See how stupid the English language is? If a crying jag means a period of uncontrolled crying or coughing, then you’d think that a food or eating jag would mean a period of uncontrolled eating right? Apparently not. A food jag means the practice of eating just one food over time. For instance, a child may only want to eat boiled potatoes for every meal. Okay.

Using it anyway for what I think it means.

Maybe its the relentless work load, or the exhaustion of waiting and catching for the bus, but everyone knows that sometimes, the easiest palliative is food. Eat whatever you want. Comfort yourself.

Thursday
It started with Spam, fried eggs and rice for Thursday dinner. Fried the Spam pieces the way my nephew Matt likes them- crispy , and it works, making the saltiness stand out.

Friday
We went to the Auckland Night Markets for the 1st time since the lockdown. I had my usual Korean two-meat dish with glass-noodles but it wasn’t on par with how they used to make it, perhaps because the cook sans her usual two helpers, was also fielding orders and serving them instead of focusing on the dishes. Then we stumbled onto an American couple selling traditional American desserts- pumpkin and pecan pie by the slice, giant, red-velvet whoopie pies and a chocolate cake aptly named blacked-out cake.

I got a slice of pecan pie and a whoopie pie to go.

Saturday
We were supposed to do roast chicken with plain rice and steamed broccoli for Saturday dinner but ended up at the bakery in Manurewa run by the most affable Vietnamese people you’ll ever meet who also happen to have a perchance of making fresh fries every time you order. The fried chicken- a Tasty Chicken franchise- was also just coming out of the fryer so we had that too and make it two thigh pieces please!

Sated at 3pm, we decided that having roast-chicken for dinner was too much so that was cancelled (the chicken was later cut-up and made into adobo).

But it’s always weird to skip dinner so at 9pm, we decided to pick up a large, $10 thin-crust New York style pizza from Pizza Hut and who was I NOT to order a side of 8 chicken wings?

Sunday
And on Sunday was our third year attendance of the fabled Nicoll’s Rib Dinner- eat all you can ribs and sides (I just stick to the meat of course), in a gorgeous early 20th century restored boarding-house and hosted by the most interesting person you’ll ever meet, B, who also asked me to make dessert for next year’s dinner.

Burp.