Having not grown up in the Himalayan mountains, I am unfamiliar with salt mines.I grew up with the big white container of iodised cheap ass salt that everyone used to have. But I just KNOW Himalayan pink rock salt is great stuff because it’s everywhere now and it’s totes fancy.
I never bothered to find out much about it, I just paid my $10 a jar and got right into that shit because for sure it is good for you right? If guests come for dinner I’m really fucking proud to offer them my pink Himalayan rock salt and encourage them to use heaps. Not just to cover up my shitty cooking, but because of the health benefits.
Well imagine my fucking excitement when I came across a jar of BLACK Himalayan rock salt in a posh market last week.
Holy SHIT. I made a pretty instantaneous choice to buy it, because for sure this must be way better than the povo pink stuff.
It is MINED BY HAND. By real Himalayans! It has got to be incredible!!
I was dazzled by the uneven chunks of black salt and was really exited to try it out. I convinced myself it would be almost powerful enough to start it’s own food group. It was surely more raw and potent than it’s pink cousin and would make me glow with inner health and vitality! Right?
This shit smells and tastes LIKE A FUCKING EGG FART.
I gave it the benefit of the doubt and tried it twice. I always try everything twice, it’s just a thing I do to be fair to uncool and hideous experiences.
The second time I ground heaps of it on a pile of baked beans.
It smells like a fart. I still eat it. It tastes like a fart. Not that I have actually eaten a fart, but you know what I mean.
A little google session later and I’m down with the awful truth. Basically they get the normal rock salt and heat it up so hot that the sulphur comes out and makes it taste like a fart.
IT’S INTENTIONAL. Who the FUCK wants to purposely make something smell and taste like fucking egg fart!
I bet they love Kale whoever they are.
Another Superfood FUCK YOU
FUCK YOU to the lady at the Sushi Train who kept picking up everything and putting it back.
Lady, you are breaking a cardinal rule of eating at a fucking Sushi Train. I’m even a bit embarrassed to have been in a Sushi Train to start with since it’s so 1994. But I was there. And this happened. My struggle is real.
I watched in horror as you picked up dozens of plates, held them up to your face and squinted as you checked out the contents and put them BACK ON THE FUCKING TRAIN. No. Just no. The train goes around so fucking slowly to begin with, how come you need to hold each plate and check it out before deciding that one’s not for you? It’s not like 75 more plates with exactly the same fucking thing are not coming past in a minute or two.
It’s not even like Australian sushi trains are all that inventive and exotic. They are like the McDonalds of the sushi world with the usual suspects even my grandma would be familiar with. California Rolls, Salmon Nigiri, Edamame etc. Were you worried you would accidentally eat some of that poisonous puffer fish that kills you in a few hours?? UNFUCKING-LIKELY in the Melbourne CBD.
I bet you are the type to eat a handful of pistachios as you do the grocery shopping, you know, straight out of the pick n mix. Or test out the salad bar before committing to it.
Fuck You. You are gross.
FUCK YOU Peak Hour Granny Drivers.
I have two young kids and have to do the hideous drop off and pick up most days of the week. It’s shit. There is no sugar coating it.
I’ve got a pretty good system going to make it slightly less painful which includes blasting my kids eardrums with loud music so I don’t have to hear any whinging, allowing me to just concentrate on the rally driving expertise of my fine self to get us there and back.
So what the FUCK is Granny bloody Ethel doing out driving at 8.30am on a weekday. Prescription day? Bingo? Mills & Boon book signing?
It’s outrageous. Get off the fucking road until at least 10am I say!
It’s bad enough that nobody can stick their kids on a bus anymore because they will get snatched, everyone has to join in the 4WD brigade and fight to the fucking death just to survive.
Ethel has no idea, she doesn’t fucking care. She’s been up since 5.30am watering the petunias and catching up on “That’s Life” magazine. She’s probably baked a batch of scones and cracked a few Sudoku puzzles before 9am too.
Ethel, I don’t like pulling crazy faces at you and hooting when you swerve into my lane because your glasses fell off or you had a micro granny sleep.
I don’t like myself when I do this Ethel. It makes me really fucking sad. I like old people.
I just don’t like that I’ll be stuck behind you doing 12km p/h on the way home as well.
Fuck You Ethel. Fuck You.