Sofia

So when I'm not crying about how useless I am at my job, being a wife and mother, I'm moonlighting as a wannabe food reviewer. Hahaha. Yea whatever, pei lava ga masagi ai.

Wellington is a food haven though, and when I do remember (i.e. once every couple of years) I like to share my food experiences with others who are out there searching for culinary truth. HA!! Again, ua muliga Jamie Spitty Oliver ma Gordon Fiafaikeige Ramsay.

Anyway, if you want to know how much money I don't have that I'm wasting and where I got this tummy / ass / arm flaps / chin, go and have a faikala and a laugh:

http://www.zomato.co.nz/user_details?userid=24115

99 Problems

1. Work is out of control busy.

2. I am super lost (i.e. aivalea) at my current work assignment.

3. Having a primary school kid and having to arrange your life around the fact that there is no more full time care for your kid during all your working hours ... it's a new discovery, a new challenge, and my goodness I feel so bad for all you other working parents out there! Let's get together and have a whine-fest (or even better, a wine-fest!)

4. I still haven't won Powerball. Obviously, or problems 1 to 3 would be resolved.

5. Ant is such a boy of a baby. He hasn't given me a smooth complexion, a "glow" or shiny/tamed hair like Lali did. Instead, he has given me a grand appetite for spicy bratwurst, bacon butties, churros and all else that is needed for getting elephantiasis.

6. I work in the middle of Wellington city. You would think that being surrounded by cafes galore it would be easy to find a date scone when you crave one, right? Wrong. I had to walk around in circles, visiting 5 cafes on a rainy morning before I could find one! Not impressed.

7. Our neighbour's visitor parked on the road in such that a way that impeded me from backing out of our driveway the way I wanted to. The hubby wisely volunteered to ask him to move, preventing a mad-preggo-lady altercation and possible charges for destruction of property ( though I would have only removed the rear bumper of his car ... that was part that was poking into our side of the driveway ... )

8. I'm sure I have about 92 or so more gripes on food and fat. Ugh. My sister takes photos from amazing angles that make me look a quarter of the size I am. People see them and say "You look so great! Upload more photos!" No thanks. I will only upload the photos that pass the "Pregnant But In Impossibly Great Shape" criteria. Hence why there aren't many.

9. Looking at Crazy Cakes and Just Desserts Facebook updates is driving me insane with cake cravings. I am refusing to do any baking right now though, because I can see it turning into a slippery slope ... of ganache and whipped cream and buttercream and custard!! Joy.

Two more months. I can do this. Just focus on the prize at the end ... that bowl of oka. Nommmm ...

Eating for two (dozen)

I came across my maternity book from the first pregnancy and in it I found some disturbing figures.

In 30 weeks of pregnancy (from Week 10 to Week 40), I gained a whopping whaling 30 kgs! Oh. Em. Effin. Gee!!

My weight was recorded at all my midwife or doctor appointments, so I could see the progression of the weight gain, and even during the earlier weeks when baby was quite small, I was piling on the pounds.

And I do know why. I ate like a pig. I was nowhere near as nauseous as sickly as this time around, so I ate  whatever and whenever I wanted, justifying it with the "eating for two" mantra. Although I knew at the time this phrase was actually nonsense, what I didn't know was that the extra amount I needed to eat a day to handle mine and baby's energy needs was the equivalent of 1 to 2 slices of bread. Eek. I was eating at least an extra 1 or 2 loaves of bread, and that is not even an exaggeration.

It took a long and unhappy 4 years to start shedding that weight, and this time around I am determined to be much smarter. Prevention is key, I guess. I keep the old maternity book handy now, and when I feel myself losing the battle of the will, I take a glimpse at those weights *shudder* and try to make a better eating choice.

Don't get me wrong, I will eat cake, so help me God! Except now I schedule a day of the week when I will bake or buy what I am craving the most, and enjoy that with the family.

I know that by carrying this alien, I will get fat. But there's no need to get any fatter than necessary, right?

A hippo's guide to surviving earthquakes

If you have been watching the news like a good citizen should (and if you live in a country where they give a winkling about the tectonic plates in New Zealand) then you may know that there have been some rather significant earthquakes around the Wellington region for the past couple of weeks now.

