Introspection and Omelettes

"I like to start my notes to you as if we're already in the middle of a conversation. I pretend that we're the oldest and dearest friends, as opposed to what we really are. One teenager who chooses to inflict her views and opinions on the helpless Internets, and a person who's bored enough to read them."

For those of you who haven't had sufficient good fortune to watch You've Got Mail, that was a misquote. Yes, yes, I do like romantic comedies. It is one of the many embarrassing things about me.

Hey y'all how's it going? I woke up today morning facing a very unique problem. For personal reasons, I decided recently that for the rest of my life I will think about myself as little as possible and devote my time and energy solely to productive things. I don't think any of you realize how terrifying it is to actually do this. 

I have no clue what to do! On normal days, my activities are mainly:

1. Staring at myself in the mirror for minutes on end. (You must be a supermodel. You're gorgeous! Oh, baby, I know.)

2. Imagining myself in improbable situations involving sunsets, white horses and Hollywood actors.

3. Talking about myself. For ages. You know those moms who've recently had kids and just can't get over their adorable little squidges? I'm worse. 

 Usually I lie on my bed for a while after I wake up in a contemplative stupor. Today I got up after five minutes of c. s. because I couldn't think about myself at all, so I had nothing to think about. Which brings me to the incredibly disturbing question, where are the cookies?And also, less disturbing this, what has my life been like till now if, when you get past the superficiality and the egotism, there's nothing left?

Clearly there was nothing for it but to make a sandwich. Kids, this is how you handle problems like a boss. Anybody who makes sexist jokes or comments will be set on fire by the power of my mind

How To Make An Egg Sandwich Like A Koshy:

Step 1: Take an egg and tap it delicately along the edge of a small bowl. When delicacy fails, smash it up and down like it's an annoying demi-god and you're The Hulk. When egg breaks and gooey stuff goes everywhere except inside the bowl, curse the laws of physics for a while. This will help.

Step 2:  Get another egg and manage to get the contents (most of them, anyway) inside the bowl. Pick out pieces of eggshell with tool of choice, fingers for the primitive, spoons for the class, and then wonder for a while whether you should just get a bowl of Cornflakes.

Step 3: Add salt and pepper, according to taste, and then chilli powder. Wonder whether there's too little chilli and try to add a pinch more. Stare in disbelief as the entire contents of shaker fall on to the egg. 

Step 4: Whisk egg till fluffy with tool of choice (Refer above). At this point, realize that you forgot to heat the oil to fry the egg. Waste additional time trying to commit harakiri with the kitchen knife.

Step 5: While the egg is frying, toast two slices of brown bread, spread cheese over them and then put most of the contents of the fridge in between. I like cheese so I put in an extra cheese slice in addition to the spread (very bad), sliced cucumber, tomato sauce, capsicum and then a spritz of lime. If you are adding lime to your sandwich, it is vital that you manage to squirt some in your eye.

Step 6: By this time your egg should be a charred wreck that smells vaguely like crushed hopes, so take it off the stove and add it to the separate universe that is slowly but surely forming between your slices of bread. Emerge from the kitchen disheveled and bleeding in several places. Enjoy your egg sandwich.

It's Monday again! Does it seem to be Monday too often lately? 

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Guess what! We reached 500 views! *high-five!!!* Now if only you, my lovely reader, would take the trouble to move your mouse up to the upper left hand corner of your screen and click the follow button. I swear nothing bad happens. Sorry the posting's taking so long but I'm actually spending my time these days out of the house in the fresh air rather than in front of a computer screen. I don't think I qualify as a teenager anymore.
Oh and by the way to prove I wasn't lying:

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Hey y'all how's it going? I don't know why people say Kerala's boring. There is so much stuff to do here. Yesterday I cleaned out five kgs of chicken with my bare hands. Incidentally, this holiday was supposed to be fun.
 Let me take you through the different stages of cleaning chicken.
First its like "OMG OMG dead flesh get it away from me!"
Then you get kinda used to it and you're like, "Okay, whatever, lets just get this over with."
The third stage is definitely the most disturbing. Its the stage where you are gagging but oddly content. There is a sort of calm acceptance and satisfaction.
The next stage is when you hit the harder pieces that hide at the bottom of the basin. I'm not going to lie: this bit is terrible. The chicken you're handling at this point isn't that clean drumstick piece where you don't have to do anything. Its the horrible bit from deep inside the dead bird where all the gore and excess fat is attached. It took every ounce of my resolution to keep from throwing up all over the bloody bowl. Five minutes into this stage and you're swearing off meat for the rest of your life and deciding to go hit non-vegetarians in the face with a piece of tofu.
And by the last and final stage, you're just bored. The worst, most horrible thing about the whole experience was that the chicken tasted really good at the end.

