Dishwashing revelations

It's pretty amazing what pops into my head while I'm doing the most mundane tasks.

Over a stack of dirty dishes from last night's chicken pie dinner, I realised what the right answer to the most dreaded question a man can hear.

"Baby, am I fat?"

Four little words to send chills down a man's spine, put the fear of god in him, and the distinct possibility of enforced celibacy for the rest of his natural life.

Before I reveal the right answer, I really need to start with the only two reasons why normal women ask that question. Yes, there are only two reasons. And the caveat is normal. This does not take into consideration crazy people nor any other dysfunctional self-image issues.

The first is: She knows she hasn't gained weight and is just fishing for compliments or reinforcement of her fabulousness.

The second is: She knows she's gained weight and is looking to see if you've noticed her ass is the size of a Mack truck.

The right answer is the honest answer.

Look at it this way. If you can clearly see that she's looking great, then a "Not at all honey, you look fabulous" will please her to no end because it comes out sincere.

On the other hand, if she is putting on a few sizes, then a gentle acknowledgement that's she's gained a few kilos, an offer of support to shed it and a "... and I love you no matter what" is probably the best bet. It may not be what she wants to hear but at least she knows you're not lying through your teeth. So, she'll pout a bit, deny you boom-boom for a couple of days, but chances are, you won't be hearing that question until she asks you again for the first reason. Haha...

The Last Meal

As the week comes to a close, so does the red and white National Day theme, and I'm hard-pressed to find inspiration for the week ahead.

Lately I've been watching Bones, and a song came up in one episode from Nickelback called "Far Away". It's always been one of my favourites, romantic, anthemic and rock & roll all at the same time. Watching the video, it's all about someone being missed far far away... the dread and fear of losing someone such that it feels like if we lost them, it would be our last day on earth.

Which brings me back to the theme. I asked myself:

If I had one last day on earth with my loved one, what would I serve for dinner? What would I like to eat as I see the giant meteor crash down into ocean, evaporate the water instantaneously and steam us all like little human dumplings?

I'd definitely cook up meals that celebrate life, hope and happiness. Nothing sad or even vaguely comforting. Stuff that's bright, lively and embodies everything great about being alive.

The first thing would definitely be breakfast in bed, complete with buttermilk pancakes, creamy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon. Morning heralds the breaking of a new dawn, of hope and light, and of course, snuggling under the sheets and delicious morning sex.

Then there's sunshine and summer. The vibrant colours of pumpkins, apples and beetroot. Perfect for a silky saffron-scented pumpkin and apple soup, and a bright and rosy borscht.

All things decadent and luscious to celebrate passion and luxury. The melting buttery richness of foie gras, complemented with a tart balsamic and raspberry reduction. A crab pasta with a tomato cream sauce, full of chunks of fresh crabmeat, ripe tomatoes and just a hint of cream. A shrimp paella, lavishly scented with the finest Iranian saffron.

Finally, a sweet finish to a life well lived. Desserts that take the bitter and sour in life and turn them sweet. Like lemon meringue pie and bittersweet triple chocolate cake.

Yep, that's what I would cook for my last meals if the world was coming to an end. I can't think of a better way to celebrate life and love than with damn good food.

This time, this place
Misused, mistakes
Too long, too late
Who was I to make you wait
Just one chance
Just one breath
Just in case there's just one left
'Cause you know,
you know, you know

I love you
I loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be with me
and you'll never go
Stop breathing if
I don't see you anymore

On my knees, I'll ask
Last chance for one last dance
'Cause with you, I'd withstand
All of hell to hold your hand
I'd give it all
I'd give for us
Give anything but I won't give up
'Cause you know,
you know, you know

I love you
I loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be with me
and you'll never go
Stop breathing if
I don't see you anymore

Things that go together

There are some things that are meant to go with each other.

Like coffee and cigarettes.

Or strawberries and cream.

Chocolate and raspberries.

Apples and cinnamon.

Even steak and potatoes.

It's like people. Different, but made to complement each other perfectly. But heck, what do I know about people anyway? Weekend musings like this means that I should stick with the stuff I know best, and that would be food.

