Dosas and displacement

Despite being at home in the arms of The Husband, there are just days that I feel pretty much out of place in this country.

Even inside our wee home, it feels just odd. Imagine that I have to tippy toe to the best of my abilities every time I brush my teeth (which is more than once a day) just to be able to reach the sink at a proper angle to avoid making a wet minty foam mess. It seems that things were built for more vertically gifted people, and not for petite people like me. In some restaurants, tables and counters are built for towering westerners and Arabs, making it quite awkward for teeny sized me to comfortably enjoy the eating experience.

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Unhappy tummy and midnight cravings

Clockwise from bottom-left: Fish Saffi, Dolmas, Bin Eid restaurant sign, Foga (Lgeimat?), After-meal tea and Khabees

Today is supposedly a happy foodie day.

We were all set. I went to meet up with Devina, extra early and left 30-minutes before our agreed time, not knowing that the meet up place was literally 5-minutes away from my place. *facepalm* We found the best route, avoiding the 7-car pile-up along Al Khail road, and zoomed through Sheikh Zhayed Road without going over the speed limit (Note that we arrived unscathed and in one piece, all thanks to Dee’s perfectly safe driving).

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The Loneliest Meal in the World

Do you think eating alone is fun?

A friend of mine swears she can NEVER eat alone in public. She’d rather starve than be caught eating alone in public! A bit extreme, yes. But I do respect her view because eating is understandably a communal activity. Meals are more often than not shared with at least another person. Almost all of us (I’d like to think) grew up breaking bread (or slicing steak or digging into a bowl of rice) with someone else both at home and outside the home.

But I eat alone all the time: at home, at the office, in the malls, in transit and more. When I’m hungry, I eat! I don’t mind at all if I have no one to share it with. For me, eating alone is never the loneliest meal in the world…

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Al Dente or Bust.

Overcooking is a sin.

I’m a noodle junkie. It is my ultimate comfort food, which is a bit strange because we, Pinoys, are more often than not rice obsessed. So every time I eat noodles (or pasta), it MUST be perfect.

So what defines the perfection of a big heaping portion of noodles?

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