I haven't been to a brick and mortar game store in quite some time. That changed two weeks ago, when I decided Street Fighter x Tekken (SFxT) is something to experience on launch day. While I had plenty on my to-do list, I had been looking forward to this. I even avoided buying it online, because I feared for the possible tardiness in delivery. As I made my way into center city Philly, something unknown began to tug at my mind. It felt like a warning, similar to the moment before you touch a scalding object. I shrugged the feeling away, determined to reach my destination.
Before I continue, I should clarify why SFxT holds such high esteem in my heart. Way back before I was deeply absorbed by gaming on the pc, portable devices, or even the console, there was the arcade. Wonderful, exciting arcade. The addiction was undeniable, as I would spend every free moment of my childhood there. If you've never experienced a proper local arcade setting, it is hard for me to describe how stimulating the experience is. When you first arrive at the arcade, it's as if a hundred adventure portals are just begging you to enter. Every game cabinet promises a different experience and with your limited quarters, you must choose wisely. Some people prefer shoot 'em ups (bullet hell), others prefer side scrollers. However, to truly understand the magic of an arcade, you must devote yourself to the King of Cabinets, the Lord of Joysticks, the God of Quarters: the Fighting game genre.
And what is so appealing about fighting games, you ask? Well, you should look first to the lay of the land. In any respectable establishment, there will undoubtedly be a gathering of fighting fans. And in this gathering, they will only be gathered around one prized machine. The newest and latest fighting game. Freshly released, this new game cabinet will have cost the manager a pretty penny. But it is well worth his money, as word travels fast among the fighting community. Yes, it will be a long wait for your chance to play, but the manager hopes you try all the other machines as you wait. Back at the center of action, the quarters never stop flowing. This is where you find the long lines, the rising stars, the local champ. Take your place in line, and observe your opponent before it's your turn. Hopefully, you already know the basics before you sit down.
As soon as you enter the space of 2p (Player 2), every move you make will be scrutinized. How are you sitting on the stool? How is your posture? Most importantly, how are you holding your joystick? All this is taken in, as each player makes his/her speculations about each other. Then you begin to choose your character. Even in this, there is much to be said. Do you immediately go with the most popular choice? Do you wait for your opponent to pick first? Do you keep waiting if he waits too? Do you hover over one choice for a long time only to quickly change your mind at the last moment? Usually, this process elicits some kind of response from the players, and you can make a few mental notes on the reaction. Sighing or snorting may be construed as them thinking your choice is cheap. Meaning there might be certain moves they're not adept at countering. Tuck that information away. Other responses might include nonchalance or visible excitement. Those are harder to read. Sometimes, even the physical attire of the person next to you is telling. Depending on the time of day, various walks of life will frequent an arcade. During the daytime, it might be delinquent students, the unemployed, or people on break. While daytime patrons are fewer, they can be quite skilled as they have the luxury of honing their skills without pressure. As school and work lets out, the competition becomes fierce. Regulars begin to fill in and in a matter of a few rounds, the dominant champion will assert his presence. Once secure in his seat, it will be up to the rest to dethrone him.
At this point, I can lie and say I was naturally skilled and slew my opposition left and right. Sadly, that's simply not true. I paid "tuition", the quarter price, much like everyone else. Worse, being young and near sighted, my parents frowned on giving me allowance for video games. While my personal play time was limited, I would linger near the cabinets and watch others play. My brother was quite good, and I learned a good deal from him. Among other things, I also learned that "strolling at the market" for him is synonymous for Street Fighter. I even tailed him once and didn't tattle. He was quite honest in all other regards.
Put simply, my childhood was filled with classics such as Fatal Fury, Samurai Showdown, Street Fighter, KoF, and many many others. While I was never very good, I actually gleaned a good deal of street wisdom from the arcade. The quiet ones often played with a trick up their sleeve. The straightforward ones rarely changed their tactics, hoping to win it all by luck. Some people trash talk a lot, but don't mean what they say. Some people just aren't decent. Due to my accent, I would often use profane slurs that sounded the same once you shouted them. Mostly, I kept quiet and blended in. It was the most enjoyable part of my childhood.
