Lost A

Tag: food

  • A blast from the past

    A blast from the past

    I think I time traveled to the 90s last night. I’m not exaggerating, I genuinely stepped into a tiny shopping center that looked like it had been sealed shut sometime around 1996 and only reopened yesterday just for me. The moment I walked in, I felt that familiar 90s glow: the slightly faded signs, the old‑school decorations, the shelves arranged in that charming “we tried our best” style every shop used to have.

    And then came the real nostalgia punch, a little shop selling petit four, Arabic sweets, and “Botha”Arabic ice cream. The kind of place that instantly makes you feel like a kid again, even before you taste anything. I walked in and it was like my childhood had been laid out neatly on trays. I tried the petit four first, and it was exactly the kind of buttery, delicate sweetness that used to make every family gathering feel magical. One bite and I was basically six years old again, standing next to a table full of desserts I wasn’t supposed to touch yet.

    I didn’t try the Arabic ice cream this time, I’m saving that for my next visit, because some joys deserve their own dedicated moment. But I did buy a box of sweets to take home, because happiness is always better when it comes in a small box tied with nostalgia.

    Walking out, I felt ridiculously happy. Like I had discovered a tiny portal to the past hidden inside a regular shopping center. A place where everything is simple, familiar, and wrapped in the soft glow of childhood memories.

    Last night wasn’t just a visit. It was a sweet little reunion with the 90s, and I’m already planning my next trip back.

  • Abandoning carbs

    Abandoning carbs

    Alright, sit down.
    We need to talk about you.

    Because Carbs is losing it.
    Not a little.
    Not politely.
    Full meltdown.
    Full telenovela.
    Full “crying into a croissant while staring out a window like it’s raining even though it’s not.”

    And it’s your fault.

    You were sneaking around with Carbs like you were starring in a dramatic romance trailer.
    You whispered “just one bite” like it was a confession.
    You held Carbs like you were about to be separated by a closing elevator door.

    Then choose to go back to Keto.

    Back to your structured, stable, “I’m a new man now” routine.
    Back to your meal plans.
    Back to your macros.
    Back to your “I feel lighter” speeches.

    Carbs is thrilled.
    Carbs is glowing.
    Carbs is absolutely not Googling “how to get over someone who chooses Keto.”

    You know what’s hilarious?
    You always bragged about how Keto kept you “calm,” how Keto made you feel “focused,” how Keto helped you “stay on track.”
    And yet every time you sprint toward Carbs like she was the last slice of cake at a birthday party.

    Remember when you said you were having “just a small bite”?
    That wasn’t a bite.
    That was a reunion special.
    That was a comeback tour.
    That was a documentary on emotional weakness.

    But now?
    Now you’re pretending Carbs was just a “moment.”
    A “slip.”
    A “cheat day.”

    Carbs was not a cheat day.
    Carbs was a whole season arc.
    Carbs was the cliffhanger.
    Carbs was the reason viewers tune in.

    You craved Carbs.
    You whispered things like “I missed this” and “I needed you.”
    You looked at Carbs with the kind of passion like never before .

    And yet…
    You went back to Keto.

    You’re walking around proud of yourself.
    You’re avoiding Carbs like they’re paparazzi.
    You’re pretending bread is invisible.
    You’re treating pasta like it’s radioactive.
    You’re acting like pancakes are a trap set by the universe.

    Meanwhile Keto is there, calm, supportive, structured, the nutritional equivalent of a well-organized closet.
    She’s cheering you on.
    She’s helping you feel balanced.
    She’s giving you stability.

    And honestly?
    Carbs gets it.
    Keto is good for you.
    Keto is consistent.
    Keto is the one you choose when you’re trying to be your best self.

    But Carbs also knows you.

    One day, maybe after a long week, maybe after a stressful event, maybe after you forget what actual joy tastes like you’ll think of Carbs.
    You’ll remember how comforting Carbs was.
    How dramatic .
    How messy.
    How fun.

    And maybe you’ll want to come back.
    Maybe you won’t.

