Seriously? 11 updates in the last 2 years? And you call yourself a Blogger?
No, I don’t. Not really.
I can’t say I’ve called myself a Blogger for quite some time now. Work, health, life and yes, death have all thrown up obstacles to my maintaining The Gunsmoke Files over the last couple of years. That and a general lack of enthusiasm on my part. Mostly the last one.
But in my defense, does anybody even read Blogs these days, much less write them? What with Facebook and Twitter and a kazillion other ways to stay connected 24x7, who takes the time to sit and write anything more than 140 characters on any kind of regular basis? And who wants to read what they have to say? Will I even have a readership, if I start this back up again?
Well, based upon the number of people I’ve spoken to in the last few weeks who’ve asked why I no longer update The Gunsmoke Files, there does appear to be a sizeable audience still out there. OK, maybe not sizeable. Three. Three people have asked me in recent weeks why I no longer update the Gunsmoke Files.
Dammit, my audience needs me!
And so, for you three, and you know who you are, I shall dust off The Gunsmoke Files, and step once more into the role of Your Faithful Correspondent. With regular updates. I promise.
Enjoy.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Friday, December 23, 2011
Watch this Space
It's coming...very soon. The next update of The Gunsmoke Files will appear in just a few days.
Watch this space.
Watch this space.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Eating Out - Part 4
After about a year, I made a break for it and headed back to Joel, still sitting at the table, still completely unaware of what was going on. I put him right. Once we’d figured out how to switch on the burner, our broth was soon simmering nicely. Cheerfully, we emptied the bowl of food into the broth and licking our lips, inhaled the delicious aroma as we waited for it to cook.
It was then we noticed the other patrons stealing glances from behind their hands and smiling. That’s when we realized that other people were cooking and eating their food in installments. Quite obvious really – different meats and vegetables cook at different speeds so we’d just revealed once more, what neophytes we were. Oh well, before long we were pigging into this gargantuan meal.
But we didn’t just have volume to contend with. Remember I said tom yum soup was hot? Well this stuff was really hot. I mean, Chernobyl hot. Toilet paper in the fridge hot. I like my food spicy, and have shoveled down some blistering stuff in the past, but I have never eaten anything as hot as this. In moments we were each sweating, blowing our noses and talking in high-pitched, strained voices. And no matter how many dishes we ate, the level in the bowl just never seemed to go down.
Because Auntie wasn’t done with us yet. Every couple of minutes, she would appear at my elbow with yet another mountain of food. We took what we could but eventually, laughing, we had to push her away.
"No! No more food" we pleaded. But it was still a long time before she got the message.
I’m still not sure how they enforced the “charge for wasted food” bit, but we had a few bits and pieces swimming around the bottom of the bowl when hours later, fat, happy and clear of sinus, we finally rose and waddled away. Nobody called us back though, so I think we got away with it.
The girls were proud of us when we told them. No TGIFridays for a pair of seasoned travelers like us. But now I’m home, microwaved pizza in front of the TV just isn’t the same.
Photos of Taipei
Photos of Singapore
It was then we noticed the other patrons stealing glances from behind their hands and smiling. That’s when we realized that other people were cooking and eating their food in installments. Quite obvious really – different meats and vegetables cook at different speeds so we’d just revealed once more, what neophytes we were. Oh well, before long we were pigging into this gargantuan meal.
But we didn’t just have volume to contend with. Remember I said tom yum soup was hot? Well this stuff was really hot. I mean, Chernobyl hot. Toilet paper in the fridge hot. I like my food spicy, and have shoveled down some blistering stuff in the past, but I have never eaten anything as hot as this. In moments we were each sweating, blowing our noses and talking in high-pitched, strained voices. And no matter how many dishes we ate, the level in the bowl just never seemed to go down.
Because Auntie wasn’t done with us yet. Every couple of minutes, she would appear at my elbow with yet another mountain of food. We took what we could but eventually, laughing, we had to push her away.
"No! No more food" we pleaded. But it was still a long time before she got the message.
I’m still not sure how they enforced the “charge for wasted food” bit, but we had a few bits and pieces swimming around the bottom of the bowl when hours later, fat, happy and clear of sinus, we finally rose and waddled away. Nobody called us back though, so I think we got away with it.
The girls were proud of us when we told them. No TGIFridays for a pair of seasoned travelers like us. But now I’m home, microwaved pizza in front of the TV just isn’t the same.
Photos of Taipei
Photos of Singapore
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Eating Out - Part 3
Except when the soup arrived a few moments later, I was more than a bit disappointed. True, the bowl was enormous, and divided down the middle contained both chicken broth on one side, tom yum on the other. But that appeared to be it. Where were the prawns, chicken, fish, mushrooms and other delicious ingredients that typify tom yum? How could they call the other side chicken soup, when there was no chicken to be seen? Were we being stiffed because we were tourists, or what? This was so not what we’d planned.
"Let’s finish this, then try and find somewhere else" Joel suggested and resignedly, we began spooning the broth into our bowls.
"NO, NO, NO!" yelled Auntie and grabbing my sleeve, led me through the throng and into the restaurant proper.
That’s when I realized how this place worked. Our table was in fact a sort of outdoor grill, the bowl sitting atop a gas burner. Inside, we were free to choose from a smorgasbord of meats, vegetables, seafood and other less identifiable foodstuffs.
"You want this?" cried Auntie, pointing at a mound of mussels? "This?" at piles of shrimp. "This? This? This?" When we got to the meat section, she began to mimic the noises the animals made (or at least, made before they were sliced into small pieces) and that was worth the price of the meal in itself. On and on she went. It made no difference whether my answer was "Yes", "No" or "Just a little, please" she piled mountains of meat, seafood, vegetables, everything into an enormous bowl, the kind my Mum used to wash dishes in. It wasn’t long before I began to get really nervous about our ability to finish all this. Hungry though we were, this was a shit-load of food in any language.
A sign in English stated "Please do not waste food – we will charge for any leftovers." Charge how much? I didn’t know. Surreptitiously I began taking food out of the washing-up bowl and putting it back on the buffet, but faster than I could do that, Auntie kept shoveling the stuff back in.
I was starting to panic.
"Let’s finish this, then try and find somewhere else" Joel suggested and resignedly, we began spooning the broth into our bowls.
"NO, NO, NO!" yelled Auntie and grabbing my sleeve, led me through the throng and into the restaurant proper.
That’s when I realized how this place worked. Our table was in fact a sort of outdoor grill, the bowl sitting atop a gas burner. Inside, we were free to choose from a smorgasbord of meats, vegetables, seafood and other less identifiable foodstuffs.
"You want this?" cried Auntie, pointing at a mound of mussels? "This?" at piles of shrimp. "This? This? This?" When we got to the meat section, she began to mimic the noises the animals made (or at least, made before they were sliced into small pieces) and that was worth the price of the meal in itself. On and on she went. It made no difference whether my answer was "Yes", "No" or "Just a little, please" she piled mountains of meat, seafood, vegetables, everything into an enormous bowl, the kind my Mum used to wash dishes in. It wasn’t long before I began to get really nervous about our ability to finish all this. Hungry though we were, this was a shit-load of food in any language.
A sign in English stated "Please do not waste food – we will charge for any leftovers." Charge how much? I didn’t know. Surreptitiously I began taking food out of the washing-up bowl and putting it back on the buffet, but faster than I could do that, Auntie kept shoveling the stuff back in.
I was starting to panic.
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