Shoes

The last thing I heard was the conversation between the doctor and the nurse on how nasty the throat-numbing spray tastes. I saw the nurse lubricating the scope that was to make a trip to my stomach and duodenum. I felt the dull pain and pressure at the back of my hand where the sedative was going into my vein...

I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It was in my bag, tucked neatly right beside my chest. It stopped before I could get to it. I was lying on my side, as I was before I lost consciousness, and had an extra blanket plus my jacket over me. I tried to remember what happened. I couldn't. I shifted my body and tried to get up but failed. I felt so weak and gosh, my hand with the IV needle still in it really hurt. All I could manage was turning my head to take a look around the ward. I caught a glimpse of my water tumbler on a nearby desk. I wondered where my shoes were. I rummaged through my bag and found my phone. Three missed calls and an SMS. My eyelids were heavy, they were closing and I fell back asleep.

Again, I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. This time, I managed to answer it. No, I don't even remember what the conversation was about... most probably like - how are you, I'm OK, how did the procedure go, I don't know I was knocked completely out, etc. I garnered enough strength to turn in the bed and looked at the floor. My shoes weren't there.

A nurse noticed that I've woke and came to check on me. She asked if I would like some food, as I'd been fasting for what must've been about 14 hours then. I said yes, and I tried to sit up. She gently stopped me and told me she would serve me. I didn't have time to tell her that I wasn't getting up to get food - I just wanted to look for my shoes. She returned in a few minutes with a steaming hot drink and sandwiches. I thanked her, and shamelessly wailed that I can't find my shoes.

"They here, they're here..." she assured me, pointing to a little compartment under the bed. They've been placed nicely in it, out of my view. Ahhh, I was happy again.

Now, in retrospect, I feel like an idiot - I awoke from a diagnostic procedure not wanting to know how it went, or when I would know the result, or where my doctor was and when I could speak with him, or how soon I could go home... but where my shoes were.

That is what's wrong with me.

Chalk

(source)

Is this what I smear all over my hands? Cute! =P

Crazy Cakes

There are certain recipes, even if the end products are really good, I will not attempt a second time. Even if the first time was near-perfect. Even if the challenges weren't too challenging for me. Even if I get to play with my candy thermometer for the separate preparation of a fancy buttercream filling.

The reason is simple.

Oh, but I need to bore you with some background stories first. *Ahem* These little things that look like cupcakes are called Osaka Cakes. Think chiffon cakes in cute individual liners, the middle of each filled with whipped cream of sorts (I used Swiss meringue buttercream instead). They're super fine, soft and fluffy... one can easily gobble down three or four in a breath and then ask for more.

My mother was introduced to these cakes by one of her friends who made them for sale. Out of curiosity, she ordered half a dozen and sure, they tasted heavenly. Thinking they're too pricey to buy all the time, and that I am not a total idiot in the kitchen, she asked the seller to share the recipe. Turns out, her friend used a pre-mix easily available from any bakery supply stores, with on-pack directions for preparation.

She went out within the week and bought a pack.

Now, the main story begins.

It wasn't that the directions given were insufficient... well, they were insufficient, like all pre-mix directions are, but with the amount of cooking / baking we do at home, that wasn't even remotely an issue. My issue? This - do you, Reader, have any idea how many eggs it takes to get 370g of yolk? We buy regular-sized eggs and the yolk averages between 18 to 19 grams. Do the math.

Fine, I'll do the math for you - about 20 eggs. Twenty!

The yield was about 50 little cakes. That's almost half an egg for each. Plus a lot of leftover egg whites (the reason for the meringue buttercream instead of whipped cream) because the required 450g of whites can be obtained from just slightly more than half the amount of eggs cracked.

I don't generally object to consuming eggs, but I do object to consuming so much of it, especially for dessert. It is frivolous. Totally unnecessary.

See these not-so-pretty-but-still-adorable little buns baking in the oven?

Just 2 eggs for the entire batch. Plus I got half an hour of intense arms workout kneading the dough.

Yea, so, crazy cakes... no more.

Dear Spider

At the end of a particularly long, nauseating day at work, the last thing I want is to be alarmed. I don't want to jump and squeal for five minutes while you gleefully scurried and hopped from my bedside drawer to my desk, back to the drawer, onto the rug on the floor, back to the drawer again, onto the desk again, onto my Amy Tan book...

I will not object if you say, in your defense, that it were my screams that alarmed you into behaving in the wild erratic way you did. My apologies if that were true.

My further apologies for entrapping you in the rug while you were there for the nth time, dashing out of the the room with the bundled rug then shaking you out onto the stairs landing. I hope you were not too shaken.

Hey, I was scared silly too, OK? Stop complaining.

Good night, sleep tight... but go sleep somewhere else, please!