Speaking of the kitchen, my fun duties in that hellish place do not only involve the routine handling of blood and gore, they also involve doing the dishes. Its not the enjoyable kind of doing dishes that you see in American movies where you just scrape everything into the sink and put the plate in a sleek silvery machine. Even though the conference center is amazingly technologically advanced, the one thing they don't have is obviously a dishwasher. Dear universe, we appreciate your sick sense of humour. 

Now normally I wouldn't be annoyed by having to clean utensils large enough to cook for fifty people in. What annoys me is that the large population of foreigners in the conference center never wash their own plates because apparently being from Norway and Canada is an excuse. Don't get me wrong, they are all lovely people and I adore them but sometimes I feel like dismembering them gently with a hack saw. So yesterday, I decided that would change. I positioned this girl at the kitchen entrance with two extremely large meat cleavers to convince the foreigners to do it themselves. Guess what happened. The @#$#%$$%#$ didn't even bring their own plates into the kitchen, they sent someone else to do it. Don't worry, justice will ultimately triumph, I just have to figure out a more threatening form of intimidation. Kerala loves me, people.

Anyway, that's all for now folks. I'm going out again (be very jealous of my amazing life). I'm having a pretty awesome holiday, all dead fowls considered, and I hope you're having a good summer too. Take care! xoxo

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How to Make A Breakfast with No Ingredients (or Skill)

Hello there dah-lings! Now many of you, looking at the title of this post, might feel intimidated. Breakfast with no ingredients might sound a bit gourmet, but don't worry, the most amateur of home cooks can make this recipe. Proof : I served it up to my family today morning.
Hey y'all how's it going? There comes a time in the life of every teenager when she decides to cook something. When you reach this point of your life, resist it. Resist it with every fiber of your being. Unfortunately, I have no kindly elder relatives, or elderly friends or even friends, to advise me on such subjects. Therefore, today, I'm stuck with  cooking every meal, three square meals, for the gluttonous pigs that I call "Family".
This might not sound intimidating to many of you, but for a teenager with two left feet, five thumbs on each hand and no common sense, it is a daunting prospect. Among my numerous accomplishments is the ability to burn even water. The kitchen looks like the end of the second world war when I leave it. Blood and vomit everywhere. But, like the six hundred, mine not to reason why, mine but to do or die, etc., etc.
So yesterday I plugged in the laptop, whistling cheerfully, and I googled, "Breakfast recipes." After a while I realized that the results that come when you type in "breakfast recipes," were not for such as I. I typed in "EASY breakfast recipes". Most of the ingredients required were things that I, with my simple Indian palate, had never even heard of. Things like salt and pepper and other fancy foreign substances that we rustic folk could not even dream of, much less possess. Okay, true story, I decided at the last minute to make breakfast so basically there was nothing in the house. So finally I googled, "how to make a breakfast with no ingredients or skill," and the search results that came back were a)did you mean:'I'm an idiot?' (yes, yes I did) and b)imagination.
In the end, I made chocolate pancakes with almonds and honey tea.
The next morning (today) my family sat down to breakfast...for the last time. The good news is nobody died, the bad news is I'm going to be cleaning sick off the walls for the next week. Fine, I was kidding, it actually turned out awesome. Mainly because my little sister helped.
The recipe is here. It came out really well and it's really simple. Try it sometime. If you don't have margarine, which we didn't, just use butter. This stuff is pretty filling by the way so don't make too much. You can always make more if you want to but DON"T WASTE FOOD. There's the mallu in me coming out, I was wondering what happened to it.
All factors taken into consideration, I'm glad it turned out this well. I was honestly a bit worried that I'd be sending out funeral invites right now with the cause of death given as food poisoning and bad jokes. Still lunch and dinner left ( or rather 'dejeuner' and 'diner', I'm learning French this summer, more on that later). If the worst case scenario happens, I love y'all!
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