It's time for a fridge clean-out. Which means it's time for random pairings that hopefully go well together. That, and a rock-out to good music.

This could be the very minute
I'm aware I'm alive
All these places feel like home

With a name I'd never chosen
I can make my first steps
As a child of 25

This is the straw, final straw in the
Roof of my mouth as I lie to you
Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean
I didn't enjoy it at the time

You're the only thing that I love
It scares me more every day
On my knees I think clearer

Goodness knows I saw it coming
Or at least I'll claim I did
But in truth I'm lost for words

What have I done it's too late for that
What have I become truth is nothing yet
A simple mistake starts the hardest time
I promise I'll do anything you ask... this time

Beer butt chicken

I have a theory about how this recipe came about.

Some skanky chef ho probaby got tanked on beer in a sleazy bar, picked up a random dude and got laid hard in a one night stand. The next morning, she woke up with a blazing hangover and a really sore ass. She looked around and one-night-stand guy was gone. It was probably the best lay in her life, and she was devastated knowing that she'll never see (and screw) him again. And so, she created a dish to remember him for all eternity.

The alternative backstory is that some guy put together all his favourite things ever - beer, buttf*cking and chicken. I think this is the more probable of the two.

Here's what you need for a drunken anal taste delight (pardon the puns, I simply can't resist):

• One big fat juicy chicken
• 1/2 cup dry salt and spice rub (This is basically a combination of sea salt and spices. I like rosemary, chilli flakes, paprika, thyme, coriander and ground black pepper, but you can use any spices you prefer. If you can't be arsed, then use any store-bought marinade.)
• 1 tbsp dijon mustard
• 2 tbsp of honey
• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 1 can of beer (Different types of beers give different flavours, so experiment. I personally like a dark wheat beer and Guinness as it gives a rich and deep flavour. Using Coke is also an alternative, but if you do, don't add honey and include a generous dash of bourbon.)
• 1 cup of garlic butter (Make this by mincing 3-4 garlic cloves and mixing into softened butter.)

Wash and clean the chicken. Slide a finger between the skin and the breast meat to make as large a pocket as possible, being careful not to tear the skin. Stuff in the garlic butter in the pocket, using your hands to squeeze the butter over as much of the breast meat as possible and even out the layer of butter. This helps keep the breast meat moist as the chicken cooks and gives it a killer garlic kick.

Rub the salt and spice mix liberally over and inside the chicken. Add the olive oil, honey, mustard and half a can of beer and massage that chicken good.

Let him soak in the tub for at least a couple of hours in the fridge, overnight if you have the time.

Preheat the oven to 160C.

Stuff the beer can with the remaining beer up his butt and stand it up on a roasting pan or dish. The trick is to make a "tripod" with the can and the two legs. You'll find that the law of physics will prevail and you'll have a surprising stable bird.

Roast at 160C for 1 hour 15 mins, making sure you rotate it every now and then so it gets an even tan. Use the leftover marinade to baste. In the last 15 minutes, crank up the temperature to 190C so the skin gets golden and crisp.

Remove from oven and let rest for 10 minutes. This helps to juices return back into the meat. In the meantime, get cracking on the gravy.

Remove can from butt and pour all the juices into a saucepan. Mix 1 tablespoon of cornstarch with as little water as possible to make a paste and add to roasting juices. Bring to a boil and the gravy will thicken. Chuck in a knob of butter for some gloss and you're ready to chow down.

Eat. Love. Live.

“People ask me: "Why do you write about food, and eating, and drinking? Why don't you write about the struggle for power and security, and about love, the way the others do? The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry.” - M.F.K. Fisher

Cooking does more than feed stomachs. It feeds the souls of those who cook, and those for whom one cooks for.

Yesterday was a typical weekend. Gay Best Friend comes over, I cook dinner, we talk about life and the pursuit of love and happiness.

So I thought it's high time I put down all my favourite recipes and life lessons. To feed souls hungry for good food, great lives and epic loves.

Cooking should be fuss-free, enjoyable and always your own. Experiment, occasionally fail and revel in success - for cooking is the one pursuit where the journey and the destination is just as delicious.

Bon appetit!