Miriam Goes On A Date - A Food Review

My beloved readers.

The pages below have contained tales of madness, international intrigue, horror, and feats of physical strength. But there is one subject on which I have yet to relate any such narratives - namely because none had yet to occur.

Until now.

I speak of no other than the ubiquitous, universally celebrated, Shakespearean-venerated, Mills & Boon-decimated:

Romance.

Those who are familiar with my romantic history will know that it is about as extensive as a blind man's book collection**. This being the case, I had not fathomed the possiblity of meeting anyone who could even momentarily distract me from my heart's first and truest love:

Food.

This made it all the more surprising when one evening after completing my final jazz set at The View I became acquainted with a lovely gentleman. A conversation was begun with the sir in question and his good friend, and once I deemed neither of them to be Australian I decided I would be happy to know them further. Phone numbers were exchanged, and before I knew it arrangements had been made for me to dine with the former at a well-reputed Portuguese restaurant I was not just a little eager to sup at.

Being a proud mix of Serbo-Judeo-Australian heritage I consider it a duty to carry on the proud multicultural legacy bequeathed to me by my ancestors. And what better way to forge cross-cultural ties which may promote an inspirational and positive message of international peace then by dating an American??

And so, the following evening, with a heart full of national pride, and a stomach full of longing, I met with my newfound confederate, Steve. After my theory 'if you stand in any one spot in Macau for at least 5 minutes a taxi will appear' was disproved we eventually hailed a cab and requested to be taken to "Fernando's" (yes, like the ABBA song), Hac San Beach, Coloane. 15 minutes later we had arrived and as we made our way inside, received some startling news.

"Um, the kitchen is closing in 5 minutes... If you hurry you can order".

It was time for Steve to see a hungry, soft-core feminist, take control. Acquiring a menu via osmosis I forcefully turned the large laminated pages, pointing randomly to anything that looked appetising.

"We'll have that, that, that, aaaaand, that".

The waitress looked quizzically at Steve who was sitting meekly behind the red and white checkered tablecloth.

"Oh", I said, "is that ok with you?"

Steve managed a soft "Fine by me" before ordering a coke.

The dishes soon after arrived and woe! but had I the words to describe what wondrous delights were to be sampled on that small wooden table. Is there a sonnet which would do justice to the garlic butter clams? or a KFC which could compete with the Portuguese chicken?? Or an Eastern-European (aside from my father) who could stew such pork and beans???

Yes, I was in a heaven of sorts, buoyed up in rapturous culinary delight (and the conversation was quite nice too). How much time passed I know not but I began to feel a certain uneasiness which I couldn't quite put my sauce-covered finger on until I realised Steve had ceased mastication some time ago.

"Why have you stopped eating??? (!)"

"I'm kinda full"

"...................
full?"

"Yeah. You know? When you eat enough food and you don't want anymore??"

(Apprehension dawned on my face) "Ohhhhhh, full."

"Sorry is it bothering you?"

I couldn't say it was, but at this point I did notice that in my urgency to get us fed I had ordered approximately enough food to feed ten starving children - or my father before he began dieting.

Fernandos was closing and I had to think fast. There was only one option.

"Excuse me? Do you doggy-bag??"

In my eagerness to salvage the remaining leftovers I forgot our plan to take a romantic stroll along Hac San Beach after dinner. Armed with sandals in one hand and
giant plastic bag in the other, our late-night sojourn began. Smells of the salt water wafted towards us, but were soon overpowered by the powerful aroma of garlic which emanated from my leftovers. This discomfort was nothing compared to the funny feeling I was getting that Hac San "Beach" was not so much a beach as a strip of dirt by the sea, and that I was walking not on soft, delicate sand, but rough, brown dirt and possibly a little sewerage. After a few close encounters with some small but terrifying crabs - "You didn't grow up around the outdoors did you?" - we deemed it wisest to return to the comfort of an ever-elusive Macanese taxi.

I know what you're all thinking - "Miriam why don't you change your name to Casa Novice and start your own dating and relationship advice blog?" No no friends, the gift of seduction is something inherent. A gift from nature. I wish I knew how to pass it on to you all but it appears to be something each must find within him or herself.

I leave you with some food for thought - musings from those wise philoso-poppers and experts on romance...

Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson.

"Can you hear the drums Fernando?? In my dreams I have a plan, If I got me a wealthy man... Gimme gimme gimme!"





**braille and audio-books excluded