Back to my original story. As I made my way to the EB Games at Market East Station, I felt a little giddy. The nagging feeling was still there, but didn't seem to have anything to do with SFxT's release. When I saw the line at the store, I actually grinned. Waiting wasn't a problem, it simply showed that people all cared enough to wait in a physical line. I took my place and waited my turn. When the lady finally called me to the counter, I asked without hesitation: "One PS3 copy of SFxT please."
Straight faced, she responded "Did you reserve it?"
I answered, "No, but your website showed that this store has plenty in stock."
She continued her expressionless stare and said, "I can't sell it to you unless you reserve something."
The nagging feeling returned.
I paused for a second and said "Huh? I just want to buy a copy of SFxT."
"I CAN'T sell you a copy unless you reserve something," she responded.
"But I don't want anything."
"I CAN'T sell you a copy unless you reserve something. Isn't there something you want? Assassin's Creed? Resident Evil?"
I narrowed my eyes. An employee at the next cashier muttered to her, "All joking aside, I don't think we even have copies to sell."
Incredulously, I asked her, "You don't even have copies to sell?"
She answered, "Well, yeah, everyone knows that you HAVE to reserve games in order to get them on launch day."
I narrowed my eyes to a slit and frowned visibly. I pointed to the stack of SFxT behind and said, "So every copy you have is reserved and you have none left."
Her tone practically chastising, "Yes, people reserved mooonths in advance. Everybody knows this!"
Suddenly, the nagging feeling became clear. This had happened before. A few months ago, I had also tried to buy another game from EB. It wasn't on launch day and it wasn't even a particularly popular title. The cashier had ALSO patronized me about the importance of reserving for games. I had written the incident off, thinking it was just an one-off case.
With rekindled anger welling inside me, I distanced myself from the store as quickly as possible. I missed lab time for this? I wasn't going to get SFxT because of EB's piss poor policies? As I stormed through Market East Station, a poster suddenly managed to catch my eye. Is that...a SFxT poster in...FYE? Like many mythical brands, no one knows why For Your Entertainment is still in business, but I was desperate at this point. I walked in and unbelievably, I walked out three minutes later with a copy of the game.
As I passed by EB, I shot daggers with my eyes at the employees and muttered a curse for the chain to burn to the ground.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
It's Amazing
Just saw a few pictures from around the league, and found them to be quite funny. And impressive. But mostly funny.
Human feet are pretty amazing. Look at the angle his body is leaning while going at full speed.
Exhibit B. Another reason I love sneakers, they're built to endure our abuse.
That is one tight pick & roll. The guy in blue is supposed to keep defending the ball. Hah.
Kobe, where your hands at? Also, nice new nickname: Masked Mamba.
Not funny, just impressive. KD35 is becoming a scary player.
Nooooooovak. Savior of Madison Square Garden.
What..? Dwight, that's not how you play D.
Good competitive expression from guy in white jersey. Or maybe that's just his "lunch money taken" look.
Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to go that way? Meet my knee first.
Ahhahhahahahahahahahhahahhahahaha
Friday, February 24, 2012
Tiring, but worth doing
Resolutions slip, but don't give up. Change the deadline, but don't alter the course.
My favorite chapter of the book:
FIRMLY, LIKE ATTACHING AN ANCHOR TO A BALLOON
Aomame devoted a great deal of attention to her daily diet.Vegetarian dishes were central to the meals she prepared for herself, to which she added seafood, mostly white fish. An occasional piece of chicken was about all the meat she would eat. She chose only fresh ingredients and kept seasonings to a minimum, rejecting high-fat ingredients entirely and keeping her intake of carbohydrates low.Salads she would eat with a touch of olive oil, salt, and lemon juice, never dressings. She did not just eat a lot of vegetables, she also studied their nutritional elements in detail and made sure she was eating a well-balanced selection. She fashioned her own original menus and shared them with sports club members when asked.“Forget about counting calories,” she would always advise them. “Once you develop a knack for choosing the proper ingredients and eating in moderation, you don’t have to pay attention to numbers.”
This is not to say that she clung obsessively to her ascetic menus. If she felt a strong desire for meat, she would pop into a restaurant and order a thick steak or lamb chops. She believed that an unbearable desire for a particular food meant that the body was sending signals for something it truly needed, and she would follow the call of nature.
She enjoyed wine and sake, but she established three days a week when she would not drink at all in order to avoid excessive alcohol intake, as a way to both protect her liver and control the sugar in her bloodstream. For Aomame, her body was sacred, to be kept clean always,without a fleck of dust or the slightest stain. Whatever one enshrined there was another question, to be thought about later.
