Graze: Unsaid Justification

14th November 2008

Surprisingly chatty and upbeat relative to the last few days, she sprinkled the journey with little bits of irrelevant information as I made away from the entrance to the university. It's been more than a year since I left the academic life, and still, there were no stirring memories of sweet nostalgia as I swerved away from it.

Almost out of self-realization that she might be talking too much, she consciously stopped herself from talking as she saw me focusing on the heavy Friday night traffic. I smiled to myself, partially at her rather adorable self-realization, but more so due to the fact that I preferred her this way, chatty and cheeky as compared to the sombreness that she bore over her just-elapsed "Hell Week," something I could definitely relate to and definitely relish shunning over the last year or so.

Signboard

Unsurprisingly late (by her hand, instead of mine this time round), we walked past the stone-tablet of a signboard, down the steps to the reception counter to make our presence known. Being ushered past a courtyard of dining-Caucasians, we were shown our seats within the confines of the bungalow house proper, a largely open space with white-washed walls lined with mostly light-brown wooden decor, the interior was mostly a orange-lit cosy affair.

Not needing to be an elaborate weatherman to read the signs of her face after a good 14 months, I asked the waitress, "actually, could we get a table outside?" Despite an earlier choice made during reservation, she was accommodating enough to prepare a table for us with the rest of the rather-distinguished expat / tourist crowd.

Basking in dim candlelight, under the warmly lit shelter that still preserved the outdoor-courtyard-dining experience, our table was seated next to a little "moat", while a tasteful black-and-white Marilyn Monroe film on a big screen in the chill-out lounge area served as our animated backdrop for the night.

While the outdoor decor has hardly as elaborate as other outdoor-bungalow-converted-boutique-dining-experiences such as Oosh or One Rochester, what Graze lacked in extravagance, it made up for it with a greater sense of intimacy and cosiness.

We studied the menu under the dim light briefly before placing our orders, I already had a craving for pasta, the only choice was to decide on which one. Having been pre-warned about the servings if we were to choose our dishes to be in "main course" proportions over "entree", we decided to keep our orders small for the time being to prevent my usual habit of gluttony.

Complimentary garlic bread was served to soothe my overwhelming appetite, and it managed to out me out at least until the oyster shots were served. Going with the exotic sounding Ginger Wine Oyster shot, hers came in a little shooter filled to the brim with a reddish wine that had a little stinging aftertaste, but hardly overwhelming.

Ginger and Vodka

My Vodka Sorbet Oyster shot got the unanimous vote of being the better shooter with its biting, Vodka sting atop the slightly-sourish alcoholic content. Still, there is just something deeply satisfying to the tongue and the throat to raise the bottom of a shooter glass with an oyster drenched thoroughly in alcohol. Too bad my stomach tends to disagree with me on this more often than not.

The much-awaited main courses soon followed as my Linguine was served to the table along with her Duck Risotto. Deeply yearning for pasta over the last 2 weeks or so, I took a customary quick whiff of the dish to wet my appetite before raising my fork and spoon in anticipation.

Sniff and Whiff

Cooked with Wild Rocket, Pork Sausage, Bilbao and the unmissable essence of Garlic, the dish satisfied my long-yearning craving as I tasted the essence of the different ingredients thoroughly soaked into the linguine. One can almost never go wrong with pasta and garlic in my opinion.

"You know, these days, I wonder if linguine might actually be my favourite type of pasta," I told her as I fumbled with the fork and spoon trying to twirl the linguine onto the spoon.

Fumbling Fool

"I mean, when I was younger, my definite favorite was definitely Ravioli, but as I get older, I wonder if I start to like Linguine more than that because it absorbs the essence of the pasta better, and as you know, for me these days, I'm starting to like lighter flavoured pasta than has more focus on the essence," I said, all while still battling with the linguine with my fork and spoon.

Duck Risotto, Hardly the Duck Rice that most go by

She beat me to the punch by feeding me a spoonful of her main course. Rich with flavour, and characteristically salty of duck, the Risotto was soft and finely mashed and baked into a starchy yet satisfying finish. The richness of the flavour actually made me wonder if my tastebuds have really matured as much as I thought that they had, since the richness of flavour was still very appealing to me. But then again, one can probably only indulge in THAT much richness before the effect is ultimately neutralized.

Despite warnings of the large serving sizes, we still had space to fit in a little dessert to put a sweet finish to the night, and of course, as always, to satisfy my sweet tooth. Insisting on something cold, her wish partially came true with the "Black and White" dessert.

Black and White

One dark chocolate and one much-rarer white chocolate lava cake, served with complimenting dark and white chocolate ice creams, the name was a fitting one indeed since they took it to the literally ends of it. Familiar with dark chocolate cakes by now, it held its own against most other dark chocolate cakes save Morton's extremely mind-blowing one. But the white chocolate cake was definitely unique in its own right, with its almost caramel-like filling.

