The Grass is Greener at Green View

Malaysia has no shortage of casual family style Chinese restaurants. Round tables are supersized with the addition of giant plywood discs with a lazy susan groaning under the weight of over-ordered meals. Green View’s bright neon sign proudly displays a massive crab in some sort of two-step animation. Honestly, I could not work out what it was supposed to be doing. All I saw was one whole crab with both claws up in the air, followed by a crab slightly to the right with his left claw missing. There was also a king prawn in the corner wearing a little crown. Appropriate. Besides the quaint signage, the restaurant staff are inviting and the air-conditioned room is clean and comfortable. Aside from the sporadic pops of flies exploding on one of the many UV bug zappers mounted from the ceiling, that is. Fly 1: “Don’t go towards the light!!” Fly 2: “I can’t help it, it’s so beautifu-ARGH!”.

The main reason we come back to this restaurant, is the Prawn Noodles. Served up in a massive white dish, these once crispy deep fried egg noodles have been drenched in a gooey prawn-infused gravy and are crowned with some seriously sized shrimpage.

As impressive as the size of these crustaceans are, I find the flesh, despite being well cooked, ever so slightly tough and far too hefty in size for an already rich shellfish. You really have to wrestle with the meat to cut it down to bite sized portions.

The noodles and gravy are another story. Deep frying the egg noodles prior to saucing them makes them much more absorbent and they just suck up and saturate themselves in the flavourful brown gravy. The shellfish have passed on their legacy and that scrumptious seafood flavour is abundant in the saucy noodles even without eating the prawn meat.

We don’t usually order fish done sweet and sour style in Asia, unless it’s a whole one and we aren’t sure how long it has been dead. So having this dish of sweet and sour garoupa was a bit different, though not unwelcome. It’s on my favourites list when dining in Chinese restaurants in Western countries.

The fish pieces are big enough to give you a full bite of white succulent fish meat and not just greasy batter. The sauce was quite typical of any sweet and sour you could find anywhere in the world; jazzed up ketchup. And the typical vegetables (onions, mixed peppers, pineapple, tomato and …cucumber?) were fine in their own right, not over cooked, but they seemed a bit disparate. Overall the dish was quite pleasant. Who can resist the ease of popping solid bite sized pieces of boneless white fish into their greedy mouths?

If you want a full sensory experience, you should order any dish that comes in a clay pot. From the streets of Hong Kong to the alleyways of Bangkok’s Yaowarad (Chinatown) clay pot dishes know how to make an entrance. They have great heat retention which allows any treasures retained within to remain bubbling and sizzling once they are placed on the table. Miniature eruptions of billowing steam and scalding sputters of sauce are all part of the clay pot experience.

This clay pot was filled with braised goat meat, tofu skin and wood ear mushroom. The earthy colours were reflected in the flavours of the dish. The bold aroma of the goat was perfectly complimented by the strong salty hum of the dark sauce. The tofu skin and wood ear mushroom had the textural strength to stand up against the hearty flavours but also provided refuge with milder and lighter flavours. The meat is so juicy and tender it falls off the bone. There is so much warmth in flavour and texture in this dish, you can’t help but love it even if you are not used to eating meats more on the game side.

This one is for all the vegetarians out there. Two types of tofu and loofa brought together by a simple but tasty gravy. It adds a lighter and healthier feeling dynamic to a widely techniflavoured table of Chinese dishes. Textures are abundant in this one. The larger brown structures are wiggly oblongs of egg tofu. Imagine a delicate savoury egg custard encased in golden fried skin. I adore the gentle eggy taste and the soft melt-away texture of egg tofu. Breaking through that once crisp membrane and releasing the soft contents over your palette is as satisfying as it is delicious. The other tofu variety present is one consisting of layered tofu skins. The multiple layers stimulate your tongue and tickle your gums as your teeth ease through them. Tofu skins have a more elastic quality than solid tofu and one might think that compacting so many sheets in these blocks would result in an impenetrable Kevlar mass. It does not. The layers have sucked up the flavours and moisture of the dish into every pore and the body is soft without losing the integrity of each soy leaf.

The third component is the vegetable that most think of as a bathroom utensil rather than a kitchen ingredient. The loofa is a common green vegetable used in Chinese cuisine that often falls under the radar in other parts of the culinary world. It’s like a cross between a cucumber and a zucchini in fibre and flavour. Even when cooked, the loofa has the refreshing characteristics of the cool cucumber with the soft bite of a zucchini or cooked apple. This triad is brought together by a translucent brown gravy which is smooth, silky and savoury scented so as to compliment the calm fragrances emanating from the major ingredients.  Loofa! Fun to say, great to eat and if they get too old, dry them out and use them in the shower.

