistry except you didn’t get to eat what you made in the lab.
- I don’t like serving what I cook because very rarely do I find anyone with a well developed sense of taste. People eat anything. It pisses me off when someone can’t tell what works and what doesn’t. Arizona Grill gets away with serving a charcoaled chicken leg piece with cream sauce because most people are too stupid to know that cream should not be served with SOMETHING THAT IS BURNT, or are too scared of the waiters to complain.
- I am terrified of waiters.
- If I make chocolate mousse it will be chocolate mousse. It will have raw egg whites and a dense chocolate flavor and no cream or gelatin; it will NOT be the crappy cocoa whipped cream mixture served in the restaurants here. If you can take it, fine. But if you give me crap like “it was just too chocolatey” I will kick your ass. Go back to your dairy milk, wuss.
- You can tell you’re a self-titled gourmet when you can’t let anyone in the kitchen (even for a glass of water) when you’re cooking, and when you say things like “I never use box cakes,” and “julienne the carrots.”
- I have little tolerance for people who don’t know the names of things. Soufflé and mousse is not the same thing. Neither is soup and broth. Brownie is not cake, it can never BE cake. Cake rises, brownies don’t. LEARN the difference.
Of an unemployed textile designer
- Sometimes you need to be out of work to realize how much you love doing what you do. After studying design for four years I thought I was sick of it. Now I realize it’s the best thing in my life.
- I only want to work to get away from my parents. They can’t let me sit and relax. There’s either laundry to do, or shopping, or visiting relatives I didn’t know existed. From what I’ve heard of textile mills, the most designers do is sit in an air-conditioned room and play with Photoshop. Just the life for me.
- I can’t look at anything normally anymore. I critique the aesthetic value of peoples’ messy bedrooms; I judge the composition of randomly placed whatevers; I hold up strange women’s dupattas to the light in bazaars and measure thread count. I am a freak.
- I wish I could make myself understand that if I made a career of this, I’d hate it. But if I didn’t, I’d be wasting my education and parent’s money. I wish I could just find a way to balance everything.
Of an almost wife
- Physical attraction is very important. You can love his soul, and his intellect yada yada, but if you don’t ever feel like kissing him then drop it.
- When you’re in a relationship you realize how much you resemble your mother or father. It’ll scare the living hell out of you, but its best you accept it and move on. Time moves in circles, you WILL become your mum or dad. And he/she’ll become his/her’s. Imagine your mom marrying his dad (ew). That’s what you’ll be like in 30 years. Or vice versa.
- Be insecure. And possessive. And jealous. Even if you’re not. For some reason it makes your ‘other’ feel good about him/herself. A little self-delusion never hurt anyone.
- I can’t wait to be married to him. I think he knows that (I’m not much of a secret-keeper). It’s only been 5 months and I’m nuts about him. That just really really annoys me.
Of a blogger and a writer
- I love who I am when I write. Witty, irrelevant, irreverent, happy. When I’m out of writer-mode, I’m just too sick of everyone and everything around me to be all of the above.
- I like comments. I just don’t like replying to them.
- I don’t visit other people’s blogs regularly, except a few friends. And that’s only because I think I should reciprocate a little bit. I care about what I’m going through, that why I blog. I really don’t give a shit about anyone else.
- I think I went a bit too far in the confession above :D.
Of a friend
- I’m an awful friend. I do nothing a good friend would. I don’t call, I don’t listen, I give unwanted advice, I give brutal advice, I give brutal speeches on how you screwed up your own life, and then tell you how little I care that you did. Nobody should try to be friends with me.
Of a woman living in the 21st Century
- To be very honest, I think it’s a lot like the last one. Except with more bling.
- I wish teenagers in this century would just. shut. up.