BKT: A Love Supreme

There's nothing quite like a boiling hot claypot of pork rib tea fer dinner during the rainy season to warm them tired bones & to soothe a growling belly.

And just before me heads over to me neighbourhood stall, here are a few things to note:

1) This dish is TRULY MALAYSIAN. Abso-fooking-lutely nay argument. Nay Indonesian or Singaporean or even Honkie can lay claim to it with its birth place in Klang. Like all great dishes, it has very working class roots & was probably devised as a means to cook all the "discarded" porcine parts.

2) A sign of a GREAT BKT eaterie is how many Indians are seated in it! Ever notice how Indians gravitate towards BKT? And let's face it, Indians are very CONSERVATIVE diners. Me has seen olde aunties in their saris, y'know the ones that won't even eat thosai outside their own kitchens, happily digging in. Maybe coz its such a wonderful post-thani supper . . . ?

3) Many "purists" say the claypot is a KL thing & adds fook all to the flavour. That may be true, but the claypot keeps the broth bubbling hot that little bit longer & that, in me humble book, is well worth the effort.

Ok, me is off fer me weekly dose of Love Soup & cordially invite ye to share yer thoughts on this wonderful dish &, of course, yer fave BKT hang outs.

Metal Humour!

Found these on youtube. Hope it brightens up yer day by eliciting a loud guffaw or two . . .

RIP - Austin

Ye was a mangy, scrawny dawg when we rescued ye from PAWS.

Ye ate & ate & ate till ye were round enough to show yer displeasure at the menu.

Ye had a BO that was . . . errrmmmm . . . . . 'strong' to say the least.

Ye was wild & couldnae be let off the leash.

But we loved ye & ye loved us back.

We are sorry if ye felt neglected the last few months.

We will always remember ye fer how ye brightened up our little corner of the world.

Austin - passed on today peacefully due to old age . . .

Wot's the appeal . . .?

Am often asked wot is the fooking appeal of Italian marques as me has been raving about em like a rabid dawg since getting one recently. Me thinks a pix (or several of them) will convey the answer more eloquently than me ever could. Ye see when a dude stares at this . . .
He is actually dreaming of this . . .

And when someone with rather deeper pockets sets his eyes on one of these . . .

He is actually aiming fer a bit of this . . .

A fella who will mortgage his home & quite possibly his soul fer a taste of this . . .

Is really smacking his lips in anticipation of this . . .

A dude who opts fer this blacker-than-nite affair . . .

will feel he's with her even on a solo ride across state lines . . .

This is all in spite of the repeated warnings that wot's in store is a whole shit load of this . . .

Several post-scripts:

1) Women are always accussing us having only one thing on our mind . . . know wot, they're fooking right . . . Buying an Italian merely confirms wot everyone knows - yer a horny lil' devil.

2) We are just BOYS & their TOYS. We never learn, we never fooking grow up . . . So why not act out yer automotive fantasies with some of the most delectable cars ever to be made.

3) Cars are an extension of our personalities. People who say they are not bothered by wot they drive are basically declaring . . . (insert appropriate put down here) . . .

4) Yes, cars are penile extensions. So fooking wot? So are ties & every fooker's got one on!(*So its kinda scary if ye drives a Nissan Sylphy - its like saying ye've got some sorta STD!!!*).

5) Automotive style is not price sensitive. Fer example, a pre-owned pocket rocket like a Fiat Punto HGT costs less than a fooking Viva.

6) Different strokes fer diff folks, some will say . . . yeah, yeah . . . Its like saying ye don't dig Monica which means yer either BLIND or . . .

Get the picture?

Even Better in High Definition

Me vividly remembers sticking on the VHS of The Song Remain the Same at Nicko Mun's abode many, many fooking moons ago & him registering his utter disgust at how Jimmy Page, despite being strung out on H, could play like that. A budding guitar hero in the making, me friend was not amused at the consumate ease Page plucked them notes. "Basterd" was his sentiments if memory serves me right.

Once this tune was so overplayed that it was considered the very epitome of bombastic 70s rock opera. Having being reduced to cliche in some quarters, it became the butt of Wayne's World punchlines & became the calling card fer fuddy duddy classic rockers (ie prone to giving "they just don't make them like they used to"-type lectures).

But having stumbled upon this high def version of this epic performance on youtube recently, me was again reminded of a few startling facts:

1) How the band could make an enormodome like Madison Square Garden seem like a small cosy niteclub.

2) The ultra "fit" of Robert Plant's hipster jeans.

3) The sheer austerity of the stage show.

4) And, the simple fact, that this remains one of the greatest fooking songs ever.

A Couple of Italians hanging out in Puchong . . .

Me folks had invited a few relatives over fer Diwali & one of me cousin's hubby brought along his new plaything . . .

Took the opportunity to get a "family shot" of the Yella Beast with its Modena sibling.

Some glamorous behinds . . .

Also made sure kiddo got a feel of that rarefied Italian cockpit.

Now that's wot ye calls a proper upbringing . . .

Hope ye all are having a blast of a Diwali weekend . . . me knows Seth is.

Happy Diwali!

Wishing all of ye a very Happy Diwali!