Busy, busy, busy...

I'm having a busy few weeks, so posting will be minimal at best. The schedule has been somewhat like this: had a brunch for 10 people at my place over the weekend, meeting various people for dinners this week, and then off to London on Thursday for the weekend. I promise to come back with details about the trip and about the insanities that ensued while there. Until then, I'd like to leave you with this exchange that I had with a friend at work:

Me: I'm thinking of cutting down on the dessert.

Friend: NO you can't do that! You will make life extremely difficult for all of us. At the moment, if we eat dessert, we always think "oh, it's ok, Jigz has probably eaten more dessert than me today" and then carry on munching. What are we supposed to do if you cut down on your dessert consumption?

So there you have it. I must continue eating dessert for the betterment of mankind. Remember, you heard it here first.

To smell or not to smell

Summer is a beautiful season. It brings out flowers and the green and fun skirts and dresses, and...some men who don't use deodorant and wear wife-beaters. This is not only an assault to the eyes but also to the olfactory. This assault is exacerbated when you're on a tram, and you begin to dread the moment someone lifts their arms up to hold on to the railing. You pray to every god, wishing and hoping that they wore deodorant. Sometimes god obliges, sometimes he doesn't. When he doesn't, you feel like you are doomed to a lifetime of disappointment.

I went through such an experience just last week. I was on the tram, on my way back from work. Halfway through the ride, there was a strange stench that filled the tram. My nostrils lodged a protest and immediately shut down. My quest to find the source of the stench brought me to to a wannabe-rockstar-but-couldn't-ever-be-one guy wearing a wife-beater and sporting a wonderful beer belly, lifting his arms up to hold on to the railing. I doubt he knew the devastating impact such an act would have on society as a whole. You could almost see the fumes emanating from under his arms. This is disgusting, I know, but if I get to live through it, you get to read about it.

The entire tram must have felt the waves of stench, and it ended up being each man for himself, because I kid you not, we ended up losing people at every tram stop. Within three stops, almost everyone was off the tram, with the look of fear on their faces, and tears in their eyes. I stuck around for one more stop, but then abandoned ship and leaped out of the tram before the doors closed. There was no time to warn unsuspecting on-boarders of what awaited them inside the tram. I just hope they made it out okay. Maybe one day we'll run into each other and reminisce about this shared torture that we went through. But for now, I'm armed with Febfreeze and am ready to launch my counterattack on any tram at a moment's notice. "They may take our lives, but they will NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM!!!"

I'll Stand By You

When I started this blog, I decided that it would be a non-political one. Those of you who have known me for a while know that I have very *ahem* strong opinions on all things political. So if I started talking politics here, this could quickly derail into just another political blog, and the idea of talking about Zurich and my experiences here would be nothing but a distant memory.

But something pretty monumental happened today that I think deserves a mention. Prop 8, an intensely discriminatory ballot initiative that was voted into law in California has been ruled unconstitutional. As someone who has long propagated equal rights for all human beings, regardless of their race, religion, gender, and orientation, you can imagine how happy this makes me feel. In fact, I was so happy this morning that I decided to be a good girl only had one lunch. And one dinner. I just hope that people finally do the right thing and realize that discrimination under the veil of moral outrage and societal concerns is still discrimination.

In honor of this decision, I'm going to share a story with you that I absolutely, positively, never wanted anyone to be aware of. But such is my joy that I am going to reverse my decision and post it, for your amusement, as always:

During my first couple of weeks in Zurich, I went to Blue Monkey, a really good Thai restaurant for dinner with some colleagues who are visiting from New York. The restaurant itself was one of the better places I had been to here in Zurich. Food was good, conversation was interesting. As usual, I zoned out when I was getting intimately acquainted with my green curry and fried rice, so details of the conversation, of course, cannot be recalled. I do remember that at the end of the meal, we were satiated, and decided to forgo dessert (a heartbreaking decision for me, but I was outvoted). The waitress started to clear the table, and in the process, took a burning candle off the table and promptly poured a generous amount of melted wax on my wonderful and recently washed black pants. I watched the whole thing happen in slow motion, certain that the wax wouldn't find itself attached to my pants. But oh how wrong was I!