The Taste of an Asian Ocean Dream

If I were on my death bed and I had to choose one meal to have before pushing up daisies, I would choose prawn mee. Yes, we are back on the humble hawker street. But hawker or not, you cannot deny the perplexing gamut of flavours that are presented to you in a plastic bowl. The sultry smokey depths of toasted crustacean essence and crispy shallots mingle with the sweet playful juices of prawn and chili. The broth is what elevates this dish to heavenly heights. Despite having so many facets of flavour, the soup remains light and refreshing. This is why I prefer having it with mee hoon (thin rice noodles) rather than mee (thick yellow noodles) or even a mixture of the two. I find the flavour to the mee to be overpowering when put up against the delicacy of the delicious broth. I savour my food and pairing it with the mild and absorbent mee hoon creates a wonderous eating experience. I've ordered prawn mee in restaurant environments before and it never matches the levels of palette stimulation as the kopitiam across the street.

Row row row your roti

Might be back in Thailand but the sheer amount fooding that happened in Malaysia has resulted in a bit of blogging indigestion. So we will be slowly clearing this backlog before getting back on track with more current culinary conquests. Just a quickie today, which is reflective of this simple but spectacular dish. Roti Canai (Cha-nai), the versatile fried flat bread from India. Costing only 1 Ringgit and 20 cents each, it's the ultimate value meal with the complimentary bowlful of dahl. The bread has a chewy pull on the inside and a buttery crisp exterior from being fried in ghee. It transforms its textural properties after soaking in a liberal bath of dahl. The dahl has the soft grain of pulverised pulses and the complex piquant of curry without the heaviness of coconut milk. Roti can be used for so many things as the gentle flavours act as a great vehicle for both sweet and savoury seasonings. Curry and condensed milk are my favourites. Separately, that is.

C is for Cookies, cute and crunchy

Like so many other tempting treats, like waffles and cakes, I much prefer the idea of them over actually eating them. Them being cookies in this case. If I do have the urge to munch on these sweet confections, my preference is for chewy ones. There's something comforting about that gentle give when you first bite into a moist chewy cookie, as if it were welcoming you to the sweet goodness packed within it's golden exterior. Drier crunchy cookies can feel like a violent bombardment of ceramic shards on your squishy oral anatomy. Quarrying your way through a discus of bedrock, snapping teeth left and right and tearing your pink fleshy gums to shreds. Unless of course they are tiny.

That smell. That warm orange glow. The instant they waft over my senses I am transported back to my childhood. Toddling along in malls, walking past the Famous Amos cookie stall covered in candy and piles of adorable cookies. I was loitering outside a video store and could not help but stare at the Famous Amos opposite the entrance. That smell. The warmth of the ovens drawing in all who passed by like a gravitational pull. I can resist all but temptation. Challenge accepted. I snuck over and quickly ordered 100 grams of cinnamon raisin oatmeal - my favourite cookie flavour (the bag is a lie!).

Crunchy cookies have to have the right type of crunch. Oreos have the grainy crumble, gingersnaps have the sharp snap and Famous Amos cookies have that delicate crisp crunch of caramelised flour. Their small size replicate the tiny toasted scraps of cookie dough that fail to adhere to a larger mass. Not too sweet, the wholesome wheat tones of the main body are accented by the intense punctuation of roasted raisins. Too easy to eat and so cute stare at. Here's one shaped like a fish!

Plane food is plain, but not always the same

The food on Thai Airways tends to be quite satisfactory, aside from the one time during my vegetarian phase where I received urinal cake of unidentifiable matter fused in a gelatinous emulsion. Today was a pretty standard experience, if not, slightly sub-par. In the Royal Silk Lounge, the usual library-esque atmosphere was interrupted by an irate traveller demanding an answer to why there were no shower facilities available. If there isn't a shower, there isn't much the reception staff can do about it. But FOOD! I was hoping to tuck into some moist and tender Hainanese Chicken Rice, but instead was presented with a TV dinner.

Dried out white rice, Nonya chicken stew, vegetables and stir-fried Lo Shi Fun (mouse tail noodles). The chicken stew had cubes of dry overcooked breast meat and the gravy had a thin texture and even thinner flavour. S&P does better frozen meals. The noodles were decent, salty but with a fuller savoury backbone, and had a satisfying wiggly bite.