Aomame had no excess flesh, only muscle. She would confirm this for herself in detail each day, standing stark naked in front of the mirror. Not that she was thrilled at the sight of her own body. Quite the opposite. Her breasts werenot big enough, and they were asymmetrical. Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been trampled by a passing army. She couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the sight of her own body, but there was nothing there for her to pinch.
She lived frugally, but her meals were the only things on which she deliberately spent her money. She never compromised on the quality of her groceries, and drank only good-quality wines. On those rare occasions when sh ate out, she would choose restaurants that prepared their food with the greatest care. Almost nothing else mattered to her—not clothing, not cosmetics, not accessories. Jeans and a sweater were all she needed for commuting to work at the sports club, and once she was there she would spend the day in a jersey top and bottom—without accessories, of course. She rarely had occasion to go out in fancy clothing. Once Tamaki Otsuka was married, she no longer had any women friends to dine out with. She would wear makeup and dress well when she was out in search of a one-night stand, but that was once a month and didn’t require an extensive wardrobe.
When necessary, Aomame would make the rounds of the boutiques in Aoyama to have one “killer dress” made and to buy an accessory or two and a pair of heels to match.That was all she needed. Ordinarily she wore flats and a ponytail. As long as she washed her face well with soap and water and applied moisturizer, she always had a glow.The most important thing was to have a clean, healthy body.
Aomame had been used to living a simple, unadorned life since childhood. Self-denial and moderation were the values pounded into her as long as she could remember.Her family’s home was free of all extras, and “waste” was their most commonly used word. They had no television and did not subscribe to a newspaper. Even news was looked upon in her home as a nonessential. Meat and fish rarely found their way to the dining table. Her school lunches provided Aomame with the nutrients she needed for development. The other children would complain how tasteless the lunches were, and would leave much of theirs uneaten, but she almost wished she could have what they wasted.
She wore only hand-me-downs. The believers would hold periodic gatherings to exchange their unneeded articles of clothing, as a result of which her parents never once bought her anything new, the only exceptions being things like the gym clothes required by the school. She could not recall ever having worn clothing or shoes that fit her perfectly, and the items she did have were an assemblage of clashing colors and patterns. If the family could not afford any other lifestyle, she would have just resigned herself to the fact, but Aomame’s family was by no means poor. Her father was an engineer with a normal income and savings. They chose their exceedingly frugal lifestyle entirely as a matter of belief.
Because the life she led was so very different from those of the children around her, for a long time Aomame could not make friends with anyone. She had neither the clothing nor the money that would have enabled her to go out with a friend. She was never given an allowance, so that even if she had been invited to someone’s birthday party (which,for better or worse, never happened), she would not have been able to bring along a little gift.
Because of all this, Aomame hated her parents and deeply despised both the world to which they belonged and the ideology of that world. What she longed for was an ordinary life like everybody else’s. Not luxury: just a totally normal little life, nothing more. She wanted to hurry up and become an adult so she could leave her parents and live alone—eating what and as much as she wanted, using the money in her purse any way she liked, wearing new clothes of her own choosing, wearing shoes that fit her feet, going where she wanted to go, making lots of friends and exchanging beautifully wrapped presents with them.
Once she became an adult, however, Aomame discovered that she was most comfortable living a life of self-denial and moderation. What she wanted most of all was not to go out with someone all dressed up, but to spend time alone in her room dressed in a jersey top and bottom.
After Tamaki died, Aomame quit the sports drink company, left the dormitory she had been living in, and moved into a one-bedroom rental condo in the lively,freewheeling Jiyugaoka neighborhood, away from the center of the city. Though hardly spacious, the place looked huge to her. She kept her furnishings to a minimum—except for her extensive collection of kitchen utensils. She had few possessions. She enjoyed reading books, but as soon as she was through with them, she would sell them to a used bookstore. She enjoyed listening to music, but was not a collector of records. She hated to see her belongings pile up. She felt guilty whenever she bought something. I don’t really need this, she would tell herself. Seeing the nicer clothing and shoes in her closet would give her a pain in the chest and constrict her breathing. Such sights suggestive of freedom and opulence would, paradoxically,remind Aomame of her restrictive childhood.
What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren’t you just in another, larger one?