It has been unnerving each time the tremors hit, trying to locate the little shadow and then proceeding to dive under the unfortunately too-small kitchen table.

What we also came to realise (many, many natural disasters later) is that we have no emergency plan of action, no emergency survival kit, no real reason that we should survive if or when the mother of natural disasters (or the dreaded zombie apocalypse for that matter) hits.

So I've done some thinking, as you do, and have come up with some tips that may help other alien-carriers out there having to put up with frequent quakes:

1. Pee quickly. Unfortunately, the little alien inside you won't stop kicking your bladder or producing all that waste, so when you gotta go, you gotta go. But no more taking the iPad or Property Press in with you. Just do the deed, and get out. Coz if the house collapses around your little ceramic throne, well, gooood luck!
2. Prepare an emergency kit. Fill it with all your favourite non-perishable cravings / snack foods. Then guard it with your life, especially if there are little hands (or big ones too) that keep trying to sneak in to that particular section of the emergency kit. Have none of it!
3. Keep your smartphone charged at all times! This one is important. If food and / or water supplies run out, at least you will be able to Scramble or Candy Crush.
4. Get fit. If you reach full term and there are no major natural disasters where you need to evacuate and hike around the hills of Wellington, you will still have a fully grown alien to push out, and any physical strength will come in handy for pointing (the blame), gripping (to death) your supporters' hands, and then after the birth give yourself a mini-makeover for the all important first photo with baby.

There you have it. Extremely helpful tips that I'm sure you could not do without.

PS. Don't forget to pack your happy pills in the emergency kit!

Comfort food

Thank you Lord, for giving us our daily bread.

Food for the spirit:

²⁸ “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. ²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Matthew 11

Food for the soul:

Food for the body:

...all of it...

Beautiful Dangerous

Featuring on our Christmas menu this year is a dish that is loved in the islands. Can I even call this a "dish"? All that is required to cook it is to chuck it in a big pot with water and boil the heck out of it.

Presenting ... (drumroll) ... povi masima!


Povi masima.
Killing islanders since ages ago.

 For the non-Samoans (and wannabe non-Samoans, ha!) it's basically salted beef brisket. And I don't mean salted as in "just add a pinch of salt there" or even "make sure it's well seasoned". It's more like "oh crap, did I just dump the whole bucket of salt on that beef" salty. I'm not sure if it's the salt that's the killer or the juicy globs of yummylicious fat around the edge of the meat. Drool. That's what the Samoans are doing right now as they read this.

On Christmas day, when I eat this with my umu kalo, I will pretend I hadn't read this earlier today on some NZ diabetes website:

Povi-masima, corned brisket marinated in salt, is a food that increases the risk of obesity and diabetes for many Pacific people. It is fatty and literally thick with salt and many people eat it every day as well as on special occasions.
Povi-masima is not seen in any country outside the Pacific and it is not good for our health. The government needs to stop butchers producing this food that plays a role in making our people sick, or at least limit the amount of salt and fat that is allowed in each bin.

We don't eat it every day. Well, if we could afford it we would. But we can't, so we don't. The government needs to stop butchers producing this food? Eh. The government needs to stop cigarette companies from making cancer sticks. Leave my povi masima alone! Mmmmmerry Christmas!

Last Friday Night - the remix

Katy Perry has a song called "Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F)". When I first heard it, I was thinking "Very catchy beat and tune", then when I listened a little closer I discovered the lyrics are about going out, getting trashed, getting chased out of bars, random sex, etc. Ok, not my thing. My own fault for not seeing that coming, I mean it's a Katy Perry song about a Friday night.

It made me think though, I can no longer relate to that. My Friday night is the yang to KP's yin one. And I'm very happy about that, and thankful for my two buddies that I get to spend every Friday night with, the house we get to spend Friday night in, and the delicious food we usually pig out on every Friday night.

