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NEUTRAL
[i]adeus paraiso[/i]
Posts: 3
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Post by qatar on Oct 17, 2010 15:25:02 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true] COCKTAIL DRINKS, PRAWN ON STICKS,MIND BLOWN SKY-HIGH, THROWN IN A MIX.* * * * * * * * * * * DUDE, he wasn't lying.
This shit was beyond incredible, an explosion of pure taste in his mouth, an orgasm with food instead of sexual pleasure --- but goddamn this was good. Moaning, Hussein Al-Akrab savoured the little prawn thing covered in some sort of sauce as he rolled it around in his mouth, face in pure and utter bliss as the taste assaulted his senses, completely in his own universe unaware of anything but himself and the food in front of him and in his mouth.
"Ya allah...*" He unconsciously whispered, finally opening his eyes, his blurry and unclear eyes, and looking down at the overflowing plate on the table in front of him. Blinking, he tried to clear the sudden haziness of his sight, figuring he was tired or something, unknowing of the trails of water that ran down his cheeks in straight lines, more focused on the dish filled to the brim with different types of food, from seafood to meat to vegetables and back to seafood. Hussein loved all food, from even wasabi to chocolate covered strawberries, having absolutely no dislikes at all when it came to the heavenly mixes of skilled chef's and talented mothers. Oh yes, he'd have to thank his host graciously and sincerely when they joined him -- too bad Hussein had been unable to wait for them before starting to eat. Quite possibly his only public and blaring flaw; having such weakness to food.
Looking at the label on the sauce, he mouthed the syllables in wonder, awe and amazement, first whispering it, then gradually saying it louder and louder till he could say it with confidence. "Hollandaise... Ho-lan-days..." Ignorantly, he wondered whether it was from Holland. Or perhaps the country preferred to be called Netherlands. Granted, the Qatari did not know; but he'd be more then happy to learn. He'd never met the Dutch's, never even thought of meeting them before this -- but now, if not for anything else, he'd have to fly over and seriously praise them for this sauce. Perhaps he could even strike a deal to have it manufactured back home.
Returning his attention back to his food, he eyed a slimy octopus -- having never known people even ate such animals before -- and poked it with a silver fork once and watching it jiggle slightly. Would it taste as slimy as it looked? Perhaps it would be chewy. Like bad chicken. But with some sort of unique taste of it's own. Hmmm, maybe he should dip it in the sauce. Perhaps that would give him a base assumption of it before trying anything radical. Hmm, radical. Such an American word. Along with dude. But when one was too busy in the throes of food-pleasure, vocabulary was not on the forefront of their mind. Rolling up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt, he stabbed the octopus with the fork, cutting it slightly with a knife into smaller pieces. Hesitantly, he brought it to eye level, eyeing it like the slimy creature it was. For a split second, he pondered whether it would actually be wise to eat such foreign food -- but immediately pushed the thought away as he dipped it into the sauce, almost salivating in apprehension of taste exploding once more in his mouth.
Needless to say, he didn't have a mind or any focus to notice the arrival of his host.
NOTE: to whoever's joining, you're the host, or maybe another guest. Up to you. <3 |
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