And speaking of wtf, my intestinal tract has suddenly gone haywire on me. Good times. I can't tell you how much I enjoy playing these health-related detective games. "What did I eat?" "I ate that thing today, but I had that other thing last night. How long does it take for food to move through your system?" "It couldn't be this thing, because I've eaten that before without any trouble." "I am allergic to those things, but my body doesn't usually react like that." "Maybe my body needs to get used to the food." "Maybe it's stress."
BLARG.
So I've decided that Rastafarian cooking, known as "Ital", is going to be the way for me to go. All veggie, no preservatives. The closest I can get to "clean" eating here. Cross your fingers.
Oh, and forget what I said about there being no flying bugs. The rain has changed all of that. Two words: flying ants. It's a damned good thing I'm no Buddhist, because the amount of these things I've killed with my bare hands (too pissed off to even bother with a tissue) in the past few days would have me coming back for several lifetimes to come.
Today's Trinidad Impression: Peanut Punch. Peanut butter, cinnamon, nutmeg, condensed milk. Yum YUM. My drum instructor's wife made it for me. As an added treat she added some Angostura bitters to it.
The Angostura company is a big deal here. The secret recipe for the bitters (which is still secret today) was developed in 1824 by a Venezuelan doctor who was trying to come up with the correct combination of herbs and spices to help soldiers who were having tummy troubles. Bitters is added to a lot of drinks, especially liquor. It's got a really yummy flavor, and I sprinkled a bunch in my next couple of glasses of water, hoping it would help my stupid belly.
No luck yet.
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