I've been on plane rides as long as I can remember. Perhaps it is this long established relationship that provides immunity to what so many consider inedible trays of cardboard and plastic. I have not had many problems with airplane food. No, I haven't been spoiled on solely first-class high-flying food services. Singapore, Thai, Cathay, Eva and JAL have all served up decent, if not good or very good, economy food regardless of being reheated ten thousand metres up in the air. Sure I've had some bad cabin service but I've had bad restaurant service and I don't say restaurant food is disgusting and intolerable.

Chicken and noodles with veggies. It wasn't bad. Noodles a little soft, yes, but the chicken was tender and tasty. The green peppers on the side were packed with juice and they had that delicate fresh snap when you bit into them. The cherry tomatoes were plump and juicy too. The baked crumble thing was a little too starchy and the flavour of flour was a bit overpowering. I made a sad face :( The upper crust of the dessert looked like a perfectly cooked crumble. Nothing disappoints me more than food that looks that much better than it tastes. Like push-up bras and porcelain veneers. LIES! But noodles are usually a safe bet when you're a mile high (in altitude, not dream space... although carbs are always satisfying for the munchies... I imagine... but anyway).

It don't matter if you're black and white

We went to another Uncle Lim's today, this time at Ikea, for a quick fueling up before the epic quest through the treacherous throngs of weekend shoppers in search of shiny new furniture. I was mildly terrified by the sheer quantity of people that were packed into the store; wedged between compact furniture, huddled around a ridiculously cheap fish and chips from the Ikea-subsidised cafes and being swept into the perpetual current of people funnelling down the main path deeper into the depths of the Swedish showroom. Would have loved to have gotten my greedy flippers on a curry puff and soft serve ice cream but the queues seemed to dissolve into a solid sardine can/warehouse of people. So I was happy I had my dose of Soya Cincau before walking through the gates of More-doors-and-cupboards-and-furniture-and-crap-I-don't-really-need-for-my-house.

Soya Cincau (chin-chow) is soy milk with grass jelly. Affectionately known as a Michael Jackson in some establishments, this drinkable dessert is the answer when you cannot decide between the mellow creaminess of cold soy milk and the refreshing herbal slivers of grass jelly. I find that a straight soy milk can sometimes be too rich as an accompaniment to a full meal. Soya Cincau is the yin and yang of the cold kopitiam (coffee shop serving food) drink list. A balanced compromise in a tumultuous world of furniture-crazed weekend shoppers.

Mistifying Midnight Mee

I don't remember much about living in Malaysia. Our annual visits never forged a patriotic pride within me. Nor did I have a driving desire to go shopping or do anything else in particular. So why would we subject ourselves to the constant threat of snatch thieves and muggers (2 muggings occurred outside our house in the last 3 days and every single member of our extended family -I do not come from a small family- has been held up, robbed or been the target of snatch thieves or pickpockets), the 100% humidity and heat that will grill you in the open and poach you in your own sweat in the shade? Aside from visiting family, it's food. Not fancy restaurants or home-cooked meals. We want what you can only find here, what you can't replicate in your own kitchen or in a gourmet bistro. Hawker food. There's something truly tantalizing about what hawkers do with their wares. Each stall specialising in a particular dish (or small selection of related dishes), it's always awe-inspiring to witness the speed and dexterity with which they whip up their wares and, in some cases, package them. Tapow, or take away/take out, becomes an art form in the hands of these makanan-maestros. Let us examine the following case study: one late night tapow order of Hokkien Mee.

The ingeniously engineered packaging in this case consists of only two materials: one sheet of newspaper and one of plastic. As you can see, the result is a neat and compact parcel that requires no additional structures to close or fasten it shut. The paper acts as both an insulator and a stabilising layer allowing corners to be tucked away beneath each other. Practical applications of origami indeed.

Beneath this printed paper epidermis lies the protective waterproof plastic sheet. This sheet securely contains the food and its fluids in a tidy and hygienic (you can't read the paper off your fish and chips here) bubble. Preventing leaks is essential to maintaining the structural integrity of the outer layer and preserving the precious contents within.