We scooped up the last bits of fudge off the plate as we sat almost alone in the silence. Most of the crowd had cleared, and we were the 1 of the 2 tables left in the courtyard enjoying the tranquility of the ambiance, as the 1950s film continued running in the background.

Contemplative Couple

She probably wanted something a little more loud and cathartic to celebrate the end of her tiring week, but still decided to sacrifice that to enjoy a little quiet and soothing night out with me instead. Yet, in the end, I would figure that probably she didn't mind a single bit; afterall, it should be the company that counts, and of course, I was good company.

Better Company than I look like I am

As we walked up the stairs and away from the restaurant, I thought to myself: perhaps to celebrate the end of a tiring "Hell Week" that I have long shaken the shackles off of was purely an excuse for extravagance, one that I all-the-more should not be indulging in considering the recent turn of events in my financial situation and all. Yet, perhaps at the bottom of it all, there is no necessary justification in the first place to what to spoil those that you treasure in the ways that you can, and share good things with.

As with walked down the hill hands held together naturally, I knew deep within myself that it is not everyday that one can find happiness in the eye of disaster, and sometimes, its worth giving up the Pot of Gold for the brief moment of magic of a Rainbow.

14 / 14

The Dark Manifesto

After years in the pipeline, months of procrastination, and a week of work, I finally did what I've been wanting to do for quite a while now (no, not engage in a threesome with two busty blonde chics). I've finally put the finishing touches on my own little virtual gallery of my works, the not-too-many works of my not-that-long-thus-far life. But still....

For those who have always been wondering what the hell I actually do for a living, and exactly how good or bad I am at my job, its now open for your viewing pleasure and public scrutiny. It's all available at:

http://dark-manifesto.blogspot.com/

Spread the word and the love to those who you think might even be the slightest interested.

...From Under my Feet

There are too many ways that one could fall. A lean to the left, a wobble to the right; some fall to their knees, and others flat out on their backs. But there is surely no worse way to fall than to have the "Rug Pulled Out from Under One's Feet".

A sudden jerk, an unexpected pull, and not only does the one on said rug fall in the most spectacularly humiliating and ridiculous manner; leaving one in shock, ridicule, pain and eventually anger, but beyond its literally connotations, the phrase can very much be said to have the very foundations of one's world stirred and shaken, causing it to implode into a bloody mess and leaving a wake of pieces to be picked.

There are too many ways to fall, but in an almost self-prophesying manner; there is no way more deserving for one of my stature to fall other than that of the utter most spectacular and disastrous way.

Today, I had the Rug Pulled out from Under my Feet....... again.

......... Before you can Touch the Sky, You'd Better Learn how to Kneel

Niagara Falls: Hell and Highwater

13th July 2008

The queue towards the elevator snaked all the way to the back, and my companions and I were almost at the tail-end of it; but it didn't bother us one bit, as the sights around us captivated our souls in amazement.

Canadian shores laid opposite us with the connecting Rainbow Bridge standing proudly on our left, suspended over the calm, green waters of the river below. A scene of soothing tranquility as the cars cruised across the bridge almost in tandem to the white foams of the river flowing by.

Pot of Gold

The scene on the other side was one of stark contrast; the distant roars of the 2 different falls rang in the background. Clouds of mist that rose towards the sky from the bottom of the cascades only served as proof of the might of the cascading waters. Little blue people scrambled about the foot of the falls, hoping to get a bit more upclose and personal with the Maiden of the Mist, while equally tiny onlookers viewed the rear of the falls from a safe distance from an overlooking park.

Perfect Picture

When we first set our eyes upon the panoramic-view of the falls from our vantage point, my friends and I stood there utterly speechless; mostly out of amazement at the beauty of the way the different elements of man and nature came together to form a perfect picture. As we looked down at the Maiden of the Mist and the Veil of the Bride American Falls, with the main horseshoe falls setting the misty backdrop in a distance, we knew that our 8-hour trip was utterly justified, and almost pitied the people who opted out of joining us to get a first-hand experience with the Natural Wonder.

We were almost-subconsciously pushed to the entrance of the elevator, ready to make the long descent to meet the ladies face to face. It's a queer thing how the falls have such feminine monikers like "Maiden of the Mist" and the "Veil of the Bride." The elevator doors closed as I felt the pressure in my ears increasing. What we were about to see would surely provide a brand new perspective of the falls relative to the morning's visit.

The morning re-visit to the park that we were at for the night scene of the falls met with the same dastardly fate as the night before. Grey clouds looming overhead hinted that we wouldn't be seeing any rainbows in the daylight.

The day-time view of the Falls was less threatening than what we had witnessed the night before. While the mighty torrents of the river still rushed down the stream with the same thunderous gushes, the increased visibility made the green waters project less of a sense of fear and mystery than in the dark.

Daybreak

Not lost in translation however, was the great mist that rose from the impact of the cascades. Standing near the railings, I could feel the refreshing vapours of the Mist gently caressing my cheeks. So lost was I in the moment that I didn't really notice the raindrops that were falling on the dispersing crowd.... again.

