Not a Food Blog

So maternity leave has been wonderful and it has really allowed me to focus on The Kids. It also saves a heap of cash to eat at home all the time.

Then one day my Rather Cool Cousin calls me up to say that Damien de Silva has kindly agreed to cook a special dinner for 10 persons for the price of S$x, x being less than 100. It will be 2 appetizers, 2 mains and 1 dessert. This is Damien de Silva aka Soul Kitchen, who knows me as Tagliatelle Ragu girl, and who now owns and runs Big D's Grill out of a coffee shop at Block 46 Holland Drive. And by 'coffee shop', I don't mean a Starbucks. It's an old skool coffee shop without any airconditioning. It is a testament to Damien's amazing food that his cult following of foodies will follow him literally to the ends of the earth, because that's exactly where he has chosen to set up his stall this time.

I don't say no to this. I mean, if God descended from Heaven in a chariot bearing his own barbeque sauce and offered to cook dinner for you, would you refuse? Instead I show up hungry, child-free and only 10 minutes late, which is a personal record for me. And I feast.

As this is not a food blog, there will be no pictures of the food, and also not much description of the food but suffice to say that I just ate the remainders of the duck confit 5 days after it was originally served and it still tasted toe-curlingly good. And I don't even like duck confit. It's always stringy and chewy and reminds me that birds raised for food should not be permitted to attend aerobics classes twice a week. Damien made it so tender that the meat fell off the bone, and I have been pulling off bits and pieces of it for the last 2 days to mash into The Son's porridge.

I hope he does this again, and soon.

In other news, The Daughter is serving out her 3rd month of babyhood and is getting a little bit fat. Before I had her, I used to long for a great fat baby with deep fat creases on her neck, arms and legs. And now I have one! And boy is it difficult to keep the fat creases clean on the inside. They require cleaning about 3 times a day otherwise she's one big fat smelly rash. According to Grandma, she looks just like me when I was a baby, but much, much fatter. Apparently I was past full term (slightly late in arriving, as always) but skinny.

Finally, and I have to note this down at the expense of sounding like a woman obsessed with her own children, The Son had another epiphany this morning. He buckled his sister into the swing and in so doing pinched his index finger. I gave him the usual spiel about how he needs to be careful otherwise he will hurt himself doing all these things and everyone will be sad.

Small boys are tough, mama, he said. Much tougher than big people and babies. You always say that this will hurt me a lot but it only hurt a little. I'm tough. Tougher than big people and babies. RIGHT?