People don't believe me when I tell them I can cook. And it really pisses me off. It undermines the tortuous pain of having to cook your own meals, simply because you can't afford to eat out every night. And I have decided to set the record straight. This is my own recipe. It is, and its meat. And it's spicy and it sure as hell as yummy.
I call it The Pork from Hell. :D Catchy, isn't it. I say, that I call it that, but to be frank I just came up with that.
What you need.
Pork (I buy the boneless ones, it work's better with it. And I am sure this recipe could work with lamb/chicken/beef as well but I like pork. So there)
Lots of red chilly
Spinach, Beans and Peas (It works just as well with just spinach, but I like beans and I really like peas!)
Cheese, lots of it. Preferably grated cheddar but it works just as well with any processed cheese thingybob.
How to do it
Wash the pork, and put it in the pan which has oil in it. Turn up the heat and stir it like your life depends on it. After you unfit idiots have managed to work up a sweat, which should be in 20seconds. Add in the spinach, the beans and the peas go once the spinach shrivels up like a penis out in the cold.
Oh, I forgot, soak the chilly in boiling water and put it in the fridge. Okay, so now you put this chilly and water into the pan. Add in the cheese and everything else. This is the point where you add anything else you want:say mushrooms or just random stuff you have in your fridge.
Once all of this is done. Cover the pan and cook for 40 minutes.
And you are done.
Epilogue
I can also make a mean Gado-Gado now!
Blogs and other websites always have a link called home. Earlier I would just ignore it knowing it would take me to where I began. But in these days of not knowing where things began and where they will end, this link has taken a particular significance for me.
There is no home anymore. Things have changed, what I thought was home is just a strange shell. All the curves and scratches remain intact. It's still smooth and shiny as ever. It even glistens in the sun like before.
It's just that you can't hear the sea anymore. The roaring, raging sea. It's gone now. Poof!
Just like that.
I end up watching films the most when I shouldn't be. For instance, I have seen Terminator: Rise of the Machines, Terminator Salvation, Ninja Assasin, Wolfman, From Paris with Love, Quantam of Solace, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and Leon in the last three days. That's almost three movies a day, and in two weeks I am supposed to be handing in two essays 5000 words each. And how many words have I written: 300. So I still have 9700. 97% of my work left. Fun life isn't it.
You realize one day, that you can't write anymore. Of course, you can write. Your fingers will still pitter patter over the obedient keyboard. Letters in a pre selected font will still form themselves on the cold screen in front of you. But you can't write.
Words no longer bubble up from the depths of your mind. Thoughts no longer form sentences. Everything that you write is weirdly symmetrical and somehow dead.
You realize that you have lost your muse. You have lost the ability to write, because when you wrote you performed for an audience. A very specific audience, and now that those canine fangs no longer flash. You can't write because you don't want to.
The words are dead. As is the heart. Symmetry and Order tries to take over your beautiful world of spontaneous combustion.
Teeter Totter. Wag-an-Otter.
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