caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Got back last night from a thoroughly revivifying week with the Mam in Anglesey.  Heard our first cuckoo, by the feet of Holy Mountain!  Saw our first puffin, clowning around by the great cleft in the rocks of South Stack!  Ate sea bass with banana and tomato chutney at the tiny, unpretentious, but ever-delicious Harbourfront Bistro!    (The chutney is infinitely more scrumptious than it sounds, and complements the bass to a nicety.)  Began my crisp-leaved new copy of Grand Central Arena on the train home! 

The one thing I did not do was add wordcount to the novel.  Instead, I lolled, scribbled, quaffed, and let my mind range over the possibilities for rewriting the current arc into a clean and solid draft.  Still ranging, but back to the writing again now.

Life is good.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
I'm just finally starting to come down off my culinary high from the 'Nameless Fish Curry'(!) I had last night at the mighty Punjab Restaurant, at the corner of Neal Street and Shaftesbury Avenue in London. It's one of the West End's longer-standing and lesser-known institutions, and thoroughly recommended to every Londoner and visitor with a taste for Indian grub.

What I want to know is, how does it come about that my brain is still perceptibly marinating in fishy chilli bliss sixteen hours later? No other dish ever does this so well. I know that fish is supposed to be good for the brains, and that chilli stimulates the old endorphins something special, but this is really out of the ordinary.

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