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Sad Perkedel

This is, ladies and gentlemen, a picture of sad perkedel.

Sad perkedel, like its name, looks really, really sad. Miserably sad. It breaks my heart to look at the picture of sad perkedel. It looks like it’s there as a result of some cruel, arbitrary conception. A crooked sense of humor, perhaps. Only it was not initially meant to be a joke.

Sad perkedel, dear universe, are my creation.

Its grotesque nature was never intentional. Perkedel is actually an Indonesian version of Dutch’s frikadeller, a dumpling of ground meat and mashed potatoes, dunk in egg white and deep fried. A simple dish, really. Or at least that’s how I thought it would be.

Obviously forgetting the fact that I am a nightmare when it comes to cooking. Even for something as simple as perkedel.

On the night when sad perkedel was conceived, I had thought that it was a good idea to cook for my husband. He had been busy with his papers and essays from school that I had wanted to make him a nice meal. I had never made a Perkedel in my life before, but I had read the recipe and it looked easy peasy.

As it happened, I spent 15 minutes peeling off the potatoes, another 15 minutes peeling the shallots and garlic WHILE bawling my eyes out crying, then more than 45 minutes trying to mash the goddamn potatoes in the mortar and pestle. That’s not mentioning the hot damn mess of a kitchen I made at the end of the whole ordeal. Worse than a shipwreck, as my mother would aptly phrase it.

The result was the sad perkedel in the picture. Which looks horribly deformed, compared to this, for instance.

As sad as it was, we still ended up eating the sad perkedel. My husband said it didn’t taste so bad. I believed him, in terms of the taste, it’s kind of hard, really, to fuck up with mash potatoes and ground meat. Will I attempt to make another perkedel? Maybe. But perhaps less emo next time.

3,5 Peanuts in A Bowl

We count time in peanuts, my husband and I. And woot this is actually the first time that I refer him as “husband” in this blog. It sounds a little odd, but it feels right. It’s like that off-key note in a song that fits the music somehow, almost intentional. I like it.

But back to the peanuts business, it’s a habit that started a while ago at times when we’re often separated by distance for many reasons. It’s always excruciating to be away from your loved ones, no? It always summons the cranky, bitter witch out of me. So he started to send me text messages every day when we’re away, counting down the day when we’re going to finally reunite again. 32 peanuts in a bowl, 31 peanuts in a bowl, 30 peanuts in a bowl. And so on and so forth. And when it’s only 1 peanut in a day left, we would count the hours in peanuts. It will be 24 peanuts to 1, to none, nada, zero.

(To clarify things, no when it’s down to hours, we dont send each other text messages every peanut. That would make me totally NUTS. Ha-ha okay that was not funny)

Since then it became our habit, our word. We count times, especially when it is related to us two, in peanuts. Why peanuts? I don’t know. I guess it’s just a random word that was thrown in the moment, that ended up bunked snugly in the corner of our cheesy words dictionary.

Come to think of it, we did invent a lot of nonsense words together. It’s never intentional. It’s just sort of happens. I guess both of us likes to talk in gibberish and we like to laugh at each other’s babbles and baloney a lot. It’s never something that we crafted, it just seeps to our heads and stays.

And it’s fricking cheesy. And weird. If you ask me, I am sure I wont remember all, but I think I can name a few.

Solicitor = Bolster pillow

Pampereddick = A state of lying down perpendicular on the bed

Kekunya = A state of being full (of food), and comfortable at the same time

Doodooish = A state of being really, really sick

Tren Bedo = Bed

Brenda = My left boob

Stella = My right boob

Brenda & Stella = boobs

…

There are still plenty of more. But I guess the weird thing is, I never really remember them all. They’re completely random, bizarre, pointless and irrelevant in my daily social interaction with other people (and believe me, I think I kind of know how to communicate in a less dopey manner with other people), so I lock them out in the back of my head I guess. Until I come back home and start mumbling jibber jabber twiddle twaddle with someone who also speaks my language :)

The Marvelous Misadventure of the Twosome Klutz #6

• Him: Babe I got a question.
• Her: *waking up* ... huh? What's up?
• Him: Why did I sleep in the kitchen last night?
• Her: Eh? Huh? What?
• Him: Why did I sleep in the kitchen last night?
• Her: But you didn't. You fell asleep here, next to me, last night. We were spooning and watching The Simpsons before we fell asleep.
• Him: But I woke up in the kitchen.
• Her: What do you mean??
• Him: I woke up in the kitchen. I was lying on the kitchen floor with two pillows.
• Her: What are you talking about???
• Him: I was sleeping in the kitchen floor. How did that happen?
• Her: How did that happen???
• Him: Hey I asked the question first!

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