So here's the reeeemix, Rock Fobby style Friday night (sing it to the tune of KP's song):

Last Friday night
Yeah I washed all of the pots
But forgot to wash my socks
Stinky feet next day, that's hot

Last Friday night
Always rugby on TV
One-eyed for my Canterbury
Constant Facebooking and Tweet

Last Friday night
Lyla bossing us around
While snack shopping at Foodtown
Think I gained about 4 pounds

Last Friday night
Thought about doing some chores
Instead I chilled to Jersey Shore
Whoa-oh-oah

This Friday night
Do it all again
This Friday night
Do it all again

Random thoughts and the f-word

I don't have a cohesive train of thought for blogging today.

Because I'm still so sick *cough cough cough* See?

So today it's random thoughts day.

Random thought 1
I want to get hot for summer. Ok let's make that a realistic goal: I want to get to a weight that is not so obscene to the sight and unkind to the clothes by summer. As I stuff my mouth with the last of my 3rd cheese bun this morning, I wonder how I will do.

Random thought 2
I wonder if I'll ever get to travel to Europe. As much as I would love to, I can't see it being affordable anywhere in the forseeable future, and that's a future where NO family members die, which is honestly very unrealistic. I estimate at least 20 aunts and uncles still alive (on both my side and the hubby's)...that's a lot of sii, pigs, pisupo, povi and cash to be bought/spent/exchanged/loaned/begged. Should I just be one of those fakaga-blonde ones and just spend all my money on myself and then play dumb when family calls for financial assistance? I was not blessed/cursed with such a switch in my brain though.
I'm not down about it though. Honestly. It would be a great thing to do. But I am so immensely blessed that anything on top of what I have now, debts and all, is in the bonus zone. (Besides, I hate flying, and very fussy about accommodation, i.e. no backpackers or camping...as the Laughing Samoans said, I've been camping all my life!)

Random thought 3
I wonder who Lyla will marry, and if he's not Samoan, how he will feel about faalavelave. (Hmm, seems to be a running theme, and perhaps not so random, these thoughts). Actually, I wonder how Lyla will feel about them. I know quite a few NZ born Samoans who are against anything to do with giving family in Samoa money.
e.g. Why do they need a car anyway?
e.g. Dad's in Samoa, but we booked his return flight early so they don't take all his money.

I keep forgetting that Lyla is a Kiwi (vomit...e, that was a JOKE, people. Joke alert!). I guess it's up to us, her parents, to teach her why we do what we do, and what that means for her. I guess I should find out first for myself.
Mum asked me in high school if I was going to marry a South African. HA! I wonder why *ahem*
Thank goodness I married a Samoan.
There's nothing as comforting at the moment you find out your uncle has passed away, as telling your husband "Uncle died" and he nods, not only to acknowledge your grief, but to also approve the funds for your contribution to the maliu.


Ok, that's enough random thinking for the day, because it's quite obvious it's all heading down the same line .. the f-word.

Weekly wrap

What a week it has been. Where do I start? Well, at the very beginning of course.

Sunday: Manu Samoa beat Wallabies
And by 'beat' I mean 'slaughtered'. It was a pleasure to watch, not just for the win, but the way in which they won. With so much heart, and never giving in to the Wallabies' attempt to take back what you could sense they thought was rightfully theirs.

Monday: Pretty pretty please
I checked the Sky schedule...no more replays of the Manu game. So I sent this short but heartfelt plea to Sky



Tuesday: Baby Becks
The Beckham baby was born. Harper Seven. That confused look on your face? That's what I had on too.

Wednesday: Go the Manu
The already popular 'Go the Manu' Facebook page started gaining even more momentum. As the NZ speeding ads go 'The faster you go, the bigger the mess.' In this case it wasn't the page itself, but more the people that were joining. I suppose it was inevitable. It started with a small group of like-minded fanatics who loved the Manu ... for the team they wanted to be, and for the team that they almost were ... we love them, we LOVE them. (Sorry, did I mention I'm on a Jerry Maguire buzz?) As the numbers increase, a few psycho stalkers and know-it-all loo-hoo-hoo-zer-hers have slipped through too. And of course, our favourite, the anal one, who didn't bother to read the page description: "This is a fun page for all supporters of our Manu Samoa rugby team in the lead up to the Rugby World Cup in New Zealand."

