Kuli is one of the first Arabic words we're taught. It means eat. It's said far too often.
I adore Moroccan food. To get an idea of what it is out here, there's a lot of Paprika, lentils, figs, dates, meat, lots and lots of meat, and eggs. My cholesterol is going to be through the roof at the age of twenty. There's also a comical excess of honey on everything. I ate a meat pie the other day with layers of cinnamon, honey, and powdered sugar. I ate a special for Aid that is literally oatmeal with honey and butter. It's communal dining, and utensils don't exist much of the time, so when I ate my "zone" from the oatmeal, a flood of butter took to the bottom of the plate because I had released it. I don't understand why everyone here doesn't have diabetes.
That one went out to my boy Wayne.
I'm fairly certain I ate an entire plate of chicken skins the other night. Yesterday I ate sheep brain. For as many mundane foods as I've eatn in the US, I'm making up for it. Either by ignorance of forced feeding.
Nom nom.
Salaam,
Raleigh
No comments:
Post a Comment