meemalee

We're standing in a line and she walks up and down. Her face is inscrutable, by which I mean it's on its default setting of pissed off, and we're wondering which of us is for the chop. I say which of us, but I know I'm safe, though some of the others are definitely not leaving on time tonight. "Kate Simpson, Hannah Jones, you two stay behind. You've not even made an attempt to hide the fact you're caked in blusher". She then gets a cotton wool pad, dips it in toner and begins wiping down our lashes - looking for that tell-tale black smear that denotes Rimmel's finest. Some girls are ahead of the game though - as well as the wondrous White Musk perfume, the Body Shop sells a clear gel mascara to foil such fascist tactics. Granted, its gluey formula makes them look like startled kittens with conjunctivitis, but it's guaranteed not to leave an inky trace. As we wait our turn, it doesn't seem to occur to any of us that this is, if not an infri...

"I need to go to the US again". My husband says this quietly, as he knows the reaction he will get. It used to be melodramatic - I'd mope and I'd wail that he'd forsaken me, and he'd fix me with a look and say, "I don't like it either. Do you want me to quit my job? I'd do it tomorrow if you asked me." And I'd sulk and say, no, I like having a house and money to go on holidays and all that kind of stuff. These days, I stick out my bottom lip a little and I say, "When?". And then we get out our Blackberries and we look at our work calendars and we try to be practical, to co-ordinate when would be best for him to be away, but inside I feel empty and sad, although I know it has to be done. The night before he goes away, I pass him a plug adaptor to put in his suitcase and I say to him, "I once read that Paul McCartney and Linda McCartney only spent one week apart during their whole life together". And he looks at me and h...

[ Housekeeping - I've decided to write a bit more about stuff other than food. I will still be writing about food though. Please do not be alarmed ] I walk home on autopilot, as I do every day, past the myriad shops that barely make a dent on my consciousness. The school outfitters where my parents are forced to buy every purple piece of uniform that makes us the laughing-stock of the other pupils in the area, the newsagents that sells huge bags of broken sweets for 50p but take an eternity to serve, the chippy surrounded by a stifling haze of rancid fat - all of these blur as I quicken my step. And as I walk, I slowly replay the day's events in my head. I think about my urge to stick my hand up, even as I feel everyone's eyes burn into the back of my neck. It doesn't matter how often they call me "bod", or "swot", or "teacher's pet" - it's like I have some kind of smart-alec Tourette's. And I sigh and I think at least the teach...

Hard though it may be to believe, MasterChef isn't my favourite TV programme. Not by a long shot. That honour goes to the quiz show University Challenge as hosted by the redoubtable Jeremy Paxman . I've always been good at quizzes so, unsurprisingly, it was always my dream to go on University Challenge (I was that kid from Starter for Ten , though I did have a brief flirtation with Blockbusters ) and, as a student, I very nearly achieved that dream - I was the reserve for my college team and, wonder of wonders, they passed the auditions and actually got on the show. So I trundled along with the team up to Granada studios in Manchester in the hope that someone would get food poisoning and I'd graciously step into the breach and save the day. But no, they were all fine. And after that, I graduated and I thought that was that. This is in my parents' house. Not mine. Then one day, bored at work, I was reading a trade paper when I saw an ad asking people to apply for a sp...

When I'm not eating, I'm singing Although these days, I have a passion for post-rock and Mike Patton , I think it's fair to say that as I was growing up, my taste in music was fairly theatrical. The very first album I ever bought was Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat (with Jason Donovan, natch). To this day, I can still remember it word for word. All throughout school and university, I sang soprano in chamber and chapel choirs and as part of an a cappella ensemble. Frankly, it was all a bit Glee . I even sang tenor in a male voice group (I am female, I just happen to have quite a broad vocal range and I was at an all-boys school at the time - I'll explain another day) where we merrily piped out barbershop tunes such as " My Evaline " and " Old Man Noah ". Sadly, the only time I get to sing these days is at karaoke. Although I did do a tiny set at a company shindig last October, which was a pretty damn cool experience and managed to ass...

My name is meemalee and I write about food. That first part's a lie. "Meemalee" is just a nickname my best friend made up for me at uni. My real name is MiMi which virtually no-one can spell correctly (that's two big M's, thanks). I do, however, write about food. I always wanted to be a writer. My mum still has a book in which I scrawled my first ever offering at the tender age of three. I'm reproducing it verbatim as a world exclusive: " A long long time ago there was a man and a wooman. They went to Beflehem. A long long time ago. " At the age of five, I wrote a Blytonesque six-chapter extravaganza about a kindly grandfather, his adorable grandson and a magical rocking horse. I was meant to write about what I'd done that weekend. At the age of eight, I typed up a sequel to the Ramona series by Beverly Cleary . I illustrated it and everything. At the age of ten, I wrote a storybook called "Dragons in the House" for children (well, f...

A year ago today, my grandfather passed away. I was gearing up to write an anniversary tribute post about what a wonderful man he was and what an amazing life he'd led. But two days ago, my grandmother suddenly died. I guess all I want to say right now is, I really miss them both.

Regrets, I have a few. And one of them is that I only managed to haul my ass over to Colindale three times before the mighty Oriental City was felled by developers. Our affair was brief but intense. For instance, I immediately fell for Utsuwa No Yakata , the wondrous Japanese porcelain purveyor. The vast Oriental City supermarket was the stuff of dreams - Thai, Japanese, Chinese, Filipino, Indonesian, Malaysian, Korean, Indian, Vietnamese, fresh, frozen and dried - you name it, they had it. I even managed to get fresh mentaiko there. I adored the Durian Centre with its durian shaped menus (even if it was never blimming open), the shonky Sanrio Shop, the tiny Japanese household goods shop, and the crummy little Sega Arcade. But ye gods, it was truly love at first sight when my eyes fell upon the Oriental City Food Court . From roti canai to ramen , via dimsum and som tam , through to pho and sushi, all washed down with fruity smoothies and ice kachang , every Asian and Oriental cuis...