When I’m coming down with fever, I crave sweets. Actually, it’s not really craving – just a wistful longing of the palate for something sugary, syrupy, creamy, etc. When I am really, really unwell, I think about chocolates. When I’m hearty and ready and able to kick imaginary butt, I dislike sweets and I find chocolates dismal. Except for…no, there are no exceptions. Chocolates have as much appeal as Paris Hilton’s dog. I have been thinking about the mutt for quite a while now. I wonder why. It can’t possibly be normal. I thought about the dog when I was getting a pedicure. Was wondering what its paw-prints would look like if its paws were dipped in scarlet nail-paint and it trotted all over an ermine coat. (What’s the dog called, by the way? The dog with no name – an unworthy successor to the cat made famous by Capote in Breakfast at Tiffany’s…I like breakfasts though. I love breakfasts with cooked stuff – not out of the carton variety, like cereal or bread-butter-jam, etc.)
In any case, coming back to what I wanted to write about. I think I have fever. So, I have started thinking about sweets. My mind’s eye sees a nice rabadi-cake. (I know there is no such thing as a rabdi-cake. Well, there should be.) Warm, and somewhat spongy and very milky and sweet. The texture and ‘feel’ of this particular dessert that I have in mind comforts me somewhat. I imagine lying on the bed, tucked in a bright red and back quilt, spooning a delectable layered bit of thick, warm sweetness and feel the soreness ebb away.
My imagination deserves a restaurant of its own.