    Either way…
    Carbs is leaving .
    Not angry.
    Not offended.
    Just dramatically eating a croissant, waiting for the next time you “accidentally” pass by a bakery.

  • Second best

    Second best

    Some months ago, I tasted a cheesecake that ruined all other cheesecakes for me the kind of perfection that quietly rewrites your standards. And now that I can’t have it anymore, I find myself reaching for Godiva’s strawberry cheesecake instead. It’s lovely, truly… but it’s not the one.

    Katy Perry once sang about how comparisons come easily after perfection, and I feel that line every time the fork touches the plate. You don’t forget the first perfect thing. You just learn to live gently with the second best.

    The cheesecake that rewrote my standards is long gone, so I’m settling for Godiva’s strawberry tonight a gentle goodbye before the diet starts tomorrow.

  • The farewell tour

    The farewell tour

    I decided to give myself a tiny farewell tour before my healthy meal plan subscription takes over my life, but it started in the most unexpected way. I went to an Italian restaurant, a place I won’t name because it doesn’t deserve the honor and immediately felt overwhelmed. The tables were practically breathing on each other, I could even hear the guy at the next table chewing, which somehow made everything worse.the crowd was loud enough to rattle my nerves, and the service moved at the speed of a sleepy snail. Even the food was just… fine. Average. Nothing worth remembering. I left feeling like the universe was telling me, “Enough restaurants for now.”

    The rest of the day felt kinder. I stopped by Altitude Roasters for my usual order, only to find it sold out, so I tried something new Amber Flow, this apple‑orange‑hibiscus‑cold‑brew situation that tasted like a small adventure in a cup. Then I went to Pick to try the new mango sticky rice ice cream everyone’s been talking about. It wasn’t mind‑blowing, but it was enjoyable in that quiet, comforting way. And somehow, these tiny stops felt like a soft wave goodbye the kind you give with a small smile, knowing you’re ready to walk toward something a little more intentional, a little more grounded, and exactly what you need right now.

  • Pickles

    Pickles

    I hate pickles. I hate how they smell, the texture the taste, they are disgusting and they destroy any food they are in. I just don’t like pickles not even a little. There’s something about them that barges into every dish, uninvited and impossible to ignore. They hide in burgers, sneak into sandwiches, float in salads, and somehow appear in meals that have no business being in them. And every time, they take over the whole flavor, drowning the balance I actually wanted. It feels like pickles are everywhere, waiting to ruin a perfectly good bite with their awful personality, and honestly… I’m tired of fighting them off.

    But unfortunately, I’m stuck with pickles whether I like it or not. They’re everywhere, and at some point I realized I had two choices: keep fighting them forever or learn to compromise. So I started picking around them, pushing them aside, trying to make peace with their existence. And slowly, I realized that when life insists on giving you pickles, you might as well search for the tiniest thing you can tolerate about them and live with it. Somehow and I still don’t fully understand how I think I’m starting to like pickled onions. They’re gentler, sweeter, less aggressive, almost polite compared to the usual offenders. Maybe I just needed to lower my expectations and accept that pickles are pickles; they will never be coffee, and I should stop expecting them to be coffee. So here I am, calling a truce in my long war with pickles a small, surprising step toward accepting that maybe not all of them are out to ruin my meals.

    Last week, I somehow found myself putting pickled onions on almost every meal I had everything except breakfast. I used them with rice, tucked them into sandwiches, paired them with Mexican food, Lebanese food, literally anything that crossed my plate. Breakfast was the only safe zone. But then, over the weekend, I had this wild idea: what if I added them to my usual scrambled eggs with labna and a drizzle of balsamic vinegar? So I tried it… and it was surprisingly yummy. Maybe giving pickles a chance isn’t the worst idea. People do change, after all. Maybe there’s hope. And since I can’t have coffee all the time anymore, I guess pickled onions will have to do for now, at least until the future decides to surprise me again.

    Ps: the photo contains three pieces of leftover reheated sambosa from one of my favorite restaurants