A slight jerk followed by a chime indicated that we had reached the bottom of our descent, as we stepped out into the daylight, we heard the angry roars of the American Falls coming from our left. But the immediate priority was to join the ever-increasing queue for the Maiden of the Mist boat ride.

Down the queue, we were handed large, oversized, one-size-fits-all raincoats. Surely a primer to the wrath of the falls that we were about to face. Looking ridiculously undersized for our attire, we climbed to the upper deck of the boat to try to get the best view possible for our $200 bucks worth.

Never has the Raincoat looked THIS Sexy

"Welcome to the Maid of the Mist boat ride, ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice came over the speakers as the boat started to make her way upstream against the peaceful, emerald-green waves. But we were far too busy pushing through the crowd to really pay attention to what he was saying.

I pushed through the crowed and manoeuvred as close to the side of the boat as I could. Just as I emerged from the chaos, I stood rooted to the ground in wonder at the view that I was getting of the Maid of the Mist.

Love on the Rocks

Almost perfect streaks of white-water rushed off the cliff at the top, hitting a bed of rocks on the way down, emitting clouds of mist that rose towards the sky, while the white-waters continued to snake and meander their way down into the river below. The sight was one of that was awe-inspiring and yet, oddly soothing in a zen-like fashion at the same time.

The boat continue to sail further upstream, approaching the main Horseshoe Falls as our gaze remained fixated on the beautiful sight of the American Falls. It was only when the blue and yellow people grew much smaller and the trademark thunderous roars of the Horseshoe Falls grew louder that I shifted my focus.

Impending Doom

As if heading for impending doom, the boat cautiously sailed into the grasp of the threatening horseshoe so often portrayed in media forms. While not as towering as often depicted, there was no doubt about the velocity of the waters that earned the Niagara Falls its moniker of "Thunder Waters." The walls of the world's widest waterfall stretched in an almost perfect semi-circular fashion as water rushed off the cliffs from all sides, causing us to be buried in a large collective cloud of mist.

Music started playing through the boat's speakers as we sailed further into the treacherous jaws of the horseshoe; perfectly constructed walls of water surrounding us on every side. The captain paused briefly as the music quietened, the boat's engine slowed as the boat continued to drift into the Eye of the Storm.

Just as the boat drifted into the centre of the horseshoe, the Captain's voice came over the speaker...

"Ladies and gentlemen.... this is Niagara Falls."

The music dramatically climaxed into a crescendo as the mist rushed at us from every direction, engulfing us with a vengeance; as if Mother Nature was trying to assimilate us into the collective mist that spewed from her foreboding jaws. The calm was nowhere to be found in this Eye of the Storm for certain, as we were drenched thoroughly through our raincoats, having me drip from cap to toe... and yet, I loved every drop of it.

The boat turned tail to retreat and escape from the threatening clutches of the horseshoe, as I stood at the corner of the boat in an attempt to capture my close encounter with Mother Nature's fury. As if to put me in my place, she unleashed her fury in the form of an overhead wave that slapped me across the body as I held my ground in defiance.

Defiance

I gritted through the fury of the tides until the ship pulled far enough away from the jaws of doom, finally earning a breather as we enjoyed the round-trip scenery of the American Falls once again. Yellow and blue people continued to scale the winding staircases under the foot of the two American Falls, as I knew that I would be one of those little people the moment the ship docked.

Survivors

As we stood at the foot of the hills, we saw a string of blue meandering up the staircases at the foot of the falls in search of a little upclose and personal time with the Maiden of the Mist. With some sort of slightly masochistic adventurous streak, my friends and I sought to get another round of lashing from Mother Nature.

Jer and Will went up the Hill to fetch a Mouthful of Water

We ascended with caution, up the slippery steps and enduring the periodic sprays of rage that the Maiden of the Mist rained upon us, with the sprays getting stronger as we ascended higher and higher. We saw people turn back halfway into the pilgrimage with squeals and screams due to the increasingly menacing sprays, but we chugged on towards the very top of the stairs, and awaiting us there was nothing more than an open wooden platform and a potful of pride.

Probably angry with our persistence, the Maiden of the Mist rained her fury upon my friends and I, beckoning us to turn around and head back. Even though her anger was relatively less menacing than her bigger counterpart, it was still enough to drench us through our raincoats for one last time, temporarily destroying my camera in the process as we attempted to squeeze out our last few memories.

Extent of Damage

As I sat in the 8-hour bus ride back to Boston, shivering from the cold air-con blasting away and through my soaked t-shirt onto my skin, with water still dripping off the hood of my cap, madly fiddling with my vapour-filled camera, and moving my toes to feel the water squishing about in my shoes and my socks; logically, I knew that I should been feeling cold and miserable. Yet almost unexplainably, I couldn't help my smile to myself in satisfaction as my eyes grew heavier and heavier...

Legend of the Falls