You think that the magic ends there, but No! There is more! When you sit at any coffee shop (referring to an open-air hub of hawker stalls and tables, not a Starbucks) and order noodles or rice or whatever, you will always get some form of condiment in a little plastic dish that also acts as a stand for spoons and chopsticks. But what about the tapow version? Would they not require a second little plastic packet to contain the sauce separately from the main feature? NO! Upon unfolding your expertly crafted plastic package you will find the cunningly concealed chili sauce completely contained in its own little corner of the sheet! Simply flip open that final corner and you have your Hokkien Mee meal complete with chili sambal on the side.

That smoky background hum, indicative of Hokkien Mee, can only be forged in the fires of a hawker stall. Sure the black sauce can give you that dark savoury note, the pork fat can add that meaty edge and the prawns can give you the sweet highlights to the soft and slippery noodles (mee and mee hoon in this case). But to create the full symphony of real Hokkien Mee flavour, you need that extra even char from a flaming hot wok and the nimble hands of an expert to toss the noodles and ingredients into a silky harmonious entity. Having it late at night just compliments the darkness and mystery emanating from this sensual dish.

Cotton Candy and Lemons, say the bells of St. Clements

Baskin Robbins has long been one of my favourite ice cream brands. I have a habit of looking for a branch wherever I am in the world just to see what local flavours they produce in the region. My ultimate favourite flavour is Popping Shower from Japan which, unfortunately, I have been unable to locate anywhere else... yet (TT_TT). Aside from that, my standard order is Cotton Candy. Similar in both taste and appearance to the Rainbow Paddlepop, the ice cream consisting of pink and purple swirls is essentially toffee flavoured.

We were waiting for a movie (The Infidels, well worth a watch) and got bored of wandering around Sunway Pyramid so we sat down at the Baskin Robbins just beneath the cinema for a few scoops. I, naturally, ordered my standard Cotton Candy. But who can narrow down their choice to one flavour with all the psychedelic confections staring longingly up at your fat face, begging you to choose them as they slowly crystallise into solid rock? Bump your scoop size down to junior, order a double and you've solved your problem without spending or overindulging on too much ice cream! y second choice this time was Citrus Twist Ice. For a lover of all things lemon, it seemed odd to me that I rarely order it. Light and refreshing and everything a basic lemon and lime sorbet sets out to be. Well chuffed! <3

Say satay, okay?

A certain person in my life pronounces the word, Satay, in a very “Americanised” manner; s’TAY. That tendency of his to place emphasis on the second syllable of all foreign words really rubs me the wrong way. I understand that when one encounters a word that is new and strange to their existing vocabulary, it is impossible to expect one to produce the same pronunciation as another who knows the language. But it’s always the second syllable. Sakura = suh-KU-ra. Naruto = nuh-RU-to. Wasabi = wuh-SA-bi. Pattaya = Pa-TAI-yah. Satay = suh-TAY. Just say SAH-tay, okay?

Okay, back to the food porn. Satay are meat skewers, traditionally composed of two pieces of meat and one of fat (the name means “three pieces”) which have been marinated and grilled over a charcoal stove. Size, shape and flavour can differ according to the person making it but turmeric is a constant; if the meat hasn’t been stained yellow it’s just meat on a stick, not satay. These skewers are served with a sweet and spicy peanut sauce for dipping as well as chopped cucumber and pressed rice cakes called ketupat.

These orders of chicken and beef satay were made whilst waiting for our food to come at Lala Chong’s. In the wise words of Eric Cartman, “It’s what you eat before you eat, to make you more hungry”. The satay lady is always at her little stall in the parking lot of the restaurant, diligently asking every new table that arrives if they would like any of her meaty wares. We accepted her offer and soon snatched away at the tasty looking sticks.

It may have been the pre-dinner anticipation and mildly voracious appetite that tinted the experience, but the satay was absolutely jam-packed with sweet and savoury goodness. I often drown the skewers in the thick peanut sauce because the meat can sometimes dry out on the open charcoal grills, but the meat on these sticks was still plump and juicy. The marinade wad delicious and penetrated the meats all the way down to the bamboo skewers. The chicken was very tender and the beef was also good despite requiring a little more effort to pull it off the stick. Satay is classic South-East Asian street food that makes a ridiculously satisfying snack wherever, whenever.

Lulu, Leelee, Lala Chong

Lala Chong is a casual family style Chinese restaurant in Kuala Lumpur famous for their Lala, also known as clams. Their signature dish is a pile of steaming clams swimming in a platter of Chinese wine broth.  The little morsels are tender but retain that satisfying chewy bite. Delicious, yes, but outshined by the magical elixir that dwells beneath their oval shells. The generous lake of perfectly balanced broth provides the ideal environment to gently enhance the delicate flavours of the clam meat without overpowering them. Drinking the liquid straight provides a whole other delectable sensory experience.