Thursday: Only the lonely
Husband flew out last night for a family faalavelave. It's just me and the tiger-monkey-queen. So I thought, I would revisit my idle Twitter account and see what goes on there. I logged in and never looked back. You can't look back, or blink, or go to the toilet, or take Lyla to the toilet, in case you miss a Tweet. If you ever have a spare 24 hours in your day, Twitter is the place to spend it. Then I found out I could get free text notifications every time someone Tweets me. Yes please! Then I get spammed by Sleepless. No more lonely night for me.

Friday: Lazy
Today was a work-from-home-with-Lyla day. I tried out a chocolate cake recipe courtesy of Sleepless. Bad idea. It's a good sized cake. A moist good sized chocolate cake. The kid is unwell, that leaves me to eat it all. I tell you, life can be so tough.

Now that it's nearly 10pm, it's time to kick into life, and start my cooking marathon. I plan to make mushroom soup, chicken curry and cheesecake - all to freeze and distribute to the needy in the community.

And I'm sorry if you visited just to see some hot rugby player photos. What do you think this is, my secret ogle stash a perve fest? Google him :)

How not to diet

"Eating well" has been going swell the past three weeks. I now eat breakfast, lunch and dinner. Little snacks in between. No more second dinner, so obviously that cancels out post-second dinner dessert as well. I know, a lot of sacrifices have been made.

But then along comes Saturday, my "diet day off", the light at the end of the weekly diet tunnel. On Saturdays I don't calorie count. I eat dessert. I don't stress about having dinner later than usual. I basically just be me ... well, a-less-greedy-but-nevertheless-food-loving version of me. Me 2.0

Anyway, so today was Saturday. Woohoo! What I usually do on my freedom day is go out with the hubby and toddler to have brunch at a cafe that we pick at random. Just the thought of a flat white with banana/bacon waffles is making me drool. Regardless of where we go, or what we eat, it is usually a good day. A happy day. (Listen to me, I didn't even realise I was suffering from food withdrawal)

Well, today was no different. A lovely dinner with relatives, that was finished off with the most divine chocolate cake, delivered straight from heaven no doubt. I have a nagging feeling that this day off has cancelled all the good work that was done this week. Three steps forward and two steps back. Tomorrow the nagging feeling will have hatched into a full blown guilt-and-regret dragon. But tonight it remains locked in the dungeons of my mind, and I enjoy the last few moments of this temporary reunion with carbs, fat and sugar.

One minor issue needs to be address though - we came home with a reasonable sized chunk of the culprit chocolate cake. If I eat it tonight, I will technially still be within the "rules of indulgence" right? I'm so full though! I have heard that you can't have your cake and eat it too. But I will try my best...

Fat chance

This is what I call this food - misery, instead of muesli. I mean, what is it? I could easily Google/Wikipedia it, but at the moment I am using all my energy and concentration on staying put, in my chair, in my office. Instead of wandering downstairs and hunting me some grub, in some form of delightful South East Asian style fried noodles. Drool.

Today is D-Day. Diet Day. The last attempt at trying to improve eating habits and lose weight on my own. Over the weekend I had decided that this week I would call Jenny Craig. I couldn't go on like this, I needed help. (Let me just add that you shouldn't make such decisions after a massive yum cha overindulgence session). Anyway, last night I was doing some last minute Googling to see how much it would be. Funnily enough, Jenny Craig's website FAQ had the question posted, but the "answer" was a waffly "it depends on the program" type of statement. The results of my investigation was as expected. I would have to fork out more money for the program per week than our family's grocery shopping budget. Sigh.

So here goes my last attempt at DYI weight loss. I'm giving myself one week to try and improve my eating habits, before I make that Jenny-call. Hopefully now that I've told the world (my world of 8 people) I will feel some sort of accountability. Fat chance.

Which brings me to today's breakfast. Muesli. I stared at it and poked at it a few times. And now I've decided I'm not eating it. I'll get myself some fibry bark-tasting bread to make toast tomorrow.

So starts the period of depressed, hungry, angry blogging...while I attempt to purge my brain of the delights of buttery pastries, spicy fried noodles, rich curries and heavenly chocolate.


(and in case you were wondering, yes, that is a rock that I keep on my work desk)