Now I don't know about you, but having a huge blob of melted wax covering a majority of your pants doesn't exactly scream "fashion". At first, everyone at the table was in shock. Then everyone started laughing. Actually, they didn't laugh out loud, but I'm sure in their head they were cracking up. The waitress profusely apologized and confessed that that day was her first day at work. I felt bad and decided not to demand free dessert, which I totally deserved. I covered the white on black with a tablecloth while we were seated, and wore my overcoat as soon as we got up to leave. I was clutching the overcoat so tightly around me, you'd think I had a million dollars hiding underneath it. Instead, I was hiding melted wax on black pants.

Tell me honestly - do you know anyone else who had hot wax poured on their black pants at a restaurant? Why do such things only happen to me - and that too on a global level? What have I done to deserve such things? Let us together find an answer, for I cannot solve this mystery alone.

"I never thought I was smart enough to get depressed, but here I am."

Is anyone else watching True Blood this season? If you are, then the title of this post will make complete sense to you. If you're not, then I just want to let you know that I am not depressed. Sad about living in a currently ice-creamless apartment, but definitely not depressed.True Blood keeps blowing me away on a regular basis. I laugh, cringe, swoon, salivate, and get grossed out all at the same time. Can't wait for next week's episode!

This weekend was amazing, food-wise (going forward, just remember, if something is amazing, it's most likely due to a food related activity). Fellow True Bloodies (Blooders?) Julie and Carla hosted a housewarming party at their place this weekend. Since I've sampled their cooking before, I most certainly didn't want to be in a situation where I'd show up and all the food was gone, so I came up with a strategy: I decided to show up at their place well in advance, under the pretext of "helping them out." And boy am I glad I did that. There were three different kinds of empanadas, amazing chili cheese enchiladas, corn salsa, pico de gallo, roasted red pepper and garlic hummus, chocolate chip cookies, an assortment of meat dishes, and sangria. This is what the spread looked like, and the reason why I had to employ my strategy of showing up early:



Here's the roasted red pepper and garlic hummus, veggies, and pico de gallo:



The rest of the evening was also a lot of fun. I'd love to give you details about the guests and share some interesting anecdotes, but I was basically in a food coma approximately sixty minutes after I got to their place. In fact, the coma got so bad at one point that I physically couldn't stand and had to lie down on their couch. Yes, I have to lie down on couches now because I can't control my eating.

I reluctantly made my way back way too early, which, in my heart I knew it was the right thing to do, for the eating would not have stopped any other way. As it was, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking how full I was. But it was worth it. My only regret: I forgot to take leftovers back with me. I cried the entire train ride back. You may think I'm exaggerating, but I really did. Little children ran away in fear. Oh well, it was worth it. Now if only I can get myself to stop dreaming about the cookies...

A Cage of my own

Honestly, I don't know how I've lived all these years without having such a wonderfully perfect cage as a part of my wardrobe:



For centuries, scientists have tried to find a way to contain me while out and about in public, without much success. It took Valentino and his Fall Haute Couture 2010 collection to come up with a solution! This dress will save others from accidents caused by my arm flailing, will alert everyone else to my presence, thus allowing them to stay as far away as possible from me, and most importantly, will allow me to truly appreciate the song, "I want to Break Free". I just hope the cage opens during meal times. I can suddenly see PETA's "No Cages" campaign in a whole new light...

I've Got to See You Again

Today was traumatizing, food-wise. Actually, that's not really true. I had pasta for lunch, so there was some measure of emotional satisfaction until mid-afternoon. As today is Wednesday, I went to the Wednesday Market after a long, long time. There is a British Cheese stall there, which is a local hang out of sorts for expats. I made plans with a couple of friends to meet up, have some cheese, laugh, and have some more cheese.

