When I was in high school, I was obsessed with Valentine’s Day. I don’t remember how I ever got the money, but I was able to buy roses and kitschy shit from, remember Blue Magic?, and even chocolates. There were two girls I really liked who got these gifts and all through high school, there was this song and dance of secret glances, cryptic messages on slum books and meaningful hand squeezes while practising the prom cotillon dance. When I met up with my high school friends Bam and Janice in December, it was hours of traipsing down memory lane, recontextualising experiences (Yes, that was bullying! Yes that was toxic!) and connecting the dots of who hooked up with whom. "So what happened with you and your girlfriend, M and the other one (also) M?” I looked at them, perplexed. “They weren’t really my girlfriends because I didn’t get to sleep with them”. I don’t remember now how Bam and Janice reacted to that, but it’s the truth.
Sex is important in a relationship. If it’s gone, you better hope you have enough money to compensate, though I doubt even millions or billions ever do.
I love chicken hearts. Hearts, in general, and it doesn’t matter if it’s chicken or beef, have this interesting texture that is neither soft nor firm, but somewhere in the middle. And however you season it, it just sits there as an outside layer of flavour, which doesn’t overwhelm the texture of the heart. I’m glad the local supermarkets sell them, though I only buy them as a treat (I’ve heard that they have a lot of cholesterol). I simply cook them like I do adobe and finish them off with butter. I don’t eat them with rice, or as a meal and instead snack on them the whole day with a glass of cold (no sugar) coke.
We did go out for Valentines at Pearl Garden. The roast pork that I was looking forward to was a big miss though; I had a sneaking suspicion they did it on an air-fryer.
