The Cows Did Come Home.

You know how great chefs are like famous painters? Stubborn and particular about little stuffs? And how they'll go through all the trouble to find the finest ingredients? And how they'll painstakingly prepare them? And how they'll cook or bake to perfection no matter how long or how much effort it takes? And how they'll insist that their assistants follow their 5-hour procedure to finish a product when a housewife can complete in one? And how they'll insist on the smallest details to achieve what they think is best?

Well, I'm not like that at all.
Mana wu eng?*

The only thing I insist on doing the dumb way is frying my own pineapple tart filling, usually late in the night. For some strange reasons I enjoy cutting and slicing pineapples, (and most fruits, hence the strawberry pound cake.) It's almost a win-win situation: I get to cut, my family gets the juice, I have homemade filling, my neighbours get the smell, and I have time to do some reflections and ponder about life** while I'm frying etc etc.

And thus I fry.
I fry till the day UFOs decide to make contact, land first in SG and get slapped with summons and fines for not having IUs installed to pass through ERPs;
I fry till some kind soul explains to me why, of all the exotic animals and dinosaurs available, the genius has to bring King Kong back into America. Choosing an obese gorilla over extinct animals?
I fry till David Beckham retires from soccer and becomes the new voice of Donald Duck;
I fry till Obama's re-election slogan reads: "Yes! We can fry!";
I fry till scholars discover that Shakespear concocted Hamlet while having ham omelette;
I fry till peanuts become the new SG currency;
I fry till renowned hair-stylist with apartment in district 10 has, well, you know, hair;
I fry till cows come home, and still I fry.
Yes, I believe I can fry.

And so, with sighs of relief, satisfaction and pleasure, my fry here fry there ends while I admire my own work of fry.
Anybody who wishes to order my pineapple tarts with my homemade filling -Don't let me see you!!!

* Hokkien, suspected and most probably adverb, translates into : Linbeh got no time to sleep where got time to do all those things? You must be kong kam!

** Like why good things only happen to other people? And why is the neighbour's dog barking at this hour? And isn't it rude and unprofessional for a major music production company to not reply to my emails? And somebody should tell that guy singing karaoke in the opposite block that he's way out of pitch, and so on; you know, things that a philosopher is too proud to question?