Prickly Softee

Concoction: A cup of McDonald's sundae without topping, expensive (apparently of grade D17 or something to that extent) tub of fresh durian from Malaysia
Where: A pavilion at West Coast Park
When: After work on a Monday night
Reviewer's frame of mind : Chummy

The Taste Test
For an idea that was spawned from the odd juxtaposition of childhood memories, unbearable ennui and bon vivant palate (not necessarily in that order), the end product came together very well, much to the surprise and delight of this reviewer's associates (sounds more impressive than merely saying colleagues eh? And in order to visualise the look on their faces, please refer to how the gourmands react on Japan Hour). After spending a considerable time walking from McDonald's to the pavilion and scraping off the durian flesh with a plastic spoon, the vanilla ice cream has melted suitably for the generous amount of durian shreds to blend in effortlessly (To visualise the how it tasted like, please refer to the fireworks in Ratatouille). Best served with self-depreciating humour. Update: Pictures in Max's blog

簡單愛 (Hypothesis #4)

Today, I tackle a question that has troubled Greek philosophers, Indian love gurus, Japanese pimps and Singaporean marriage counsellors since the dawn of civilisation; How does a man - amongst the hordes of women (horny or otherwise) - find and determine the one he truly loves?

Sure, many of you 'gentlemen' would proclaim that it was her wonderful personality that captured your heart. Some of us who are more honest with ourselves boil it down to a certain physical trait - eyes, smile, legs, butt, and last but not least (in fact mostly), boobs.

Of course, I am not discounting the importance of the above-mentioned attributes when choosing a mate (I’m not sure if personality is important in bed, as preliminary tests have proved inconclusive… I'll publish my findings when I receive grants for/from more research subjects), but these probably just make you attracted to a woman. You don't love her just like that.

Therefore, I hereby present what may be the simplest yet most ingenious (it has to be, in order to befit this intellectual discourse) imagery to help u identify THE one (Okayyy, you can have many, I'm not judging you).

So, let's imagine a wide open field (whatever vegetation is on the field is up to personal preference but slightly browned 2-inch tall grass probably provides the best effect). Then imagine a fluff ball of a kitten sitting right in the middle of the field looking forlornly at you (again, the breed of the kitten is entirely up to you but I would go for the common grey/brown striped with white belly variety which can usually be found loitering around coffeshops). Complete the picture with a sheet of torrential rain enveloping the field (ya, just ordinary rain would do, don't think too much). Got it?

If you feel that the girl you like is akin to the kitten in the rain, then you'll probably grow to love her. If not, too bad for her.

Freudians are bound to say that this imagery is a poor excuse for a sexual metaphor, but they probably came up with the entire psychoanalytical mambo jumbo to compensate for their butt-ugliness.

As for how a woman determines a guy she loves, it’s much simpler as women are less complicated creatures; she just looks at his bank balance.

Stroll in the park

Concoction: Highland Park 30 year old single malt scotch whisky (this one was like Gardenia bread, so good u can drink it on its own)
Where: Suite 2812, Grand Coptorne Waterfront Hotel
When: Part deux of Ewen and Keith's birthday party
Reviewer's frame of mind : Infantile

The Taste Test
This exceptionally fine whisky came with a world-class reputation (quoted from the website; I had no idea...). And like any 30-year old (or any 28-year old, for that matter), it was to be treated with respect and reverence so we purposefully sipped it from a chilled silver spoon. Toyed with the idea of pouring it down our throat from the bottle for 5 seconds but a glance at the 48.1% on the red velvet box made us veto against it. Still, 5-out-of-5 stars. Best served at religious congregations.

Big Mac meal, upsized

Concoction: Double-shot Macallan Elegancia (Yes, there is a difference between this and the normal 12-year, according to the website) 12-year single malt Scotch whisky, generous sprinkle of Tabasco sauce.

Where: Dan Ryan's Chicago grill
When: Ewen and Keith's birthday dinner
Accompanying food and drinks: Champagne, cream of mushroom, NZ filet mignon/chargrilled striploin/roast chicken, brownies/strawberry sorbet/creme brulee (in that order)
Reviewer's frame of mind: Celebratory and borderline juvenile (Keith was delirious)

The Taste Test
Whisky aficionados may accuse me of sacrilege, but I must congratulate myself for this masterful stroke of pure genius. The burning sensation of the throat closed the meaty main course with a bang and the tangy aftertaste was a perfect counterpoint to the saccharine sweetness of the dessert that followed. Although some at the dinner table displayed a grimace that suggests that the drink may be an acquired taste, its definitely better than the flaming martini they serve at zouk's winebar. 3 out of 5 stars. Best served during gatherings of chest-thumping frat-boy bankers.

迷路兵

Concoction: 1 miniature bottle Bailey's Irish Cream Original (50ml), 1 glass Milo 'peng' approx. 250ml
Where: Prata shop behind Clarke Quay
When: After band practice on a hot Sunday afternoon
Accompanying food: Mutton Murtabak
Reviewer's frame of mind: Thirsty and indifferent (as opposed to being emo)

The Taste Test
Colour
Dark brown with floating Milo bits (No, it did not look as good as in the picture, the picture was taken off wikipedia).

Nose
Chocolate-y with whiff of whiskey.

Palate
Sweet, chocolate-y, creamy.

Finish
Yes, I finished it.

The creamy liqeur blended extremely well with the chocolate and malt beverage. Loved it. 5 out of 5 stars. Highly recommended for athletes in the Milo School Soccer Program.

(This is post-dated as I have previously saved it as a draft and completely forgotten about it)

Theory of Evolution (Hypothesis #3)

I've had this hypothesis i.e. useless observation since I was 17 (Yes, I am very adept at remembering the unimportant stuff in life) that there's a greater number of prettier girls living in the eastern part of Singapore due to the concentration of affluent residential estates in that area.

My premise is simple; big bungalows => rich families => rich men and their pretty wives with big boobs => offspring who have a 50% chance of taking after their mothers.

There are two ways to test this hypothesis:
1. Wait till I'm rich enough to marry a former supermodel/beauty queen/offspring of above-mentioned.
2. Girls who fit the above criteria, please leave your email in the comments section. I'll contact you for a simple survey and photograph, which will then be analysed using a statistical method which is too complex to explain now.

Coo... Coo...

Ewen aka Botak Dark Brooding Emofreak-who-thinks-sadness-is-poetic and I were stirring kopi like 2 proper tikopeks (Yup, our kopis were not the only things being stirred) at the coffeeshop at Holland Village when we decided to engage in intellectual small-talk. (Okay, I admit, we didn't decide; it was spontaneous, because we are just so wonderfully intellectual to begin with)

One of the subjects we broached was how certain types of girls go for certain types of guys (Okay okay, so our intellectual talk didn't go beyond testosterone-motivated trivia, but hey, to each his own). With our immense knowledge of personality profiling gained from www.tickle.com, we came to a consensus that Ewen was the DBE (Dark Brooding Emofreak) who happens to be a SR (Sad Romantic), and thus will attract the AARC (Avant-garde Artistic Rock Chick) whose idea of foreplay is marching naked down Shenton Way protesting the slaying of the giant squid, while I simply cannot be categorised because I have the personality of a bluebottle maggot.

It was at that moment it dawned on me that being special/unique/different/an insect larva is over-rated. I want to be pigeon-holed. So that certain types of girls will fling themselves at certain types of me, me and me.