Dreaming of good food

Have you ever talked so much that you got sick of your own voice? I have. Actually, I am, on a daily basis. It's unbelievable how much water I have to consume each day to keep my throat from overdrying from too much talking. Yes, yes, I love my job, but no, no, this cannot go on and on.

The weather has turned cold. Hello winter! Hello bulky jackets that hide the fact that I'm all skins and bones - yay! There is no turning back. From now until at least April 2009, my days will once again be filled with taking the metro to work, slathering hand lotion every conceivable minute and screaming, "Damn, it's cold!"

But for now, I'm happy and warm. I'm taking advantage of the free wi-fi at the foodcourt in the underground city. Don't want to go home yet because that means I have to think about what to eat for dinner tonight. Which reminds me, I had a few disappointments yesterday in the domain of food.

Seeing that I have now bought myself a weekly metro pass, I am now free to go from A to Z on the metro network without any worry in the world, if time permits. So, after work yesterday, I decided to go to the Jean-Talon suburb, which is a haven for Vietnamese treats. My intention was clear: Vietnamese springrolls. Or, if they are sold out, Korean instant noodles. After which I will reward myself a steaming bowl of pho at the nearby Vietnamese restaurant. Got to the door of the oriental grocery store and, "What the hell? How come the door wouldn't open?" Crap, the shop closes at 7pm on Mondays. I was 30 minutes late. Unbelievable. I thought all Asian-owned shops open until at least 9pm. Oh well, not to worry, at least I can still eat pho. Or so I thought. The restaurant - it turned out- closes on Mondays. What the hell? I thought all Asian-owned (except Indonesian-owned) restaurants open Monday to Monday again.

So I dragged my feet back to the metro to go home, all the way comforting myself that at least, AT LEAST, I can get some delicious Portuguese roast chicken at the corner of my street. Romado's - the place is called - is never not busy, so when I got to their door, seeing that there was no line-up, was overjoyed. Walking to the counter, I was rehearsing in my head what I would order, but I didn't get to practice my line. "Il n'y a plus de poulet, cherie," the little lady said from behind counter, in what usually looks more like a chicken's worst nightmare. The kitchen, when it's in full swing, truly looks like a hell for chickens. But of course, this time all was quiet on the chicken front. Romado's had run out of chickens for the night. In the end, I had the classic Indonesian student's budget meal: steam rice with fried eggs.

I guess it's time to go home now. Hopefully, I"ll have better luck with food tonight.