The phrase ‘it’s worth it’ seems to have taken over conversations, eclipsing other words which would have granted better clarity of meaning. Thus, my reflexes —”is it worth what?! D@#& it, explain!”— and, apparently, my rising temper.
It’s about a ‘Final Fantasy VII: Remake’ dilemma. The fact that I’ve been contemplating its worth somehow causes unease, brings embarrassment, and sets anger in me.
“Is it worth the mental exhaustion of playing 16 hours a day in isolation?” Even though we are already in a quarantine-like mode here.
“Is it worth spending US$300-ish just to be able to play a US$60 game?” Moreover, I’d need a decent pair of wireless headphones and a bigger TV screen. Oh, “and snacks.”
Lebaran sales be d@#&*>?! They say, keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your money closest! Hah! In the end, “no, it’s not.” It’s neither worth buying nor worth getting all worked up.
Of course, this would have been a different story had it been for a ‘Xenogears’ remake.
The writer and director combo are back with Hospital Playlist, and once again wreak havoc.
This is going to be a very long road, with a season two and perhaps season three. I don’t dread that it’s going to drag — but please don’t turn into “How I Met Your Mother” — as the five friends are a joy to watch.
But, fine. Let me put this in writing and see if I still get the writer Lee Woo-Jeong right.
I think the endgame is going to be Jeong-Won (Yoo Yeon-Seok) and Song-Hwa (Jeon Mi-Do).
It’s just a hunch — I am sure others can dig deeper on the meta and what-not. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that “the third son” is revealed in the manner befitting the previous “husband hunt” games of the Reply series. This is Reply 1999.
Anyway, let’s just not start another shipping war, shall we?
*sigh* I guess the more apt and pressing question is how to stop craving for puff pastry…
These cravings rarely plague me. But once they strike, it takes months before I recover. Some years ago, it was craving for pancakes that pushed me into hunting pancake dishes around town or making them. Another time, it was craving for kembang tahu, soft tofu pudding in palm sugar and ginger sauce. And now, it’s puff pastry.
This time, I decided to keep a visual record in the form of sketches.
I liked this Apple Puff. But I was more intrigued by the big plate on which it was served. I understand that such huge plate serves a purpose: the space encases the tiny Apple Puff as white spaces accentuate a painting. It frames the Apple Puff — plating is an art! Yet, “such a waste of space, don’t you think?” I’d say. I couldn’t help feeling sympathy for whoever doing the dishes.
The reaction was probably triggered by an email, asking if I would do recap on Kang’s Kitchen 2. I haven’t decided on doing recaps as there are other tasks demanding my time and energy at the moment. The email brought to mind the first season of the show which had cast quite a hellish light on doing the dishes — the show incited genuine laughter (and doing the recap was fun) while portraying that running a kitchen and, especially, washing dishes were no laughing matter.
This “puff pastry fever” will go away eventually. I’ll just have to wait until then. In the meantime, there are still some places promising puff pastry dishes where I need to go to. *packing sketchbook and what-not*
I love pâte feuilletée. Thus, it was an easy decision to pick the tuna puff pastry. Especially when it came with a cup of cappuccino in a combo package, which I thought was a good deal.
It was fluffy and puffy, of course. It smelled buttery and felt light. Puff pastry made a perfect dish for brunch. Fork and knife at the ready!
And yet, as I made a cut on one of the corners and brought it closer to the mouth, “poof!” Most of it crumbled. The crumbs flew all over the table, some landed on my chest. A bigger chunk dropped onto my lap and, as I failed to capture it, then rolled on the floor. I looked around, fearing anyone should see this. Luckily, no one had witnessed my incompetence of eating a mere puff pastry.
Since another cut just brought more crumbs and dusts on my person, I forwent the fork and knife. I used bare hands to grab and clasp the puff pastry, and brought my mouth to it while maintaining distance to avoid the crumbs. If anyone had indeed seen and questioned my dealing with this puff pastry — awkward, no doubt — I no longer cared.
Once the devil was gone, leaving these fingers oily, I recovered my poise. I sipped the cappuccino while watching others enjoying their food — I wondered if anyone had experienced similar battle with food.
My initial thought definitely needed correction: puff pastry might not be suitable for brunch after all. At least not when I was dressed to impress. Or, I might need to learn some techniques for eating it, not just for making and baking it.