One evening my house-mates and I are having dinner together, and unsurprisingly, the subject of food comes up. As we all give our different opinions on our favorite foods, someone mentions indian Samosas. Essentially it's a stuffed pastry, a common snack in South Asia and generally consists of a fried triangular-shaped shell with a savory filling of spiced meat and vegetables. Delicious.
While discussing this scrumptious snack, one of my house-mates mentions she has a certain contact who is able to arrange the acquisition of the original, home-made Indian product. I'm instantly intrigued by this possibility. Home-made, traditional recipe samosas? This is too good to be true! I ask her whether it would be possible to get in on the deal, and she agrees to let me tag along on her next buy, on the condition that I don't tell another soul about the arrangement.
The next thing I know, I'm deep in the urban jungle of a poor Lisbon ghetto, winding through narrow backalleys and suspicious-looking characters on neglected street corners. We dodge the glances of drug dealers and roaming thugs to finally reach the doorstep of what seems to be an abandoned building. My friend enters and we come to yet another door, made of metal with a slot at eye level. A man opens the slot and speaks in Hindi to my friend, who already has the right answer on her tongue.
We enter a small living room, the only other person inside is a small, brown-skinned woman working over a Karahi frying the magical pastries. She looks up and speaks to the man who let us in. My friend motions for me to sit down, as the man sets up an old two pan balance scale and proceeds to weigh several dozen Samosas, golden in color and still steaming. I sit and marvel at the womans' preparation table, filled with exotic ingredients and pungent spices.
As the man continues his precise calculations, the woman removes two fresh pastries from the Karahi, and gives one to each of us while we wait. I take a bite, penetrating the crispy outer shell, burning my mouth in the process, letting the spices intoxicate my senses, growing increasingly delirious. I think to myself:
- Mhmmmm, addictive. -
19.9.08
Samosa Trafficking
18.9.08
The Glue
There was a time, when I was moving from place to place, where I ended up temporarily sleeping on a couch at a friends' for a couple weeks. One day we were hanging out at the café and we all opted to go back to our place to watch the game. Amongst our friends were a few guys we didn't know very well, but we weren't about to discriminate, so everyone came along.
The next afternoon one of our friends in that group called Jimmy came knocking at our door. He seemed nice enough and we had met him already so we let him hang out at the house, just watching tv, goofing off and passing the time. No problem. Jimmy eventually left to see his girlfriend later that evening.
Again, the next day Jimmy was whistling at our door again, and though one of the housemates shut himself in his room to study, the rest of us invited Jimmy up to hang out. When we went shopping for dinner, he came along and bought a frozen pizza for himself, so he could eat with us. No problem, we didn't think twice about it at the time. Following the same routine, Jimmy left to see his girlfriend later that evening.
Sure enough, Jimmy was at our house the next day, and the next. We began to worry about Jimmy, because he came to our house every day that week, spending more and more time at our place with each passing day. My housemates and I started talking amongst ourselves, wondering what was going on and finding the situation rather uncomfortable. Still, we established that the guy must be lonely and decided to tolerate.
For two weeks, Jimmy hung out at our house every single day, making the total fourteen straight days. One of my housemates was already pissed off and had pretty much told Jimmy to not come by our house without sending a message. The other two housemates shut themselves in their rooms most of the time. So I'm left to Jimmy by myself, in the living room where the couch is. He really doesn't do anything, he just sits around beat-boxing with his mouth quite irritatingly and watching me play guitar. One night, after going to see his girlfriend, he comes back to the house, at 4am. We've had enough.
We decided to take action, and try to get rid of him in a indirect, peaceful way. We get invited to eat dinner at another pals' house, and obviously Jimmy isn't invited. We explain to him what's going on:
- Jimmy, we're going to our mates' house for dinner, it's someone you don't know, and we don't think you're included in his dinner plans... - to which he responds:
- Ah thats cool! I can bring a frozen lasagna for myself! -
It's time for a serious conversation.
17.9.08
Morellis On Youtube
Ok, so over the summer my brother and I recorded some videos. Just some improv with a djambé and a 8bit keyboard, check out http://www.youtube.com/m0r3ll1 for more videos.
16.9.08
Let's go Baggins!
Em português
- Let's go Baggins! -
I get up to leave, Baggins picks up his lighter and says OK. China turns and says:
- Are you sure that lighter is yours? -
- Ah, I don't know... - Baggins responds.
While still holding on to the "stolen" lighter, Baggins searches quickly through his pockets and, lo and behold, finds another lighter, exactly the same. Large and green.
- Well! Looks like I have two that are the same! I guess one is yours... -
Meanwhile China is looking through his girlfriends purse and, incredibly, takes another large green lighter out.
Everyone is quiet for a few seconds, incredulous, gawking at the same three lighters.
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