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Extra Mutton

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"An army travels on its stomach."
- Attribution unclear, perhaps Napoleon.

"And so do I."
- Sunset Shazz

Yesterday, after a day exploring Pashupatinath, the most important Hindu temple in Nepal, Ace and I had a powerful hunger in the evening. Our travel agent had recommended a Nepali restaurant, which turned out to be a sort of diner where the locals hung out and consumed large portions of food. Presently, we were given large thalis filled with rice, vegetable curry, mutton curry, various pickles and chilis. I efficiently put away this little repast, then ordered more of the delicious mutton, to our waiter's surprise and Ace's amusement. He reminded me of the story Faceman always likes to tell, about the time, after a huge meal that had left my friends exhausted, I continued eating and finished the last two lamb chops, with the rest of our dinner party looking on in astonishment, wondering where it all went. When the bill arrived with "extra mutton" tacked on at the bottom, Ace thought this was a hilarious statement about my basic life philosophy. I'm all about the extra mutton.

This morning, we couldn't figure out where we would breakfast, when in an inspired moment I thought of puris and potato curry. It turns out that this breakfast delicacy was readily available at the excellent restaurant garden at our guest house. Ace and I are connoisseurs, and we found both the puris (fried Indian crepes made with unleavened bread) and batetas to be superb. After a hike of several kilometres to the famous Monkey Temple and back through the tiny streets of the capital, we found a little hole-in-the-wall place which is famous for its dosas. I hadn't had a decent Masala Dosa since I was on Gerard st. in Toronto, so this was a welcome treat.

As for the actual things we saw and did? You can read Ace's account which is likely to be more factually detailed than my own.

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About me

  • I'm Sunset Shazz
  • Living the dream in Istanbul, Turkey
  • I grew up in the hardscrabble streets of suburban Ottawa, Ontario, committing petty crime, insulting the elderly - basically the classic misspent youth. When I was 19, I moved to West Philly, where I put myself through the Wharton School by dealing crack and hustling. After stints in Paris and London, I eventually graduated and moved to San Francisco, where I put in eight years hard labor working for The Man. But now I pop bottles with models, deciding cracked crab or lobster - who says mobsters don't prosper?
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