On my way there, I began to remember all the different food stalls that are put up at the market, and I was hit with a sudden and unsuppressed craving for Falafel. I was almost delusional in my need for it, and the first thing I did after I quickly said hi to my friend was to line up for the Falafel. Imagine my shock and horror when I discovered that the Lebanese stall had no falafel this week! "No Falafel", I shrieked. "How is this even possible? What kind of a country is this? How does the government even allow such things to happen? Surely this must be illegal!" I thought. Yes, I think in exclamations. It has been known to happen when food is involved. Desperate, I asked the other expats if they were aware of any other stall at the Market that sold Falafel. Alas, the answer came back negative. I was this close to tears. I was suddenly questioning everything. If I can't get my Falafel, then what's the point in living, I ask you? My friend Julie could see tears well up in my eyes and immediately tried to distract me with some Greek food. Before I even knew what hit me, I found myself working my way through a Spinach pie.

The momentary distraction did a good enough job of stopping the tears, but as soon as the pie was consumed, my sense of loss at the lack of Falafel returned. Desolate, I decided to make my way back home. On the way out, I managed to buy some cheese from the British cheese stall and also picked up a Samosa from an Indian stall. But nothing filled the gap that Falafel had left - both in my heart and in my belly. Ever since I made it back to the apartment and demolished the samosa, I've been listening to Norah Jones' I've Got To See You Again - a song that truly captures my current state of mind:

Kinder Ninja

You weren't expecting me to post the next update so quickly, were you? I like surprising people - keeps things interesting. Let's see what happened on Sunday. The morning began as all mornings do, with food. Breakfast was included in our room and board, and we all know how I feel about free food. Right before I ate pretty much everything that I could humanly eat, I walked around and took some pictures from the hotel of Lake Thun and the mountains:





And one more:



After breakfast, we made our way back to the sports company with whom we now had a rafting trip planned. The gear we had to get dressed in this time around was rafting gear, which they thankfully had in my size! I was ecstatic. Ecstasy lowered itself into mere happiness upon discovery of the fact that they still didn't have any shoes in my size. We drove to the river (I think the river was called Lucino but I could also totally be making that up) and got a lesson in rowing and instruction-following. Soon, we were in the river and pretty much thrown into the rapids as soon as we got in:



The fact that I'm terribly uncoordinated is not news to anyone. And this is without you even being aware of how one day I fell on my strawberries while walking and crushed them all. But I digress. Due to my lack of coordination, I would keep sliding into the raft, as opposed to being seated on the edge and paddling. Thankfully, I was in the very back, so no one noticed. However, when such things happened:



my screams got loud enough to wake up the dead. Soon, we got our first break to catch our breath. I was extremely proud of the fact that I still hadn't fallen into the river. But it was still early days. When we made it back into the river for round two, the rapids we encountered were even stronger. At one such time, the wave that we got hit with was too strong, and it ended up taking my paddle away. Yes, I lost my paddle. To the river. I don’t think such things happen to normal people, but they do to me. It turned out to be blessing in disguise, as the rest of the guys had to carry my weight, which we all know is quite a bit to carry.

In one of the general hilarity that ensued from me losing my paddle, my friends started calling me Kinder, which means child in German. This had to do with the fact that my birthday comes once every four yrs and nothing at all to do with the fact that I am short. Nothing at all, I’m positive. The raft guide who sat next to me and saved my life many-a-times was chatting with us, and when he kept hearing my friends call me kinder, thought that was my name. We explained to him the origins of the word Kinder. He then looked at me and out of the blue said that I looked like a Ninja. Which, in hindsight, I totally did. It was decided that I be called Kinder Ninja. I must admit, I actually quite like the sound of it. It has the makings of a solid action flick. "When the world is in peril, only one person can save it - Kinder Ninja" Like sound of it. I'm calling Spielberg as we speak.

Anyway, once the rafting adventure ended, we drove back to Zurich. The trip was amazing, the company fabulous. I leave you with one final image of the views that we passed on the drive back: