Last time we eat at an Indian friends house me and the white girl there were sweaty, heaving messes while the Indians were just eating like the sauce was ketchup or something. It's just too intense.White people complaining about racism is cute. We really can't handle a hot curry and should own it.
Last time we eat at an Indian friends house me and the white girl there were sweaty, heaving messes while the Indians were just eating like the sauce was ketchup or something. It's just too intense.
White people complaining about racism is cute. We really can't handle a hot curry and should own it.
It's been seven years since my husband Tom and I first employed our domestic miracle-worker and, over that time, Donna has become much more than just my cleaner. She's seen me through some of the toughest periods of my life, shared intensely private moments that many of my closest friends have never been privy to and always been there for me.
And yet, in spite of this, there will always be something that stands in the way of us becoming proper friends outside the confines of my house...
You need to man up Dwayne, you're giving the rest of us white ppl a bad name.I regularly get take out/away from a Pakistani place. We always order things mild and last time my aloo gobi was too hot. South Asian places need a white people tag for kitchen staff because our definitions of mild spiciness are worlds apart.
Vindaloo sometimes can be a joke in Indian restaurants whilst tindaloo and phall always are, basically pile on the spice and get our own back on the end of the evening British pissheads who are stopping us closing up.It can work in other ways too. Some (white) people think a restaurant is going to lay the mild stuff on them. I was at a place in Barnet and my mate ordered "4 vindaloos, and none of your poof's stuff". Nice oppo for said restaurant to laugh at us, and naturally what we got was definitely a level above the normal vindaloo, and more or less inedible. Though I think we ate it anyway, to prove ourselves as insecure idiots, rather than just idiots.
Vindaloo sometimes can be a joke in Indian restaurants whilst tindaloo and phall always are, basically pile on the spice and get our own back on the end of the evening British pissheads who are stopping us closing up.
I love genuine vindaloos, a delicate balance of spice and vinegary acidity when done well and used to regularly have vindaloo chicken liver with breakfast during my time in India but unless I know the restaurant well, I'd avoid it like the plague in UK restaurants, especially late at night. The only time I ever ate a phall was at Uni in a restaurant where we knew all the staff after my Indian housemate ordered it trying to look tough and gave up after 2 mouthfulls, I finished it and whilst it was edible there was little flavour beyond the overload of chilis.
That is a new low.*sigh*
Did the face of JESUS appear as power station disintegrated in a cloud of billowing smoke? (Or was it just Noel Edmonds?):
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/art...-cloud-billowing-smoke-just-Noel-Edmonds.html
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/art...ragedy-love-ambition-revealing-interview.html
Apparently, He likes NWA loads and loads Straight outta Eton, crazy mutha****er named Osbourne...
That has to be fake, surely.
Just saw this on twitter - from the Mail on Sunday
Erm... isn't that the point?!
Just saw this on twitter - from the Mail on Sunday
Erm... isn't that the point?!
Jeez, feck knows how they got a double page spread out of that.I think my favourite bit is "HOW DO I REMEMBER THEM?"
If only the Government would listen to the warnings of the Daily Mail! My local Tesco Metro, as predicted, descended into a maelstrom of disorder and misrule this morning. Everything proceeded as normal for the first five minutes after opening, but once a customer asked for a carrier bag, all pandemonium was let loose. In less than half an hour, in scenes reminiscent of "Lord of the Flies", shoppers had stripped to the waist, daubed their faces with war-paint and split into warring factions, using weapons fashioned from biscuits and detergent. By lunchtime, the tumult had descended into godless and anarchistic bedlam; I witnessed a man dressed only in a TV Quick perform a ceremony in which three women were married to a Ken Hom's Thai Green Curry. By three o'clock, everybody had died, their souls lost for eternity, and the store had been burned to the ground as an offering to appease the angry gods of Cilit Bang.
What are you referring to Colin?Why hasn't the guy in the curry story got a sad face?
I was going to mention this. What a tedious link. And unnecessary.