The thin broth is light and smooth, a stark contrast to the bite of the clam. The levels of flavour spread across your palette like a scrumptious seafood zephyr. Infused with the briny fragrance of the clams, the Chinese wine creates a strong platform to support and unify the garlic and chilli which often take the lead whenever they partake in a dish.  You will want a second order, but be warned, the richness of the broth is quite latent and will likely rear its head by the time the second platter reaches the table.

Another dish featuring their namesake Lala is the fried mee hoon. At first glance this noodle dish appears quite ordinary. You’ll find similar looking creations on the streets of Bangkok and in the tightly packed restaurants lining the cobblestone streets of Chinatown in London. You will have to looks closer to see what really makes this unique (not figuratively speaking, if your eyes aren’t great then you probably have to shove your face in and nose your way around some noodles. Please do this at your own risk of complete and utter public etiquette-suicide). Whatever your method of investigation, be it a la Ace Ventura or come CSI, you will realise that the pile of noodles is dotted with dozens of little –really little- tiny baby clams only a few millimetres in size.

Adorable when viewed individually, mildly terrifying when you look at the greater picture and see your noodle platter speckled with yellow and black spots (if you too have a mild fear of swarms or tadpoles or black spots in general. Argh me hearties, ye pirates be warned). But seriously, a good quality fried mee hoon with plenty of toppings and too many miniature clams to count.

I love a fresh steamed fish. Something about the clean light flavours that echo the gently soft texture of the flesh that is to die for. In this case we had a sea bass cleft in twain and steamed in a savoury ginger puree. The prospect of dousing a white fish in copious amounts of pungent ginger may alarm some people. But the culinary alchemy that occurs results in a soft and juicy white fish that works hand in hand with the fragrant warm hum of the ginger sauce. It reminded me a lot of the ginger and sesame dipping sauce that accompanies steamed chicken. Simplicity can do wonders.

This saucy selection is a delicious double whammy. Much like the Lala and its wine broth, these crabs are paired with an equally (or more) coveted sweet and sour gravy. The crabs themselves have been cooked through just enough to firm up their silky meat whilst retaining the precious juices within. When done right, crabs are worth their weight in gold. Just as bikini wrestling is jazzed up by the addition of a jello pool or the humble apple pie is elevated to couture titling with the addition of a scoop of vanilla ice cream, these crabs have been sauced with sweet and sour steroids.

 The bright orange gravy is as vivid in taste as it is in colour. The strength of the sweet, sour and spicy flavours and the smooth viscosity make the sauce ideal for being sucked up and tamed by the adorably fluffy mantou (Chinese buns) that accompany the dish.

The steamed variety is the mantou in its natural pure white form: a clean fluffy bread cloud that acts as a great vehicle for wilder flavours. Its brown counterpart started life the same as the steamed bun but received its golden coat from a quick fry in oil to crisp its exterior giving it an indulgent flavour and additional crunch in the mantou experience.

Salty Cephalopods

Calamari. Ika. Pla meuk. Rubber bands. Whatever word you use to address the humble squid, there is no denying it's presence in the kitchens of homes and Michelin  restaurants reaches across the globe. Sure I've had my share of impenetrable kevlar sheets, but the gentle give of that savoury soft flesh beckons me back again and again. One of my favourite dishes is squid fried in garlic and butter. The simple ingredients work together so well. Clean and scrumptious.

This weekend, we went on a little road trip out to a Chinese temple, Viharnra Sien near Pattaya. Really worth a look. There are so many sculptures of every size and lots of other interesting artifacts like bronze chariots and a few soldiers from the Terracotta Army of Emperor Qin. After exploring the temple grounds we went to the seaside, drove past the umbrella-laden beach stalls to the end of the road, through an open gate and into the open sandy parking lot of an empty pier-adjacent restaurant. It was a Sunday, there were lots of beach goers on the other side of the wall, picking at their salty seaside snacks, yet this quaint open air establishment nestled in the corner of the beach was empty. Are they open? Should we turn back? Was the food fresh? A man hurries out of his chair and rushes over to usher us to a table. What the hell. We were already parked. After scrolling through some wonderful Engrish descriptions on the bilingual menu, we ordered a few local basics and waited.