My favorite chapter of the book:
FIRMLY, LIKE ATTACHING AN ANCHOR TO A BALLOON
Aomame devoted a great deal of attention to her daily diet.Vegetarian dishes were central to the meals she prepared for herself, to which she added seafood, mostly white fish. An occasional piece of chicken was about all the meat she would eat. She chose only fresh ingredients and kept seasonings to a minimum, rejecting high-fat ingredients entirely and keeping her intake of carbohydrates low.Salads she would eat with a touch of olive oil, salt, and lemon juice, never dressings. She did not just eat a lot of vegetables, she also studied their nutritional elements in detail and made sure she was eating a well-balanced selection. She fashioned her own original menus and shared them with sports club members when asked.“Forget about counting calories,” she would always advise them. “Once you develop a knack for choosing the proper ingredients and eating in moderation, you don’t have to pay attention to numbers.”
This is not to say that she clung obsessively to her ascetic menus. If she felt a strong desire for meat, she would pop into a restaurant and order a thick steak or lamb chops. She believed that an unbearable desire for a particular food meant that the body was sending signals for something it truly needed, and she would follow the call of nature.
She enjoyed wine and sake, but she established three days a week when she would not drink at all in order to avoid excessive alcohol intake, as a way to both protect her liver and control the sugar in her bloodstream. For Aomame, her body was sacred, to be kept clean always,without a fleck of dust or the slightest stain. Whatever one enshrined there was another question, to be thought about later.
Aomame had no excess flesh, only muscle. She would confirm this for herself in detail each day, standing stark naked in front of the mirror. Not that she was thrilled at the sight of her own body. Quite the opposite. Her breasts werenot big enough, and they were asymmetrical. Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been trampled by a passing army. She couldn’t stop herself from scowling at the sight of her own body, but there was nothing there for her to pinch.
She lived frugally, but her meals were the only things on which she deliberately spent her money. She never compromised on the quality of her groceries, and drank only good-quality wines. On those rare occasions when sh ate out, she would choose restaurants that prepared their food with the greatest care. Almost nothing else mattered to her—not clothing, not cosmetics, not accessories. Jeans and a sweater were all she needed for commuting to work at the sports club, and once she was there she would spend the day in a jersey top and bottom—without accessories, of course. She rarely had occasion to go out in fancy clothing. Once Tamaki Otsuka was married, she no longer had any women friends to dine out with. She would wear makeup and dress well when she was out in search of a one-night stand, but that was once a month and didn’t require an extensive wardrobe.
When necessary, Aomame would make the rounds of the boutiques in Aoyama to have one “killer dress” made and to buy an accessory or two and a pair of heels to match.That was all she needed. Ordinarily she wore flats and a ponytail. As long as she washed her face well with soap and water and applied moisturizer, she always had a glow.The most important thing was to have a clean, healthy body.
Aomame had been used to living a simple, unadorned life since childhood. Self-denial and moderation were the values pounded into her as long as she could remember.Her family’s home was free of all extras, and “waste” was their most commonly used word. They had no television and did not subscribe to a newspaper. Even news was looked upon in her home as a nonessential. Meat and fish rarely found their way to the dining table. Her school lunches provided Aomame with the nutrients she needed for development. The other children would complain how tasteless the lunches were, and would leave much of theirs uneaten, but she almost wished she could have what they wasted.
She wore only hand-me-downs. The believers would hold periodic gatherings to exchange their unneeded articles of clothing, as a result of which her parents never once bought her anything new, the only exceptions being things like the gym clothes required by the school. She could not recall ever having worn clothing or shoes that fit her perfectly, and the items she did have were an assemblage of clashing colors and patterns. If the family could not afford any other lifestyle, she would have just resigned herself to the fact, but Aomame’s family was by no means poor. Her father was an engineer with a normal income and savings. They chose their exceedingly frugal lifestyle entirely as a matter of belief.
Because the life she led was so very different from those of the children around her, for a long time Aomame could not make friends with anyone. She had neither the clothing nor the money that would have enabled her to go out with a friend. She was never given an allowance, so that even if she had been invited to someone’s birthday party (which,for better or worse, never happened), she would not have been able to bring along a little gift.
