Apologies for the long absence, but do not fret, it has not been in vain. I present to you the product of every painstaking hour of available time since my last post.

With warmest regards,

rice

My personal favorite antennae.

A work in progress.

Alpha and beta. Stubby little marzipan antenna and an attempt at a side-on angle with the line across — I didn’t think it worked.

Prestigious company.

(This concept done before, by someone else, differently.)

I looked back. The individual behind me was distracted. I knew this was my moment. My one chance. My opportunity of a lifetime. I took two steps to the left and grabbed it. “Huzzah!” I screamed aloud. Two quick steps to the right and I was back in line. No one noticed. I was the champion.

I put my tray down and started consuming my food, staring at the brownie, already tasting its chocolaty, cake-like consistency. Whoever said to eat dessert first had no understanding of suspense. I looked at my watch. 12:57. I had lost myself for too long, and was now going to be late for my next meeting.  I hastily threw Brownie into my backpack and hurried away.

The meeting was endless. Finally 3:00 arrived, and I dashed to my desk. I started searching. And searching. And searching. Pocket after pocket, compartment to compartment, the brownie was no where to be found. I started the search from scratch. The result was the same. I considered searching a third time, but the scientist in me prevailed. The brownie was gone, and no matter how many times I searched my backpack, it would not appear. I gazed into the distance. Nothing was there. Then I went to the store and bought a cookie. It was delicious.

Nobel Prize in Medicine: Barack Obama, for the glorious success of his healthcare reform.

Prize in Economics: Barack Obama, for single-handedly fixing the world economy.

Nobel Prize in Literature: Barack Obama, for his 2012 Inauguration speech.

Nobel Prize in Physic: Barack Obama, for inventing fusion power.

Nobel Prize in Chemistry: Barack Obama, for metabolizing sugars inside his own body.

Nobel Peace Prize: Barack Obama, for making peace with the Martian invaders.

World leaders, too busy kissing Obama’s ass, were unavailable for comment.

Oh pre-wedding wedding cake, a cake by any other name would taste as delicious. Yet you are cursed to forever live in the shadows of a rehearsal dinner, consumed and discarded, lost and forgotten.  Do not feel ashamed of your plight. You were born as a pre-wedding wedding cake, never given the opportunity to show the world how magical you could make someone’s special moment. You are the poor, inner-city student of the cake world, but were never given the affirmative action frosting of All-American aspirations to live the dream. But never forget, oh disenfranchised cakes of the world, that the more delicious you are, the more likely your cakeson or cakedaugher will be served at an event worthy of respect and admiration of which you can be proud. Stay strong, oh cakes one and all, stay stong. Your consumption is not in vain.

A) C & A
B) D
C) E & C
D) D
E) There is not sufficient information given to decide.

Have fun.

In the house the meal is viewed,
The steak is cooked, the beer is brewed,
The pies are cooled, the flies are shooed,
And in the dark, the tale is bright.

Some truth is ever what we seek,
But when it’s found our souls grow weak,
The mind goes blank, the path was bleak
That brought us to this meal so crude.

But bit by bit and bite by bite,
Some madness serves to speed our plight
Into the wrong or brand new right,
The power of the strong o’er meek.

For in the barn the old cow mooed,
And on the hay the day seemed skewed,
The day the beast for seconds rued,
The day that turned too soon to night.

We chopped in half the luscious leek
And found inside a snidely streak.
The denouement precedes the peak
In this, the tale I once eschewed.

It’s not a poem to move, excite,
Or celebrate the strength and might
Of those who pass the human rite,
But just a tribute to the weak.

So now we dine; no longer speak,
The story’s yours to bend and tweak.
The beef’s a brood, the basil, blight,
But that’s the food we eat tonight.

I give you the stroopwafel. I ask first and foremost that you ignore the fact that it rhymes with four of Hitler’s top ten things to do on the weekends, and embrace it for what it is. Friends, it is not just a waffle.  It is two waffles. And between those waffles–a sweet jell which can only be described as so delicious, the Dutch have started eating stroopwafel instead of raw herring as their favorite national pasttime. Truly the snack that kids love and moms approve, may the stoopwaffle bring forth a new wave of prosperity onto the people of the Netherlands for millenia to come.

Such was the case with the pescado con la crema de chaya that I ordered in Progreso. A veritable debris heap, the food for which I had so trustingly agreed to pay 115 pesos initially looked to be a disappointment. But when I took my first bite, I fell in love. It was not the sweet tomatoes and shrimp of northern Campeche. It was not the thick, rich mole sauce of the inland. It was not the fiery jabañero from further up the coast. It was none of these things; and yet, it was all of them.

Uncooked, chaya leaves are poisonous. They release cyanide, which causes death. Death is a bad thing and not the primary goal when sampling the native fare of the Yucatán peninsula. Only in a country whose economy is largely dependent on cocaine and heroin could cyanide become a staple. But once cooked, the leaves become soft, more nutrient rich than spinach, and non-toxic. “Edible,” my friends, is a gross understatement. “Succulent” does not begin to do it justice. “Godly” is a good start.

And so I found my fate inextricably linked to that of the chaya leaves in front of me. Mankind had tamed the cyanide-laced deliciousness, which in turn, tamed me.