Salt eggs are common in Asian cuisine. These are duck eggs that have been cured in brine or  other salted mixture. I quite like the whites in congee or steamed egg but personally, I find the yolks a bit too strong and grainy for my liking (then again, I am already quite fussy about my egg yolks, salted or otherwise). The yolks are more prized and and used in moon cakes and many other dishes as a flavouring. One of these popular dishes is Pla Meuk Khai Khem or Salt Egg Squid.

Now considering I don't really like salt egg yolks it's hard for me to fall in love with this dish, although I know plenty of people that adore it. I can see why, but my taste buds and brain have yet to open their doors to the salty fragrance of the salt egg yolk. I can imagine how the saltiness of the yolks compliment the sweetness of the flavourful white squid flesh . I just haven't learnt how to taste it yet.

Clash of the Tarte Tatin

I lied. There was no tarte tatin, although I wanted there to be. Apples did play a part in this so all is not lost. Now since the last post, I've been thinking more about cakes. Why do I like the idea of them, the warm comforting sweetness they bring, more than the actual thing that is cake? Like every other person in the world, I have my likes and I have my dislikes. But so many of mine seem highly contradictory (perhaps only in my diminishing mind). For example: I love cheese. I've eaten entire wedges of brie, scoffed countless baby camemberts, gouged into gouda, pizza, lasagna, raclette, fondue. My entire family has snuck down into the kitchen for midnight cheese feasts. I've made paneer and eaten a block of cream cheese and pickles for dinner. Cheese is good. But once it is presented to me as the dessert hybrid known more commonly as cheesecake I lose all interest. I just never liked the stuff. I don't mind my mother's recipe as much but admittedly it tastes more of lemon panna cotta than cheesecake. Regardless of my historical preferences however, I always believe you should try everything again. Your mind changes, your taste buds change, your environment changes so why wouldn't your experience of a particular food - even one you don't expect to like- change too? This led me to ordering a little slice of apple crumble cheesecake from Secret Recipe.

Now I love fruit. I also have a soft spot for cooked apples; just something about the floral fragrance and gentle texture with just enough bite to remind you of it's former firm fruity glory. I loved the apple part. Perhaps it was my preexisting partiality rather than the quality of the overstored chunks of fruit. In hindsight they may have been a bit flaccid. The crumble was slightly pasty and the cheese was slightly too thick for my liking. A decent store-bought dessert if you are of the cheesecake inclined persuasion. If you want the cosy heartwarming embrace of your grandmother's  apple crumble, you may be better off turning a McD's apple pie inside out. Oh wait, they don't have those in Thailand... I'll just curl up under the covers now and weep quietly.

Soft succulent sweetness

Usually the term fruit cake evokes images of decade-old door stops that spontaneously combust if pushed too far across the carpet. This fluffy fruit-stuffed concoction, courtesy of Secret Recipe, is one of my all time favourite cakes. The Fruity Special combines the light mellow hum of fresh whipped cream with the sweet and juicy tang of tropical fruit. Mind you, they don't skimp on either of these things which are generously  dolloped between layers of a delicate sponge cake.

Nothing bothers me more than false advertising; giving a dish a saucy name inviting the expectations of your taste buds through the bolted doors of the forbidden steamy bordello of foodgasms only to throw your drooling carcass onto a barren sandbox devoid of life with only a suspicious damp patch and what you can only hope is a chocolate bar burning in the desert sun to keep you company. If you say it's fruity and special then it better damn well be packed with more fruits and speciality than the monster pit at a Lady Gaga concert. 

Grapes, melon, cantaloupe, papaya, kiwi, orange, mango, peaches and maraschino cherries are some of the delectable fruits that are jam-packed into this refreshing cake. As one of the few people in the universe who does not salivate at the thought of anything  that has quadruple  chocolate in its description, this cake provides a welcome satisfying alternative to the dense heft of cocoa-saturated cakes and brownies that take up so much space on bakery shelves these days.   

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

Because both are ominous black creatures forever watching you from the dark corners of your world, both reminding you of your dusty collection of gothic poetry and both never receiving the attention they crave.

On a lighter note, I would like to welcome you back to the convoluted ramblings of a drifter with a taste for food and travel. The origins of this blog can be found here. But having moved and entered a new phase in life (also having such an extended hiatus from the poor blog) yours truly has decided to start anew.

Welcome to the adventures of Jellyrowls!

Have some ice cream