Because of all this, Aomame hated her parents and deeply despised both the world to which they belonged and the ideology of that world. What she longed for was an ordinary life like everybody else’s. Not luxury: just a totally normal little life, nothing more. She wanted to hurry up and become an adult so she could leave her parents and live alone—eating what and as much as she wanted, using the money in her purse any way she liked, wearing new clothes of her own choosing, wearing shoes that fit her feet, going where she wanted to go, making lots of friends and exchanging beautifully wrapped presents with them.
Once she became an adult, however, Aomame discovered that she was most comfortable living a life of self-denial and moderation. What she wanted most of all was not to go out with someone all dressed up, but to spend time alone in her room dressed in a jersey top and bottom.
After Tamaki died, Aomame quit the sports drink company, left the dormitory she had been living in, and moved into a one-bedroom rental condo in the lively,freewheeling Jiyugaoka neighborhood, away from the center of the city. Though hardly spacious, the place looked huge to her. She kept her furnishings to a minimum—except for her extensive collection of kitchen utensils. She had few possessions. She enjoyed reading books, but as soon as she was through with them, she would sell them to a used bookstore. She enjoyed listening to music, but was not a collector of records. She hated to see her belongings pile up. She felt guilty whenever she bought something. I don’t really need this, she would tell herself. Seeing the nicer clothing and shoes in her closet would give her a pain in the chest and constrict her breathing. Such sights suggestive of freedom and opulence would, paradoxically,remind Aomame of her restrictive childhood.
What did it mean for a person to be free? she would often ask herself. Even if you managed to escape from one cage, weren’t you just in another, larger one?
Saturday, February 18, 2012
What the Feb/Mar?
For some reason, I usually envision February and March to be a period of slumber. This is when human and nature slowly wake up and sound returns to the world. Not so much this year, it seems. Besides school, club, and training, there's a smorgasbord of life waiting.
Linsanity: my walls are awash with the second coming. Spike going off, sneakerheads going off, facebook, twitter, taiwan sites; I didn't realize he was the intersect, my ultimate kevin bacon.
Kingdom of Amalur: if I wasn't so busy, I'd want to play the crap out of this game. "Felicia Day[9]" did a super funny marathon on it and maybe Spring break needs to be somewhere with a console.
SW: TOR: every once in awhile, my Star Wars spirit is ignited. This game sets my spirit's fire to the third bar.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars: starts off rocky, but after catching a glimpse of the 3rd season, I'm determined to make it there. Impressively, it's handled by a relatively new and smallish team in Lucasfilm Singapore.
Tiny Tower: still supporting this title, but amassing vast sums of money only gives you the option to build empty floors. So very soulless. And zen like? Tenants only move in when the screen is on, so play, grasshopper. Oh, and download dream tower (search Zynga) and down rate it on the app store.
Sandman: Gaiman Gaiman Gaiman. Bee-keeping, lamp post-building, all black-wearing, Amanda Palmer-loving, delightful Gaiman. AND you created Sandman? And other works? Who are you and how can we make more?
Name of the Wind: book recommended by Clifton. My kindle book list is starting to grow out of hand. Must resist urge to amass more. If 1Q84 was a broth based meal, made with time and patience, I want a hot sizzling grilled dish next.
Street Fighter x Tekken: No D3? Fine, imma buy me a fight stick and start basement tournaments. Hah, I kinda wish they remade Fight Club. Instead of brawling underground, you get a bunch of nerds and they practice hacker skills against each other. Then the economy crashes, but rises again, under their redistribution. Take it or leave it.
Air Jordan Retro 4 Cement: INSTA-KILL Man, brothers killing over rubber and leather. Are all collectors frenemies?
Oops...I spy a neatly stack of Gundam model kits quietly collecting dust...there goes one resolution..TIME FOR BREAKFAST, Tyrion declared!
Linsanity: my walls are awash with the second coming. Spike going off, sneakerheads going off, facebook, twitter, taiwan sites; I didn't realize he was the intersect, my ultimate kevin bacon.
Kingdom of Amalur: if I wasn't so busy, I'd want to play the crap out of this game. "Felicia Day[9]" did a super funny marathon on it and maybe Spring break needs to be somewhere with a console.
SW: TOR: every once in awhile, my Star Wars spirit is ignited. This game sets my spirit's fire to the third bar.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars: starts off rocky, but after catching a glimpse of the 3rd season, I'm determined to make it there. Impressively, it's handled by a relatively new and smallish team in Lucasfilm Singapore.
