Monday, Sept. 16, 2002
Dear Diary:

It was only my unexpected gonad go-go experience on Saturday that kept me from tearing off my clothes and rolling in the Thai peanut sauce at Restaurant ChuChai in Montreal on Sunday. Having experienced the etiquette crisis involved in random public nudity, I restrained myself.

Barely.

Oh, man, that Thai vegetarian food was insanely good. And thanks to their creative marinades and ways of cooking tofu to resemble everything from beef through to seafood, I will no longer think of tofu as semi-petrified wombat snot.

I know.

I'm as overwhelmed by this epiphany as you are.

And if the Tofu marketing people want to use that as their marketing slogan--"Tofu, no longer the semi-petrified wombat snot your mom used to make"--well, I'm in such a buzz from the ChuChai afterglow That I Will Give The Rights To This Slogan To Them FOR FREE!

See, just like Foxchild who recommended ChuChai, I'm all about spreading the foody love.

Ooooh, and speaking of foody love, it's now official. My next husband has to be Ethopian so he can cook for me and leave me in raptures of spicy bliss.

Saturday night saw the daughter and I up on St. Denis St. at an Ethiopian restaurant called Abiata. The review we'd read on-line said that some of the dishes had been tamed for Canuckian palates, so as we were ordering we told our waitperson we weren't spice sissies. Our mix of vegetarian and meaty treat choices were just perfect--not so hot you couldn't taste anything, but spicy enough that your lips tingled afterwards.

Mmmmmm. Tingly lips. Mmmmmmm.

Now the thing about Ethopian food is that there are no utensils. Your food is piled on a very thin, elastic pancake type bread, with bonus breads on a side plate. You tear off small bits and use it as a scoop to get the food from your plate to your mouth. I'd forgotten how much fun it can be to eat with your fingers.

The spousal unit has remarked more than once that watching me wrestle with chopsticks is pure comedy gold. He probably would have ruptured something watching me try to snag my food with small bready bits.

I'm going to take that risk because next time we're in the city together we're going to Abiata for sure.

Do they make Bert and Ernie bibs in my size?

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.