Today I decided to treat myself to a snobbish lunch, because why not?
I mean, honestly, I love local tea houses and dai pai dongs. I'm cheap. I get high on MSG. But I felt like treating myself for once because although I may look like a bumpkin from Anhui, I've got to fulfill my destiny as THE Hyperactive Gay Boy. And hardworking gay boys deserve a reward every now and again.
So Whisk it was, I decided - a restaurant in The Mira that has merited distinction from the venerable Michelin inspectors.
Since this was an impulse decision, I did not have a booking and therefore had to be exiled to the outdoor lounge.
It wasn't so bad, honestly. I had the whole courtyard to myself, and indeed I felt like some sort of mystical, hyperactive gay forest bird. It's so greenhouse glam. I'm in the Garden of Eden, but out here, you wouldn't find Adam giving in to Eve and temptation of the enchanted fruit; you'd sooner find Adam canoodling with Steve. I mean, hello! The cabanas are only draped in gold velvet fabric!
So, on to the meal.
I had escargot, to start with. Snobbish snails, natch. Fluffy, no chewiness at all. Eating it was like biting through a dark, instense sponge cake. I practically inhaled the food - so I remember little else, really. I felt like a proper boor and chastised myself accordingly.
I had duck leg as my main course. It had just the perfect amount of fat under the skin, it was succulent and juicy, the muscle striations had a silky texture. Tender beyond belief. The meat simply yielded when I pushed it with my tongue against my palate. It was a beautiful bird, and it died a noble death.
So after my main course, I guess the staff had alerted the manager that there was a strange boy in a hat who took a photo of everything. Manager came out to take away my clean plate and asked me whether it was too hot. Duh! Like, yes! But it's summer and it's not like there's anything I can do! Happily there was something he could do, which he did do. He hauled one of the heavy industrial fans closer and turned it on to cool my overheating, hyperactive, tropical-gay-boy skin. And that was the last I saw of him. Le sigh. An angel of relief.
Summer's here, I'm outdoors in Paradise, and there's nobody else to get naked with!
With Affection,
James
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