Tiny Tower: still supporting this title, but amassing vast sums of money only gives you the option to build empty floors. So very soulless. And zen like? Tenants only move in when the screen is on, so play, grasshopper. Oh, and download dream tower (search Zynga) and down rate it on the app store.
Sandman: Gaiman Gaiman Gaiman. Bee-keeping, lamp post-building, all black-wearing, Amanda Palmer-loving, delightful Gaiman. AND you created Sandman? And other works? Who are you and how can we make more?
Name of the Wind: book recommended by Clifton. My kindle book list is starting to grow out of hand. Must resist urge to amass more. If 1Q84 was a broth based meal, made with time and patience, I want a hot sizzling grilled dish next.
Street Fighter x Tekken: No D3? Fine, imma buy me a fight stick and start basement tournaments. Hah, I kinda wish they remade Fight Club. Instead of brawling underground, you get a bunch of nerds and they practice hacker skills against each other. Then the economy crashes, but rises again, under their redistribution. Take it or leave it.
Air Jordan Retro 4 Cement: INSTA-KILL Man, brothers killing over rubber and leather. Are all collectors frenemies?
Oops...I spy a neatly stack of Gundam model kits quietly collecting dust...there goes one resolution..TIME FOR BREAKFAST, Tyrion declared!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
48Q1
1Q84
The observations in the book were honest, male, and very much aligned with what I pay attention to, on a day to day basis. Most of the decisions and motivations of the characters seemed to be made earnestly. As if they took the time, questioned, and weighed each outcome in their minds. Sometimes it moved the plot alone nicely, conveniently; other times, pages and lines were afforded to the characters to ponder their situation and next step. Whether Murakami had serious deadlines or page limits, it's hard to tell. Much like our world, the scale of our experiences depend entirely on our perception. The book revealed what was necessary, or just enough for the reader to grasp the world of 1Q84 and neatly closed the portal. I look forward to his next novel.
The observations in the book were honest, male, and very much aligned with what I pay attention to, on a day to day basis. Most of the decisions and motivations of the characters seemed to be made earnestly. As if they took the time, questioned, and weighed each outcome in their minds. Sometimes it moved the plot alone nicely, conveniently; other times, pages and lines were afforded to the characters to ponder their situation and next step. Whether Murakami had serious deadlines or page limits, it's hard to tell. Much like our world, the scale of our experiences depend entirely on our perception. The book revealed what was necessary, or just enough for the reader to grasp the world of 1Q84 and neatly closed the portal. I look forward to his next novel.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
F&F week
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F&F Goals of the Week: Forbidden Trail and Fondue!
52 weeks in a year; I wonder if I can assign a fun theme to each week. Last week was Pestilence & President. The week before...CNY & Courtship? Should be fun to draw a visual calendar at the end of the year.
Anyway, Forbidden Trail! Love the name and the story isn't bad either. Edgar Allen Poe described it: "Now the Wissahiccon is of so remarkable a loveliness that, were it flowing in England, it would be the theme of every bard, and the common topic of every tongue..."
I saw a few deer, some horses, and plenty of people seeking quiet and solace from the city. At one part of the creek, I was only three meters away from another man before I noticed him. He was so still and blended with the scenery, even though he was wearing colorful clothing.
The hot sausage I got from a food truck at the end was lovely too. Just the right amount of spice. Ahhh.
Now on to the next challenge of the week! Fondue~! (say it with a french chef's voice.)
For the menu so far, I've come up with:
Chocolate Pot: Apple, grape, banana, pineapple, marshmallow, cream puff and cheesecake
Cheese Pot: Apple, grape, sourdough bread, cocktail sausage, broccoli, mini potatoes, and mushrooms
Oil Pot (Bourguignonne, hon hon hon!) : Beef (tenderloin, sirloin), lamb, chicken, prawn
Sauces: Mushroom, mustard, black pepper, curry, ginger plum, teriyaki
Oh, and I should probably have two types of wine and side dishes (one salad, one starch) to go with this. Hmm.
The second challenge seems infinitely harder...
Monday, February 6, 2012
Everything can be simplified
Many changes in life recently, but I'm still digesting/processing everything.
However, on a completely unrelated but unbelievably terrific note, I can't wait for these Lord of the Rings LEGO sets! Now I want D&D LEGO. I guess the Warcraft Mega Bloks will have to do.
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